Consumed: The Hunger, #2

By Jason Brant

Nestled in the Appalachian Mountains and dissected by three rivers, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania is an idyllic city.  It's quiet, the traffic is nonexistent, and floating down the Allegheny River on a boat is peaceful and serene.

It's perfect… as long as you can ignore the mindless monstrosities roaming the streets, vampires ruling the night, and the insane, power-hungry human survivors.  Mankind has devolved, mutating into mindless horrors. Only weeks ago, they built skyscrapers and traveled to space. Now they attack anything with flesh, driven by the never-ending desire to consume.

Lance York, and his unlikely companion Cass, have survived the apocalypse.  Much to their surprise, that was the easy part.  They've fled the city, struggling to find food and shelter, fighting against the nightmarish infected and the militant living, willing themselves to endure through each day.

The world has collapsed, but the fight has just begun.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jason Brant
• Release date: Sep 6, 2013
• ISBN: 9781497713161

Jason Brant

"JASON BRANT" is an anagram for Bas Trojann, a former Bigfoot hunter who, after being abducted (and subsequently returned) by aliens, decided to hang up his ghillie suit and enter the world of professional arm wrestling. Despite back-to-back first place finishes in the South Dakota World Championship League, Bas receded from athletics to invent cheese and give Al Gore the initiative to create the internet. Nearly a decade after writing the bestselling self-help series, Tomato Soup and Grilled Cheese (Cut into Four Pieces) for the Soul, Bas has left his life of notoriety and critical acclaim behind him to write existential, erotic poetry. His wife washes their clothing on his abs.

Book preview

1

The sigh that escaped Lance’s lips would have given anyone within earshot the wrong impression of what he was doing.

Soft, white socks slid over his heel, brushing against his skin like the lips of angels. He sat on the bench in the shoe department of Target, relishing the cotton on his damaged feet. His toes wriggled inside the white constraints, working the fabric into all the right places.

The little inconveniences threw Lance off the most. Not having fresh socks and underwear every day bothered him more than he would have expected. He got more used to this new life all the time, but the small things still irked him.

The four of them had been washing their clothes in the river, but considering the cleanliness of the water, it didn’t accomplish much. The shoe department was his first stop because of it.

Lance put his shoes back on, double knotting them so they wouldn’t fall off at an inopportune time. If he never went barefoot again, it would be too soon. His injured foot felt much better, though it still ached if he walked on it too much.

Without power to the overhead lights, the retail store was mostly dark. A dim glow from the destroyed glass entry at the front of the building allowed Lance to move around with minimal use of his flashlight. It was dark inside, but not enough that he had to worry about running into a nest of Vladdies.

They only nested in places with zero light.

He lifted his new backpack from the floor and stuffed half a dozen bags of socks inside. They would last for a few weeks, at least. More if he stayed on the boat.

Silence encompassed the department Lance was in, but he tiptoed to the end of the aisle anyway. He peered both ways, pausing, listening for the sounds of breathing or footfalls. Satisfied that nothing else was around, he headed for the sporting goods section on the other side of the building.

Leaving the boat proved dangerous every time they had to gather supplies on land. The doc suggested they try fishing, hoping to make them more self-sustained. Lance didn’t know a whole hell of a lot about fish, or how to catch them, but he liked the idea nonetheless. They put their lives on the line every time they left the boat.

He tripped over an unseen object in front of the electronics section and staggered forward, his hands reaching out for something to grab on to. His fingers brushed against the metal cage of a half-empty discount-movie bin. He latched onto it, trying to right himself, before he fell to the floor, pulling the plastic DVD and Blu-ray cases on top of him.

The clattering of the metal and plastic on the hard floor bounced around the entire store.

Lance froze, holding his breath, praying he wouldn’t hear one of the shrieks that haunted his nightmares.

Christ, I’m an idiot, he muttered to himself. He brushed away the cases and stood back up. It’s a miracle I haven’t gotten myself killed.

He pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and turned it on. Before heading into the store, everyone had agreed not to use their lights unless absolutely necessary. Making enough racket to wake the dead constituted as necessary to Lance.

Panning the beam around, he noticed that most of the televisions and surround sound systems had been ripped from the shelves and wall mounts. Even the movie bin he’d tripped over had most of its contents taken away. The glass display for iPads and Android tablets was smashed, the gadgets stolen.

Though he’d been surviving on a boat for over a week now, Lance still couldn’t believe that everything was gone. Just gone.

All the morons who looted the stores and robbed from their neighbors during the early days were dead.

He checked the path to the sporting goods section, saw it was clear, and clicked his flashlight off again. While shuffling through the building, he couldn’t keep his mind from flipping through all the things he’d never experience again.

