Chapter One

Better than the rest

John Logan was a gentle, peace loving man, although you may not guess it just by looking at him. At first glance, you would probably guess his profession as being a professional wrestler or high profile bodyguard. Maybe even a club bouncer. It was just the way he looked. In any given crowd, he usually stood taller than anyone else by at least two heads, and his body was heavy set with the girth of several men. He was like a walking boulder. Albeit a walking boulder with two arms that could crush a normal man in two. He was all muscle after all and it showed. His build alone was intimidating enough that he could probably walk through the shadiest part of any city in the world with a giant string of diamonds around his neck and even the most desperate thief would not even consider trying to rob him.

He just had that sort of effect on people. It either made them stop and stare, or cast their gazes to the ground and hurry past, praying to whatever God they had that he did not come their way.

But what most people found even more disturbing than his impressive bulk were his eyes. Pale, crystal blue and so piercing it seemed like he could look into a person's soul. He would have been a good priest in that respect. But despite being a God-fearing man, John had little interest in organized religion. He had his Bible and he had his faith and that was about all he really needed or wanted. It wasn't like organized religion had survived the apocalypse anyway. Or at least if it had, any telltale sign of it was being readily hidden away. Maybe that was why so much was going wrong. Maybe that was the reason behind the incident at the Outpost that started everything.

John heard the laughter and chatter of excited voices first. It was an unusual sound for such a dreary atmosphere, even as muffled as it was. It was also a sound that sent his nerves on edge, and as he had learned countless times before in the past, he could trust his nerves to tell him when something was wrong. Usually something he could take care of, one way or another. So he finished loading up the last of the supplies he was supposed to take back to the Compound, asked one of the Outpost soldiers to watch his truck for him while he was gone, and went to investigate the source of the noise.

He found it at the very edge of the small Outpost in a hastily built garage-sized shack surrounded by several milling men smoking cigarettes and chatting leisurely. John suspected they were guards of some sort from the way they held themselves and how they looked around coolly as he approached, only to recoil in fear and take a few steps back upon seeing the giant lumbering towards them. A few of them even thought for a moment that a Tank had broken through the heavily fortified perimeter, and without a second glance, they immediately fled to the main complex in the center of the Outpost without a glance back. They would most likely have nightmares for a week. Some stood their ground though. You had to hand it to them. John really did look like one of those giant hulking Infected if you didn't take a moment to look closely enough.

Smiling apologetically, he lumbered up to one of the remaining guards, keeping his body language and posture laid back and open so as not to come off further as a threat. He would prefer to talk first, and it was difficult to talk to retreating backs.

"Good afternoon," he said, and his deep, bass voice seemed to vibrate in the men's very bones. "Would you fine gentlemen do me the favor of telling me what's going on in this building? It sounds quite entertaining."

The men glanced at each other, rather taken aback about this unexpected politeness from this giant and thus uncertain as to how to respond. John turned his gaze on each of them in turn until a squat man with a small patch of red hair and a scowling face eventually spoke up, his rough, cracked voice trembling slightly with nerves, his eyes wide and round and flickering.

"Fight," he muttered, scratching a scab on his wrist anxiously. His voice was raspy and high pitched, whether because it was normally like that or he was just plain scared, John was unsure.

"Oh? May I inquire on the nature of the fight?"

The smaller man glanced at his comrades, as if seriously regretting speaking up and hoping one of them would step up and take over. When none did, he swallowed painfully. "Betting fight. Y'know, pass the time."

"Indeed, quite understandable. And who are the lucky souls who are fighting?" asked John placidly, although his curiosity rose a notch upon seeing the nervousness in the men's eyes at the question. He knew that look. They were hiding something.

The squat man seemed to be struggling with his words. John smiled broadly and bent over to pat him on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over. "Never mind, I'll find out for myself, eh? Unless you gentlemen have any objection?"

They all shook their heads immediately. Nope. No objection here. Just as long as the giant man left them all in on piece, he could do whatever the hell he wanted.

Still smiling, John turned his back on them and strode up to the side access door of the garage sized shack set to face away from the rest of the Outpost. Certainly curious. And now that he was this close, he could also detect the sounds of something different mixed in with the raucous laughter and calls. Growling. Snarling. Like animals.

