Hunger (The Hunger Series Book 1) by Jeremiah Knight

sure just how intelligent the Stalkers were, but he was pretty sure they knew three of them were sacrificing themselves, while the other three...they’d have a feast.

 
     
    14
     
    Peter fought the urge to swing the barrel around at the three Stalkers charging from the right. He knew they were still coming. Could hear their squeaking pants as they neared. But the three monsters on the left were closer. And airborne.
    The stalkers led with their long hind legs extended, claws splayed wide. If they made contact with prey, the talons would sink into the flesh underneath as the full weight of the creature slammed into the victim. If the unlucky prey wasn’t killed by the impact, the claws would finish the job.
    He made momentary eye contact with the Stalker leading the way. He saw intelligence in its gaze, but it was masked by rage and hunger. If the creature was smart enough to understand what the machine gun could do, its raw emotions kept it from really comprehending the consequences for its actions.
    Or maybe it did understand?
    Maybe all this rage and hate seething from the thing was because it could remember what it once was and loathed him for it. His very existence might mock them. He didn’t think the creature could comprehend all this, but back in the part of its brain that was once human, it might remember, and feel...
    For a moment, he pitied the thing.
    And then he shot it, punching three holes in the center of its gray chest, which was lined with bulging ribs. The shots kicked the monster back, flipping it over through a cloud of pink gore. The tumbling body stumbled the two Stalkers behind it, and Peter cheered inwardly as he turned the gun barrel to the right.
    Too late.
    He pulled the trigger, but the angle of the gun barrel was blocked by a Stalker’s body as it landed on the side of the truck, the hot metal sizzling against the creature’s skin. The truck shook and skidded from the impact, but Jakob managed to keep it moving and on the road. Somewhere in the back of Peter’s mind, he heard Anne screaming. Or was it Ella? He couldn’t tell, but then his voice joined the chorus.
    He shouted in surprise and abject horror as the Stalker clinging to the side of the truck stretched out its sinewy neck, opened its needle-tooth-filled maw large enough to clamp down on his head like a bear trap and lunged for him. Peter leaned away from the gaping jaws, but the elastic holding him in the truck also kept him from diving away.
    The jaws snapped just an inch from his nose with such force that the colliding teeth snapped, spraying his face with bits of enamel and spittle.
    Peter winced, but years of training and field operations—though now distant memories—had honed his reactions into something closer to instinct. Action without thought. He dropped back, letting his weight stretch the elastic band back until the stored potential force in the band propelled him back up. As his feet rose first, he kicked hard with both legs, catching the Stalker in the chest. He felt ribs break. The monster roared in pain. But it held on, a look of determination on its face...until a shotgun blast removed the expression, along with the rest of its bald head.
    As the shotgun blast rang in Peter’s ear, he felt glad that Ella had remembered his discarded weapon and had the wherewithal to use it. Not many people would have thought or moved as quickly. Of course, anyone unable to do so was probably already dead. The world was now a twisted version of Herbert Spencer’s survival of the fittest. Now it was survival of the most savage, which didn’t bode well for his son’s future...or his daughter’s.
    The shotgun-propelled gore blasted back and slapped a second Stalker in the face, blinding it before the creature could lunge forward. But the third monster leapt up to take the now headless beast’s place. The first thing it did was demonstrate its intelligence by slapping away the shotgun before Ella could chamber another shell.