Last Man Standing (Book 1): Hunger (8 page)

"Sorry about that," he says, speaking like a human for the first time. "Rough day, you know? Between you and me I'm scared out of my mind."

I nod in agreement. "You and me both. I'm still hoping I'll wake up soon. This has to be some kind of fucking nightmare, right?" I light my cigarette and point to his fatigues. "So what are you? Army? Navy?" There are a couple of patches on his shoulders, but nothing I recognize as a branch or rank.

Karl looks down at his uniform, seemingly embarrassed. "Umm..." he mumbles, "JROTC."

I shake my head. "Sorry, I'm pretty clueless about the military. What's that?"

His cheeks burn red. "Junior Reserve Officers' Training Corps," he mumbles quietly, suddenly looking like even more of a scared kid. All of his bluster has evaporated. "I'm in high school. I'm just a cadet." He shakes his rifle. "I've never even used one of these. We train with old M1 Garands, and I never even used live ammo before..." His voice trails off. His lower lip starts to quiver for a moment, but he manages to pull himself together. "And now they've put me in charge of building this roadblock. Just me and Gary." He points to the guy in the cab of the JCB, carefully maneuvering his scoop beneath another car. "I just wanna go home. I don't wanna do this any more."

I don't really know what to say to that. "There's nobody else who could help?"

The kid laughs bitterly and shakes his head. "Last I heard there was a unit from Fort Dix coming to relieve us, but that was three hours ago. Who the fuck knows what happened to them between there and here?"

"So who's in charge?"

Karl snorts. "Some Lieutenant Colonel. I don't know his name.
In charge
might be the wrong phrase, though. There are only a couple of dozen soldiers.
Real
soldiers, I mean, from the 69th. Most of the battalion was deployed months ago. There's only a couple hundred reservists left behind, and they're spread pretty thin across the city. Most of the guys here are either retired veterans or cadets, like me." He looks down at his oversized fatigues. "We got plenty of uniforms, but no soldiers to fill them."

"Jesus," I gasp, suddenly acutely aware of just how exposed we are here in the street. "I thought this was some kind of huge military operation. You know, battleships off the coast, jets flying overhead, that sort of thing. You're telling me it's just a few guys and an earthmover?"

Karl leans back against the hood of a wrecked car and rests his rifle against the tire. "Yeah, pretty much. I'm only here because I live down the street in Bensonhurst. Guy on the news said FEMA was setting up a camp in the park, but when me and my dad got here there was only the colonel and a few guys. No sign of FEMA anywhere. It's FUBAR. We're blocking up the streets as best we can, but who knows what comes next? We don't have any tents. No cots. No medical supplies. The only food we got is whatever we can find in the stores behind the roadblocks, and who knows how long that'll last?"

I get the feeling Karl is only holding onto his cool by a slender thread, and I can't blame him. I can't imagine what it must feel like for someone his age to be handed a gun and told to defend a bunch of helpless civilians. He looks like he could burst into tears at any moment. I don't want to push him, but I need to understand the situation. "How many people came to the park?"

The kid shrugs. "Too many to count. Hundreds of them. Maybe a few thousand. The man said on the news... you know, we just thought it'd all be OK if we came down. He said it'd be safe for us here." He turns away from me, embarrassed, and wipes a tear from his cheek. "And now all I can think is how safe can we be if kids like me are in charge of building the roadblocks, you know? The situation's gotta be pretty desperate, right?"

I drop my cigarette and crush it beneath my boot. "Well, you look to be doing a damned good job to me, Karl. I'm sure you'll make a fine officer. Your dad will be proud." I feel dumb saying those words. I don't have a clue if he's doing a good job, but he seems to straighten his back a little at the compliment. He rubs his moist eyes and smiles awkwardly.

"Thanks," he mumbles, embarrassed. He stands and points to the car. "OK, we better get this thing moved. You think he's had enough time?"

I nod. "Yeah, that should be enough. Thanks, Karl."

I walk to the driver's door of the car and tap on the window. Arnold's head is still resting against the steering wheel, but he seems to have stopped crying.

No response. I tap again, but still he doesn't move. I pull open the door.

"Come on, Arnold. It's time." I place my hand on his shoulder, but I can tell right away that something isn't quite right. Something... I can't put my finger on it, but the hairs suddenly stand up on the back of my neck. There's something I'm missing. Something my conscious mind hasn't noticed.

"Arnold? Hey, buddy, can you..." My voice trails off as it finally clicks. I can feel Arnold's muscles moving beneath my hand. They're... rippling. Tensing. Bunching together as if he's preparing himself to get up. But he's not breathing. His chest isn't moving. Hasn't moved since I opened the door.

"Kate," I whisper quietly, barely loud enough to drown out the sudden thumping of my heart. "Get out of the car, honey. Quickly."

Kate looks up at me with a a puzzled expression. "What
—
"

"
Now
, Kate," I hiss. "Get out
now
."

She doesn't see what's going on, but the urgency in my voice makes her move quickly. She turns and fumbles for the door handle, but beneath my hand I can feel Arnold's muscles twitch and quiver like there's a light current passing through his body. I tighten my grip, pressing his shoulder down as best I can.

"Kate,
get out!
" I yell.

She finally pushes open the door and tumbles out into the street as Arnold lifts his head from the steering wheel, moving as if I wasn't even holding him down. Kate kicks her door closed and the old man's head snaps around to chase the sound, giving me the chance to back away and slam the driver's door.