And then a shriek sounded that cut through to his very core. A shriek that was so deadly familiar to a man who had lived for almost a month in one of the most heavily hit cities in the country, overrun by the suffering victims of the deadly plague that had choked off life in most of North America. He knew what made that shriek. He had only learned their standard CEDA name recently, and it was that name that flashed across his thoughts, filling the suddenly blank, focused screen of his inner eyes.

Hunter.

It seemed to be coming from inside the building. His body braced himself instinctively as he gripped the cold metal of the door handle, his system readying itself for the possibility of a fight for his life the moment he opened the door, fists clenched and eyes narrowed. But before he could do so, he heard a second agonized, terrified shriek that was abruptly cut short, and then the loud roar of a pleased crowd that made him relax. A bit. No attack then. No need to go charging in to try to save lives like he had had to do countless times in the city. Still though, it was worrying. People did not laugh and cheer when a Hunter was ripping them apart.

John shouldered open the door enough to permit his large bulk and slid into the shadows of the rather large and open room. After a few moments, his eyes adjusted to the darkness around him, focusing on the center of the building where a pale light hung from the ceiling, illuminating a large group of men huddled together around a small open space directly in the middle. Then men were cheering and jeering, like rowdy fans at a sports arena. John blinked through the dimness and squinted around at the outer area to see several cages lining the far wall, each containing nearly indiscernible forms. Yet despite the darkness, he could tell that they were humanoid. Not animals.

He had a feeling there were no animals here.

He had a vague idea what was going on here now. And he certainly did not approve of it.

A knot twisting painfully in his chest, he moved forward towards the large group of men, but before he even took a few steps, he was able to see over their heads and into the center ring, built up from cattle gates and wooden boards and secured with chains and chain link fence, at the horror that lay within, confirming his suspicions and his fears.

He had just come in on the beginning of a fight. But it was not a fight between men. Real men. It was not even a fight between animals. It was a fight between Infected. And these men were betting on the outcome, like spectators at a wrestling match.

No, not a wrestling match. John did not have to get any further information to know that these Infected were being forced to do this. This was not like a wrestling match. It was more like dog fighting. Except more brutal. More disturbing.

One of the men in front of John slapped a nearby friend on the back. "Ten says the large one squashes the runt."

"No dice, mate," replied the other man with a laugh. "I ain't that stupid."

John frowned and peered over them into the ring. There were two Hunters being released from cages in opposite sides into the blood stained concrete arena. For a moment, they crouched at their respective sides, blinking painfully in the bright light, confused by so much noise. There was one large one who probably could have given most of the men watching him a run for their money in terms of height and build, and one smaller one who may have been a teenager. The small one was doused in what looked like blood. John had a thought it might not be his own, or even Infected blood.

That was all the large man really had time to take notice of. Within seconds, the bigger Infected realized that the smaller one was in the ring with him, covered in blood that quickly filled his senses, blinding him with rage and bloodlust. Immediately, he bristled for just a moment before he lunged, biting and clawing in a furious, frenzied rage. The smaller Hunter shrieked and immediately lashed out in defense. Within moments, the two had become a sudden flurry of flailing limbs and gnashing teeth. Clothing and flesh ripped easily beneath their maddened claws, sending blood in flecks and splatters onto the hard dusty ground.

The smaller Hunter was nearly overpowered within minutes. He was forced to abandon his all out defensive attack and instead dropped to his back, letting the larger one lunge forward on top of him while at the same time he brought his legs up, catching the other Infected in the chest and using the momentum of the charge to send him head over heels into the other side of the pen. In a flash, the smaller Hunter jumped to his feet and flung himself away against the caging on the opposite side, snarling viciously at his opponent who took several moments to recover, only to charge forward uncontrollably once he got his bearings, bloodied claws flashing.

And all the while, the men around the ring cheered them on.

John looked around at them in disgust. And sadness.

It was cruel. Inhumane. Sickening. These people were no better than the creatures they so loathed…no, they were even worse. The Infected had no idea what they were doing. Their brains were too damaged to realize the morality of their actions. But these people…they should know better. Had the apocalypse driven out all vestiges of humanity from non-Infected people as well as the Infected?

He had to put a stop to this.

John glanced around quickly, assessing the situation. There were men right up next to the gating all around the perimeter holding various weapons and monitoring the situation closely. On the top of the ring ran thick barbed wire. Well, at least they were not taking too many chances. Still though, surely they knew how high these Hunters could leap. Perhaps they were merely relying on the fact that each Hunter was too preoccupied with the other, that the smell of fresh blood would suffice in keeping them focused on where they needed to be focused.

