“Jimmy Bowen? You don’t sound like that punk-assed kid. Who are you really?”
Scratch turned to look at Miller, and seemed as confused as she felt.
“I know it’s been a few years, Greta, but it’s really me. Jim Bowen.”
To Miller’s surprise, Greta flung the door open wide. She stood still, her body backlit in the doorway, the hunting rifle slung casually over one arm. She was a compact brunette with graying hair, dressed in comfortable jeans and a blue work shirt.
“Oh, Jim Bowen.” Greta laughed a sinister chuckle. “I thought you meant… well, someone else.” Her posture changed, grew straighter. “What the hell are you doing back up here, boy? Ain’t you heard the world has gone to shit?”
“That’s kinda why we’re here,” Scratch said. “Things suck down in the flatlands. We were hoping you could show us some mountain hospitality.”
Greta laughed; a raspy, cheerful sound that was immediately followed by the phlegmy cough of a long-time smoker. “You always were a dreamer, Jimmy. We’re closed. Most of the villagers have left, and we ain’t had us a lodger since those bombs went off. Sorry, but there’s nothing I can do for you.”
“Couldn’t you help us out, just for old time’s sake?”
Greta shook her head sadly. “’Fraid not, son.”
The snow began to fall harder. It was cold as an ice diver’s balls. Miller’s spirits sank as she realized that their hopes of a place to stay for the night were going to shit. She felt worse with every passing second. Winter was coming. They were tired and hungry. After all the shit that they’d been through, she didn’t relish the idea of spending another night sleeping in the minivan. This was still Scratch’s show, but if things went south, she was willing to risk his ego—and this old woman’s comfort—to score a bed for the night. And dear God, just one bath.
“We can pay you.” Terrill Lee spoke before Scratch could form a response. All eyes were instantly upon him. Scratch looked furious, Sheppard was simply shocked. Miller felt her own jaw drop open, incredulous. How dumb could Terrill Lee get and still remember to breathe? Greta, her face washed out by the headlights and wan moonlight, grinned broadly. Her smile was warm. Her eyes were greedy.
“Shut up, numbnuts,” Scratch said under his breath.
“How much?” Greta lowered her weapon.
“Ten thousand. Cash,” Terrill Lee said. He ignored the others.
“Terrill Lee, what are you thinking?” Miller said. She wasn’t whispering. He’d blown their secret. They had a lot of cash left. It had once been a fortune but was dwindling fast in a country losing faith in its currency.
“Each?” Greta asked. She had already taken their measure and seemed pleased. Times were tough. “I might be willing to let you in for ten thousand each.”
“Done,” Terrill Lee said, before anyone could stop him. “We want four of your best rooms. And in the morning, you’re going to feed us breakfast. I mean some real hot food. Not that dried survival bar crap. Do we have a deal?”
“Hell, yes,” Greta said. She put the rifle down and hoisted a large ring of keys. “For that kind of money breakfast will be filet mignon and eggs, with some cold champagne to wash it all down.”
“Good enough,” Terrill Lee said. As usual, he seemed immune to everyone else’s hostility. For the hundredth time, Miller remembered why he was her ex-husband. “Everybody, go get your stuff.”
Without looking back, Terrill Lee headed for the rear of the minivan. He was followed slowly by Scratch, Sheppard, and eventually Miller. Greta went back into the cottage but left the front door open. Miller watched her friends, then Greta, with her head on a swivel. Experience had taught her to be cautious.
When they reached the van, Scratch grabbed Terrill Lee by the shoulder and spun him around. His fist clenched and his arm cocked back. Scratch wasn’t all that prone to empty threats. Miller was a mite surprised that he didn’t punch Terrill Lee’s lights out right then and there. Hell, Miller almost considered doing the same damned thing. He had just announced to the world they were loaded with cash. They wouldn’t be able to explain where the money had come from without opening a twelve-foot can of worms. Oh, that? Well, we got it off a corrupt military officer named Gifford. He tried to bribe us to protect his ass and hide the origin of the zombie virus, but ended up we killed him because of a double-cross and kept the money. Honest. Try explaining that to a judge.
