Hunger (The Hunger Series Book 1) (11 page)

But it was enough.

She’d been seen.

19

The Echo galloped around the truck. Its long forelimbs gave it the appearance of a running, short-legged man with forearm crutches, the legs moving triple-time to keep up with the longer gaited arms. It moved with frantic urgency, its rib cage flexing with each hurried breath. But it didn’t charge after Anne. Instead, it stopped next to the truck, turning its head back and forth, listening.

It lost her,
Peter thought.

For that brief moment, the Echo had registered the girl’s sudden movement, but she was invisible once more, wisely lying still on the bed of cabbage.

While the Echo might not be smart enough to remember where it detected the movement, it understood that it was not alone.
It can smell us,
Peter realized, watching the big nose twitch.
But it’s not like a bloodhound. It can’t get a direction from smell alone. It’s dependant on its hearing for that. For now. Until it adapts.

He understood the Echo’s evolution. Most creature would run away from something as large and deadly as this. Other Apexes might attack. Either way, its prey would be moving and making noise. It wasn’t accustomed to the silent treatment.

When the Echo stepped forward, what they believed was its elbow, landed just a foot away from his crouched form. It had two wide feet tipped with four digits, each with short black claws. But it was the hands that held his attention. At the end of the long black arms, what he thought was the elbow, was actually a wrist. Four fingers sprouted from the joint, each sporting long talons, but it was the thumb that was pointed upward, forming the four-foot-long, black spear tip.

The Echo breathed deeply through its nose, smelling them, but not targeting them. It exhaled and clomped its jaws shut. Peter tried to imagine what the thing could see when the sound bounced back. Could it see their shapes? He thought so, but there hadn’t been people in this part of the world—in most of the world—for so long, it might not recognize them as living things by shape alone.

A trumpet blast nearly sent Peter’s hands to his ears, but that was the kind of reaction the monster was looking for. When the sound faded down to a rumble in the Echo’s chest, Peter’s ears continued to ring.

Thankfully, no one reacted to the sound. But their luck would eventually run out. Ella was frozen in place, her hands and feet holding her body above the cabbage bed, but she couldn’t hold that position indefinitely. Her arms were bent and the muscles in her chest would eventually cramp. He thought he detected a quiver in her arms already, the strength wavering. She had become a hardened woman, tough and resourceful, but she’d been through hell and was no doubt in severe pain from the wounds on her stomach. He’d stitched them as best he could, but he wasn’t a doctor. Too much strain and the stitches would give.

He glanced to his side, not moving his head. Jakob was on his knees, seated and still. He could stay there for hours if needed. Anne, too. The girl lay atop the cabbage. Her low profile might not even register with the Echo’s auditory sight. He evaluated himself next. His legs were starting to burn from the crouched position, but he could hold the pose for another hour before needing to shift, and then he could inch himself down without making a sound.

It’s going to find Ella,
he decided. There was no avoiding it. And she was smart enough to realize it, too. He tried to picture what she’d do, what he’d do.
She’s going to run. Put distance between herself and Anne. Sacrifice herself so her child can live.
That’s what he would do.

But that’s not what she did.

Not even close.

Peter watched in silence as Ella lifted the fingers of her right hand, bending them up. During the silence between jaw snaps, Anne turned her head toward her mother, watching. Ella moved the digits just a few times, and he saw Anne give the slightest of nods. They were communicating, but what were they saying?

He deciphered part of the message when Ella rapidly stabbed her index finger toward the church twice.
She’s telling her to run for the church. But why? That will just get her killed.

Unless the thing was preoccupied.

Realizing what was coming, Peter risked turning his head toward Jakob, making eye contact. He mouthed the words, “Get ready. Run for the church.” Jakob looked horrified by the suggestion, but gave a nod. When Peter looked back to Ella, she was already counting down with her fingers, lowering one at a time. Peter held up three fingers and quickly lowered one, letting Jakob know about the countdown. He mirrored Ella’s finger drop, down to one, but was still surprised by what came next.

