Inside, the place was kind of dark except for a couple of lights they had already turned on. The huge windows were almost all shuttered, including the giant window that went up to the second floor to the west. One window on the second floor that faced the lake to the east was still partially open, and that did let a little daylight inside. Some snow had drifted in to melt on and dampen the wooden flooring. The ponderous gloom made the lodge look kind of horror movie spooky, and Jimmy kind of dug it, though he also worried that Lex might get all freaked out. His brother was always a pain in the ass when he had nightmares.
Jimmy dropped the backpacks on the floor. He followed Scratch and Karl into the kitchen with the boxes of food. No one spoke. The men seemed comfortable working together, and divided tasks efficiently without having to communicate. After setting the cans down on one of the counters, Jimmy stood there alone, waiting to be told what to do next. He didn’t have to wait very long.
“Jimmy,” said Scratch, in a softer and far friendlier tone, “would you do me a favor and take Lex upstairs. See, us grownups here, we have some real serious things we gotta talk about.”
Jimmy thought about correcting Scratch’s grammar, just to score some points, but didn’t get the chance.
“There’s some binoculars up there,” said Karl suddenly, as he gently nudged Jimmy toward the door. “Have a look around.”
Jimmy went out into the sitting area. He noticed that someone had been cleaning a bunch of rifles in the café next to the kitchen. He couldn’t decide if these people were certified wackos, crazy-assed survivalists, or if they really thought zombies were coming to take them away.
“Dude, come check this out.” He motioned to Lex, and they headed up stairs. He pretended to race his brother, but allowed Lex to win, as usual. It wasn’t worth the meltdown if he won. Jimmy jogged around, checking things out, peering into the deserted rooms. A lot of the doors were open, curtains pulled back from the windows. It was a big place, larger than it first appeared from the front. Jimmy took Lex by the hand and led him to the wooden ledge overlooking the main sitting area. The view down the mountain from there was breathtaking, even for someone as jaded about the mountains as Jimmy.
The binoculars were next to the open window. Jimmy showed Lex how to focus them and let him take the first turn to shut him up. As expected, Lex got bored quickly and went off to explore on his own. Meanwhile, Jimmy picked up the binoculars and carefully scanned the far side of the lake, focusing in on the thin snow and the tree line about half a mile away. The view was like something from a postcard. The rich sure had it better than the rest of us, didn’t they?
Harrison Lake wouldn’t freeze over, it rarely did and the winter was slow in coming this year. It was a gorgeous site any time of year. The view was spectacular. The lake was stocked with all sorts of fish, mostly trout but lots of other kinds too. Jimmy had gone fishing alone up here in the off-season for the last couple of years. The Constable wasn’t that hard to dodge if you kept your eyes open.
He studied the lake. Harrison was an oval about three-quarters of a mile long north to south, and about a half mile from east to west. The mountain rose sharply on the east side of the lake, squatting maybe another quarter mile away. The lodge had been built on the western edge of the lake, right above a rocky slope that went down at a steep angle and rolled away to the west. The owner of the lodge owned the lake, and about a hundred acres of land surrounding the lake, including the stables a bit to the north of the lodge. Inside and out, Jimmy realized the place was pretty cool after all.
“Let me see, too.” Lex had reappeared and was holding out his hand for the binoculars. Annoyed, Jimmy squeezed the barrels together so that they would fit Lex’s smaller face, and handed them over.
“Don’t get snot on them,” Jimmy said.
“I don’t get snot on things. Why are you so mean?” Lex looked out of the window, up toward the sky, like he was searching for UFOs. He’d be lucky to see some raggedy-assed ducks leaving too late for their trip south on winter vacation.
Jimmy went over to the balcony railing that overlooked the main part of the lodge. He tuned in again. Even though the grownups were speaking quietly, he could hear everything that they said.
He could hear his father—Jimmy wasn’t quite ready to accept that, but he didn’t see how he had much of a choice for the moment—his father saying, “I found the minivan, but the money wasn’t there, and the keys are probably locked in that store, lying in a pool of Greta’s blood.”
