The Hunt Chronicles (Volume 1): Awakening

by J. D. Demers

The first face to come into view was Combs. He was armed with a small sledgehammer and a silenced pistol at his side. He didn’t enter the compound, but rather pulled his gun and took up position next to the opening.

  Chad and Gardner came next. They both ran straight through the gate. The LT was bringing up the rear. He had his Beretta 9mm out, and was back-peddling towards the gate to ensure the rest of his team made it in safely.

  Chad came up behind me, brandishing his chrome .45.

  “How many scabs did you see?” he whispered to me between heavy breaths.

  “Only two,” I replied.

  “Only?” Chad exclaimed.

  The Lieutenant finally made it through the fence. Combs turned to follow.

  POW!

  A shot rang out from the roof of the store. It was Trent, shooting over the northwest side of the wall. He followed up with a couple more shots. I didn’t bother looking, though, because I ran over to help Preacher secure the gate.

  Then a strange noise, like a sharp wind, passed between Trent’s gun shots. It was followed by a scream of immediate and horrific pain.

  Combs, who was only halfway into the gate, stumbled forward. Protruding at an awkward angle out of his back was a short flagpole. It had entered just right of the spine, with over a foot exiting from his right shoulder. On the end of the pole was a partially burned flag with a cross etched into it. It was one of those flags you would commonly see behind the reverend while he spoke at the pulpit during Sunday service.

  A loud gunshot rang off from the roof top. It wasn’t Trent’s M4, but Jenna’s large caliber hunting rifle.

  “She got it!” we heard Trent cry over the radio.

  Chad and Gardner were bending down over Combs, who was crying in agony. Preacher and I pushed the gate shut as soon as they were able to drag him out of the way.

  “Get Daniel!” Campbell called out, but Gardner and Chad had already picked him up and were carrying him toward the building.

  The suppressed sound of DJ’s AK-47 silenced all of us. I turned and saw him standing on top of Big Red, shooting over the fence line. His left arm was awkwardly lifted to hold the rifle as he shot.

  The sun had just dipped down behind the trees, leaving a dark and gloomy atmosphere. It would be no time until the sunlight was completely gone. We didn’t have spotlights to guard the perimeter, only two pairs of NVG’s, or night vision goggles, on the rooftop.

  “Bring Combs to Big Red!” Fish ordered as we all moved from the gate to the center of the compound.

  “We need to get him inside!” Campbell argued.

  “Do you really think we’re staying here?” Fish shot back.

  “We’re not ready to lea-!”

  Campbell was cut off by another shriek beyond the fence. Two more followed.

  “How many are there?” Gardner grunted as he carried Combs.

  More shots from DJ were heard. Trent soon followed suit. Campbell turned back to Fish as we made it to the garden entrance.

  “I didn’t think you were the type to run,” the Lieutenant whispered, though I overheard him anyway.

  “Do you know what’s happening?” Fish said evenly, almost concerning. I had expected him to lash out at the Lieutenant for a question like that, but he was surprisingly calm. I think Fish and I were both coming up with the same conclusions. One scab was bad enough, and multiple scabs were even scarier. Multiple scabs working together, however, was a nightmare. The idea of Fish being scared sent a cold shiver down my spine. Fish wasn’t afraid of anything. But something told me it wasn’t just the scabs that worried the old sniper.

  Before the Campbell could say anything, the radio crackled.

  “We have movement to the east, inside the perimeter!” Vanerka cried over the speaker. I didn’t recognize his voice, but I could see him yelling into his handset all the way over at the U-Haul. He was peering out of the passenger side window to the south, out of my view, behind the building.

  By that time, Daniel had scurried over with his medical bag. They laid Combs just outside the fence to the garden area. Daniel was already working on him by the time I noticed Combs was gone.

  Fish had just noticed as well, and I heard him curse under his breath.

  “Sir, you set up a line from here to Big Red!” Fish told the Lieutenant. “No one goes in the building!”