There was a loud shriek and John turned in time to see that the smaller Hunter was using his advantage of being smaller and thus more agile. He was darting around the ring, lashing out at his opponent whenever there was an opening. The larger was becoming more frustrated, more blinded by his inability to land a blow on the smaller. The wounds began to build up. Blood began pouring freely onto the concrete, stained red with the dozen fights that had taken place on its surface.

John diverted his attention away once again. He needed to decide on a course of action. Quickly. Before this fight finished. He had no idea if there would be another fight after this one, so he needed to take advantage of the fact that the crowd's attention was currently being diverted. He could always wait until the fights were done for the day and everyone had left, but he needed to make an impression. He needed to ensure that this would not happen again, or at the very least, that these people would not be involved in something like this again.

The fight in the ring was drawing to a close now and despite all the odds, the smaller Hunter was winning. His opponent simply could not keep up, whether because he was too exhausted, too injured, or just too slow. As John watched, the small Hunter at last managed to break through the other's defenses, lips pulled back, teeth bared. He lunged forward, his bloody mouth closing over the thin area of exposed flesh on the neck of his opponent above the thick hooded collar of the filthy sweatshirt he wore. There was a tremendous holler from the men as they cheered their own bloodlust, and then with a jerk of the Hunter's head and a flailing, strangled shriek that no one could hear over the human din, it was over.

The defeated opponent collapsed in a heap, lying in a rapidly growing pool of fresh crimson.

John heaved a deep, calming breath. Well, it was now or never then. Striding over to the wall where he had noticed a set of switches, he swept one giant hand across the board catching each one and flipping them on. The room was immediately doused in bright, blaring lights that sent the creatures in the cages growling and snarling and whining and the men standing around the ring shouting and yelling in annoyed, confused panic. Blinking through the glaring light, John turned to them, wiped his hands on his trousers, raised his fingers to his mouth, and blew.

The resulting whistle was so loud, so piercing, that it overwhelmed the current tumult of sound and shut it off within moments. John drew it out for several seconds, ensuring that it caught the attention of everyone in the dim, dingy building. When he was certain every eye was on him, he drew himself up to his full height and glared around imperiously.

It seemed like every breath in the building was caught.

Good lord, this man was huge.

"This ends now," he said, his deep voice rumbling threateningly like a summer thunderstorm. The silenced men glanced at each other, asking with their stunned, fearful expressions whether or not they should try to take on the large, intimidating stranger. Certainly he was outnumbered, but then, whoever went first into the offensive would most likely regret it if he was as mean as he looked.

As if to decide for them, the giant cracked his knuckles threateningly and the group took a synchronized step backwards, any thoughts of resistance dying then and there.

"I suggest you leave if you know what's good for you."

Some did leave. Immediately. Regretting with every fiber of their body the fact that they had ever been there in the first place. The others seemed too stunned to do much else except stare, many with their mouths hanging open slightly.

Satisfied, John strode forward through the small crowd that parted easily before his path. Many decided that they had other places to be after they had snapped out of their respective funks and quickly vacated before anything further happened. He shoved aside the metal gating at its weakest points, one of the apparent entrances for the men handling or cleaning the inside ring, causing most of the rest of the crude structure to fall over rather limply, sending the men still around it scattering. Then he stepped into the blood soaked ring and bent over the prone form of the larger Hunter. It took less than a minute for him to confirm that the Infected was dead, succumbed to the immense loss of blood from his bitten jugular.

I am sorry I could not have saved you, thought the large man sorrowfully. I am sorry that you had to die this way.

Slowly, he straightened and focused his attention instead on the other Hunter, crouched in the far side of the ring against a small stretch of gating that had not quite fallen. It was one of the two closed entrances into a cramped holding cages, no doubt his own. Probably the only place he felt safe now. Or maybe the men had somehow trained him to retreat to the caging when the fight was finished. It made John wonder pityingly how many times the poor creature had been forced into the ring, although by the looks of it, this time probably would have been one of the last.

The Infected's body was shuddering controllably with the effort of staying conscious. Blood was pouring from the many gashes and wounds littering his torn, tattered form. Strips of blood soaked clothing, ripped beyond repair, hung around his shuddering body like matted hair, like entrails. Colorless, bloodshot eyes watched John narrowly as he cautiously approached, his hands held out, palms up. Cracked lips drew back to reveal blood stained teeth in a warning snarl as the creature tried to move further away. But there was nowhere to go, and the energy used by the movement caused him to collapse in a bloody heap, whimpering in surprise and frustration and fear. However, his reaction interested John. In all his dealings with the Infected, they had never tried to back away from a threat. Their lack of self-preservation was one of their deadlier traits. It was almost encouraging to see that this was not the case with this particular Hunter, even after everything he had been put through. And was that a flicker of fear in his expression?

