by Ted Hill
The kid smiled down at him. “Ah, there you are at last. I have arrived.”
Jimmy crab-walked backwards until he sliced his hand open on a piece of broken glass. He stopped and pulled the sliver out, releasing a warm stream of blood that trickled down his arm to his elbow. Jimmy pressed his hand to his shirt.
“That looks delicious,” the boy said, looming over him. “Why do you move away from me? You do remember your master?” He narrowed his dark eyes as his long oily hair swung away from his face. A look of shock replaced suspicion. “You! But you’re supposed to be dead.”
Jimmy stood as Catherine and Mark ran up beside him.
“I know,” Jimmy said. “I’ve been thinking the same thing all day.”
Twenty-Eight
Hunter
Late afternoon was slipping away when Hunter led the Cozad kids back to their bus. The knotted group stumbled along looking at the sky. They found Brandon in a bloody heap underneath bus seats, amidst the broken glass from shattered windows. His skin had been torn away and death followed. Hunter hated being right about the safety of the bus. Nobody wanted to ride in it again. Hunter’s motorbike had fallen over, but was otherwise unharmed.
“What are we going to do?” Henry asked.
“Let’s go back to the truck stop and see what we can start up. Hopefully we’ll find a couple of vans or SUVs.”
Hunter and Henry rolled the generator and battery charger the half mile distance to the truck stop on I-80 and located a Winnebago suitable for the trip home. They searched inside the store for supplies, swapping out the old battery, and while the new one charged they changed the oil, filled the gas tank, inflated the tires, and wiped down the dash with Armor All. Henry drove the RV back to the pond where everyone waited, still searching the sky for more bug clouds.
In their absence, the others had debated about what to do with Brandon’s body. No one had the stomach to pull him out of the bus. Instead they had siphoned gas out of the tank and splashed it inside the empty window frames. Wesley held a makeshift torch with cloth wrapped and doused in gasoline around one end. Hunter didn’t want to know where the cloth came from or why it was dotted red. He handed his Zippo lighter over and walked away, not really in the mood for another fire today.
Wesley lit the fabric and a rush of flames and black smoke followed.
“Thank you for everything, Brandon. We’ll miss you,” Carissa said, and her brother tossed the fire through a busted window. The bus ignited and everyone scurried for the Winnebago parked a hundred yards away.
Barbie walked over as Hunter started his bike. “Can I ride with you for a while?”
“Are you sure? It might be more comfortable in the RV.”
The line waiting to board the Winnebago had dwindled to Carissa and Wesley. There was a couch and a couple beds for the forty-two remaining Cozad kids.
He shrugged. “Yeah, that’s fine. Go ahead and get on.” He made room for her by unhooking the bungee cords around his backpack on the end of the seat. “Do you mind wearing this for me?”
“Not at all.” Barbie looped the straps over her shoulders. She threw her leg across the seat and scooted up close to Hunter.
He resisted the urge to slide up or push her back. Any movement might provoke a comment from his new riding companion that he didn’t want to deal with at the moment. They only had a two hour drive before reaching Independents; he could handle the closeness.
Henry pulled the Winnebago forward, giving Hunter the thumbs up. Hunter returned the gesture and clicked into first, second and then third as the bike picked up speed. They traveled into the falling dusk of nighttime, past the farm that had been their refuge during the grasshopper storm. Hunter turned his single headlight on and Henry painted his back with bright light.
They followed an easy path toward Independents, created by the insects. An enormous swath of dirt, two football fields wide, headed straight south. Hunter wanted to ride fast and catch up with his imagination that had already arrived in Independents, flashing him all the gory details it could conjure. Brandon’s death had twisted into a town full of Hunter’s friends, hacked and chewed into pieces by the terrible power of Tommy the Perv’s storm. Hunter shook his head in agitation, trying to clear his thoughts, but the images had taken root.