“What money?” asked Jimmy’s mom.
Karl looked at her. “Greta stole a lot of money from us, and then left us stranded here with nothing but the deed to the premises.” He turned to Scratch. “We’ve been working on fortifying this place. It might stand up to a disorganized horde of zombies, but otherwise the place is like a sieve. It would never stand up to a dedicated assault by professional soldiers. If those survivalists you were telling us about want to get in here, there’s not going to be a lot we can do to stop them.”
“Sure, but our first priority,” said Scratch, “has got to be getting Penny out of jail. I know exactly how vulnerable that place would be in a zombie attack. Even if Crosby could hold them off for a little while, it would get overrun in no time. She’d be locked in a cell trying to break out, just like I was when we first met. I don’t want her to have to go through that again.”
“You guys really believe that whole zombie story, don’t you?”
All three of the men turned to look at Michelle with comically shocked looks on their faces.
Karl spoke first. “Ma’am, not only are there really zombies, but if Scratch is right, we haven’t got much time before they are all over this area.” He turned back to Scratch. “How reasonable is this constable person?”
“Carter seems like a good man,” Scratch said. “I knew him as a kid. I’d say he takes his duties pretty seriously, but when things get troublesome he relies on the Larimer Sheriff to back him up.”
Michelle said, “He’s not power crazy, but he’s not going to let your friend out of jail without a really good reason. And I doubt he’ll release someone he thinks is a murderer without the Sheriff’s say-so.”
“Would he let her out on bail?” asked Terrill Lee. Clearly smitten, he studied Michelle like a man looking at a priceless work of art. “If we could find that money Greta stole from us, maybe we could bail her out.”
“I don’t know,” Michelle said. “I don’t think so, since it wouldn’t be coming from a judge or the Sheriff.”
“We gotta bust her out of there,” Scratch said. “I don’t want to hurt Carter, but I will if I have to.”
Sheppard frowned. “If we could convince the constable that Penny killed a zombie and not a human being, maybe he might let her out. He’s heard the news reports by now. He must be in denial.”
“Yeah,” Scratch said, eying Michelle, “guess you could say a lot of folks are.”
Upstairs, Jimmy felt something tugging on his right arm.
“Jimmy, Jimmy. Come look!”
“Shh,” Jimmy whispered.
The smaller boy was pulling at his shirt, excited, gesturing to something he’d seen outside, through the window. The kid was all wired up.
“Stop,” whispered Jimmy. “I want to hear this.”
“You gotta see, Jimmy!”
Jimmy huffed. He wanted to pinch his brother, but Lex would start bawling and then Mom would be up in his grill, or his new fucking father would kick his ass. Pissed, Jimmy walked over to the window, took the binoculars from his brother, and said, “Okay, fine. What am I looking at?”
“There’s some people across the lake,” said Lex. He sounded all proud of himself.
Jimmy scanned the far side of the lake. Nothing but trees, dead brush, and snow. He almost stopped looking. Almost.
Then he saw it. Them. Three people, all just sort of stumbling around.
“Holy shit!”
His little brother giggled at the profanit
y. Jimmy focused in more clearly. The people moved clumsily, their faces slack and strange. Their exposed skin was grayish. Their eyes seemed weird even from this far away. Christ… One was missing an arm. Another had a hole in his guts. Jimmy adjusted the binoculars. They were exactly what Scratch had been describing. Zombies, the walking dead, like in some graphic novel or late night movie. Or a video game. It was all real, like Scratch had said. Dead people moving around, clothing ripped and torn, skin and bones showing through. They looked all bloody, too, like they were in a car accident.
“I’ll be damned.” Jimmy handed the binoculars back to his brother and headed for the stairs. “Good job, little man. You keep an eye on them. If they come any closer, you holler and let us know.”
Jimmy raced down the stairs. He wanted to deliver the news in person and get full credit for it. It took him only a few moments to reach the kitchen, where the grownups were still standing debating what to do next.