  Campbell nodded and immediately started barking orders. He told Gonzales to move the U-Haul in between Big Red and the garden area, so that all were within easy visual range when darkness completely crept in. Vanerka was to set up post outside the truck, near the front which was now facing the east fence line. The rest formed a line between the fire truck and the building. I saw how incredibly vulnerable we were. Besides Fish and me, there were only six shooters on the ground, half of which were not militarily trained. Trent and Jenna were still on the roof top.

  “Let’s go kid,” Fish said to me as he checked his 308, making sure one was still in the chamber. “Bring the dog.”

  A few more shots rang out from DJ. I looked on top of the fire truck. Whatever he was shooting at seemed to be pinned down. He would only shoot every once in a while. I had this image of one of the scabs stooping behind the rubble of the church.

  “Come on, boy,” I said to Boomer as I followed Fish into the store. He obediently followed. I decided not to ask why we were entering the building right after he just said, “No one goes inside the building.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked Fish as we entered the store.

  “Get your MP5 while I check the back door,” he responded, ignoring my question. I did as I was ordered, jogging to the back corner where he and I slept. It felt like an eternity, but I had probably taken less than a minute to don my vest and grab my submachine gun. By the time I made it to the back door, Fish was peering through the small glass window in the back. Both of us switched to our ear pieces for the radios.

  “We’re going out the back,” he said with a surprisingly shaky voice.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, more nervous at his change of personality lately than the actual scabs. Regardless of how scared I would get, Fish was always a rock that gave me strength. But now, something was bothering him. At least, bothering him enough so that he let it show.

  “Why do you think they’re here?” he asked.

  It didn’t take me long to respond. I had already figured that one out from seeing the scab in the church huddled over the one we killed days earlier.

  “Revenge,” I responded. “I saw one of them scream when it found the body of the one we burned at the church.”

  “I thought as much,” he said, looking at the floor. “These fucks are more than just animals.”

  I took my own look outside the back window. It was already almost completely dark outside, except for some light coming from the half-moon in the sky.

  I didn’t like it. Fish, for once, needed to get his head in the game. I was about to tell him as much when he reared up with that same old determined expression.

  “Alright kid,” he said confidently, “I go right, you go left. Make sure none of those bastards are trying to flank the others outside.”

  We tactically exited the store with Boomer taking up position in between the two of us. Fish scanned right as I looked to the left. Nothing except the ladder to the roof was there. I turned to the right and saw the shadowy outline of the garden area, but nothing was moving.

  Fish shined his high powered flashlight toward the reinforced fence. Toward the southern end, you could see a piece of plywood halfway torn down, but the actual fence was still intact.

  A rattle from the ladder caught my attention. Boomer growled and I looked up just in time to see someone’s barefoot step over the edge.

  “Fish!” I whispered as I tapped him on the shoulder. Holding one finger up, I then pointed up the ladder. Fish nodded in understanding and motioned for me to stay put. He laid the 308 against the wall and then started to quickly climb the ladder. I was surprised at how fast and qui
etly he ascended.

  I took up a firing position at the base of the ladder. Boomer was edgy, as if he knew something bad was in the area, but not sure where it was. I peered up toward the top of the ladder and saw Fish was already climbing over the edge with his .45 in his hand.

  I froze as I heard Boomer snarl. With Fish’s flashlight gone, all I had was the one on my MP5.

  I was about to turn the light on my shoulder harness on when I heard movement toward the garden area. I swung my weapon around to the right, focusing it on the picnic tables near the withering garden. There were a few piles of equipment, mostly composed of our farming supplies. Buckets, a few tables, water tanks, bags of soil, and more created plenty of places to hide.

  I didn’t see anything, though. Boomer, however, knew something was out there. The light on my weapon was not nearly as powerful as the one Fish had, and covered much less of the area.

  Boomer, who was crouched and continued to growl, was stalking forward toward the bundle of garden equipment.

  After a few attempts from me to get Boomer to come back and failing, I slowly followed up behind him. I didn’t care if Fish wanted me to stay put. I wasn’t going to let Boomer go off on his own.