Dressing up for Halloween. Greedily opening gifts on Christmas morning. Pounding beers in a bar on his birthday. Screaming at the television when a quarterback threw an interception.

No more internet porn.

Now he bathed in a dirty river and tried not to get eaten by the horrors that ruled the night.

Yet, he was happier than he had been in years. His self-loathing was gone, replaced by a never-ending drive to stay one step ahead of the next disaster. He had a beautiful woman by his side who didn’t put him through the emotional turmoil he’d suffered during his marriage.

With Cass around, he didn’t need the internet porn anyway.

Considering the present state of the world, he really couldn’t complain.

Lance used his flashlight again to find the fishing gear. After filling two tackle boxes with lures and lines, he grabbed a handful of poles and headed back to the middle of the store. A large, four-person tent rested against the end of the aisle.

He squinted against the darkness, trying to make out the details on the side of the packaging. Water resistant and easy to assemble, it read. With a shrug, he picked the box up and stuffed it under his left arm.

A sound ahead stopped him in his tracks.

The poles in his hand rubbed against each other, the reels clicking as he steadied his grip.

He angled his ear toward the sound. Cass and the doc were at the pharmacy, scrounging for medical supplies. Eifort stayed back at the boat, operating the drawbridge so nothing could go aboard while they were gone.

None of them were anywhere nearby.

Something rustled by the electronics.

Lance took a step to the left, intent on weaving through the clothing racks and changing rooms before he looked at the supplies he carried. They would get caught on everything he walked past.

A footstep slapped on the floor in front of him.

Close. Too close.

The outline of something appeared before him, silhouetted by the light coming from the front of the building.

The stench of sour milk assaulted Lance’s nostrils.

An ear-piercing shriek startled him. He fumbled with the tent and fishing poles, fighting to keep a grip on them.

Lance spun on his heels and hobbled away, trying not to drop the supplies he’d ventured into Target for. They needed the equipment and he didn’t want to abandon it unless he had no other choice.

Footfalls plodded along behind him as he turned by the furniture department. His shoulder slammed into a rack of rolled-up throw rugs, sending them to the floor with muted thuds.

Another wail from the infected echoed from his left.

Shit! Lance tried to accelerate, but his overstuffed arms hindered his movements.

Three daywalkers emerged from the shadows of an aisle and sprinted toward him, their maws distending in terrifying yawns.

Lance ran by the pharmacy, frantically searching for Cass and the doc. Get the hell out!

He didn’t see either of them so he kept going. His breathing grew labored as he neared the entrance. The light intensified, skewing his vision as he passed through the shattered glass doors.

Cass and Brown waited by a bus stop in front of the building, hiding behind the opaque plastic housing. Lance shuffled past, shouting for them to get moving.

What’s going on, dumbass? Cass stood and reached for her axe.

Bunch of them! Lance peeked over his shoulder in time to see half a dozen of the infected file out of the main entrance. Run!

Cass saw how many of them gave chase and released her axe. She bent down and picked up two hand baskets filled with drugs and medicines as Lance ran by.

Doc Brown swore as he grabbed a handful of bags from the sidewalk and ran for the boat. His shot arm remained in a homemade sling comprised of torn shirts.

They crossed the parking lot slower than Lance wanted, weighed down by their supplies. Cars sat in the middle of lanes and across lines, parked haphazardly. Doors hung ajar, blood staining the asphalt in trails and pools.

A Wendy’s restaurant stood in the adjacent lot, daywalkers milling around the outside of it. More of the infected staggered between the gas pumps of an Exxon station at the far end of the parking lot.

Lance and Cass had made multiple trips to the gas station over the past week, filling gas cans to refuel the boat. They hadn’t been able to go anywhere near the pumps for two days in a row after the mass of daywalkers had taken up occupation.

Patience was on their side though. They had enough food and fuel to make it for quite a while, so they merely had to wait for the Xavier virus to fully transform the sick and segregate them to the shadows of the night. To get to the Target, they’d taken the long way around, giving the gas station a wide berth.

They didn’t have time for that now.

Lance slowed down, letting Cass and the doc catch up.

We’re going to have to run right past them, Lance huffed.

Cass nodded. Just stay as quiet as you can. We might be able to get right on top of them before they notice us.

The boat wasn’t visible from the parking lot, blocked by several buildings and a line of trees in front of the river. Lance hoped Eifort was paying attention—they wouldn’t have time to wait for her to lower the drawbridge.

A car alarm blared behind them.

Lance looked over his shoulder and spotted a daywalker flopping on the hood of a Toyota, the lights flashing.

