UFSW Hunger Games/Issue 8

This is Issue 8 of UFSW Hunger Games. It is writting by Walkerbait22.

Issue 8
Scott shakes his foot nervously, creating an annoying tapping noise on the floor that echoes throughout the room. Morgan shoots him a glare. “Could you stop that?” Morgan asks.

“Sorry,” Scott mumbles. It’s been too long since Adam and Lilly went to check out the disturbance. Over and over again Morgan has gone back to check the window, hoping to see them walking back, as happy as they were when they left. But all he sees is the same barren road each time, expecting a tumbleweed to roll by…

“We’re going to look for them,” Morgan says without warning. He looks to Scott, who sits up straight as a rod in his seat. Scott almost lets out a laugh at that idea, but he covers it up with a cough.

“Adam told us to stay here.”

“He told you to stay here,” Morgan corrects. He moves to a corner of the room and begins rummaging through a large, nondescript black bag. He searches through it until he pulls out two gleaming pistols; he stuffs one in his waistband and places the other on the wooden table Scott sits at. Scott jumps to his feet, nearly knocking his chair back.

“They could be back here at--at any time. We’d be wasting our time and risking our own asses.”

“Is that what this is about? Too scared to leave this damn house?” Morgan asks. Morgan points a firm finger at him. “This isn’t about you, kid. I’ve known them for way too long to just leave them out there and hope for the best. Now, you can come with me, or you can get out.”

Scott swallows hard and wrings his hands together. Out there, alone again? That’s the last thing he’d let happen. He grabs the gun and nods hesitantly at Morgan.

Sweat gleams on Rick’s forehead. He wipes it away again and squints up at the unrelenting sun. He hasn’t seen a soul for hours on this walk. A few walkers, but that’s all. Nothing he can’t handle. But his exhaustion is a different story. The weight of his bag on his back is nearly nonexistent; it holds a single can of beans that he hopes to save as long as he can. Any shops he searched were completely empty of anything of value. He’s not sure how much longer he can hold out. He needs food, water, rest--something--to restore all the energy he’s lost.

Not to mention he feels like he’s going in circles. Maybe it’s the heat, or his hunger, but he’s sure he’s passed some landmarks more than once. A familiar store, maybe a car he’s seen two or three times. He brushes it off and keeps going, although his body protests against it.

After another ten minutes, he decides to break left into an alley. He slumps against the brick wall of a building, in the shade, in the peace and quiet. He can’t take it any longer; he rips his bag open and retrieves the beans. After opening it, he bends the lid into a makeshift spoon and gorges on the beans until he’s scraping the bottom of the can. He sighs, admittedly still eager for more. But it’s gone, so he throws the can down the alleyway in frustration. He watches it roll down the cement, his eyes heavy with desperation.

Chuck wanders down one of D.C.’s numerous streets, past broken and battered stores, past cars with busted engines, past walkers that must have been taken out by someone that came before him. He thinks back to the man in the church, the one he drowned so mercilessly. He expects to feel something. But he feels like the same Chuck Hope, the one he was yesterday, the one he’s always been. Maybe that’s a good thing.

He shifts his thoughts away from that, only for a second, when a can rolls to his feet. It skitters against the sidewalk and stops when it hits the toe of his boot. He bends down and inspects the label. Just a can of generic beans. Empty. He looks left to where it came from and sees a man sitting against a wall, head in his hands solemnly. Chuck can’t even tell if he’s a walker of human until the man looks up, his eyes completely dejected but alive. Their gazes meet, and they both freeze.

“Look at that,” the man, Rick, says after a few seconds. “Another human fuckin’ being.” Chuck stays silent, his face befallen with confusion. “Nice t’see you here, sir. How’re the games goin’ for ya? You starvin’ to death? You wanna kill me or you wanna be best fucking friends? It’s always one or the other, right?”

Chuck opens his mouth to speak, but he’s so confused no words come out. He’s never seen someone act like this before. “Are you plannin’ your speech?” Rick continues. “The one that’s gonna get me on your side, then you shoot in me in m’back later?”

“No,” Chuck says. “Are...are you okay?”

“I haven’t slept in…” He looks at his barren wrist, as if observing a watch. “...a long time. That probably has somethin’ t’do with it.”

Chuck eyes him suspiciously, then feels some sympathy for him. He doesn’t look like he has anything in that pack, and the tiredness in his eyes is almost enough to make Chuck himself sleepy. Chuck decides to pull off his backpack and walk a few feet towards him. He drops the bag at Rick’s feet and crouches down. “Chuck Hope,” Chuck says, holding out his hand. rick shakes it slowly.

“Hope. That’s funny. Richard Trombotta.”

“There’s a right way to play this game, Richard.” He opens up the bag, revealing piles of cans and bottles of water. Rick’s face lights up, and he lets out a nervous laugh. Suddenly, tons and tons of food right there in front of him. He’s not sure if it’s his mind playing tricks on him again. “And it’s not alone.”