Barbie leaned into him and tightened her grip around his waist. At least it took Hunter’s mind away from things he had no control over.
“Why do you keep coming on to me?” he asked over the engine noise.
“Well, somebody has a high opinion of himself,” Barbie said loudly in his ear. “Can’t a girl flirt a little?”
“It’s just making me uncomfortable. That’s all.”
“Oh, sugar, why would it make you uncomfortable? I’m only out for a bit of fun. You can play along if you want. I won’t bite much and only in the places you want me to.”
“I have a girlfriend.”
“Yes, I know already. Please. You don’t have to tell me every time. She’s not here.”
“She will be soon,” Hunter whispered.
“What was that?” She clawed his belly.
Hunter fought to keep from crashing his bike, with the lights from the Winnebago sending their crazy shadow wobbling ahead.
“I said she will be here soon. I mean, we will be there where she is… soon.”
The conversation broke, and they rode in silence except for the engine whine and the whoosh of their speed. Hunter didn’t think about the fate of his home and the people there anymore. He thought about Barbie’s hands wrapped around him and her body pressing against his back.
She shouted, “Maybe we should stop for the night.”
Exhausted, Hunter wanted nothing more than to pull over and rest. But he rolled on the acceleration and sped for home.
Barbie eased off his back and settled her hands lightly on his hips.
They traveled for an hour after leaving the burning bus, surrounded by darkness and the stars above, with another hour left before reaching Independents. The RV rode over the new super highway created by insects. It made the trip so much easier, but the churned up, scattered prairie grass also made it much more disturbing.
With help from the Winnebago lights, Hunter spotted large mounds lying in their path. He slowed to a stop before riding into their midst, holding his hand up to keep Henry from running them over. The big RV pulled up to their right.
“What is it?” Henry asked out the window.
“I’m not sure. We’ll go check. Wait here.” Hunter stretched to peek inside the window. “What’s everybody doing?”
Wesley leaned over from the front passenger seat. “They’re all asleep. Henry won’t let me drive.”
Hunter observed the red rims around Henry’s eyes. “You look pretty beat.”
“I’m all right.”
“Are you sure? Why not let Wesley take the wheel a while so you can get some rest?”
Henry looked back inside then leaned out the window. “I don’t think he can reach the pedals.”
“I can too,” Wesley cried.
Henry shushed him. He pointed back to the interior of the Winnebago.
“I can too reach the pedals,” Wesley said, softer. “You just like being in charge.”
Henry faced the windshield and blew out a giant sigh.
Hunter smiled. “Just give him a chance. He can’t hit anything out here except for me.”
Henry pointed toward the dark mounds ahead. “What about those?”
“Yeah, hold on a sec. We’ll see what it is and be right back.” Hunter released the clutch and throttled forward at a cautious pace. He was not taking any chances in the dark this close to home. Who knew what Tommy had left along the way to block their progress?
Riding up close, Hunter realized the mounds were gruesome, bloody corpses of cattle lying in heaps strewn across the now barren prairie. The grasshopper storm had caught the slow moving beasts unawares. Hunter knew the herd. Comprised of two hundred head, they roamed
this part of the state and the survivors in Independents had taken what they needed in years past for their meat supply.
Last spring Hunter, Samuel and some of the newly elected ranchers rounded up a dozen cows and a bull to start their own stockyard. Bull wrangling took some ingenuity on Samuel’s part, who dressed as a rodeo clown and ran flat out for the open cattle trailer.
Now the cattle left behind lay stripped of their hides and chunks of their meat. The sight renewed Hunter’s fear for what awaited him at home. Frantic with nervous energy, hedropped the kickstand. “Can you get off?” he asked Barbie, as horror-filled spasms traveled along his arms.
She slid off the rear of the seat and Hunter quickly dismounted, walking tight circles around his bike as she worked her way out of the straps of his backpack.
He stopped, looked at the dead cattle, and then redirected the look at Barbie. “What is happening here?”