  I scanned the area with the flashlight on my weapon. You could see the illuminated area shake with each beat of my heart.

  Even with my eardrums pounding with every thump in my chest, I could still hear Fish’s muffled .45 discharge on the rooftop. What quickly followed was the scuffling of feet and gear being tossed around.

  I wanted to spin around and look to the rooftop. It was more of a knee jerk reaction because I probably couldn’t have seen what was going on. I remembered how bad it was when I let myself get distracted earlier that day and was almost crushed to death by the rhino-zombie. There was nothing I could do about what was transpiring up there.

  Boomer growled. There was a raspy hiss as a response. I wasn’t sure where it came from, but the awkward and inhuman sound made my skin crawl. Boomer stopped, and his snarl became more intense.

  We were closer now, only about ten feet from the first pile of gear, and I could see what the canine was focusing on. There was a pile of PVC pipes on top of a table. Below it were four five gallon buckets filled to the top with dirt.

  I focused the light of my MP5 on the area. Through the gaps, I saw something move, as if the shine of my flashlight had startled it.

  I didn’t wait to see what ‘it’ was. I unloaded half of my thirty round magazine at the table. Pieces of PVC pipe splintered and shattered at the impact of the 9mm rounds. Boomer whined and ducked at the sudden suppressed burst from my submachine gun.

  I wondered if the sudden spurt of gunfire scared the scab. I couldn’t see anything moving, but Boomer could still sense that something was there.

  Boomer, snarling between sharp breaths, started to stalk his way around the right side of the table. I moved to the left, once I was sure Boomer wouldn’t stop and come with me. He was a smart dog, but let’s face it, the police tactics that were passed down from his mother had to be limited. I made sure to circle wide around the table. I really didn’t want to get into a hand-to-hand fight with a scab.

  Unfortunately, my brain was telling me I was sneaking up on it, while Boomer was distracting the scab with his growl. But adrenalin has a bad habit of messing up the way you think. Anyone in their right mind would have realized that the light of my MP5 was letting it know where I was at all times. I, of course, was just trying to ignore the pounding in my chest as well as keep my fingers from going numb from terror.

  As I rounded the table, I heard a heavy grunt. My light quickly lifted up, catching part of the scab. I remember wondering why it seemed as if it was off balance when a white blur flashed in front of my eyes. One of the five gallon buckets, full of soil, struck my chest.

  I fell back, tripping over myself as dirt poured over my face and in to my mouth. I tried to regain my balance, but fell anyway. My butt slammed on something hard beneath me. Pellets of dirt had made their way into my eyes, forcing them to instantly water and cloud my vision.

  I heard a thump and a growl, then a bark. I scurried backwards, fearing the scab was about to pounce on me. But just ahead, Boomer was already attacking it. Sounds of flesh being torn and two distinct growls of fury motivated me to get back into the fight.

  I jumped to my feet, pointing my MP5 at the two with one hand while wiping my eyes clear with the other. Gunfire and screams erupted from the north side of the building, but I ignored them.

  Finally, my vision cleared and I saw the two were in a ferocious melee. The scab was small, maybe only five foot six inches, but thick with muscles. He had on ripped up shorts, no shoes, and lesions covering his arms and face. The right side of his head had been stripped of hair, while the other side was left with black gangly looking patches.

  I wanted to jump in and separate the two, but forced myself to regain my composure. Boomer had blood whipped across his fur, and I could see the damage he had caused to the scab. He was missing at least two fingers, and his skin had been flayed on his right forearm. I couldn’t tell how badly hurt Boomer was, though.

  Taking a knee, I brought the submachine gun up and leveled it at the scab. I waited, almost too patiently. I let a three round burst fly at the scab as soon as I was sure Boomer was safely out of the line of fire.

  It reared and howled. Not in pain, per se, but more in fury that I had joined the fight. I must have pissed it off, though, because before I could do anything, it grabbed Boomer and threw him in my direction. The canine bravely latched onto his arm, but the momentum tore him away. Boomer didn’t leave empty handed, though. Dangling from his maw was a four inch piece of flesh.