Lilly is on her knees next to Adam’s body. He fists are balled up around his bloody shirt, and the sunlight glistens against the tears covering her cheeks. There’s a sunken feeling in her stomach, looking at his peaceful face. He looks like he’s sleeping. She expects his eyes to open any second, a sheepish grin forming on his face. But then her eyes drift down to all of the blood around her, the crimson covering her clothes, and she’s back to sobbing again.

It all happened so quickly. Wasn’t it just a second ago he had his arm around her? It feels like longer. She knows she should move; those gunshots attracted anyone and any walker in the nearby vicinity, she knows it. But she can’t will herself to move until the threat is closer than ever. She hears the steady stomp of footsteps nearby, and she quickly composes herself, wiping tears from her cheeks. She grabs her gun and stands to her feet. The footsteps are too close now, so she hides behind a nearby dumpster. She makes sure to glance at the brown haired girl on the ground, he body lifeless. Adam’s murderer.

Someone turns the corner, filling the air with their heavy breaths. Then, she hears a gasp.

Peter nearly drops his gun at the sight of Meghan’s body, blood pouring into a steady pool around her. “No, no, no. Meg, c’mon,” he mumbles, kneeling next to her. He puts a hand on her cheek, but she’s completely still. He smashes the ground next to him with his fist and stands up, shotgun in hand. He eyes Adam’s body, and tries to put the pieces together. Maybe they shot each other at the same time? Maybe whoever did it is still nearby? His suspicions are confirmed when he hears what he thinks is rapid breathing. He holds his own breath, and the sound stops immediately.

They’re here.

He takes cautious steps forward, listening intently for the breathing. But he doesn’t hear it again. He convinces himself it must’ve been his imagination playing tricks on him, what with all of his anxiety and rage brewing.

He tightens the grip on his gun and focuses down the sights. He swings his aim to his right, behind a nearby dumpster. He meets eyes with a pretty young woman; at the sight of the gun in her hands, the rage threatens to consume him again.

But then someone turns to corner. Two men, one younger than the other. The older one lets out a yell, and Peter impulsively turns to them and pulls the trigger.

The bullet hits Morgan in the heart before Lilly even realizes it’s him. Scott stands, petrified, his gun hanging limply in his hands. He wants to shoot, but his nerves won’t let him. He’s saved, though, when he sees a bullet flies through Peter’s head after Lilly pulls the trigger.

She drops her gun to the ground and looks at Morgan’s body. Now him. He and Adam gone faster than she can comprehend.

Joe can’t believe how quickly everything happened. Searching a store at one moment, like normal, then a bullet piercing through Naomi’s neck. Someone’s out there, an unknown entity with their eye on them. He grabbed Danny quickly and fled, no time to mourn. They currently sprint through the plaza, losing their breath quickly. They need to find Amelia and Sarah and warn them that they’re not alone here.

“Danny!” Joe says. “We...we’ll find them faster if we...if we split up, okay? Don’t go far--just check those stores over there, alright?”

Danny nods, and he takes a left instead of continuing straight. He sees a row of shoe stores, then a small restaurant, but no sign of anyone hostile. “Amelia! Sarah!” he says, keeping his voice just under a shout. His calls are suddenly interrupted by a burst of gunfire from somewhere nearby.

Amelia watches as Sarah falls to the ground, lifeless, her body riddled with bullet holes. A man--Mark--just opened fire, his eyes wild and unremorseful. She wastes no time diving behind the nearest counter. Bullets ricochet off her cover, but she’s unscathed. She pulls her pistol and fires a blind shot at him, just to let him know she’s armed. The bullet hits a light overhead, and a few sparks fall over Mark. He shields his eyes against them with his arms, and presses down on the trigger again. Bits and pieces of the ceiling rain down and her, and Amelia covers her head with her arms. She’s not sure how much ammo she has left, but she risks firing another shot at him. This time, she hears a pained yell.

Mark grabs his side, doubling over at the sharp pain of a bullet penetrating his flesh. Another bullet flies past him, barely missing his head. He realizes he’s in no shape to continue, so he stumbles backward and out the door. Amelia notices the lack of gunfire; after a few seconds, she takes the chance to peek her head out from behind the counter. She takes a deep, relieved breath when she sees he has left, stumbling through the plaza.

Danny runs through the plaza toward the unrelenting sound of gunshots, until they stop without warning. But he keeps his feet moving as he tries to remember where they came from. He thinks he’s close, when someone turns a corner and runs into him. It’s a fair haired guy, with blood staining the side of his shirt.

“Oh--oh, shit, sorry,” Danny mutters fearfully. Mark glares at him, and Danny suddenly feels a sharp pain in his jaw as Mark’s fist connects with it. Danny hits the ground of the plaza, dizzy from the blow. He looks up at Mark and is filled with panic. The first thing he can think to do is kick Mark as hard as he can. The bottom of his shoe collides with Mark’s stomach. Mark yells out in pain, his rage threatening to boil over. Danny tries to crawl away on his back, but Mark puts a foot on his chest. The air is gone from Danny’s lungs in an instant, and he grabs at Mark’s leg. He wraps his hands around Mark’s ankle and twists it with as much force as he can muster.

