The Hunger (Book 1): Devoured by Jason Brant Page A

scrubbing, and possibly a tear or two, though Lance tried to convince himself that some soap got in his eyes.
    He found bandages in the hall closet and attached a large one to his foot. Too much pressure caused pain, so he walked around the apartment on his heel, glad that no one was around to see how ridiculous he looked.
    His favorite robe clung to him as he shambled around, enjoying its comfort in silence. Liz hated its tattered appearance and made sure to say something every time he wore it.
    Wearing it now without her constant nagging proved a great comfort amidst the carnage outside.
    After a series of rapes occurred in the city a few years ago, Lance bought Liz a small pistol for her purse. He’d never gotten around to getting her a concealed carry permit because, as far as he knew, she never took the damn thing with her anyway. She hated guns and wouldn’t even relent to going to a shooting range for practice. After several arguments over it, he began to wonder why he bought it in the first place.
    He dug in her dresser drawers and rifled through her closet, hoping she hadn’t thrown it away. After several minutes of searching, he found a box of bullets but couldn’t find the gun anywhere.
    “Damn it, Liz. You should have known that I would need that stupid thing when the world ended.”
    He left the room in ruins, knowing she probably wouldn’t see the apartment ever again. If they managed to get out of Pittsburgh, there wasn’t much reason for them to chance coming back. Even if the plague died out and humanity prevailed, what would remain of the civilization here?
    Mankind was rapidly sliding down the food chain.
    He settled for a butcher’s knife he took from a magnet hanging above the counter.
    As the sun finally set, Lance took a seat by the window and watched the street below. Normal people were scarce, though he could see lights in many apartments across the street. The sick and violent roamed the city, their cries filling the night.
    Lance sat and listened to them for several minutes, shivering when he heard someone screaming in agony as they were torn apart in a nearby alley.
    He had no chance of making it anywhere else tonight, so he decided to secure the place as best he could. He closed all the blinds and pulled the curtains, taping the edges to the walls so no light could seep through. The electricity still flowed, and he planned to utilize it as long as he could.
    The spare bedroom had a poster bed in it. It was a gift from Liz’s parents, so he thoroughly enjoyed destroying it. He disassembled the footboard and pulled the slats out, taking the wood into the front room and setting it beside the door. A hammer and nails came from the closet and he used them to cinch the footboard to the floor. He gave it several heavy shots with the hammer to make sure it was secure.
    He broke one of the slats in half over his knee and nailed the pieces to the door. The poster columns didn’t quite fit between the slats and the floorboard, so he cut them to the proper length with a handsaw and jammed them in place.
    The custom barricade felt solid as he pulled at the door. It would take a silverback to break into the apartment.
    Unfortunately for him, there were things prowling the streets that might have the strength to pull it off.
    Even still, he felt better knowing that he wouldn’t have to deal with any human intruders.
    After frying some eggs and buttering two slices of toast, Lance fell into his favorite recliner with a huff. He pulled on the handle and eased back with his feet in the air. Nothing short of a crane could get him out of the chair for the rest of the night.
    He pawed at the remote, too tired and lethargic to pick it up. Surprisingly, the cable still worked.
    “Bastards really did cut off the signal in the hospital. Morons.”
    All the news stations flashed alert messages, the talking heads tired and near hysterical in their reporting. Lance settled on CNN, if only because they had a pretty