Enraged, Scratch brought his face close to Terrill Lee’s. The two stood in shadow at the side of the van. Meanwhile, Sheppard walked around the driver’s side and turned off the headlights. Terrill Lee stared back, unafraid.
Scratch said, “What the fuck is your problem, Terrill Lee? I had that under control.”
“Oh, bullshit,” replied Terrill Lee. “She was shutting you down, and you know it. I had no intention of sleeping with your feet in my face for another night because you blew a simple negotiation.”
“Damn.”
“We live in unusual times, Scratch, we need unusual measures.” Terrill Lee pulled away and turned his back. He opened up the back of the minivan and took out the duffle bag of money the General had given them. They collected their few meager possessions, extra weapons, and ammo. “What’s done is done, right?”
“Yeah, but now that she knows we’re loaded, you dumb shit.” Scratch paced back and forth, itching to lash out but restraining himself. Miller thought he looked downright sexy like that. “Greta has always been a bit off. How do we know she isn’t going to cut our throats while we sleep and take the rest of the money?”
Terrill Lee just stared. “You said she was a friend.”
“She is, but shit, I got half my scars from friends. You've got to think before you run your mouth, Terrill Lee.”
“Okay, boys,” Miller said. “Enough. Terrill Lee did what he did. He’s probably right. Remember buying the minivan? Who the hell knows what paper money is worth these days anyway. Might be zero by morning. Let’s hope the price ain’t forty thousand every damned night. We haven’t got that much left.”
“We still have about six-hundred thousand right now,” Sheppard said, stating facts as usual. “Our burn rate has been way too high.”
They locked the vehicle. Miller looked up to see Greta waiting in the doorway. She had lost the weapon and seemed at ease, even a little excited. “Jesus, Jimmy, are you folks going to stand around jawing all night?”
Miller turned to Terrill Lee. “Give me that bag of cash. I don’t want to find out that you lost it to old Greta there in a game of strip poker while we were sleeping.”
He did. Miller opened the bag. She pulled out four stacks of bills, each one worth ten thousand dollars. She kept the duffle bag and handed the rest of the money to Scratch. “At least they still have power up in these parts. Wonder how long that will last.”
When they had their things together, they all turned in a choreographed row to face Greta and started walking toward the cottage. Miller plastered on a grin. They walked a few steps closer. Greta stayed in the doorway. Uneasy, Sheppard and Terrill Lee stopped walking. Miller and Scratch kept going.
Greta stood there, her head tilted to the side, and stared. “Ahem,” she said politely.
Annoyed, Scratch stepped up and handed her the money. Greta pocketed the thick stacks of cash. Her face immediately brightened again.
“Right this way, folks,” Greta said. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
“Ladies first,” Terrill Lee said. Scratch gave him the finger.
The men waited for Miller. Clutching the last of their money, she walked in first. She was followed by Terrill Lee, Scratch, and then Sheppard, who closed the door behind him. The cottage was neat and well appointed, with a vaguely German look to it. It featured a large fireplace, with China figurines on the wooden mantel. Miller saw two thick and comfortable chairs and one long, green couch. A bedroom lay to the back, next to a small kitchen.
“Follow me.”
Greta grabbed a long, industria
l flashlight from an end table. She flicked on some exterior overhead lights. They stepped outside, and Miller watched Greta carefully as she led the group into the next building. They walked up the wooden steps to the next level, the main doors of the lodge itself. She did something to a box on the wall—probably the electrical panel—then unlocked two elaborately carved doors with a series of keys. Miller glanced outside through the thick, stained-glass windows. The snow was now falling with a purpose, and it was only when they stepped into the large lobby of the hunting lodge that Miller realized how cold she had been. The promise of shelter was welcome and long overdue.
The main floor of the lodge was still dark and felt cavernous. The lights were off, and Greta didn’t flip them on, perhaps to save energy or retain emergency power. Most of the furniture had been shoved to one side and covered with sheets to keep the dust off. It hadn’t been used this season, that much was certain. Wood panels and floors gleamed with polish. Miller was reminded of that creepy movie, The Shining. Their footsteps echoed as they walked through the empty space. Miller moved closer to Scratch.