Damn!

He turned around to see the infected at the Exxon station already running toward them. The bleating alarm would attract everything within earshot. Those by the Wendy’s spun around and cried out, blind eyes working uselessly in their sockets. They stumbled forward, gaining speed as they crossed over the drive-through lane of the fast food restaurant.

Lance swiveled his head around, looking for a gap they might be able to squeeze through. He saw none. More parking lots rested off to their right, also filled with the newly infected. They were surrounded on all sides with the victims of the Xavier virus closing in.

Cass stopped running and dropped her baskets to the ground, reaching back for her axe again.

Brown stopped beside her. Don’t bother. We can’t beat all of them.

We don’t have to. I’m going to cut through the ones ahead. Stay close to me.

Lance didn’t like that plan. As tough as Cass was, he didn’t think that the two of them could take out the twenty creatures in front of them. Not without getting bitten anyway.

He ran to the passenger side of a rusted Chevy Cavalier, peering into the window. Blood crusted the driver’s seat and floorboard, trailing across the threshold of the open door. Keys dangled from the ignition.

Over here! He ran around to the driver’s side and opened the back door, tossing his supplies inside.

Make sure it works! Cass lowered her axe back into its holster and grabbed her baskets. If we get in there and it doesn’t start, we’re screwed.

We’re screwed if it doesn’t start, period. Brown lunged into the backseat, grunting as his wounded shoulder bumped against the headrest on the driver’s seat. He scrambled across the supplies and flopped against the passenger-side door. Hurry!

Lance climbed into the car, hearing the dried blood crackle as his weight pressed onto the seat. He cranked the engine as Cass tossed her bags into the backseat and slammed the door.

The car came to life, Skid Row blasting through the speakers from a CD.

Cass dove into the front, having to sit on her hip because of the axe. Go!

Lance yanked the car into gear and floored the accelerator.

The degraded vehicle lurched forward, something clanking under the hood. The old Cavalier didn’t have enough power to spin the tires.

Get this piece of shit moving! Cass stared out of her window at the oncoming mass of the infected.

It’s floored!

I could get out and run faster than this!

Lance jerked the steering wheel to the left, grimacing at the unhealthy whine of the engine as they accelerated through the parking lot. He swerved around two cars and crashed into a shopping cart, sending it careening away in a shower of sparks.

The first daywalker from the Wendy’s caught up to them, running full speed into Lance’s door. Its nose and lips exploded against the glass, covering the window in crimson. Three more slammed against the trunk, hands sliding on rusting metal.

You probably could have picked a better vehicle, Brown said. He turned around and stared at their pursuers through the back windshield.

Sorry, Doc. I didn’t see any DeLoreans while I was running for my life.

"This probably isn’t the best time for Back to the Future jokes." Brown grunted as his arm banged against the door when Lance veered around a flipped-over truck.

The car hopped over a curb, jostling them around. Sparks shot out from the undercarriage as the front bumper slammed into the concrete, dislodging it from the frame.

Lance turned toward the northern-most exit of the parking lot, hoping to get onto the highway. He slammed the brakes when he saw an overturned tractor-trailer in the middle of the intersection. The car shuddered to a stop, tires squealing.

Damn!

He slammed the transmission into reverse and twisted in his seat, staring through the rear windshield. A dozen daywalkers ran at them, loosing wails of fury and famine.

You might want to buckle up, Lance said. He jammed the gas pedal to the floor again, squeezing the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened. The Cavalier’s small engine whined as they hurtled at the flesh eaters behind them.

Lance? You aren’t doing what I think you are, right? Cass asked. She stared into her side mirror.

Yup.

Oh shit. She grabbed her seat belt and jammed the buckle home.

The rear end of the car bucked into the air as they sped into the first two daywalkers. Their bodies fell under the tires, the cracking of their bones audible over the screeching of Sebastian Bach coming from the stereo. The tires lost traction for a moment as they spun in blood and gore.

Lance jerked the wheel again, crushing another of the infected against the side of a Toyota Tundra. It screeched and clawed at the mangled back end of the car.

Two more infected slammed into the passenger side, slapping at the windows by Cass and Brown.

Go! Cass placed her hand on the butt of the pistol by her hip.

I’m trying! Lance worked to put the car in drive again, but the shifter was stuck. He punched it twice before it loosened and snapped into place.

The back window shattered inward, covering Brown with glass. Two hands snaked inside, their skin sallow and veined. Fingers tore at the doc’s shirt, shredding the fabric as he pulled away.

A heavy tremor ran through the car as Lance accelerated again. He hoped the transmission would hold out for just a few minutes longer. If it didn’t, they were in deep trouble.