“Mom!”
Jimmy slid on the linoleum and knocked some silverware off the counter with a loud clatter. All four of the grownups turned to look at him.
“You’re supposed to be upstairs watching your brother,” Michelle said sternly.
Sheppard picked up on his attitude. “What is it?”
“You need proof there are real zombies?” Jimmy asked, already knowing the answer. “Well, I just found you some.”
Scratch stood up straight. He grabbed a gun. “Where?”
“Come on, I’ll show you.”
CHAPTER NINE
“I’m telling you, Greta had turned,” Miller said. “She died. She was a zombie. Crosby, believe me, I know what I’m talking about.”
Miller stood tall in the small cell, her fingers white from clutching the bars. Crosby had locked her in. As for her trusty Smith, it was now imprisoned in the gun cabinet behind Crosby’s desk—the weapon might as well have been back in Nevada for all the good it would do Miller when the zombies finally attacked. She’d tried to reason with the Constable. Time was running out. She had to figure out how to get out of the cell and back to the lodge.
“I’ve seen them, Crosby. I’ve seen it all. It ain’t like in the movies, with one or two zombies wandering aimlessly. They gather together, sometimes hundreds of them, and they’re not shy about coming after the living.” She took a breath. “They’re here in Hope Springs, and if you don’t do something about it, every single person in your village is going to wind up dead really fucking soon. Don’t you get that? Are you even listening to me?”
“Not anymore,” Crosby said.
“Look, Crosby, I really appreciate you backing me when it came down to subduing and arresting this sorry-assed, smelly, tobacco chewing, beady-eyed, pimply redneck little weenie dog here when he tried to rape me.” She hooked her thumb at Martin.
That string of invectives drew a mean stare from the man in question, who now sat in the cell next to Miller. Martin exchanged looks with his two sullen friends. All three of the men then started staring at Miller with hate in their eyes. The thought of three rapists being so close to her when she was unarmed gave Miller the creeps. She’d be damned if she’d give them the satisfaction of knowing she was bothered. She continued to ignore the trio and concentrated on Crosby.
“Crosby, listen. If you don’t buy the zombie issue, go back in the store and check the body. Go look at her for yourself. I can tell you right now what you’re going to find. The irises of her eyes will be white as boiled eggs, and she’ll already smell like she has been dead for a week instead of only thirty minutes. She’ll also be emaciated from having a high-speed metabolism—her body was already eating itself from the inside out, which started before she even got here. Look for yourself. You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to, but you’ll sure as hell have to believe your own eyes.”
Crosby didn’t even glance her way. “Sheriff, please just shut up.”
The Constable sat up and grabbed a piece of paper with some numbers written on it. He smiled and turned his chair to the big, old-fashioned radio set. He flipped a couple of switches, and soon Miller could hear a loud humming sound coming from the ancient device. Even the radio back at Miller’s headquarters in Flat Rock had been more modern than Crosby’s, and that sucker had likely been built and sold during the Nixon/Ford administration. The radio was one of the many things she had planned to replace after the remodeling of her jail had been completed. Well, it was remodeled to hell and gone now, that’s for sure. Miller shook off a wave of sadness.
“What are you doing?”
Crosby turned a few dials. He cleared his throat like an announcer preparing to broadcast for the first time. He picked up the microphone, a one-piece unit the size of a small blender. It looked like an antique transported from the set of some old radio show.
“Larimer Sheriff, this is Hope Springs Constable Crosby. Do you copy?”
Static crackled softly from the speakers. Crosby sat back to wait for a reply. Watching from her cell, Miller shook her head in dismay. She knew there wouldn’t be many folks left down the mountain, probably not alive and able to answer, anyway.
“Larimer Sheriff, this is Carter Crosby on channel sixteen. Do you copy?”