“I’d say our enemy is drastically decreasing the food supply.” She folded her arms and rubbed her biceps against the chill in the air. “There’s a reason he’s called Famine.”
Hunter wished sleep was possible, but wouldn’t entertain the thought a moment more until he reached home and found Molly safe. His body was stiff from 24 hours of action and little rest. He rotated his arm, trying to relieve his aching shoulder.
“So this is his plan? Kill the cattle and what?”
“Look at the ground, Michael. Now imagine what those bugs will do to whatever crops you have back at your town. This is what Famine does, and he’s doing it right at the end of the growing season. Nothing grows in the snow.”
“How do we stop him?”
“That’s what we have to figure out.”
Hunter walked toward one of the cattle. By midday tomorrow the meat would be buzzing with flies and ruined underneath the blazing sun. Hunter searched the darkness, lit only by the Winnebago headlights, for signs of surviving cattle. Motionless mounds lay everywhere.
A dark shadow rose from behind one of the cattle, too small to be anything other than a calf, only calves didn’t move like this shadow. Three other shadows rose from behind three different carcasses, and that’s when Hunter noticed the shining red eyes. Whatever the menacing shapes were weaved towards them around the mutilated cattle.
“Barbie?”
“Find something to defend yourself with, quickly.”
Hunter had no idea what kind of weapon he was going to find out here on the stripped Nebraskan plain. He scanned the barren ground and saw a couple sticks lying around in the dirt. “What are they?”
Barbie’s hands crackled with lightning. “Hellhounds.”
“Great! I don’t suppose they like to play fetch.”
Twenty-Nine
Hunter
The dogs emitted a low growl from deep in their chests. Probably meant to put fear in a person. It did a super-efficient job, along with the teeth and red eyes.
Barbie looked scary enough with blue electrical sparks dripping from her tightening fists. Hunter turned away so he didn’t blind his night vision in his one good eye. He dug out his pocketknife and wrapped his coat around his left arm for padding and protection. He never needed a gun out in the Big Bad, but the danger level had elevated in the past 24 hours. He’d have to bring up the subject at the next town council meeting—if he made it back home.
“Here they come,” Barbie said.
Hunter turned back to see. There were more than just the original four he’d counted. The Winnebago was too far to make a run for it and play hit the hellhound.
“Get on the bike,” Hunter said.
“They’re all around us.”
Hunter swung his head, careful not to look at the bright light around Barbie’s hands. Twenty big, black dogs, forty pinpoints of red, converged on them from all sides. The math was too high to add up all the sharp teeth. Two dogs closed within ten feet and crouched low.
“Then what’s the plan?”
“Stay alive,” Barbie said, and shot an arch of lightning from her outstretched hands, cooking the nearest dog.
“Okay, do that nineteen more times and we’re—”
The other dog darted straight for Hunter, who raised his protected arm and rolled with the impact. He swung his knife into the animal’s flank and landed on top, stabbing until the beast lay motionless.
The next attacker came fast, charging in low with its teeth snapping and spit flying. Hunter dodged and feinted with the knife. The dog bolted into a gap and nipped Hunter’s hand through the coat. He sunk his knife in the hellhound’s neck, twisted and pulled out. The beast rolled over and bled.
His chest heaving with adrenaline, Hunter swerved and another two hellhounds were on him. He stabbed one while the other bit into his ankle, yanking to drag him down. Hunter grabbed a fistful of coarse fur on the one beast he was stabbing and brought his knife down over the hellhound’s back. The other hellhound bit deep and Hunter screamed, agony firing through nerve and tendon. A lightning bolt fried the stupid thing.
He hobbled on his injured leg as his newfound healing process asserted itself. Barbie ran over to his side. “How many have we gotten so far?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She looked around.
“Are you giving up?”
“No, it doesn’t matter because there’s an infinite supply of these hellhounds.”
“Infinite?”
