The Hungry 3: At the End of the World

by Steven W. Booth

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Little Lex was crying, and it was a horribly heart-rending sound. Brandy and Lynn looked resentful, but Miller couldn’t really blame them. She was now tired of this whole situation and starting to second-guess her decisions. If she had been thinking at all, she could have traded the whole damned lodge for safe passage out of Hope Springs—maybe the survivalists would have given them an SUV or something in exchange. Miller figured the whole area was going to hell at ninety miles an hour anyway. Better to be gone than zombie munchies.

  Now her people were cornered, driven back by the sudden assault and stuck in the worst possible place. She looked around in the dim, dusty light. Everyone looked exhausted and stressed out. They weren’t stupid. Their situation was obvious, even to the uninitiated. They were trapped, pinned down in the wine cellar. They had no way out except to fight their way back upstairs the way they’d come, and now those redneck survivalist assholes were guarding the cellar door.

  “What’s going to happen to us?” Michelle said quietly. Terrill Lee was sitting next to her, doing his best to make her comfortable. He wasn’t succeeding.

  “We’ll get out of this,” Scratch said. “You’ll see.”

  For her part, Miller didn’t care for the idea of her men, and maybe even Crosby, getting shot by a firing squad while Miller and the other women got raped repeatedly. That seemed to be the likely outcome, if she didn’t have a stroke of genius and damned soon. She was pretty certain that Martin was a certifiable sexual psychopath, and if his personality was any indication of what awaited them after surrender or defeat, God only knew what they would do with Jimmy and Lex.

  “How’s it going, Jimmy? Talk to me.” Miller said with as much kindness as she could muster. Scratch was leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, pretending to relax. Sheppard was staring at his boots. Crosby was looking for something in the wine racks. The dim emergency lighting gave them some sense of safety, but Miller knew it wouldn’t last forever. Neither would the door, if those survivalists decided to try to storm it.

  Jimmy glanced at her. “We’re getting a Wi-Fi signal from somewhere but it’s weak way down here.”

  “Stay on it. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “Lady, I’m as good as it gets.”

  “Modest, too,” Scratch said, without opening his eyes.

  “Fuck you, Dad. Sheriff, just buy me some time.” Jimmy was holding up pretty well, all things considered. He stood beside a wine barrel, laptop resting on the top, his fingers dancing over the keys like a concert pianist.

  “You’ll get it done,” Sheppard said.

  Miller came to stand behind Jimmy, next to Sheppard. She studied the screen. “This is my account, right?”

  “Apparently,” Jimmy said. “See, oddly enough, I don’t have any law enforcement professionals listed on my video chat account.” Jimmy clicked a few things, waited while there was an annoying buzz, cleared the screen, and started over.

  Sheppard moved closer to Miller. He patted her shoulder. “Are you okay, Penny? Need something to eat?”

  “I’m fine, Karl,” Miller said.

  “I really think you should have something to eat.”

  “And I really think you should drop it,” she snapped.

  Sheppard stepped away, sullen. Perhaps she had been too harsh.

  She watched Jimmy as he worked. He scrolled rapidly down her contact list. She saw Sheriff Charlie Robinson’s name go by and felt a small pang of sadness. Events had established that her old boyfriend died in the zombie attack on Elko, Nevada, and if not was most certainly dead in the subsequent nuclear explosion. Her eyes went moist as Miller remembered Nevada. So many friends and familiar places had turned to dust.

  “Hey?” Sheppard tapped Jimmy on the shoulder. “There it is.” He pointed at the screen, touching a small window with some letters typed in it.

  Buried in the middle of her contact list was a name. Lovell, K. He seemed to be online at the moment.

  “True to his word!”

  Scratch came to attention. Sheppard caught Miller’s eye and grinned. Miller felt hope for the first time in what seemed like forever. “Jimmy, that’s the one. Make the call.”

  Jimmy pushed the button. The image rolled and nearly winked out, giving them all one hell of a scare. Jimmy worked fast and rescued the signal. A square formed, remained unfilled in the middle of the laptop screen. The annoying buzz returned. Jimmy worked. Then, a face appeared.

  “Who the hell are you?” the man said.

  Jimmy snarled, “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Lovell, it’s us!”

  “Sheriff Miller?” The man was Kurt Lovell, the mercenary who, along with Francine “Rat” Hanratty, had helped them escape from Nevada. All that now seemed to have gone down many years ago, not just a matter of months. Lovell looked okay. He was alive, healthy, and had obviously been searching for them.

