Bigfoot War 3: Food Chain (2 page)

He reined in his amusement and returned to business. “Put the pistol and sword on the ground, Wally, and toss me your pack. You do it quick and I’ll keep Hector from eating you when we’re done.”

Wally slowly nodded. He unslung his sword and laid it in the dirt, placing the pistol beside it.

“And the pack.” Brent gestured for Wally to throw it to him. Wally obeyed, but as he did so Brent caught the edge in his eyes and knew they were about to be
F.U.B.A.R.ed
. Wally hurled the pack straight at him like a weapon. It hit him dead on, knocking him back and sending the .38 flying from his grasp.

Vince squeezed the trigger of his shotgun, but Wally was already moving. The shotgun had been loaded with slugs not scatter shots and Wally easily evaded the blast as he closed in on Hector. The hulking, former bodybuilder swung his club at Wally’s face. Wally stepped into the attack, grabbing Hector’s wrist and stopping the blow while his knee rose upwards into the giant’s groin. The big man grunted, tilting forward from the pain, as Wally followed up with a karate-style strike with the edge of his hand to the backside of Hector’s neck. Hector’s corpse thudded head first and lay at Wally’s feet.

Vince had his shotgun broken open, trying to ram a pair of fresh shells into it as Wally spun on him. Something sharp and sleek that glittered in the rays of the midday sun flew across the distance between them. Vince opened his mouth to scream as the knife sunk into his throat. All that came out was a gurgling, gagging noise of pain and terror. Vince collapsed, dead.

Their lives had bought Brent time to recover and retrieve his .38. He aimed it at Wally with a shaking hand. “You really are a Hunter, aren’t you?”

Wally stood motionless with no trace of another weapon on him that Brent could see. He glanced at the remains of his friends then met Wally’s stare.

Wally broke the silence between them. “I’m going to collect my gear and go.”

Brent lowered his .38. “Whatever you say, man. We’re cool, right?”

He cringed as Wally shot him a look that made him shut up. He gave Wally a wide berth as the Hunter passed him by. Brent watched him walk on until Wally disappeared over the horizon, feeling thankful to still be alive.

* * *

Greg closed the metal shutter over the window. It slid down into place with a loud clang. The sudden darkness in the room made it seem as if the sun had died. Greg heard the sound of a match being struck behind him as Anna lit the candle in her hand and its light flared to life. Her skin was pale and tight from hunger in its flickering glow. Greg blamed himself. Their store was running out and winter hadn’t even begun. The drought stole the crops, leaving them as withered and brown as the dirt of the field. What little they could salvage had to be rationed and tucked away for darker days yet to come. To say he was concerned about Anna was an understatement. It was more than the malnutrition and their lack of proper medical supplies that bothered him. He couldn’t remember the last time she had gone outside. It was as if she longed for the night as much as he loathed it. Every night as the sun sunk below the mountains, Greg secured the house. Its heavy metal door was sealed shut and locked. The reinforced walls kept what noise they made inside it down to a minimum, and the shutters allowed them to use candles as they needed without the worry of being seen by the monsters that lurked outside. His heavy, high-powered hunting rifle stood propped beside the door, their main line of defense. An ancient .357 Magnum Greg hadn’t fired in years rested by the side of their bed, always within easy reach when they slept. The house he saw as a prison was Anna’s fortress, protecting them from what the world had become.

“Dinner’s ready,” Anna said and led him into the kitchen. A plate filled with raw potatoes, scrawny carrots, and the last of the canned ham—which was covered in a thick, slim-like grease—awaited him.

Greg took a seat at the table. “You’re not eating?” he asked, noticing she had not set a place for herself.

“I ate before you came in,” she said. She poured him a glass of water and set it in front of him.

Greg frowned, unsure of what to say.

“Don’t give me that look.” Anna slammed the pitcher onto the counter top. “I’m fine.”

“Didn’t say you weren’t,” he muttered through a mouthful of ham, pretending to be enjoying it.

Anna sighed and sat down across from him.

Greg shoved a forkful of potatoes into his mouth, hoping to avoid saying anything else until he could think of something happy to say. He took a gulp of water and grinned. “We’re not as bad off as you think.”

“Yes we are, Greg. Lying to yourself isn’t going to change the world around us. Winter’s coming. We barely have enough food to stay alive
now
. What are we going to do then?”

“We’ll get by just like we always have.”

“Maybe I don’t want to get by anymore. Did you ever think of that?”

“Anna,” he said, “don’ do this.”

“Do what? Tell you the truth? We should have died a long time ago. There’s nothing left to live for. The world is dead, but we’re still here.”

“What about
us
? Aren’t we worth it?” Greg found himself getting angry though he knew it was the wrong thing to do. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Greg, but I’m sick of worrying. Every time you go out I get to sit here and wonder if you’ll be coming back.” Her voice was cool, flat. “I’m sick to death of it.”

“The woods around here are safe. I haven’t seen any sign of” —Greg hesitated— “
them
since . . .” His words trailed off into an uncomfortable silence.

“Since they took Eric,” Anna finished for him. “You told me they were safe then, too.”

She got up and headed for their bedroom. When Greg heard the creaking noise of her opening the top drawer of their nightstand, he leapt to his feet and ran after her. The bottle of pills were in her hand as he entered the bedroom. He knocked it from her grasp. The pill bottle clattered to the floor and rolled under the bed.

“No,” she howled with tears in her eyes, dropping to her knees to try and find it.