Terrill Lee must have felt it, too. “Creepy,” he said, mostly to himself.
“Let me get this straight,” said Scratch. “Zombies are normal, but a big empty building is creepy?”
Terrill Lee scowled at him.
Greta led them across the lobby and over to the next set of stairs. She lit their way with the flashlight. Miller caught quick glimpses of a comfortable sitting area, and a huge restaurant-like café section with the glassy eyed head of just about every kind of dead animal you could think of hanging up on the walls. Terrill Lee yawned and stretched, causing Sheppard to bump into him. Miller felt her own eyes closing. She clutched the bag of money to make sure she didn’t drop it along the way. They were all so tired and burned out. Maybe Terrill Lee had been right to spend the money after all.
Greta took them up two flights of stairs to the top floor. An exhausted Sheppard stumbled near the top of the second flight. The landing on this floor featured a small hallway and four impressive, thick wooden doors, presumably opening into four different suites. Not bad at all. This was much better than Miller could have hoped for. They had the place all to themselves, and some well-deserved privacy from one another as an added bonus.
“Take your pick, folks.” Greta held out a set of four big keys. “These two over here get the morning light, so if you’re a late sleeper, I’d suggest you take one of those other two.” She indicated the doors across the hall.
“Penny,” said Scratch, taking charge. “You take that one. Take a bath and get some sleep.” Scratch patted her on the shoulder. He handed her a key and pointed to the room in the southwest corner.
She smiled. She felt exhausted. “Sounds good.”
“Karl, you and Terrill Lee can fight it out for the two rooms over there. I’m taking this one.” Scratch leaned over to Miller, and whispered—loudly enough for everyone to hear—“Honey, these two suites are adjoining.”
“Don’t get your hopes up, Scratch,” Sheppard said. He put a touch of steel in his tone. “Penny’s room is off limits. We don’t know what the… you know… the virus is up to these days. And anyway, she needs her rest.”
Scratch’s head snapped around. “Yeah, and who’s going to stop me?” He puffed up his chest and gave a short, sharp laugh.
“I am,” said Miller. “Let’s lighten up, gentlemen. Tonight get a good night’s sleep. We can discuss who bunks with whom in the morning.”
“You heard the lady,” Sheppard said.
Meanwhile, Terrill Lee watched the entire exchange. The look on his face was one of pure jealousy.
Miller ignored all the squabbling men. She turned to Greta. “This place does still have hot water, right?”
“It will in the morning. I’ll have to go down to the basement and fire up the water heater.” Greta smiled a little too broadly, reminding Miller of Terrill Lee’s John Wayne Gacy smile back in the van. She did it by flashlight, like a kid telling campfire ghost stories. The sight seemed to send shivers up Terrill Lee’s spine.
“This lodge ain’t haunted, is it?”
Before Greta could respond, Scratch said, “Shit, yeah! You mean I didn’t tell you about the ghost?”
“What?” Terrill Lee was clearly taking him seriously.
Knowing all too well that Terrill Lee had a thing about haunts, Miller said, “You’re kidding.” It was not a question. “Tell him you’re kidding, Scratch.”
“Hey, Greta? Remember that time old Scott Bell went missing?” He turned to watch Terrill Lee’s reaction. “They only found his head and shoulders, Terrill Lee. He’d been hung up on the wall just like one of those mounts. The ghost sure got ol’ Scott.” He couldn’t quite keep the grin from his face.
Terrill Lee was sagging back toward the stairs. “I… I don’t think this is such a good idea, Penny.”
Sheppard rolled his eyes. “Scratch, that’s mean.” He put his hand on Terrill Lee’s shoulder. “Lighten up.”
Terrill Lee nearly jumped out of his skin.
“I promise you, there are no such things as ghosts,” Sheppard said.
“Let me get this straight,” Terrill Lee said. “You believe in zombies, but not ghosts?”
Miller was fed up. She raised her voice, spoke to Greta. “So we could wash our clothes in the morning then, too?”
“Sure thing,” Greta said. She yawned and motioned impatiently for them to enter their rooms.
