Biohazard

9

There was no way in hell I wanted any part of Trog-hunting. You couldn’t have paid me to go after those monsters. They lived down in the sewers mostly, Sean told me, and I was content to let them stay there. But something happened that changed my mind.

We left the building, got out into the sunshine-Sean had promised us he had an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels back at his apartment and I was all for that-and right away we saw carnage. Scabs. About a dozen of them were lying dead in the streets. Their blood was very bright, very red spilled over the rubble. They had been dismembered, hacked and slit, disemboweled. Their entrails were strewn everywhere. One particular set was hung from a STOP sign. They had all been decapitated, the heads set neatly next to one another on the curb.

“Hell’s going on?” I said.

Sean went down to a low crouch right away like he was back in the Army, a recon scout sneaking through enemy territory. I didn’t know what the hell was going on.

“Who killed ‘em?” Specs wanted to know.

“Shut the hell up, both of you,” Sean told us and meant it.

He moved towards the bodies, eyes scanning the terrain in all directions. He went over to one and pulled something free of an abdomen. It looked like a broken stick. But when he brought it over, I saw it was a spearhead of all things.

“Hatchet Clans,” he said. “Must’ve swept through while we were inside. Get back in the building.”

“I’m not going back in there,” Specs said.

“Then you can die out here, little man,” Sean said. “Because you will die. The Clans leave nothing alive when they sweep an area.”

I went back into the building. I decided to err on the side of caution. It was the second time Sean had mentioned these Hatchet Clans. I didn’t know what they were, but if they scared Sean they must have been some real bad boys.

We got inside and Sean told us to stay away from the windows. He stayed by them, watching the streets.

“What are these clans?” Specs asked.

Sean let out a long, low sigh. “They’re fucking dangerous, that’s what,” he said. “Scabs are psychotic, but they’re disorganized. Half the time when there’s no game-people, I mean-they’re killing each other. But the Hatchet Clans are organized into large units. They kill anything they see. Those they don’t kill, they rape, torture, or enslave. You don’t want to fuck with ‘em. They’re…savage, primeval. That’s the best I can do. They don’t use guns. They use axes, spears, hammers…whatever. Let’s put it this way: you ever seen those shows on TV…when there was TV…about army ants marching through the jungle and fucking devastating everything in their path? That’s what the Hatchet Clans do. They’re raiders for the most part. They like to scalp people, cut trophies off ‘em.”

I had a lot of questions, but I didn’t ask them. I was scared. Specs was, too. Sean was a badass. I didn’t think there was anything he couldn’t handle, but the Clans had him spooked and that was enough for me.

After about ten minutes of silence, he motioned us over. “Look,” he said.

I saw two or three men come over a heap of rubble. They wore filthy old Army overcoats. One of them had a machete. One was carrying a length of chain in his hand. The other had a fireman’s axe balanced atop one shoulder. They were looking around. The most amazing thing was that they had gas masks on like soldiers from the trenches of World War I.

“What are those masks for?” Specs whispered.

Sean shook his head. “Fuck if I know. But they all wear ‘em. Must’ve looted ‘em from an Army depot or a National Guard Armory, Army-Navy surplus or something. I’ve never seen what’s under the masks, but I heard their faces are eaten by some kind of fungi.”

I’d seen and heard enough.

Sean kept watching them. “You see two or three like this, you can bet there’s thirty more. These are scouts. Hate to tell you, brothers, but we’re in some real shit here. They swept through before. Now they’ll start hunting building to building.”

Specs looked at me. His eyes were bulging. “Oh, that’s fucking great. Now what?”

“Calm down,” Sean said. “We best get down in the cellar.”

Specs looked close to a panic attack. “With the Trogs? Are you nuts? I been down there. There’s a hole in the wall. That’s where that Trog came from.”

Sean grinned. “Damn right there’s a hole in the wall. It leads into the sewers. And that’s where we’re going.”