Human Bait

Chapter 4: All for Food

It started with a muted clinking.

My sleep-laden mind conjured a metal spatula in a frying pan. I imagined my father cooking dinner, with rich spices wafting through our tiny house, and my stomach squeezed out a pitiful groan. When the clinking became a metallic rattle, I was the one cooking, and the frying pan and spatula had tipped off of the stove and clattered to the ground. Still cloaked in remnants of sleep, I chanted a panicked command. Clean it up fast before Father finds out.

When the howling began, I snapped fully awake.

I twisted toward the window, shoulders aching in protest, but the faint moonlight revealed nothing. The howling crescendoed, eerie shrieks dropping off into guttural moans, punctuated by arrhythmic jangling like a chained beast.

With a cold sweep of dread, I remembered Recluse's calm explanation.

A group of Overcooked has been rattling my fence each night.

The sounds grew still louder, snarls and groans and ringing coming from all sides. I had seen Overcooked before, but never this many, and only in the South. They had desiccated towns and torn down the research centers. Rumor had it that a few scientists had escaped to the North, and I followed that rumor all the way here. But the Infection must have spread faster than they could rebuild.

And now the Overcooked who had destroyed the South were about to destroy me.  

The rattling continued long into the night, lulling occasionally only to return even louder than before. When I finally fell back asleep, I dreamed of broken fingernails and rotting teeth ripping apart my flesh. Help, I screamed at a retreating silhouette with a rifle and a bionic leg. You can't just leave me here.

Watch me, he replied.

* * *

The morning passed slowly. Sunlight peeked through the high slatted window, gradually spilling color over the room. A leopard-fur rug stretched across mahogany floorboards, white dust clung to the gray stone hearth, and orange light striped the cordless space heater.

I crossed my boot over my knee to examine the bandage. Dried blood sponged across the white, crisping the bandage. I dropped that foot and lifted the shoeless one, studying the pink scabs from the Infected's fingernails. I had never actually seen a person change into an Infected. Maybe fluid needed to be exchanged. Blood? Saliva?

If an Infected bit me tonight, I hoped I got the chance to kiss Recluse goodbye.

Each time I heard footsteps outside the door, my muscles clenched in anticipation. However, when the door finally opened, the aroma overpowered my fear. My stomach doubled over, saliva flooded my dry mouth, and my mind sang out a single reverent word.

Food.

As Recluse neared me, I tracked the bowl in his calloused hands. He stopped in front of me and sifted the fork through the bowl, sending up billows of steam. I squeezed my eyes shut, but I could not block out the smell.

"Recluse, if... if you are not giving that to me, please get it out of here. I can't—"

"I'll give it to you."

I opened my eyes one at a time and lifted my gaze to meet his. "You will?"

"If you answer my questions."

My stomach grumbled noisily, and I jerked my head in a nod. "Ask me anything."

"What do you know about the Cutthroat Crew?"

I blinked. "Not much. I know they used to be the wealthiest group around, but their supplies are dwindling."

His brown eyes pierced me, and I had the uncanny notion I was being dissected. "Anything else? Think carefully, Southie."