The Wild Ones

  The Wild Ones

  Jack Hunt

  Contents

  Also by Jack Hunt

  Prologue

  Countdown

  Survivalists

  Outbreak

  Trapped

  Girls Gone Wild

  No Way Out

  Highway To Hell

  Free-For-All

  It’s Official

  Odd Times

  Betrayal

  Bad Blood

  Abandoned

  Heads Or Tails

  Eggshells

  Friendlies

  Lock And Load

  Captives

  Oh Brother

  Armed And Dangerous

  Nde

  A Plea

  Reading Team

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2017 by Jack Hunt

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  THE WILD ONES is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Also by Jack Hunt

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  The Agora Virus series

  Phobia

  Anxiety

  Strain

  The War Buds series

  War Buds 1

  War Buds 2

  War Buds 3

  Camp Zero series

  State of Panic

  State of Shock

  State of Decay

  Renegades series

  The Renegades

  The Renegades Book 2: Aftermath

  The Renegades Book 3: Fortress

  The Renegades Book 4: Colony

  The Renegades Book 5: United

  Mavericks series

  Mavericks: Hunters Moon

  Time Agents series

  Killing Time

  Single Novels

  Blackout

  Defiant

  Darkest Hour

  Final Impact

  For my Family

  Prologue

  Look, I know you want answers. Everyone does. In fact, you’re probably wondering what caused the outbreak in the first place? Hell, if I told you, you wouldn’t believe me, because this shouldn’t have occurred. I’m dead serious, no pun intended. If I had to lay a bet, I could think of far more realistic ways for the world to end; a giant asteroid, a nuke dropped by North Korea, climate change, AI takeover, economic meltdown, a super volcano, a religious final judgment, an ecological disaster, heck, even aliens would have been easier to palate, but shit, I’m afraid that’s not the song playing on the radio. Nope, we got crazed lunatics with a taste for flesh. Now listen, I’m partial to a bit of skin once in a while myself, I mean, Jenny Carter had an ass that any warm-blooded American would have given his right nutsack to chomp down on but that’s wayyyyyy different than going all Jeffrey Dahmer on some poor soul.

  But it is what it is. These are the cards we’ve been dealt and here’s where they fall — smack bang in the middle of the wild Adirondack Park of upstate New York — not far from the small town of Long Lake.

  Don’t recognize it? No, I’m not surprised as it’s in the armpit of hell, nothing more than a speck on a map, a blip on the radar, and a wart on the face of America.

  I know — weird place for all hell to break loose.

  I imagined if things were gonna go belly-up anywhere it should have been California — I mean c’mon, it’s the narcissistic capital of America. A self-obsessed, sardine-stuffed shit tin full of more freaks and wannabes than the other forty-nine states combined. But alas, that’s not where things kicked off.

  So why here? Why now?

  Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that these survival skills they taught us, yep, the same ones I turned my nose up at, laughed about and had written off as the mad concoctions of a mind under duress, I think they’re gonna pay off. In fact I know they are because it was those same skills that got us out of the mess I found myself in just a few days ago.

  What mess, you ask?

  The kind of royal screw-up that could only come from being joined at the hip to a group of dipshits dropped off at a camp by their oh-so-loving parents. I’m talking about the most overprivileged, under-cared-for, angst-ridden, sorry excuses to have ever walked the face of the planet. Yeah, the same motley crew my brother was put in charge of, the ones whose lives were left in his hands before the world nose-dived into chaos.

  Oh, and before you rake me over the coals for being so damn judgmental, I would have you know I include myself in that group. Okay, I won’t go so far as to say I’m the same but I’m as much to blame and, well… I’m getting ahead of myself.

  Now look, all you need to know right now is that I could have easily turned my back on them, gone my separate way and said what anyone in their right mind would have — you know, told them it was every man for himself and all, but what kind of human being would that have made me? Certainly not the one you’d want to read about years from now when they retold the events of what started here at Zombie Survival Camp in the sweltering summer of July.

  Zombie what?

  I know, trust me, we’ll get to that real soon.

  But first, just let me kill this sucker before I become one.

  Countdown

  Sunday, July 2, 22:35 Hours

  Twenty-Four Hours Before Outbreak

  I raced into the bathroom, locked the door and puked all over the floor and sinks. The explosion of chunks, and bile went everywhere. It was like watching the last two hours in reverse. A gnarly display of burgers, hotdogs, heaps of greasy onions, Coke, pumpkin pie, and far too many helpings of strawberry cheesecake. Look, it didn’t require me consuming all that, but I had to make an impact and wow; it was going to make one hell of an impression. I pitied the fool who would be assigned the task of cleaning that up.

  I staggered back and admired my handiwork. Damn, it was perfectly timed.

  Okay, it didn’t taste good coming out, but this was going to buy me a one-way ticket home, and that was all I needed — freedom from a two-week sentence. I know, a little extreme but sometimes, desperate times call for extreme measures, and there was no way in hell I was going to stay here.