There’s a sickening crack as Mark’s ankle pops out of place, and he collapses to his knees. Danny attempts to scramble away once again, struggling to get to his feet. But Mark grabs him by the leg and pulls him backward. Mark ignores the stabbing pain in his ankle and presses his knee against Danny's chest.

Mark can’t even fathom the possibility of a broken ankle, or even sprained. Any type of injury--even just exhaustion--hinders his chances more than he can afford. He wants more than to just a fire a bullet into this kids head. Mark smashes his fists against Danny’s face wildly, taking no breaks in between, even when he’s out of breath. His fists ache, and Danny’s motionless, but he doesn’t slow down on the blows. Only when he realizes that woman from the store could still be nearby does he stop.

Danny’s face is an unrecognizable mess. Mark lets loose one last punch, and looks down on him. He can’t tell if he’s unconscious or dead. Mark puts two fingers to Danny’s neck, looking for a pulse, but there is none. He doesn’t waste the time putting a bullet in his head.

A single light bulb hangs from the ceiling of the shed Billie, Alfred, and Cole have chosen to reside in. It barely illuminates the area around them as they eat in silence. Ever since the failed plan and the close call with those strangers, the atmosphere hasn’t been the most friendly. Cole is bitter enough with the condition of his face; there’s a bit of bruising on his face, and he wears a bandage that covers a cut on his lip.

“It’s cramped in here,” Alfred says to break the silence. He swats away some dust that flies in his face. “I’m gonna go get some air.” He sets his can down on the floor next to him and stands, leaving out the door soon after. He can tell they have something against him, and he can’t deal with the awkwardness.

Billie waits a few minutes before speaking up. “He almost ruined the entire plan,” she says.

“What happened, exactly?” he asked. “He just didn’t shoot?”

“Yeah. He completely froze up.”

“Some people are like that, you know? Maybe he’s never had to kill someone.”

“He could’ve fucked all of us over. I don’t want that happening again.”

He eyes her suspiciously. “So...what are you saying?”

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” she says. “We should probably get rid of him.”

“Billie, come on. He’s obviously not a bad guy. He fucked up once. I know he’s not your favorite person, but give him a chance.”

“You said it yourself: this is a game, and to win, we have to play. He’s bringing us down. If we weren’t lucky, those people could’ve killed us because he didn’t want to go through with it and just shoot that lady. Next time, things could go a lot different.”

Alfred stands by the window, his jaw clenched as he listens to their conversation. Their voices are muffled just slightly, but he can make out every single dreaded word.

Cole sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Do we--do you just wanna kick him out? How the hell would we do that?” he asks.

“Or…” She lets the other option hang in the air.

“Kill him?” he says in a harsh whisper.

“I know, I know. That’s just--that’s the last possible option. I don’t hate the guy, okay? But he’s...he’s a burden. You know it, too. And I just want to make sure we can both get out of here alive.”

Leroy sits next to Ken is a dusty, dark shop. Ken chews on an energy bar as Leroy continues telling the story of how he ended up alone. “...We were just walking. We didn’t really have anywhere to go, but Connor was trying to figure out a plan or something. We decided to walk until we saw a store or something--then, like, out of nowhere a bullet goes right through his head. Me and Akira, though, we got down quick. I thought I saw a guy--this bald guy with a gun. And you know I wanted to run, I wasn’t messin’ with him. But Akira didn’t want to. She thought she could kill him. So she took the knife--it was the only weapon we had, too, and she went through the alley, I think...I didn’t know if I should wait for her, and then I heard gunshots. But, y’know, I didn’t have anything, so I ended up just running.”

He finishes his story and expects some kind of response from Ken. Maybe a little sympathy. But Ken has stopped eating and his hand is clenched around the wrapper of the energy bar. “You okay…?” Leroy asks warily.

“What was your friend wearing?” Ken asks softly. “The girl.”

“Uh...a red shirt and some jeans.”

“Long dark hair?”

“Yeah. Yeah, long dark hair. Did you see her?”

Leroy nearly shrieks when Ken grabs him by the shirt, pulling him close to him. Ken’s nostrils are flared, and his heart beat increases rapidly. “So your friend is the reason John is dead?” he seethes.

“Good shit with that bomb,” Ash says, slapping PJ playfully on the back. PJ smiles modestly, but the pride on his face is obvious. They walk along the dark road with Conner, but he hasn’t said a word since their close call with Cole, Billie, and Alfred.

“Could do that in my sleep, you know that," PJ says.

“Doesn’t make it any less impressive. Right, Conner?”

Ash nudges him in the arm, but Conner swats him away. He thinks back to the sight of Kim, but soon pushes the image from his head. Ash sighs and scratches his head awkwardly. “Sorry about your friend,” Ash says.

“Take it as a lesson learned,” Conner mumbles.

“What do you mean?”

“What she did was stupid. She shoulda known we can’t take chances like that. And I tried to tell her.” He takes a deep breath to calm his nerves before continuing. “I like you kids. I wanna see you get outta here alright. So I’m letting you know that this is more than a game. If we don’t play it right from this point on, we’re done. Do you hear me?”

He says it with such harshness that Ash and PJ can do nothing but nod and stay silent.

“Never forget that,” Conner continues. “Let’s go find somewhere to stay.”