Now he turns back to me, and my fears are confirmed. This isn't Arnold any more. The twinkle has gone from his eyes. They're just blank now; dark, unfocused orbs surrounded by ashy skin, hunting for the next target.

I back away from the car slowly, remembering the little girl I saw in the Prius. I figure I can keep him from attacking if I just move slowly enough, but he proves me wrong. The moment I move a muscle he launches himself at the window, his muffled bellow drowned out by the sound of the JCB engine droning by the roadblock.

"Karl!" I yell, stumbling back away from the car. "Shoot him!"

The kid grabs up his rifle, but doesn't point it at the car. "I can't!" he cries.

I turn to him, grab his shoulders and roughly shake him. "Karl, fucking shoot him!"

The terrified kid lifts his gun up to me and flips it over. "
I can't!
" he yells again. "It's loaded with fucking blanks!" He points to the magazine. "It's a training rifle. We don't have enough ammo to go around!"

"Oh
Jesus
. Some fucking safe zone." Arnold continues to throw himself against the door, and I just know it won't hold out long. A crack has already appeared in the window and it's spreading with every blow.

I look around for my bat, and swear under my breath as I realize I left it on the back seat of the car. Far too risky to try to get it back now. The kid's rifle might make a half decent club, but something tells me Arnold will take more killing than the guy back in the antique store. He's an old man but he has a good few inches on me, a barrel chest and thick arms. I can only imagine what would happen if he got the chance to launch himself at me.

I cast my eyes around the street and panic for a moment when I realize Kate has vanished from beside the car. It's not until I hear her yell that I realize what's going on.

"Get out of the way!" I look up and see Kate clinging onto the cab door of the earthmover, waving me aside. The driver turns the wheel and powers forward towards the car, and as the enormous tires bump against it he pushes a lever and sends the heavy scoop pressing down.

I run towards the earthmover and yell out for the driver to stop, but the sound of the hydraulics drowns out my voice. I can see right away that his plan to crush Arnold won't work. The scoop isn't nearly large enough. It only reaches halfway across the car, and as it pushes down, bending the steel frame with a tortured squeal, the weakened driver's side window bursts outwards.

Arnold squirms his way out through the window, falling to the ground as the bench seat of the car folds and cracks. His foot is caught for a moment in the twisted door frame and I imagine I can hear the ankle snap as the crushed frame pins it, but he pulls his foot clear with a yank, tearing off a shoe and leaving a bloody smear down the side of the door.

I watch, helpless, as he pulls himself to his feet and breaks into a limping run, closing the dozen feet between him and the frozen, petrified kid in the space of a single breath. Karl holds up his gun like a shield, but it does nothing to stop Arnold. The old man takes the kid down like a bowling pin. They both vanish behind a car, and as the engine of the earthmover cuts out I hear Karl's frantic, petrified screams, broken by dull thumps that sound like a meat tenderizer slapping against a steak. The screams gurgle and fade until the thumps are all that's left. Steady. Regular. The sound of Arnold's fists pounding against Karl's lifeless body.

"We have to get out of here,
now
," I whisper, holding my hand up to Kate. She takes it and climbs quickly down from the JCB. "You too," I say, nodding at the guy in the cab. "Get out of there."

The guy clings to the steering wheel and shakes his head frantically. He's too scared to speak.

"Get down
now
," I hiss, pointing at the ground.
What the fuck is with this guy?

The driver leans over and grabs the edge of the door. "Fuck that," he says, shaking his head frantically. Before I can stop him he pulls the door closed, shutting himself, in, and the clapping sound of steel on steel rings out across the street. The thing that used to be Arnold stands from behind the car and swings his head towards us.

I don't wait to see what happens next. I hop down from the cab, grab Kate by the hand and set off east at a dead run, the JCB blocking us from Arnold's sight. Behind me I hear him wail, and as we sprint I have just enough sense to feel ashamed that my first thought is to hope he'll pick the driver as a target before us.

We've cleared around ten car lengths by the time I hear the JCB engine sputter back to life. I risk a quick look behind me, and I'm horrified enough by the sight to come to a halt. The vehicle plows forward towards the roadblock as Arnold climbs clumsily up the side. I don't hear the driver's scream above the sound of the engine, but I can imagine it clearly enough as Arnold forces his way through the open window and into the cab. His legs vanish inside as the JCB hits the roadblock, pushing the cars aside with ease, opening up the road to anyone - any
thing
- that might try to come through.

Kate grabs my hand and pulls. "Come
on!
" she cries. "There's nothing we can do for him."

I start sprinting again, struggling to keep pace with Kate as she tears away towards the park. My throat burns with each breath. My legs ache but I keep going, following Kate until we reach Prospect Park West, pass through the gate and burst through into the park. We sprint by a parking lot to our left, through a row of bushes and out onto a broad tree lined jogging trail. Still we run, following the path through the silent, empty park. We pass the baseball diamonds where I play with a team from my local bar every Sunday. We turn left at the calm, peaceful lily pond where I walked with Kate after our first date, then through a copse of thick, dense trees until we burst out onto the broad field where families picnic every warm day through the summer.

We slow. I almost stumble and trip over my feet as I break out of the sprint into a jog, then a walk. Finally I stop, gaping in awe at the sight ahead of us.