by Jason Brant
Ravaged
The Hunger, Volume 3
Jason Brant
Copyright © 2014 Jason Brant
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission from Jason Brant, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Editing Services Provided by Cynthia Shepp
www.CynthiaShepp.com
Cover Created by Phycel Designs
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Also by Jason Brant
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West of Hell Omnibus Edition
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The Dark
The Gate
Aces High
3 Supernatural Thrillers
Apocalypse Pack
Anthologies
Paranormal Anthology with a TWIST
Apocalypse Anthology
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Holiday Wishes
Watch for more at Jason Brant’s site.
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
Chapter 1
All was quiet as Lance walked the perimeter of the field.
The lack of howls and shrieks knotted his stomach. The cries of the monstrosities usually filled the air. Not hearing them cast an eerie silence over the compound that had him on edge.
He paused under one of the large lights casting a yellowish glow over the area and listened.
Nothing except crickets and the crackle of fires by the tents.
Was the forest surrounding their camp truly void of Vladdies? That didn’t seem possible to Lance. The vampire-things had dogged them for months, always arriving shortly after sundown. It had become as commonplace in their lives as the weather. They were always there, always waiting, the soft lighting all that kept their rage from spilling into the field.
Lance rolled his shoulder, wincing at the tightness there. The knife wound had finally healed, but the muscles still ached occasionally. Brown thought they were phantom pains.
Lance wanted to slap him every time he said that.
How long had it been since their encounter with Ralph? Four weeks? Six? He wasn’t sure. It couldn’t have been much longer than that because Cass didn’t even have a baby bump yet.
The relevance of time had changed. Alarms didn’t wake the survivors of the Xavier virus anymore. Now, they warned that the night approached, that death waited on the horizon for anyone not in a safe zone before the sun fell from the sky.
No one cared what day it was.
All that mattered was the sunset.
Lance had finally felt strong enough to take a few shifts on watch. Tonight was his third in a row. He preferred working during the day, exploring the ruins of the old world for supplies, but he couldn’t rightfully complain. He’d been on the bench for too long and had to earn his place on the team like everyone else.
A few men sat around a small fire, laughing at obscene jokes. They hushed the loudest of their group every few minutes, fearing that he might wake the rest of the compound.
Lance ignored them and stepped toward the edge of the clearing, stopping at the tree line.
He inspected the darkness beyond.
“Where are you bastards?” he whispered.
Sitting in a lawn chair to his right was a man of roughly fifty. He wore a trucker’s baseball cap, pulled low. A rifle sat across his lap, a battery-operated spotlight resting between his feet. He nodded at Lance before turning his attention back to the woods.
Lance returned the gesture, trying to recall the man’s name. Jim? Joe? He couldn’t remember.
Guards worked in shifts through the night, spaced forty yards apart. They sat at the edge of the light, watching and listening for the infected. If any came too close, the guards would repel them with the spotlights.
They’d fired guns at the beasts only a handful of times in the past month. The light kept them at bay. The vampires preferred the safety of the forest, baying their disdain for the humans just out of their reach.
But not tonight.
Lance looked to his left and frowned when he couldn’t see a guard stationed there. He walked over to the empty chair, raising the small, LED lantern he held so he could make out the surrounding area.
The guard’s spotlight and rifle rested on the ground a few feet in front of the chair.
No one went near the forest at night without a light source or a firearm.
Lance exchanged the lantern for the spotlight and turned it on. He half expected to see the guard taking a piss behind a bush, but the tree line was empty. Had the man abandoned his post? There would be hell to pay if he’d simply walked away from his assignment.
The discarded rifle worried Lance the most. Why would the guard have left that behind? Seeing someone without a weapon had become a foreign affair. It was akin to seeing someone walking around in the nude.
Lance moved closer to the trees, sweeping the spotlight back and forth, inspecting the area. His breathing quickened with each step, nerves jangled. The missing guard and the odd silence of the woods didn’t instill confidence.
The guard off to the right watched him, his head tilted slightly. He held his hands up in a questioning gesture. Lance motioned him over. The man rose and hurried to where Lance waited, his own spotlight scanning the trees.
“What’s up?” the man asked. “Where’s Billy?”
Lance winced at the name. Billy was a teenager of fourteen. He’d been given guard-duty shifts after weeks of earnest negotiating. He wanted to earn his keep the same as everyone else. Lance had relented and allowed him to sit on the line twice a week.