  A sudden pounding on the door — always under their watchful eye.

  The doorknob rattled.

  “Scott, you want to open the door?” growled Tom Sanders, the owner of the camp.

  “You don’t want to come in here. I’m not feeling good.”

  In all honesty I wasn’t too bad, but this had to be my best performance.

  I wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve. The acidic stench was overpowering. Oh, this was going to work like gangbusters. Ten minutes of everyone’s eyes boring into me, a few minutes of verbal tennis with Tom and I’d be cozied up in the back of an SUV on my way back to Long Lake. They couldn’t argue with this. Sure they had a nurse on hand but they couldn’t make me stay. Not now.

  I reached up and braced myself against the only sink that wasn’t dripping.

  More pounding. “Look, just give me a minute,” I shot back.

  “Scotty, it’s me. Open up.”

  So my name is Scott Evans, and there is only one person who calls me Scotty.

  “Nick?”

  “The gig is up, dude, I found the bottle of ipecac syrup.”

  My hand shot to my jacket pocket. No. Impossible. I patted it
down, expecting to feel the small bottle but it wasn’t there. Shit!

  You’re probably wondering what ipecac syrup is? It’s an over-the-counter remedy made from the root of the Cephaelis ipecacuanha plant and it’s used to induce vomiting. One swig of that and it was a guaranteed trip home from school. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d used it in the past to get a day off. It had been my trusty companion for years — my very own genie in a bottle, so to speak.

  Reluctantly I reached up and unlocked the door and pulled it wide. Standing there was my brother Nick with Tom Sanders and two of the instructors.

  “Nice try, buddy, but you are here for the next two weeks,” Nick said as I made my way out. I felt queasy, and it wasn’t just the ipecac attempting to go for a second round. I’d been feeling that way ever since I’d learned I was coming here. My dreams had turned into nightmares at the thought of sharing a room with a bunch of strangers, eating shitty food and being forced to endure campfire songs. Sure, there were some folks who loved that, even thrived on it, I wasn’t one of them. I glanced back inside at the gruesome mess. I no longer was in doubt about who the fool was who would be cleaning it up.

  “Can I get a minute with him?” Nick said to the others.

  Tom didn’t look impressed, especially after seeing the state of the bathroom.

  “He’s cleaning that up.”

  Nick waved them off. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll have him deal with it.”

  “Once you’re done, come see me.”

  Tom’s two right-hand men, yes-men or assholes as I liked to call them, smirked and walked away leaving us alone. Nick put a hand on my shoulder as he gazed at the all-you-could-eat buffet.

  “Damn, Scotty, I’ve got to say that’s real commitment, you ever thought of taking up acting?”

  He stared back at me as I spat on the ground trying to clear the funky taste from my mouth. “Can you just point me in the direction of my cabin?” I asked, about to walk away. “I’m turning in for the night.”

  He clamped a hand on my shoulder.

  “What on earth was going through your mind?” Nick said breaking into laughter.

  “I was doing it for us. I know you didn’t want to be here and well, I certainly didn’t,” I said kicking up a few loose stones out of the dirt. “I figured Tom would send me home and you would have to go with me.”

  I expected him to give me the third degree for humiliating him in front of the others but he didn’t say anything, instead he made a gesture towards a bunch of log cabins and we crossed the open space. There was a campfire in the middle, wood crackling away and glowing embers rising into the night sky. The campsite was located near Raquette Lake, in the heart of Adirondack Park. It was a wild landscape surrounded by pristine waterways, boreal forest and towering mountains.

  From what I’d heard, it was a popular place for camping. Raquette Lake had five other campgrounds in the area but everything was spaced so far apart, unless you hit the water, you’d be lucky if you saw another soul.

  “This is your cabin,” Nick said leaning against the doorway.

  I peered inside. What a shit hole. Two weeks here? I would be lucky if I survived a day. There was nothing to cover the windows except tarps. No door? How the hell were we meant to protect ourselves from wild animals? Now you might be wondering why this was a shock to me. I guess I should back up and explain. Here’s the thing, my family has never really been the type of folks to rough it and camp outside. Of course we tried it a couple of times but my mother hates mosquitoes, and my father complained about his bad back, and that was sleeping inside an RV. But this? Hell, I thought criminals in prison had it better than this. Now having said that, my brother, well Nick been here numerous times. Though being fair he had different reasons. Female ones. However, from what I learned, things had gone sour a few years back and so that’s why he didn’t want to return. I thought I was doing both of us a favor, obviously not.

  “Look, you and I are not getting out of here, so you better get used to it. Suck it up, dude, and get with the program. If I had my way, I would be at home but it is what it is. You’ll only make things worse for you, and me. Oh, and remember, lights out at 2300, and you have to clean up that bathroom before you hit the sack. Got it?”

  He slapped me on the back and walked off into the night dragging his feet.

  In the dim light from outside the cabin, I could just make out two rows of bunk beds and a couple of other campers inside. They had taken wooden crates and stacked them so campers could use them for storing belongings. It was a far cry from the luxurious mixed martial arts camp that I’d attended five years in a row.