“Now!” Ella shouted. The sound instantly drew the Echo’s attention. It trumpeted in response, lunging toward Ella, straight through the path Jakob would take toward the church. The monster wasn’t the only one in motion, though. Anne got to her feet and bolted for the church.

The girl’s movement during the trumpet blast registered with the Echo. Perhaps finally recognizing the flight of prey, it turned its attention and body toward Anne, kicking up a confetti of green cabbage leaves as its claws hacked through the plants.

But the next sound, a
shk-chk
followed by an explosion, changed everything. Buckshot struck the side of the Echo’s head, punching small holes in its ears, but doing no real damage. It did, however, get the Echo’s attention. It trumpeted again, straight toward Ella, who was standing on her feet, clutching the shotgun. The monster veered away from Anne, heading toward the larger prey that had caused it pain.

Peter snapped his finger at Jakob and pointed toward Anne and the church. “Go!”

Jakob looked mortified, remaining locked in place, unable to move. Peter was frustrated by his son’s inaction, but he couldn’t blame the boy. This was too much.

The shotgun roared again, pulling Peter’s attention back to the action. The Echo flinched as the cloud of metal pellets struck it, head on, but it didn’t slow. The creature’s tightly packed, coarse fur and thick, leathery skin shielded it from the brunt of the weapon’s lethal force. The pellets would hurt, but they wouldn’t kill with anything short of a point blank shot—and Ella didn’t have time to pump the weapon again.

Moving like a gunslinger, Peter drew his handgun and squeezed off three rounds at the Echo’s head. The first round missed, but the second round struck the side of its head, ricocheting off the skull, but carving a red line that sprayed blood. The third round punched a clean hole through the left ear, close to the base. The effect was minimal, causing the Echo to shake its head, but the slight distraction was all Ella needed. She dived to the side just as the Echo thrust one of its spear thumbs forward, impaling a head of cabbage.

When Ella hit the cabbage floor, she shouted in pain, attempting to roll over and fire. But she was slowed, and when she made it onto her back, the spreading deep red on her stomach revealed the source of her pain. The wounds had opened and were bleeding through the bandage and her shirt.

Without thought, Peter charged, stepping up onto the unsteady cabbage crop and firing his weapon. The bullets punched against the Echo’s back as it raised an arm, long thumb poised to stab Ella. If the rounds hurt the Echo, the creature didn’t show it, flinching with each impact, but not reacting.

Bullets can’t solve all problems,
Peter thought, remembering the words of a drill instructor and dropping the gun.
Sometimes you need to use a knife.
He drew the blade from the sheath on his belt. It was sharpened to a microscopic edge, capable of cutting most anything. He threw himself at the Echo’s back, putting all the energy he could muster into the blow.

There was a moment of resistance and then the blade sank, all four inches slipping into the monster’s back, driving between two of the monstrous ribs pushing up against the taut skin. The Echo trumpeted again, but this time, higher pitched, expressing pain. The thumb-spear still stabbed toward Ella, but the aim was off as the creature spun around with such force that Peter, knife in hand, was flung away. He landed on the cabbage beside Ella. Incensed, the Echo raised both arms, aiming its long thumbs at the pair. Ella fired another shot, but this time the Echo didn’t even flinch. The pain in its back blinded it to the irritating shotgun blast. This close, Peter could see the pellets lodged in the Echo’s thick skin. Some simply fell away. But all were useless.

“Put it against the skin!” Peter shouted. “Point blank!”

But even as he spoke the words, the Echo, standing above them like an executioner, thrust the twin javelins down, its aim unwavering.

20

Ella closed her eyes. After all this time, fighting through the new wilds of an ExoGenetic America, she had finally met her match—an oversized Apex bat with spear thumbs. She had survived worse. The Stalkers, with their large numbers, were worse. But things had changed. She and Anne were no longer alone, and as she waited for death, she wondered if stopping at Peter’s biodome and enlisting his help had been the right choice. If she hadn’t, Peter and his son would still be safe and fed, while she and Anne...