He regretted that decision as he squeezed the handle of Billy’s discarded light.
“I don’t know. His rifle and light were sitting on the ground.”
The man looked around. “He’s probably taking a piss. The boy has a bladder the size of a newborn.”
“Without his gun?”
“He’s, what, fifteen?”
“Fourteen.”
“He’s fourteen. Kids do stupid shit all the time.” The man spat a line of tobacco juice i
nto the grass. “He probably saw that pretty little thing he’s sweet on and went to talk to her.”
Lance looked back at the lines of RVs, tents, and converted water tankers. A few people stood by them, chatting with their neighbors or smoking, but the area was relatively quiet and still. Unless you were on watch, there wasn’t much point in staying up after dark anymore. Being a night owl was a thing of the past.
“This doesn’t feel right,” Lance said. He settled on the name Joe. He tried it out, hoping it fit. “You notice how quiet it is in the woods, Joe?”
“Yeah, that sure is weird.” Joe cocked an eyebrow toward the trees. “Never heard ‘em so quiet before.”
The details of Joe’s life came back to Lance then. The man had been a coal miner outside of the small, turnpike town of Somerset. He’d drifted to the safe zone in Greensburg after the collapse and had managed to worm his way to the compound a few weeks ago. He was a tough, salt-of-the-earth man who would give you the shirt off his back.
Lance bent down by the rifle and shined the spotlight on it.
He spotted a red splotch on the barrel. “Oh, shit.”
“What?” Joe knelt beside him, leaning over the gun. His eyes narrowed when he saw the blood. “Sumbitch.”
Lance crept further along, staying low and quiet. More blood ran through the grass, trailing toward the trees. It grew thicker, more prevalent, as they got closer to the edge of the forest.
He stopped in front of a briar bush and shined his light across it. Several branches were bent and broken, mangled stalks hanging. Tall grass at the base of the bush was trampled, angling into the woods.
Joe came up beside Lance. He whispered, “How the hell did they get hold a him an’ drag him away without anybody seeing? How come he didn’t scream?”
Lance wrestled with those same questions. He stood and shined the spotlight between the trees, searching for the boy. The utter silence disturbed him even more now that he’d seen the blood trail. “Maybe it wasn’t the Vladdies that did this.”
“You think a man did it?”
“Vladdies aren’t much for stealth and patience. They barrel in and smash everything. They’re all hunger and rage.” Lance stared at the trees. The last thing they needed was another rogue sect of psychopaths attacking the camp. They had enough to deal with.
Something moved ahead of them, a few dozen yards in. A rustling crackle, like trampled leaves, lasted for a split second.
“You see that?” Joe whispered.
Lance didn’t respond. He angled his light at the spot, holding his breath. Was the boy out there, bleeding to death? Why hadn’t he called out?
Another guard sat off to their left, ogling them. Lance waved him over as well.
“What are you guys doin’ over here?” the man asked. He shifted a shotgun from his right hand to his left. “Where’s Billy?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.” Lance nodded at the cabin behind them. “Go and get some help. Joe and I are going to see if we can find him.”
“What? I don’t—”
“Something dragged him into the woods.”
The man’s eyes surveyed the shadows trailing behind the trees. “Fuck me.”
Lance slapped him on the shoulder. “Go. Tell them to bring the big lights out, so we can light up the whole area.”
The man nodded and jogged off.
“Don’t tell me you want to go in there.” Joe grimaced. “We won’t stand a chance if any of those things are out there.”
Lance understood his trepidation. A single Vladdie could tear both of them to pieces in the blink of an eye. But what if this wasn’t a vampire? What if Billy was out there in the bushes, bleeding to death, unable to speak, listening as they quibbled over what to do?
“Keep your light on my back,” Lance said. “I’m going to check the spot that sound came from.”
“But—”
“It’s only thirty yards or so in there. I’ll be fine.” Lance focused on keeping his breathing normal. He didn’t want Joe to see how nervous he was. “Just keep that light on me.”
Joe crossed himself, mumbling a small prayer. “Good luck.”
Lance pulled a pistol from a small holster clipped to his belt and crept forward, maneuvering around the damaged bush. His eyes roamed the encompassing darkness around him, slowly sweeping his spotlight back and forth. He watched the forest floor, doing his best to avoid stepping on sticks and loose rocks, wanting his movement to be as silent as possible.
A thicket of briars trembled ahead of him.
The branches rustled again, before falling silent.