John crouched down at the Infected's side, keeping his face as calm and as soft as he could while he spoke in a low, reassuring voice. "I am not going to hurt you. I am here to help. You are very badly injured and you will need care. Just take it easy."

He was unsure of the Infected had enough of a mind left to understand his words, but the words were not what mattered. It was the way he spoke. The calming, steady voice coupled with the non-threatening posture and slow movements. This was all about gaining trust.

It seemed to work. Or perhaps the Infected was just too exhausted and injured. Either way, the damaged creature stared at John rather balefully for a few moments more while he talked, and then he turned his bloodied face away, his shoulders sagging.

John waited a moment, then crept slowly towards the prone figure, gently reaching out to brush his large fingers down the spine beneath the tattered and stained clothing. The creature shuddered slightly, but made no move to attack or respond. Encouraged, the man carefully grabbed the far shoulder, rolling the creature onto his back when nothing happened in response to that touch.

The Infected's eyes were closed and his body was limp. For a moment, John was afraid that he had yielded to his wounds like the other Hunter, but then he noticed that the creature was still drawing shallow, ragged breaths. Still alive then. Just unconscious. The large man's eyes quickly glanced over the bloodied form, noting each open, oozing injury with grim analysis. Then something caught his eye.

There was something around the Hunter's neck, hidden slightly by the dark blood surrounding it and the bunched up neck of the hooded sweater he was wearing. Curious, John gently pulled away the clothing to get a better view, only to scowl bitterly. It was a collar. A shock collar, if he wasn't mistaken. So that was how the men had controlled the Infected.

His temple throbbing from the effort of controlling his anger, he reached down and quickly unfastened the black band with large fingers much nimbler than they looked. With a casual flick of his wrist, he sent the cursed object flying off to the side where it landed with a dull thud in the dirt.

"I need a blanket."

A tattered, slightly stained, but nonetheless fairly clean blanket came soaring into the ring, landing heavily at his side. He picked it up and wrapped the damaged Infected within it before picking up the small form in his large, powerful arms and turning to the watchful, fearful crowd.

"Release the others back into the nearest city," he instructed the men, his voice cold and leaving no room for argument. "I will know if it is done, and if it isn't…"

He let the empty threat hang in the air. Not that they knew it was empty. But it had the desired effect. The remaining group nodded furiously, and he knew that his request would be carried out immediately.

"Well? There is certainly no better time than the present."

There was a mad scramble as the surrounding men immediately went to work, either to converge on the cages of the remaining Infected or to go out and get their vehicles. The caged creatures would soon find themselves cage-less and collar-free in less than two hours, wandering the near empty city a safe distance away from the hell they had endured for varying amounts of time. Most of them returned to their former Infected ways without further ado. Some were not so lucky.

But John would never know. All he knew was that he had a load of supplies to drive back to the Compound and now he had a creature that was in desperate need of help. Taking advantage of the chaos in the building, he quietly slipped out the door and returned to his truck.

It was growing dark now as night rapidly approached. He quickly returned to where his truck was parked, simply smiling at the startled questionings of the soldier he had left to care for it. He thanked the young man for his help and gave him one of the packs of cigarettes he kept in his cab, despite himself not being a smoking man, and then waited until the soldier had left before hastily unwrapping the Infected he had set onto his open tailgate, using the light emitting from the supply building next to him to examine the injuries scattering the damaged body.

Now that he had a better change to look, he could see that the Hunter's wounds were not necessarily life-threatening. At any rate, they would not require immediate care and could most likely hold up until he made it back to the Compound. That was a relief. He knew someone of the medical expertise who could help there. Here, he would probably be kicked out of the infirmary and laughed at for wanting to have an Infected taken care of. They would just tell him to let it die. Or they would just kill him right there and ask questions later.

An Infected was an Infected after all.

But they were still human. Or at least they had been. And no one deserved dying like this.

He loaded the beaten, bloodied Hunter into the back of the waiting truck, wrapped him tightly in the blanket, secured him carefully next to the supplies, got into the cab, and drove away.