No response. More static. Crosby got that worried look again. The men in the cell next to Miller went to clutch their own bars, riveted by the drama. No answer meant dead serious trouble. Miller studied the men. She could read their eyes, especially the youngest one. He was flat out terrified.
“You aren’t going to get anywhere with that thing,” Miller said finally. “If the zombies have already reached up here to Hope Springs, there may be nothing left of the Larimer Sheriff’s department.”
Crosby stood and closed the door between his office and the jail cells. The window allowed her to watch him as he checked the piece of paper he had found, turned another dial very precisely. He flipped a different switch. Miller began to wonder if he’d even used the equipment before. “Larimer Sheriff, this is…”
A loud, high-pitched squeal blasted out of the speakers. Everyone jumped. Martin stepped back from the bars and the other two men stiffened. The noise was abrupt and chaotic. It sounded a lot like digital traffic, like a fax machine screeching to another fax machine. Most of the racket was high-pitched squeal, but even the lower, more throbbing tones were harsh and grating at the edges.
Frustrated, Crosby checked his trusty paper again. He changed the channel one more time. “Larimer Sheriff, do you copy?”
Miller couldn’t hear through the closed door, but Crosby sat up like he had made a contact. Smiling, Crosby turned up the volume.
“Hello?” he said tentatively.
“This is the United States Army.” The woman speaking sounded angry and hoarse, frayed internally like someone who’d been working non-stop for a very long time. “You are transmitting on a restricted channel. You are ordered to cease all transmissions immediately.”
“Hey! Hey, this is Constable Crosby of Hope Springs, Colorado. I need to reach the Larimer County Sheriff. There’s been a murder here and…”
“Look, citizen,” the woman said, “I don’t care who you are. This channel is reserved for military traffic only. In case you haven’t gotten the memo, the president has now declared martial law for all the Rocky Mountain States. Now, get off this channel. Stay off. Anything about that you don’t understand… Constable?”
The human voice vanished. The digital noise resumed; that loud, piercing sound. The three men in the cell next to Miller retreated to the far wall.
Crosby snapped off the radio. He turned to look at the prisoners waiting in the two small cells tucked in the corner of his jailhouse. At first he ignored Miller and focused on Martin and his two companions. The men stared back at him. Miller watched, puzzled. Something seemed to happen between the four males, something unspoken. Whatever it was, the message was exchanged quickly. Crosby looked down at his desk, clearly coming to a decision of some kind.
Much to her surprise
, Crosby opened the door separating them again.
Miller decided to try one last time to talk some sense into him. “I know how you feel, Carter. It’s scary thinking that the world is balls out going to shit, but think about it. Why would the president declare martial law if something really big wasn’t coming down the pipe? The zombies aren’t a rumor. They are real and their numbers are growing. It’s spreading. It’s a plague. Death has arrived here, in Hope Springs, your village of all places. Even I never thought the zombies would get this far up so fast. Please go back to the store and take a look. Greta’s corpse is proof that…”
“Greta’s corpse isn’t proof of anything,” Crosby said, “except that you are a cold-blooded murderer.”
“You don’t really believe that. I can hear it in your voice.”
Crosby scoffed. “Give me a break, Sheriff. You must think I’m a rank amateur. Let’s look at the facts. You came here this morning telling me that Greta stole your money and your ride. She spoke to you people as if there was bad blood between you. Then you shot her dead in front of witnesses. Any jury would think you took advantage of the chaos down below to have your revenge the minute you saw her walk into the store.”
“That’s not what happened, Crosby. If I hadn’t shot Greta, she would have bitten someone, maybe someone you care about. They would have bitten someone else and so on. Hell, you would have had a village full of zombies by nightfall. For all I know, you may still if you don’t let me out of here.”
“Look, lady.” Crosby stood up. He closed the distance, pointing his finger at her face behind the bars. “I don’t buy that bullshit about zombies, okay? You and Jim can tell one hell of a story, but that’s all it is, a story. Something else is going on out there.”
Miller sighed. “Like what?”
The Hungry 3: At the End of the World Page 9