“W-w-what time is breakfast?” Terrill Lee asked. He was looking around nervously now, imagining things that went bump in the night.
“Whenever you like, sir,” said Greta. Her eyes were dead as road kill, but she was smiling. Miller couldn’t tell if she was a homicidal maniac, or maybe had never seen that much money in one place before. It was more likely the money.
“Let’s get some sleep.” Miller was sick of being cold and tired. She hadn’t slept in a real bed in days. The prospect of a hot shower was only hours away. She didn’t wait for the others. She went directly to the suite that Scratch suggested, opened the door with the key, and flipped on the light. To her relief, the lights came on. Miller was pleased.
The room inside was spacious and impressive, to say the least. There was a sitting area with a stocked bar and a big screen TV, though probably no channels still on the air. Miller was too tired to find out. Through an open hall door, she could see a bedroom and a clean bathroom. She locked the door to the suite. Miller set the rest of their money and her backpack containing her few belongings on the table in the sitting area. She went straight for the bathroom to clean up. The water was running, though still icy. Too bad the bath would have to wait for the morning. At least she could properly brush her teeth for a change.
After finishing the necessities in the bathroom, Miller headed directly for the king-sized bed. The bedspread was a little dusty, but the sheets felt fresh and clean. Feeling exhausted but grateful, she took off her filthy clothes, slipped between the sheets, and was fast asleep within moments.
CHAPTER TWO
Safely back in her little cottage, Greta examined the money over and over again. She was no expert, but the bills passed every test she could conceive of. Holy shit. Right there in front of her, in neat little piles, sat forty thousand dollars in one-hundred-dollar bills. With that much money, Greta figured to be able to get out of Hope Springs forever. Hell, maybe run as far as the other side of the Mississippi without even stopping. Rumor had it the zombies hadn’t reached that far yet.
She put the money in plastic kitchen bags. She couldn’t have said why, but she didn’t want the bills to get dirty or wet. They felt like pets to her now.
Greta sat on the edge of her bed. She took several deep breaths. Her plan was simple. She’d wait until morning, make these silly people some breakfast, find some excuse to get them the hell out of the lodge, and then take off. Just go and leave her boyfriend Gunter and everyone else in Hope Springs behind. After all she’d don
e for him, if that ungrateful old bastard she’d been with was really so ready to abandon her, what did she have to hang around for?
Nervous energy coursed through her body, making her hands shake. The night wore on. Greta busied herself around the cottage, selecting things she’d need for the trip. She would need clothes, extra food, water, a hand gun and ammo, a picture of her dead husband and son… and, of course, that beautiful, beautiful stack of green bills.
But the more she thought about it, two new things occurred to her. One, why did she have to wait until morning? Why not make a run for it? And two, these fools had to have more money in that duffle bag. Maybe they had one hell of a lot more. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t have handed over the cash so easily. If Greta could get to St. Louis with forty thousand dollars, maybe she could get to Europe with a half a million. Whatever they still had stashed, more was always better.
No, Greta told herself. That was wrong, stealing their money was a sin, but try as she might she couldn’t get the idea of that extra cash out of her head. Even back when the satellite companies had stopped broadcasting regular TV and only played that ridiculous government propaganda, Greta knew it was time. She had to dump Hope Springs and light out for the East Coast. This was her big chance.
Greta licked her lips. She looked out her window up to the lodge. It was quiet. All the lights were out in the suites on the west side of the lodge, up where Jimmy and his lady-friend were staying. That didn’t mean much in the end—they could easily be soiling the sheets right now—so it was too dangerous to try anything when she could get caught. They had to sleep sometime. They looked tired, all of them. She needed patience.
And so she continued to pack and unpack and pack again. She even caught herself cleaning the cabin a couple of times and laughed at herself. Who in heaven’s name was she cleaning for? Jimmy? Them zombies? What difference would it make? If what they said on the short wave was true, then it would be a matter of weeks before the walking undead would be hiking the slopes of Hope Springs, maybe riding up and down on the ski lifts in awful holiday sweaters.
The Hungry 3: At the End of the World Page 3