Greg pulled her up and Anna lashed out at him. Her fingernails caught his cheek, tearing his skin and leaving bloody trails in their wake. He grimaced at the pain, gritting his teeth, but managed to get his arms around her, pinning hers to her sides. He held her tightly as she struggled, and tears continued to pour from her eyes while sobs shuddered through her body. The bedroom was silent except for the sound of ragged breaths as she finally gave up and laid her head on his shoulder.

“Can’t you just admit it’s over?” she whispered.

“No.” He shook his head. He knew Eric wouldn’t have given up either. As long as there was life, there was hope.

* * *

Thane sat atop the wall. A customized AK-47 lay in his lap. There was a chill in the air, but the thick, leather pilot’s jacket he wore kept him warm while he busied himself with rolling a cigarette. He wasn’t part of the night watch. He had already served his time on the wall long ago, but he still came up here from time to time to get away and think. Tonight, what he really wanted was a fight. He was on edge and seeking a way to release his pent-up frustration. Part of him hoped the beasts would show themselves this evening. Every couple of months, they came like clockwork, howling in the darkness, to try to push their way through the city’s gates. A few times, they had come too close to succeeding, but usually their numbers were so small that the watch drove them away or killed them all before they even made it across the large, barren field between the tree line and the wall.

Thane lit up his cigarette and took a long drag, exhaling the smoke slowly through his lips as he savored its taste. A guardsman, who must have seen the orange glow of his cigarette from his own position on the wall, approached him. Citizens weren’t allowed on the wall after nightfall except in rare circumstances.

“You there!” the guard called out as he walked up to Thane. “You better have a good reason for being up here!”

Thane watched as the guard recognized who he was and his challenging stance fell away. The guard took a step back from him as if expecting to be struck. “General Thane,” he croaked. “I am sorry, sir. I didn’t know it was you.”

Thane couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or snap the fool’s neck and toss his corpse to the ground below. He grinded out his cigarette on the soles of one of his boots and got to his feet. “No worries, soldier,” he said at last. “You were just doing your job.”

The man sighed.

“Go on back to your post,” Thane said. “This isn’t an inspection. I just needed some air.”

“Yes, sir!” the guard snapped, saluting him, and scurried away as fast as he could without looking as if he was fleeing for his life.

Thane allowed himself a slight grin as he walked to the edge of the wall and stared into the trees beyond. The night was quiet and still. By the time the sun reached its zenith in the sky, New Denver would be far behind him. He had little choice in the matter. Since New Denver’s birth less than a dozen souls had ever achieved the title of “Hunter.” To earn it, one had to not only be gifted, deadly, and a veteran of the war against the beasts, but to stand toe-to-toe with one of the giant monsters without the weapons of the world before the Fall. The Hunters were essential to the survival of mankind as a species; it was they who took the battle to the beasts and helped stem the growth of their ever-increasing numbers. A Hunter was to be respected, but in turn they were expected to do their job and defend those lesser than them. A Hunter wasn’t permitted to take a wife or pursue anything else that would come between them and their duty to humanity. Once the title was earned and accepted, one became a Hunter for life. There was no going back. It was why Thane had rejected the title himself. He preferred the power of commanding New Denver’s soldiers over a life spent seeking out his prey, but now Wally’s irresponsibility had forced his hand. During his respites inside New Denver’s walls, Wally often spoke of searching for
Bree
. Everyone knew the guilt he felt about how he’d lost her in the early days of the dead virus. His love for her was apparent in his pained and longing eyes every time he said her name. Wally’s breach of conduct was overlooked by most. Even Hunters were allowed to grieve. After all, they were still human, too. Thane suspected that one day Wally would really break and he would go chasing after a woman who hadn’t been seen in over fourteen years, but was a hoped-for survivor. Wally was a good man, but abandoning one’s duty as a Hunter was a crime punishable by death.

Thane rolled a fresh cigarette, lit up, and let it dangle between his lips. The other Hunters were gone. Most were reportedly dead from the hazards of their line of work, but there were rumors some had simply moved on in search of other human outposts to the far north, thus it fell to him to bring Wally in and Thane cursed him for it. When he found Wally, he planned on cutting his traitorous heart from his chest and burning it until there was nothing left but ashes. The council had authorized him to use whatever means necessary to deal with Wally. He wouldn’t be leaving New Denver alone or on foot like Wally had. Whatever lead Wally had on him, it wouldn’t be enough.

* * *

Greg awoke early, but lingered in the bed with Anna. The warmth of her body pressed to his made him wish he didn’t have to get up at all. The smell of her hair filled him. She was so beautiful and he needed her so much. He could only pray she would still be alive when he came home, like she had been thus far when he had ventured out and returned. He understood how badly Eric’s death had broken her, but taking her own life wasn’t the answer. It certainly wasn’t what Eric would have wanted. He remembered how Eric’s smile lit up the darkness and made them feel they’d been given the world instead of having it taken from them. Greg missed Eric, too.

He gently rose from the bed without waking Anna, and slipped into his clothes from the day before. Since Anna refused to go outside, laundry was one of his jobs. He made a mental note to drag a hamper of clothes to the creek as soon as he stumbled into the living room. There were few things he missed from the old world, but coffee was certainly one of them. He raised the self-made metal shutters covering the window, allowing the early light to spill over him. Picking up his rifle, he slung it over his shoulder, held its strap, and unlocked the front door.