Part of her would have liked to think they would have made it this far and silently crossed the distance without trouble, but she knew it wasn’t true. When Peter found her the night before, she’d been on her last leg. And she wasn’t feeling much better now. If not for the truck carrying them the distance, she didn’t think she would have made it more than a few miles before collapsing.

Either way
, she decided,
I was going to die
. The problem she had was that she’d also sentenced Peter and his son to die with her. Anne might survive the day. Maybe even a few days. But eventually, the girl would be caught, and would die horribly. The image of her daughter being chewed pulled a scream from her lips, as she watched the black spear thrust toward her already bleeding gut. But the sound of her voice was blotted out by the cacophonous staccato roar of something more powerful than the shotgun’s blast or the Echo’s sonar cry.

Ella’s eyes blinked open as the Echo arched its back, pulling the spear up and away from her belly. Holes opened up in its chest as its inside burst outward, showering her and Peter in gore. Large bullets punched through the body like a swarm of savage bees, buzzing through flesh and slaying the beast. As the already dead Echo fell to its knees, the bullets continued to tear at it, tracing a line up its chest and to its face, which opened up and disgorged a mass of white, red and gray material. It wasn’t until this very visible sign of defeat that the bullets stopped flying.

She and Peter rolled away in opposite directions as the Echo fell forward, splashing its soupy insides all over the cabbage. She winced as her flexing abs stressed the stitches in her gut even further. She’d felt a few of them tear her skin earlier, but most were still intact. Laying on her back, she picked up her head and looked back at the armored truck. Jakob stood behind the smoking machine gun, eyes wide and frozen on the carnage he’d wrought. When Peter sat up, the boy’s focus shifted.

“Are you okay?” the boy shouted.

His father gave a thumbs up. “Nice shooting.”

Ella agreed. Jakob had saved them both and proven her fears about him wrong, but there wasn’t time to say so. She climbed to her feet, clutching her stomach. “Anything living within a few miles is already headed in our direction. Once they smell the blood...”

A clank of metal announced the opening of the church’s front door. Anne leaned out. “The first floor is clear. C’mon!” She disappeared inside, letting the door swing shut.

Peter gave a nod and shouted to Jakob. “Take what you can. Get inside.”

As the boy set to work, taking supplies from the back of the pickup, Peter turned to her. Pointed to her stomach. “How bad is it?”

“Just a few stitches. It can wait.” She peeled off her shirt, which was covered in her blood and the Echo’s, oblivious to her naked torso.

Peter, on the other hand, noticed. “What are you doing?”

“Anything that finds this body with its nose will have no trouble sniffing us out, too, especially if we smell like a recent meal. We need to ditch the clothes. Leave them with the body.

Peter sighed, but stripped. He turned to his son, who was already averting his eyes as he walked past carrying a box of supplies. “We need to change. We’ll be in soon.”

Ella tried to give Peter the same privacy that his son was granting them both, but her eyes wandered as he removed his pants. He was in the same staggering shape she remembered, muscles twitching just beneath the skin. She often wondered what life would have been like if he had stayed, but she always got hung up on the idea of being a home-wrecker. In the long run, he’d made the right choice, morally, for his wife and his son, but that didn’t stop her from wishing he hadn’t.

Peter glanced up and looked surprised, caught in the act of peeking, but then he squinted, no doubt realizing she’d already been watching him. She deflected attention from her wandering eyes by saying, “Your boxers look clean.”

“Yours too,” he said. She was wearing women’s boxer briefs that ended just below her butt. Not exactly sexy, but not hiding any curves. Stepping away from the giant corpse, the two put on fresh clothes. Peter put on cargo shorts and a T-shirt while Ella dressed in jeans, but held her T-shirt. Both shirts were black, but the blue jeans and beige shorts wouldn’t do much to conceal them.

Partially dressed and carrying bloodied boots, Ella said, “We need water.”

Peter led her to the truck and took out two sealed gallons of water. She popped the cap and handed it to him. “Pour it over my head. We need all the blood off.”

