The Hunger Chronicles: A Collection of Shorts by Tes Hilaire

Author:Tes Hilaire [Hilaire, Tes]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror, Young Adult
Amazon: B00DFLDMU6
Goodreads: 18078546
Publisher: Tes Hilaire
Published: 2013-06-16T04:00:00+00:00

The Fittest

In front of the door stands a bull of a man, the type of Goliath that might have once sent me running home to my mommy. Only I no longer have a home, or a mom. What I do have is a desperate need to get into that building.

Sunrise is coming and the boarded-up dive is perfect for my needs. At least, it is the only structure in town that doesn’t seem like it will collapse on me while I rest. When I’d stumbled off state route 190 in this direction it was because of the mines. I’d figured, wrongly, that I could find an empty shaft and ride out the deadly Death Valley sun. But just because I know the mines are supposed to be in the area, doesn’t mean I can find them.

So here I am, having a stare down with Black Beard across the moon-drenched dirt Main Street of Darwin, California. Two years ago I suspect the ghosts of this town far outnumbered the heart-beating citizens. Now? Well, it is a tossup.

Hard to believe, but this ghost town is one of the largest zombie free zones I’ve come across in my last few months of traveling. Yet there is no denying the heavy traces of human foot traffic that are too purposeful to be mindless. I suppose it isn’t all that surprising that this town should flourish in a time like this. When the virus spread, the smaller a town’s population was, the better chance they had of shutting down their borders, digging in deep, and letting the danger blow over. And Darwin seems like the perfect example of how that methodology worked.

I scan the other buildings: the dilapidated Post Office, the crumbling convenience store, the rusted out gas pumps. They yawn back at me through missing doors and windows, indifferent to my need. Hard to believe these are the best of the best in this hell hole. Yet this town is aptly named. Survival of the fittest. Darwin is surviving by guns and grit alone. And judging by the twelve-gage Black Beard has slung over his shoulder, strangers aren’t all that welcome.

Tough crap. They’re just going to have to make an exception this time.

Driven by desperation, I square my shoulders and step forward. I’m across the street and less than five feet from the door when Black Beard shifts in front of me, the shotgun dropping from over his shoulder to a braced against his hip position, which, conveniently, puts the tipped up barrel at my head level. “Hold it right there.”

I stop, wait as he pulls a small flashlight out of the pocket of his flannel shirt and shines the beam first into one eye, then the other. I pass the pupil dilation test because he grunts, his grip easing off the trigger.

“Too young. Go somewhere else, kid,” he says, slinging the gun back over his shoulder.

I look up past the platter-size silver buckle, past the mountainous pectorals, past the braided black beard and scowling mouth, and line up my gaze with the take-a-hike glare of the bouncer.

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