  I cast my eyes around as I stepped inside. A teen with long dark hair, and a hood up, glanced at me before climbing up on top of one of the bunk beds. Though I couldn’t place his name, I recognized his face from earlier when they had taken us through the asinine meet and greet, ice-breaking games and bonfire. It had been hours of cringeworthy interactions with fellow campers ranging from fifteen to eighteen years of age.

  I was about to place my duffel bag on the lower bunk when another kid scooted in front of me. “That’s mine.” He gestured with his skinhead to another bunk across the room. I trudged over and tossed my bag on the bottom bunk. It wasn’t made of much, just a mattress, a gray blanket and a small pillow. I wasn’t going to use it. Who knew how many bed bugs were crawling in that thing? I yanked out my blue sleeping bag and rolled it over the top. Above, an African American kid with dreadlocks studied me while listening to music on his iPhone. It sounded like rap from the beats seeping out. He was average build, dressed in brand-name clothing and wearing the latest Nike self-tying shoes.

  He pulled out a headphone and grimaced. “You’re gonna take a shower before you turn in, right? I mean, damn, you stink!”

  I nodded and he must have caught me glance at his sneakers.

  “Pretty cool, eh? Top of the line, limited edition. My father snagged the last pair in our city. Check it out,” he said before reaching down and engaging the button on his Nikes. Across the room the kid with the skinhead looked on shaking his head.

  He piped up. “You know you’re not going to be able to wear them here, Jamal.”

  “I know that,” he spat back as if stating the obvious before returning to laying back.

  The skinhead eyed me. “New guy. Got wind of your little escapade from my father. What a chump move.” He chuckled. “But don’t worry, I’m sure mommy will come and pick you up if you ask her real nice.”

  “Don’t listen to him, he acts all tough and shit but it’s all hot air,” Jamal said. “His father is the owner, Tom Sanders. He likes to think he’s some badass soldier, don’t you, Tobias?”

  Tobias flipped him the bird. He was a strange-looking dude, hair buzzed tight, wearing a green army shirt, light brown camouflage pants and rocking a pair of Doc Martens. A brawny fellow, rough around the edges with a defined jaw — the kind of kid I imagined begged his parents for dumbbells every Christmas. We both watched him go through the process of filling up the storage crate beside his bed in an orderly fashion. He had a kit for polishing his boots, a survival magazine, a FLIR camera, a compass and granola bars stacked.

  “By the way, I’m Jamal Lawson,” he said extending down a hand. I shook it.

  “Scott Evans. But you can call me Scotty.”

  He pointed and smiled. “Like from Star Trek, right?”

  I blew my cheeks out and grimaced. “Yeah, my old man is big into that.”

  He laughed. “A Trekkie! Say, does he go to those weirdo conventions and dress up as one of them?”

  “Afraid so,” I replied feeling slightly embarrassed by it all.

  The strike of a match sounded. I turned my head to see the emo-looking dude on the top bunk lighting a cigarette. His fingernails were painted black and I could now make out the words on his hoodie: My Chemical Romance.

  “Hey, put that out,” Tobias barked at him. “It’s against the rules.”

  “Bi
te me,” he said leaning back and taking a hard drag on it. Tobias snatched it out of his mouth and stomped on it while the kid cursed at him, then rolled over facing away from everyone. On the back of his hoodie, imprinted in white were the words: I’m Not Okay.

  Tobias looked pleased with himself. “Like I said. Against the rules.”

  I jerked my head towards him. “Who’s that?” I asked

  Tobias laughed. “That’s Ryland Barkley. British student. He set the camp on fire last year.” He tossed up his hands and created quote signs. “Allegedly.” He breathed in deep. “Yeah, they couldn’t prove it otherwise he wouldn’t be here, but the kid isn’t exactly wired right. A bit of a pyromaniac, you might say.” He stopped chuckling and flashed me a serious glance. “So Scotty, your brother, I haven’t seen him here in a couple of years. But you, why are you here? This is new for you, right?”

  “Parents have gone away, and the other camp that I used to go to closed down, so they decided to send me here. Lucky me,” I said in a sarcastic manner.

  “I hear you, brother.” He yawned and put his hands behind his head. “Two days of this shit fest and I’m going to call my father and have him take me home.”

  “Why do you even bother coming?” Tobias said, turning towards us, and producing a flick blade from his pocket. He picked at his teeth with the tip while glancing at me as if to see if I was intimidated. I wasn’t. It was kind of amusing, actually. It never ceased to amaze me that wherever there were people, there was always one who thought he was some badass.

  “Same reason you do — my old man,” Jamal replied.

  Tobias seemed to take offense at that. “That’s not true. I’m here because I want to be.”

  “Oh yeah? So how come you aren’t one of the instructors by now? I mean you have been coming here for way longer than any of us.”

  “Because…” He trailed off turning back towards his bunk.

  “Because your father doesn’t think you can do it, does he?”