She leaned forward and Peter slowly poured the water over her head. She scrubbed her bristly bald head, thankful that her hair wasn’t long. Washing the blood out would have been impossible. She rubbed her hands over her face and finished by washing the blood from her hands. She then took the gallon and poured water over the boots, rinsing away the blood. When she was done, she said, “Your turn.” Peter repeated the steps, washing himself and then his boots.

Free of the creature’s blood and its scent, Ella said, “Duct tape?”

Peter grinned. “Of course.”

He fetched the roll from the storage crate and handed her the black tape. As he held it out, she noticed his hand shaking. She took hold of his hand, steadying it. “You get used to it.”

“I know.”

“Sorry, I sometimes forget who you were.”

“Still am,” he said. “Just a little rusty.” He turned his hand over, depositing the tape in her fingers. The connection was brief, but it let her feel human again, for a moment. But just a moment. What she was about to do would require all the toughness she’d developed over the past years.

She peeled off strips of tape, gently sticking them one at a time to the side of the truck bed. When she had ten five-inch strips, she put the tape down and peeled off the now blood-soaked gauze Peter had placed over her wound. She tossed the red square away, picked up a gallon of water.

“Here,” Peter said, holding out a bandana. She took it, soaked it, and wiped her stomach clean. Blood continued to seep through the opened stitches, but not fast, and in a moment, it wouldn’t matter.

“Let me do it,” Peter said.

Ella scoured the area around them, looking for motion. She had a clear view, nearly to the horizon in most directions. She saw nothing. That didn’t mean they were alone, just that she couldn’t see what was there. Still, she thought they had time. “Be quick.”

“First time you said that,” Peter said, getting a laugh that would have been more forceful if it didn’t pull at the stitches. She lay down on the open truck bed hatch, aware of her nakedness, but uncaring. Peter had seen her naked before. Not quite so skinny and muscle toned, but under much more romantic circumstances. True to form, Peter was all business, peeling the duct tape from the truck, pinching her skin together and then sealing it with the tape. Once the open stitches were back in place, he attacked the rest, layering and wrapping her stomach with an armored plate of duct tape.

“It’s going to hurt like hell when it comes off,” he said, stepping away, “but it won’t need to come off until it’s healed...or if infection sets in. And if you feel that—”

“I’ll tell you, doctor. Thanks.” She sat up and put on her shirt. She hopped down from the truck, trying to look stronger than she felt. She wanted to fall into his arms. To be supported. But she’d learned that the only person she could rely on was herself. Relaxing that rule could lead to mistakes, and mistakes to death—hers or Anne’s. “Now comes the fun part. Have a bucket?”

He squinted at her, but climbed into the truck bed, rummaged through the storage crate and pulled out a bucket full of tools.

“Ditch the tools.”

He did as she asked and stepped back down with an empty five gallon bucket. By the time he rejoined her, she’d already torn three heads of cabbage out of the ground and put them aside.

“You’re not planning on eating those?”

She didn’t justify the stupid question with a reply. Instead, she dug her hands into the soil, lifted up two heaping handfuls and smeared it around on the front of her shirt.

“Ahh,” he said, dropping to his knees, following her lead. He dug his hands into the dirt and slathered his body. While they weren’t covered in blood anymore, they still smelled like themselves, like human animals. To survive, to remain undetected by whatever heightened senses the next predator had, they would have to smell like the land itself.

After Peter finished coating his body, Ella rubbed some dirt between her fingers and applied it to his cheeks. Her hands stopped, and for a moment, she just held him.

“We should head in,” Peter whispered after a moment.

Ella sniffed and turned away, her cheeks turning red. She dug more dirt and flung it into the bucket. “For the kids,” she said, and Peter helped her. With the bucket filled, Peter stood and helped Ella to her feet. Standing once more, Ella felt exposed and did a scan of the area once more.

Nothing.

After all that noise, nothing.

She wasn’t buying it. The world wasn’t yet that devoid of life. Moving in silence, it was possible to avoid other living things for weeks, but after that racket... She was expecting dinner guests. And since there wasn’t any sign of them yet, that meant one of two things—they were small or they were smart—and she knew from experience that neither were good things.

“Let’s get inside,” she said. “The sun is going down.”