Lance paused, watching, listening. He whispered, “Billy?”
After five seconds without a response, Lance inched along.
The blood trail led to the thicket.
Lance exhaled, long and slow, not realizing he’d been holding his breath.
Joe’s spotlight cast lengthy shadows from everything behind Lance, their inky blackness dancing across the uneven surface of the forest floor. Stars punched through the tree canopy above.
Fatigue settled into Lance’s legs as he continued forward, hunched over, knees bent. He thought about standing and walking normally, but fear kept him crouched, not wanting to expose anymore of himself than necessary.
He stopped ten feet in front of the thicket, shining his light into it. It was dense with thorny stalks and leaves, impossible to see through.
Lance opened his mouth to call out, but stopped himself.
A stench wafted through the bush.
Something sour.
Putrid.
He recognized the odor of the Vladdies. Their stink filled his nostrils.
Shit.
A twig snapped to his left.
Slowly, Lance twisted to his left, bringing his light around.
Movement behind a tree. Something shifted out of sight.
A breath caught in Lance’s throat. He’d walked into a trap.
The thicket shook again.
Warm liquid dropped onto his hand.
Blood.
He looked up, saw Billy’s body wedged between two branches in a tree above him.
The boy’s face was shredded, flaps of flesh hanging in ragged strips.
Throat torn out.
A snort came from his right, powerful and wet. Lance had heard the biggest bulls do that down in the subway.
The first shriek came from the other side of the thicket. It echoed through the forest, silencing the chirping crickets.
Two more followed in quick session, roaring from the right and left.
A Vladdie leapt from the ground behind the bush and grabbed onto a low-hanging branch, swinging from one bulging, striated arm.
Lance pointed his spotlight at it. He caught sight of a wide, ragged scar running across its opaque face, ending at the corner of its mouth. The light glinted off its fangs.
It bellowed and fell from the tree, its maw contorting in rage and pain.
Lance spun on his heel and ran.
The thunderous pursuit of the vampires urged him to push his body to its limits. They were coming, closing the distance as they barreled through bushes and over saplings.
More shrieks came from deeper in the forest, moving closer. Dozens, maybe more.
Joe’s light blinded Lance. He held a hand up to shield his eyes and ran straight for the torch.
“Come on!” Joe angled the light to Lance’s right and cried out at what he saw. “They’re right on you!”
Branches clawed at his eyes as Lance forced his way to the edge of the clearing. He leapt over a pile of stones and burst through the tree line, not slowing as he ran for the nearest overhead light.
Pressure and pain bloomed in his back as something heavy slammed into him.
He sprawled in the grass, sliding face first. The pistol and spotlight flew from his grasp.
He rolled over.
A Vladdie, its muscles prodigious and veined, stood before him. Its pale skin reddened under
the burning lights. Saliva dripped from elongated canines.
Joe yanked the trigger of his rifle, his panic forcing him to forget to squeeze the shot off.
The bullet went wide.
The beast lunged for Lance’s prone body, an ear-piercing shriek reverberating through the compound.
Lance watched as it descended upon him.
Chapter 2
Gunshots barked.
Bloody holes punched into the chest of the infected.
Lance rolled to his left, feeling the impact of the Vladdie on the ground beside him. He scrambled across the lawn for his pistol as more shots rang out.
Grabbed the gun.
Spun around.
The vampire dragged itself along after him, its legs snaking behind it.
The sight of its eyeless sockets sent a wave of revulsion through Lance, cutting through his terror. He put a round through its head. The body collapsed to the ground and remained motionless.
Two Vladdies stood at the edge of the woods, slamming their forearms into the ground in frustration. One of them took a bullet to the arm before they turned and fled into the shadows.
Lance’s shoulders dropped as he stared at the body before him. Its skin darkened as he watched.
Joe stuck a hand out and helped Lance to his feet. “You almost bit the big one. Sorry I missed that shot—I panicked.”
“I can’t believe it chased me into the light like that.” Lance kept a wary eye on the woods, in case another of the infected felt suicidal. He tried to swallow, but found his mouth and throat parched. His fingers trembled.
“He’s a biggun.” Joe nudged the dead body with his rifle.
People flowed out of their homes, forming a crowd in the middle of the clearing. They pointed at the dead vampire, whispering their fears and anxieties to one another. A few men formed a protective circle around the crowd, guns at the ready.
It was a practiced, coordinated maneuver. If anything happened, the pregnant women were to be protected at all costs.