Devoured - - (list of e readers .TXT) 📗
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He pulled the keys from the ignition and wriggled backward, shoulder aching with every movement. He jumped to the ground, stopping just long enough to lock the doors of the cab before running to the back again. They didn’t need the gun-wielding asshole getting behind the wheel and doing something stupid while they were stuck in the back.
The shotgun boomed behind Lance as he turned the corner. Pellets ricocheted off the armored vehicle, missing him by less than two feet.
“Dumbass?” Cass lifted a hand to her head. Her eyelids fluttered open, confusion filled and dreary. “What are you shooting at?”
Lance fumbled with the keys. “Some asshole is trying to kill us. No big deal.” He stabbed a key at the hole in the door, but it didn’t fit. The next one slid in and he turned it, hearing a loud thunk as the lock opened.
“Where are we?”
Opening the door, Lance held a hand out to Cass. “Come on! There’s a whole street full of Vladdies bearing down on us.”
Cass took his hand, groaning as he jerked her to her feet. “Easy, dumbass—I have a helluva a headache.” Her words slurred as she spoke, eyes still cloudy.
Lance didn’t argue with her. He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around, shoving her toward the open door. She put her foot on the first of two steps leading into the back of the truck, but her movements were lethargic. Knowing they were out of time, he knelt down, placed his hands under her ass, and pushed as hard as he could.
Her light frame flew into the back of the truck, landing with a thud on the metal floor.
“Don’t touch my ass, you stupid mother—”
Lance grabbed the open door, about to pull himself inside, when he felt the touch of cold metal on his neck.
“Step away from the door,” the man said.
“We can—”
“You said ‘fuck me’.”
“I watched you shoot that guy.” Lance licked his lips. He caught Cass’ gaze, saw her eyes clear when she spotted the shotgun.
“Let him go, hillbilly.”
Dozens of feet clopped across the pavement by the front of the truck. Lance knew they had seconds before the daywalkers took them.
“Shut up, bitch. I’ll—”
Lance grabbed the Rambo-style knife from the sheath on his hip and spun around. His right elbow caught the barrel of the shotgun, shoving it aside as it roared. The deafening blast went off by his ear, filling his head with a high-pitched ringing.
He continued spinning on his heel, coming face-to-face with his would-be murderer. They locked eyes as Lance drove the ten-inch blade into the man’s sternum. The razor-sharp edge slid in with surprising ease, stopping only when the hilt jammed against skin.
The air exploded from the man’s lungs, his eyes widening, mouth falling slack.
Warmth ran over Lance’s hand. He stared at the man’s face, forever etching his features into his memory. Deep lines across his forehead. Dark hair, graying at the temples. Slight belly hanging over his belt.
Lance pulled the knife free.
Red-tinged saliva spilled over the man’s lower lip.
The first daywalker appeared around the corner of the truck, grabbing at the dying man’s shoulders, sinking its teeth into the exposed flesh of his neck.
Lance stepped away, bending to grab the axe from the ground, and lunging for the back of the truck.
Cass grabbed the back of his shirt as he climbed in, pulling him clear of the door. Hands grabbed at his trailing feet.
He kicked them away, twisting around in time to see Cass boot one of the infected in the face. She slammed the door shut.
The back of the truck went dark.
They sat without speaking for a while, listening to the screams of the man outside. He lived for quite some time, pleading for death. It finally found him a few minutes later and he fell silent.
Lance found a bench on the left wall and sat on it, rocking back and forth, as he replayed the knifing in his mind. He couldn’t erase the image of the man’s shocked face as the blade pierced his body. Remembering the blood on his hand, Lance wiped at his pant legs frantically, overtaken by the need to clean himself of the deed.
Cass found him in the darkness. She placed her hands on his shoulders. “You didn’t have a choice. He was going to kill you. I saw it in his eyes.”
Lance thought about it for several seconds before responding. “There are so few of us left. We shouldn’t be killing each other. It’s different with them—the Vladdies—than it is with a man.”
“It was him or us. You did the right thing.”
He understood what she was saying, but it didn’t make him feel much better.
The bench shifted as she sat beside him, unseen in the darkness.
“Care to tell me how we ended up in an armored car?”
As the daywalkers outside began to beat against the reinforced sides of the truck, Lance recounted the exploding office building.
“You carried me that far?”
“I have the sore shoulders to prove it.”
To his shock, Cass hugged him. “Thanks. Dumbass.”
He laughed, despite the adrenaline shakes that still consumed his limbs. “I guess this makes us even.”
“So those guys did call in a bomb or an artillery strike?” Cass asked. “That means there’s someone out there still pulling the trigger, right?”
“I suppose. They did say that Heinz Field is hanging in there.”
“Yeah, but I doubt that they have a giant ass howitzer sitting at the fifty yard line.”
“True.”
Cass got up from the bench and moved around in the darkness, swearing as she stubbed her toes and banged her knees.
A dim light blinked on.
Lance turned away from it, letting his eyes adjust. He finally rotated back, looking up at the dome light, wondering how long they could use it before the truck’s battery died.
The temperature in the confined area rose quickly as they waited. Lance could feel himself sweating again, concern over dehydration rearing in his mind.
“Holy shit,” Cass said. She reached into an open bag and pulled out a large stack of cash. “Want to buy an island?”
“It figures.”
“What?”
“It figures that I would find a shitload of abandoned money now. I could have really used that a month ago. Now we might as well use it as toilet paper.”
“Yeah, well, shit happens.” Cass smiled at her pun. She rifled through a few more bags, finding rolls of coins.
Lance thought that ‘shit happens’ could be the new motto for the entire planet. If aliens ever visited the earth in the future, they would look upon the ruined cities and decaying bones of humanity and think, ‘shit happens’.
“How are you feeling, anyway?”
Cass stood, holding a hand to her stomach. “Nauseous and dizzy. Those are the signs of a concussion, right?”
“I have no idea. That was a big piece of building that hit you in the head though.”
“They always talked about post-concussion shit during the NFL games now, so I’m guessing that’s what I’m dealing with.”
Lance grinned at her. “Where have you been all of my life?”
“What? Are you flirting with me?”
His grin widened even more, a combination of actual humor at the expression on her face and a bizarre reaction to knowing that he had just murdered a man. If someone asked him to explain what he felt, Lance didn’t think he could.
“No, I’m not flirting with you. I’m stuck inside an armored truck with cannibals outside trying to beat their way in, and I’m covered in the blood of a man I just stabbed. Getting laid isn’t exactly on my radar right now.”
“Then what the hell are you talking about?”
“Let’s just say that I wish my wife had been a bit more like you.”
“You’re married?” She glanced at his left hand. “Why don’t you wear a ring?”
The truck rocked as something ran into it, the thud vibrating through the floor and into Lance’s feet. He paused before responding, waiting to see if it would happen again.
It didn’t. Several dozen hands continued beating against the walls.
“We were at the tail end of a divorce when this happened. It’s been over for years though.”
“Oh. That sucks.” Cass sat on a bench across from him, crossing her legs, but not before Lance got a bit of a show. “She’s a big bitch then?”
“If I’d known that all
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