Broussard sighed as he turned and leaned against the bulkhead. “What about the tranquilizer darts?”
“They’re ready, sir.” Another man handed Andre the pistol and he checked that the CO2 cartridge was properly seated.
“He doesn’t seem the slightest bit sleepy.” He shook his head at the men holding the sleeping gas to the window. “Shut it off and prepare to ventilate the room. I don’t want to go in to take a sample and pass out with him.”
The men shut off the cylinder while another barked orders into the ship’s phone system. A moment later, large metal fans began to ventilate the room.
“There’s no way I can shoot him through this tiny porthole. I’m going to need one of you to open the door.”
The khaki-uniformed man pulled a pistol and stood at the ready, his hand on the lever to undog the door. “On your word, sir.”
Broussard set up just out of the door’s swing area and nodded. “Now.”
The Marine unlocked the door and pulled it open as Andre took aim. He shot McAlester square in the chest then rolled away from the opening. The Marine and two others threw themselves against the door while they dogged it shut.
McAlester could be heard screeching and throwing himself against the steel barrier. Broussard checked his watch then stood and peered through the porthole.
Kevin was already there, staring at him, pure hatred in his eyes.
Simon staggered across town, his arm aching more and more with each beat of his heart. He slid across the rough concrete exterior of a building and winced as his wound reopened, the clotted flesh separating and the blood now flowing freely.
He tried to move the arm to assess the damage; he was almost certain that the bone was shattered. He clenched his jaw tight and squeezed his eyes shut, willing the pain to go away.
With his good hand he dug in his pockets, searching for the bitter pills. He pried the lid off and glanced inside the small white bottle. There were only a few left.
He tossed the rest of the pills to the back of his throat and chewed them, wishing he had more of the brown liquor to wash them down.
His mouth and throat felt so dry and he squinted as the sun broke over the horizon. He did his best to stay to the shadows as he continued to work his way back to the grocery store.
As Simon breached the corner and saw the open parking lot of the store, his eyes fell on the large sign mounted to the pole out front. Somehow, he found that he could understand what the bright blue letters said. “Albertsons,” he read aloud; his voice sounded dry and scratchy.
His head began to ache and he stumbled to the front doors. The welcoming shadows pulled him inside and he immediately staggered back to the liquor aisles. He grabbed the first bottle of dark stuff that he could find and fought with the cap. As he pressed it to his lips and took long swallows, he caught movement in his peripheral vision.
Simon lowered the bottle and turned to see who was sneaking up on him. An elderly man handed him a white plastic bottle and Simon stared at it. He set the liquor bottle down and took the pills. He squinted in the near darkness and could just make out the letters: Aspirin.
Simon gave the man a solemn look before biting at the cap. After a few moments of struggle, he dropped the pill bottle. Before he could bend for it, the elderly man reached down, picked it up and pulled the lid off for him. He handed the bottle to Simon. As soon as their eyes met, he knew something was wrong.
“What?”
The old man lowered his gaze and slowly shook his head. “Very few returned.” He looked up and turned for the end of the aisle. Less than a dozen men stood there, most with bleeding wounds.
“Where are the females?”
The old man shook his head. “Gone.”
Simon felt his rage build and he tried to stand to his full height. As soon as he did, he became lightheaded and he felt his knees begin to give out.
As he slowly slid to the floor, the old man grasped him by the belt and hefted. He walked Simon to the end of the aisle where he did a quick count of heads. “Is this all that’s left?”
A hunter that he barely recognized nodded. “Many die.”
“The rest just split?” Simon gave his best angry face.
The hunter seemed to shrug. “Don’t know.” He raised his arm and swept it toward the rest of the store. “Females gone.”
The old man nodded as he helped Simon prop himself on the shelf. “They remembered.” He looked up at him and his face was a mask of pain. “The before…they remember.”
Simon wanted to curse. He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch something.
He wanted to nap.
He felt his rage evaporate like a water drop in the desert. He slowly nodded and pushed away from the shelf. As he staggered through what was left of his men, he met each of their gazes. “We rest. We eat. We heal.”
“Then what?”
Simon didn’t turn to see which hunter it was that spoke. He continued his slow, pain-filled stagger past the registers and towards his dog food bed. “Then we hunt down our women. We bring them home.” He turned slowly and gave the men an evil smile. “Then we continue what we started last night. We kill the Cagers and eat them.”
3
Hatcher slowed his approach and peered quickly around the corner of the old gas station. Although the sun was up and the blood trail was drying into brown smears, he also remembered the woman they had encountered. She looked infected, but almost acted normal. At first, anyway. Either way, he wasn’t risking running into a Zulu.
He paused at the corner and eased his body out,
