Hunger Driven (Book 2): Fight the Hunger
Page 30
The dead continued their migration out of Houston, and the string of safe zones stretching from Woodville to Onalaska did our part to take in more refugees and kill more zombies. Work on clearing Jasper still needed doing, but a rotating squad of soldiers manned an observation post on the outskirts of town, on the lookout for refugees and bandits.
Our biggest achievement, though, came from Doctor Singh, as he finally made that big breakthrough we’d all been praying for. He discovered a frequency above human hearing that seemed to influence the dead. Some it attracted, while others it repelled. Quite by accident, he humbly admitted. Trying something new because nothing else seemed to work.
Tests were in the works at Safe Zones around the country, and the news seemed like a ray of sunshine in an otherwise pitch-black world. This wasn’t a cure, and didn’t even have a practical use at the moment, but it was movement. Progress in the right direction. Sometimes life was like that. Doing something unexpected because you cannot abide the other options. Like trying to make headshots in a dark store when you know you have friendlies in the room with you.
Yeah, I told that story a lot. Casey, or Hard Case as I was billing my partner, built up quite a bit of street cred while I was convalescing. She deserved it.
While I was healing up and otherwise at loose ends, I spent more time at the compound and more time getting to know our new arrivals. I found the young ladies to be much less skittish around me, and I attributed it at first to the fact I was still bandaged up like a mummy. Despite what you see in the movies, mummies aren’t very intimidating when you have real live flesh-hungry zombies roaming the landscape.
I mentioned this to Ken and he just laughed. “Hell, Brad, I think they’ve just gotten used to you. Plus, now you actually take the time to engage in conversation, you know? Makes you seem more human, or at least approachable.”
Well, that was the last thing I wanted, or at least so I insisted to myself. But I didn’t stop taking a few minutes each day to exchange pleasantries with the ladies. And even some of Roxy’s kids.
I also managed to work my way into more of the colonel’s briefings after offering up some first-hand observations about how Ishmael’s crew worked. His real name was Stanley, and the colonel already knew a lot about their habits from the only survivor from his group. They had indeed been behind the bungled ambush at the crossroads, but that was the least of their sins.
After sitting out the first stages of the ZA, hunkered down in one of the Harris County Emergency Management offices, the group had taken to raiding other groups in recent months. Their new program involved building their supplies and reducing the competition. Nobody came right out and said it, but the implication was solid that at least some of these bad actors had been law enforcement before the collapse. We’d probably never know the whole story. Not that I wanted the details. Remember, I already have enough bad stuff in my head without going in search of more stories of the apocalypse that end badly.
Not to give the wrong impression about my convalescence, since I stayed busier than ever. When not otherwise engaged, I spent some hours on the line with Casey and some of our other younger shooters. Nobody said anything as I unlimbered the larger caliber rifles and started working on my distance shooting. My healing shoulder hurt, hell, even my good shoulder pained me after a while, but I kept at it. I had a mission, after all.
So when I found Casey lying out on her shooting mat, servicing targets at the mouth of the Pit, dropping prune-faced zeds into the waiting flames below, she sensed my presence and glanced up, an expectant look in her eyes.
“You ready?” I asked, not meeting her gaze. Instead, I was looking at the pit below. The boys had been back again, bulldozing the burned corpses into another hole and digging out the walls of the Pit once more. The logging crews had built up a sizeable stack of deadfall trees for fuel, now we were out of the shredded rubber, and the zombies continued to sizzle like chastened sinners in a passable version of Hell, and the slick, downward funnel of greased clay at the throat of the trap continued to drop more into the blaze.
Even at two hundred yards from the inferno, we all wore respirators for the smoke and the stink of burning flesh, but I’d pushed mine up so I could speak. Casey did likewise before replying.
“Ready for what, old man?”
I grinned, and for once it didn’t feel creepy or wrong. I imagine it was still a cold expression, but by now Casey knew me well enough not to flinch or look away.
“Just got word from the colonel. He wants a team to scout Beaumont and surrounding towns. Well, really more of a search and destroy, if you get my meaning. I volunteered us. I hope you don’t mind.”
Casey let a feral grin of her own play out over her lips before answering. “So I guess we need to bring lots of extra ammo.”
“I suspect you’re right.”
“Well, I hope you got us a good rate. Exterminating the living costs a lot more for our day rate, you know. And don’t forget to bring your big rifle this time.”
“Ha, ha. Yeah, I know. Come on, girl, let’s get to it.”
We had miles to go, and people to kill.
THE END
AFTERWARD
First, let me thank you, the reader, for investing your time and money in joining me on this little jaunt. My goal is to entertain, and I hope you found yourself diverted and amused by this story. Heck, the idea for “Hunger Driven” was just to write an amusing gun story that happened to include zombies. There was no formal plan to write a sequel. I mean, every writer has ideas of how certain characters might continue and develop, but I was happy to write the story and move on because, surprise, I don’t consider myself a “horror” writer. I write what I like to think of as adventure stories. I don’t enjoy being scared on Halloween. I don’t even own a costume for the season.
Imagine my surprise when I started getting fan mail for “Hunger Driven” as readers wanted to know when I was planning to deliver the next installment. Uh, let me get right on that. So, here you have it, the continuing adventures of Brad McCoy, Zombie Exterminator. I now consider myself an author of adventure stories (to include the appearance of zombies). Life is growth, after all.
In the adventure genre, I also usually manage to include a little (or a lot) of information on preparedness. No political freight, no preaching, but more along the lines of gently reminding readers that being able to eat in a disaster is a pretty big deal. This is the first book I’ve written that has been virtually preparedness-free. Sorry, but it really didn’t fit the plot here. Never fear, though. I’ll double up in the next book.
Let me also thank some folks who gave of their time and attention to make this story better. All the errors are mine, but thanks to the assistance of good people like MC Allen and Clarke Ferber, the number of mistakes has been greatly reduced. Also, my thanks to Sara Jones, for her always stellar editing work on Fight the Hunger.
If you know the area around north Houston, then you will notice I played fast and loose with some landmarks and a few roads found themselves slightly rerouted. Chalk it up to artistic license. As for some other questions I know may come up, let me address up front. Yes, Livingston is a lovely little town and I’ve spent some time there over the years, though I hardly ever make it over to the lake. No, that particular fabric store north of Houston on Interstate 45 doesn’t have a balcony, but it would be cool if it did.
Finally, let me know what you think of the book. Please leave a review on Amazon and then e-mail me at walkingintherain6@gmail.com with any questions or comments. As those of you who have reached out to me before can attest, I reply to every e-mail. Who knows, I might respond by sending you a new bonus story.
William Allen
Table of Contents
PART ONE - Hunger Driven CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
PART TWO - FIGHT THE HUNGER Other Books by William Allen
Foreword
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
AFTERWARD