“Michael, I need you. Now is the time. What are you waiting for?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Michael, please!”
“Look, I told you. I have a girlfriend. Watch out!”
Barbie whirled around to the approach of gnashing teeth. She zapped the dog to the ground and wobbled from the effort. “I can’t do this much longer. You know this, Michael.”
Hunter couldn’t respond. Three dogs took turns moving in and out of range, trying to break through his guard. He slashed back and forth, knowing sooner or later he’d be overwhelmed. One of the hellhounds stumbled and Hunter knifed it. The dog reared, ripping the weapon’s handle out of Hunter’s sweaty palm.
Everything slowed—Hunter was dead without the knife. The other two dogs attacked with a fury that scared him to his core. He found a feral place buried inside and fought back, roaring with rage. Punching and kicking, he attacked the hellhounds, never surrendering his flesh to more bites. The beasts peeled away and regrouped. More dogs were filling in the ranks.
Barbie yelled something about the Winnebago. Hunter sought out the RV in the darkness with his good eye. Hellhounds swarmed the vehicle. He imagined the terror of the kids from Cozad—like they needed more. Where were the good guys in all this? Did Heaven really believe they could overcome everything Hell was throwing at them with two little girls? Catherine and Barbie had some pretty amazing talents, but they had limits. Barbie’s electricity flickered, like her generator was about to run out of gas.
As if she could read his thoughts, Barbie looked up, bent over from exhaustion. The sweat on her face glistened under the moonlight. Her eyes were twin pools of pleading desire. “Michael, you must help or we die!”
“I am helping! What the hell are you talking about?”
Barbie shook her head and addressed the sky. “Lord, show me what must I do?”
And then she smiled in what looked like grim determination. Hunter didn’t like it. Barbie walked over and grabbed Hunter’s head and kissed him hard on the lips. He struggled to break free of her clear insanity.
Hellhounds were circling them and she wanted to make out.
He pushed her off, but before he could scold her, his shoulder erupted with a fresh pain unlike anything he had ever experienced, including the time he was kicked in the mouth as he laid on the cement floor of the stinking chicken shack. This pain was a thousand times more horrible. It was a throbbing ache that built wave upon wave, spreading from his shoulder into his upper back.
Hunter fell to his knees, reaching back to find what was wrong. That’s when he noticed that he was
glowing. His whole body shined like the Christmas tree when the Brittanys went overboard with lights. The hellhounds retreated a safe distance, frightened of the brilliance for some reason.
Barbie stood nearby wearing a satisfied grin. She seemed eager and expectant and totally unconcerned about his suffering.
The bright light flooded over the dead cattle, all the way to the Winnebago, where the dogs scattered like cockroaches, scurrying for the darkness. They stalked the edges of the light, noticeable only by their glowing red eyes. The hellhounds howled from their position. The sound traveled around the open prairie with a promise that when the light faded the hunt would renew.
Unlike the healing light of Catherine, this light served absolutely no purpose, or at least it wasn’t making the pain cease. Hunter screamed, hunched over with his forehead pressed to the ground, and his fingernails clawing the earth.
“What the fuck is happening to me?”
“Watch your language, Hunter!”
“Fuck you!” he yelled, and although it didn’t ease the pain, telling Barbie off felt really good. The flesh on his back ripped open and he feared a hellhound had attacked.
Hunter pushed up to his knees. There was no dog, only the excruciating pain that escalated higher than he could mentally handle. He shouted and cursed in a rambling fit. Then Barbie fell on the ground before him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
Hunter struggled. “What did you do to me?”
“This was meant to happen since the day you died. You are being reborn.”
Hunter wanted to throw her off. Instead, he gripped her tightly. She squeezed him back and buried her face in his chest. Then the pain tore him in half and he hit the ground face first. Barbie reached for his hand and kissed it, but Hunter no longer cared. He closed his eye and allowed unconsciousness to swallow him whole.