The Hunters

Chapter Two: The Outcasts

The two took turns dozing, and by daybreak, each was ready to be as far away from Pacifica as possible. They could've realistically left as soon as Jillian had arrived, but Lance had hoped that Jason and Cynthia would show; if for no other reason than being able to close that particular chapter of their new lives. But for whatever reason, the two Hunters hadn't shown, and Lance's curiosity aside the ex-Hunters sped towards Sacramento.

Jillian briefly flirted with the notion that the governor would simply leave them alone... that Richards would assume that neither of them knew enough to be dangerous and would simply write them off. But Lance quickly crushed that theory as they both had chased contracts with seemingly less information than what they currently knew. He then reminded his partner of what had happened to his mentor, with the ambush by remnants, and she realized how chillingly similar it was to the contract they had just completed: remnant ambush, high-profile subject, and the disturbing reality that Lance was over thirty... the seemingly arbitrary retirement age for Hunters. It was then that Jillian had to make peace with the fact that her comfortable apartment was a thing of the past, and she pouted and remarked about how much she would miss pizza.

Worry was something that Lance didn't have to deal with, as his mental state had erased most emotions from his psyche. The clinical definition of a sociopath was a person with a personality disorder manifesting itself in extreme antisocial attitudes and behavior, and a lack of conscience. The last three words, lack of conscience, is what made him such a good Hunter, but it was also what alienated him from society. He couldn't feel love, happiness, sorrow, or remorse, and with the exception of a well-cooked meal, he rarely felt any joy at all. But all of that aside, he was wondering, to the point of concern why the other Hunters hadn't come for them yet. One of the few positive side-effects of having limited emotions was that he was rarely distracted... which had always served him well, and now more than ever. He knew that Jason and Cynthia were coming, but with the exception of formulating a viable defense, he simply didn't care.

A Hunter's scanner was designed to track implanted ID chips, but Hunter-3 could be tracked as well... although it didn't use much more than a simple GPS device similar to the ones that freight carriers and law enforcement had used decades ago to keep track of who was going where. But Lance didn't want to give his pursuers any more of an advantage than they already had, so he had Jillian dismantle it as he drove. Technical applications weren't exactly her strong suit, so with the exception of her meticulously maintained shotgun, she didn't have the mental acuity to perform delicate procedures such as what her partner had requested... so, she simply found it, and smashed it. Lance rarely laughed, but his eclectic partner's antics brought the occasional chuckle, and this instance was enough for him to display a smile. Jillian, on the other hand, giggled uncontrollably, and continued to do so long past what would normally be considered plausible. Regardless, Hunter-3 was now untraceable, and the pair hid it in a collapsed garage just outside of the decaying ruins of what was once Sacramento, California.

As with any major city in early twenty-first century America, the outskirts of Sacramento began with residential housing additions, which eventually morphed into the midtown shopping and industrial districts, and finally the downtown skyscrapers. Only seventy years had passed since the initial outbreak, so most of the infrastructure was still intact, with the exception of most wooden structures that required having their roofs replaced every twenty years or so. But where many residential homes had collapsed under mother nature's relentless onslaught, the gleaming downtown structures hadn't changed too much in the last seven decades. The primary problem with using a perfectly good city with solid buildings and stable infrastructure was the infected. Sacramento was once a city of over a half-million people, and now it had nearly the same amount of infected. The relatively close-quarter housing that many residential neighborhoods employed ended up being a death-sentence, so to speak, for most urban and suburban dwellers. Only about ten percent of the residents escaped unscathed, while the rest fell to a fate worse than death.