  Boomer was thrown to my left. I fired off a few more shots, most of which hit him in the chest.

  The scab stumbled back and took a knee. I raised my weapon again, intending to finish off the magazine, but my hesitation cost me a precious two seconds.

  It grabbed a splintered PVC pipe from the table and hurled it at me. I ducked and instinctively fired off a couple of rounds in the processes. The pipe skimmed across the side of my head. I readjusted my aim and finished off the few bullets I had left in the magazine.

  The scab was trying to stand when the first round hit him. He rocked back as four more rounds found his body. But the bastard didn’t go down. I knew I had more than one round go into his lungs, as well as one that I was sure had found its heart. But the savage creature felt none of it, even though he was sure to die in minutes, if not seconds.

  The scab stood completely upright, though he seemed weak from loss of blood.

  My own blood wasn’t helping either, as it carried mind-numbing adrenaline to my brain. Instead of quickly grabbing my Glock, my mind was focused on reloading the gun in my hand. Again, this was one of those instances that you’re cursing at the idiot on the TV screen who is missing the obvious.

  I was fumbling for a magazine out of my vest when suddenly the scab’s head disintegrated in a violent explosion coinciding with a loud rifle blast from the roof top.

  The commotion of Fish rushing down the ladder snapped me back to reality.

  “Trent, keep your NVG’s on,” he called as he shimmied down. “Jenna, stay with him.”

  Unconsciously, I was still changing the magazine of my MP5 when Fish jogged up to me. Movement to my left told me Boomer was back up. He was a little frazzled but seemed no worse for the wear.

  “You okay, kid?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I returned.

  “Check that,” he said, motioning to the side my head.

  I put my hand up and felt a slight sting. I looked at it and could make out dark red liquid on my fingers. The PVC pipe must have sliced open my scalp, though I couldn’t really feel much pain at the time.

  “I’ll be okay,” I told him.

  “Good,” he said, quickly looking over the area. “Let’s get out front. Something happened out there.”

  We made our way around
to the north side of the store, with Boomer following close behind.

  The fire truck and U-Haul were parked close to each other. The back of the moving truck was still closed, but the driver’s side door of the U-Haul was still open. Jada, Kat, and Leanne were standing guard outside near the rear bumper.

  We hooked around the U-Haul to walk between it and Big Red. Along the fence I noticed a camouflaged figure and who I thought was Chad, walking around. DJ was still at the top of the fire engine scanning the perimeter, although, it must have been difficult with what little light there was.

  We rounded the front of the U-Haul and froze.

  Pinned to the quarter panel of the moving truck was PFC Vanerka. A stretch of rebar was protruding from his chest and obviously piercing the metal of the truck. On the other end was a small chunk of concrete. Half of his face had been crushed as well. The one eye that was left was closed. Even with the poor lighting from my MP5, I could tell all the color, and life, was gone from his face.

  On the ground near him was the large scab I had seen earlier. Up close, I could see how big he really was. He had to be six and a half feet tall and two hundred and fifty pounds, most of which was muscle. His dark brown, veiny skin had the tell-tale lesions that all scabs bore. I couldn’t tell what his face looked like, though. There were easily over twenty bullet holes from the jaw line to the top of the head. His body, too, was riddled with bullet impacts. I didn’t need a calculator to tell that everyone had emptied their magazines into him.

  Later I learned that particular scab had gotten over the fence while the struggle happened on the roof. DJ hit it a few times, but it was able to make it to the U-Haul and take cover. That is when the scab ran into Vanerka. They told me the scab whacked the soldier with the end of the rebar that still had concrete clinging to it, then spun around and thrust it through the poor guy’s chest, pinning him to the truck. In retaliation, everyone with a gun converged on the beast and put him down.

  It took a few minutes to detach Vanerka’s body from the quarter panel of the U-Haul. We decided to wait until the next day to take it out to burn. Campbell, however, ensured the deceased soldier would not rise again.