All chapters in the “Hunger” series

Chapter Four

“It’s no use. The bastard thing will nae start!” Martin gave up trying to turn the jeep over. The engine was thoroughly flooded and his frantic attempts to start it again had only made the situation worse. “Sergeant, we’ve got to get out of here. If you can’t get the jeep started, we’re going to have to run.” Reuter again looked through the field glasses. The approaching throng of people wending their way out of the tiny village of Ornel was gradually growing closer, now less than 100 yards away.

“Are ye daft, ye fookin’ tosser?” Clive yelled from the back of the jeep. “I’m nae hoofin’ it! They’ll back off once I put a few warning shots from the .50 across them.” To demonstrate, Clive fired off a rapid burst from the .50 caliber. The slugs impacted into the ground directly in front of the mob to no discernible notice. They continued to press forward, the entire crowd moaning in an unearthly chorus. As they drew nearer, the grisly wounds of each person seemed to magnify before the two British and two German soldiers sitting in the jeep. (more…)

It was a monumental occasion for me. It was my first night on the job as Zeputy Ian Slater of the Zombie Patrol: ZP for short. I knew my mom and dad would have been proud, had they not been eaten by my brother and two little sisters. But that’s all in the past. Years of therapy served me well and allowed me the opportunity to embark on a new phase in my life. I was no longer going to be a survivor, hiding cowardly behind thick steel doors while others risked their lives to protect our community. No, I had put myself on the front lines.

To be honest, I couldn’t have been more excited. (more…)

I killed a man.  I killed a man. I killed a man.  I-kill-a-man.

I killed a living, breathing, flesh and blood man.

He wasn’t one of those things.  He spoke, cried, smiled, and thought. (more…)

The Lubyanka, Moscow, RF – March 22nd 2012

“So this guy, Maalouf, what exactly is he trying to sell?” Major-General Alexandr Cherlin was getting irritated, he hated dealing with field agents. At the other end of a very poor line to their Luanda office someone spoke. “Worse than Ebola? I find this hard to believe Captain Gavrikov.  Do you trust this guy?”  (more…)

He rested his head against the door post. Cold sweat formed on his forehead and dripped down his face. Through the closed door he could hear them breaking through the flimsy barricade he had thrown up in front of the living room door. He trembled. He always knew this day would come but he never expected it would come so fast. No news on the TV or radio. No time to prepare. (more…)

“We have to tell the crew…” Highfield observed, grimacing.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Farris replied, “I mean, how many of them will have families…y’know…in the area.”

“That’s why they need to be told. Come on Cal, they’re professionals. They’re trained, we owe it to them to…” (more…)