The daywalker ran alongside the car as they picked up speed. It reached for Brown’s face, chipped, red paint covering its fingernails. Doc batted at the hands with his good arm, pleading for Lance to go faster.

Cass pulled her pistol from its holster and unclipped her seat belt. She spun around in the seat and stuffed the end of the barrel into the eye of the infected, jerking the trigger.

The former woman’s head snapped back, red mist blooming behind it. The body fell away, rolling on the concrete as other daywalkers jumped over it.

Thanks, Brown said, his deep voice remarkably steady.

Yeah, well, now we’re really screwed. That gunshot could be heard for miles. Cass held the pistol by her side and reached for the stereo controls. She turned it off just as the track switched to Slave to the Grind.

Hey, I like that song, Lance said.

Get us the hell out of here, dumbass.

Thanks for the tip. I had no idea we were trying to leave. Lance swung onto Freeport Road and steered in the direction of the boat, hopping over the concrete median with a jarring thud. But now that you said that, I’ll definitely try harder.

Cass backhanded him in the shoulder. Enough with the shit talking already!

The car lurched as it shifted, jerking forward again as the gear caught.

The transmission is toast. Lance looked at Brown in the rearview mirror. Hand some of that stuff up to Cass. I’m going to pull up to the shore so you guys can get out and run. Carry as much of the gear as you can.

Brown got to work, gathering up supplies and putting it back into the bags and baskets.

What are you going to do? Cass asked Lance.

If there are any of them by the shore, I’m going to try to lead them away. If they won’t follow, then I’ll run them over.

Or you could get out with us and run for it.

I will if there aren’t any of them there. Lance knew the odds of that were slim. Since they dropped anchor there a few days ago, more and more of the infected had wandered the shores by them. They had to move the boat up the river a hundred yards so they could quickly get off.

Lance eased off the gas as they turned onto 910. They drove by a garage and a few abandoned homes. The road ended at a line of trees, which led to the river.

Between the foliage and trucks, Lance could see the Duchess floating on the Allegheny.

More than two dozen of the infected stalked along the edge of the water.

Damn. Lance slowed the car down, letting it coast the last hundred feet. He pointed through the windshield. Get out here and hide behind that house.

Cass started to argue with him when he cut her off with a firm shake of his head.

Relax. I’m not going to do anything stupid. I’m going to turn around, honk the horn, and lead them away. I’ll come back in a few minutes. Easy, right?

Nothing is easy for us anymore. Cass grabbed her baskets and got out. Don’t fuck around, Lance.

Hey, you called me Lance. That might be a first.

Brown cleared his throat. While I appreciate the humor of the two of you going back and forth, perhaps you could save it for later. The fishing rods are still back here for you to take.

Hurry up, dumbass. Cass gave him one last look before following Brown. They jogged across an overgrown lawn, crouching beside the front porch of a cottage.

The hoard of daywalkers streamed into view behind the car, filling the street in a tidal wave of death. Lance pounded on the horn, focusing their attention on him. The contingent by the water teetered around, mouths distorting in shrieks.

Come get it.

Lance put the car in reverse and mashed the accelerator down.

The engine revved with vigor, but the car didn’t budge.

Oh shit.

2

Lance worked the gas pedal up and down, listening to the whine of the engine, but getting nowhere. Fear tore at him as he slammed the shifter into drive and pushed on the pedal again.

He didn’t move. The transmission was shot.

Cass stood up beside the cottage, hand reaching for her axe.

Lance waved her off, motioning for her to stay down. He wished he hadn’t honked the horn seconds before. If shooting himself in the foot were an Olympic sport, he would have been a gold medalist.

He threw the door open and stepped out, grabbing the fishing rods from the backseat. The swarm of daywalkers behind him closed in, the clicks of their gnashing teeth audible over their pounding feet.

Those by the river filtered between the trees, gaining momentum as they pushed through the undergrowth.

Lance pointed at the cottage. Go inside! I’ll draw them to the front while you slip out the back door!

Cass nodded and ran up the handful of steps to the entrance. Trying the knob, she found it locked. She freed her axe from its casing and plunged it into the wood, just above the handle. Putting her foot to the door, she yanked the blade free and swung again, splintering the barrier.

The infected by the tree line reacted to the sound, angling toward the cottage. Their siren songs filled the air, assaulting Lance’s ears. He shouted at them, trying to refocus their attention. His throat burned as he screamed, but he couldn’t get them to veer off course.

He reached into the front seat and pressed the horn again, honking in a rhythm. The lead creature paused, its head cocking at an angle.

"That’s it! Over here, you dumb