  “Hey, Lovell!” They all shouted at once, their voices much too loud in the enclosed space. Miller, Sheppard, and Scratch gathered around Jimmy.

  Miller leaned close to be on camera. “God, it’s nice to see a friendly face.”

  “I was beginning to wonder if you had forgotten. Did you ever find some place to hole up for a while?”

  Miller snorted. “Yeah, well, we’re certainly in a hole. Listen, Lovell, we ain’t got much time. Did Rat get through the surgery okay?” She tried to keep the worry out of her voice. “I sure hope the answer is yes, for a million reasons.”

  “She’s fine, Sheriff,” Lovell said. “The surgery was textbook. She’s been out of the hospital for about three weeks now, and she’s supposed to be off the antibiotics any day. You know Rat, she’s stiff as hell, but already working out. They say they’re going to put her back on active duty in another week or so.”

  “I wish I didn’t have to say this, but we’re in a hell of a mess.”

  “Again? I thought maybe you’d stay out of trouble for once.”

  As briefly as she could muster, she filled him in on their current position and situation. When she was done, she said, “We need help, Lovell. Do your people have any assets in the northwestern part of Colorado? We need support, pretty damned pronto!”

  “No shit,” mumbled Scratch under his breath.

  The signal wavered. The screen rolled and winked in and out. Jimmy went back to work, but Miller missed Lovell’s reply.

  “What was that? I didn’t copy.”

  “Rat… over… idea… how long… shit, we…”

  The light on the screen flickered, the weak signal died. Miller, Scratch, and Sheppard exchanged wan looks. They hadn’t had nearly enough time to formulate a plan. Lovell was gone.

  “We needed one minute more.” Miller searched Jimmy’s eyes. “Can you raise him again?”

  Jimmy clicked a couple of things, swore under his breath. “Wi-fi’s down. I got nothing to grab.” He slammed his hands down on the wine barrel, making the laptop jump. “Listen, my battery won’t last much longer, either. If we don’t have a plug down here I’d better shut it off for now.”

  Miller frowned. “We are screwed after all.”

  “You done good, boy,” said Scratch. He patted Jimmy on the shoulder.

  “I have an idea.” Jimmy looked up at his erstwhile father, a wide, teenaged sneer written across his acne-pitted face. “I’ll make you a deal, Scratch. I won’t call you dad, and you don’t call me boy.”

  Jimmy got up. The others backed away from Scratch and his son. Jimmy shut his laptop down, turned his back scornfully, and walked away. His exit was weakened by the lack of space in the wine cellar. He could only go and stand in the shadows near the bottle rack.

  Terrill Lee came closer and lowered his voice. “Jesus, Scratch, that kid’s got a chip on his shoulder the size of the Texas Panhandle. He must be your kid.”

  Scratch ran his hands through his hair. “Give Jimmy a break, T.L. He’s scared, just like the rest of you.”

  Jimmy silent
ly gave Scratch the finger.

  Terrill Lee grunted. “Oh. Just like the rest of us? Because you’re what, exactly?”

  Scratch smiled brightly. “Why, I’m Cool Hand Luke.”

  Sheppard spoke with a bland face. “Uh, Scratch, FYI, Cool Hand Luke was locked up in prison, and he died at the end.”

  “Actually,” Scratch offered, “we don’t know he died. The movie ended with him smiling in the back of the police cruiser. He was shot, sure, but he could have lived. I will go to my grave believing he did.”

  “You are a strange man,” Sheppard said with a wry grin.

  Miller smiled. The fact that her people were discussing movies rather than ways to save their asses spoke highly of their courage, but in the end raw courage wasn’t really all that helpful. She had to figure out what to do, and figure it out fast. The women were quiet and trembling, though Michelle seemed to have a bit of gravity. Maybe they could at least begin to figure out what to do if the survivalists assaulted the wine cellar. At least they could drink themselves to death in high style.

  A sound came from the doorway at the top of the steps. A big man’s fist striking wood. A second knock followed.

  “Hey in there,” the man called. It wasn’t that prick Martin. Miller didn’t recognize the voice. This was someone else. “Your five minutes are almost up. You ready to come out?”

  Before Miller could reply, Crosby stepped forward. “Listen up. This is Constable Carter Crosby.”

  “Crosby?”

  “You aren’t taking us alive. You hear me! You aren’t taking us alive!”

  “Suit yourself,” the voice said. The footsteps ran away.

  “The fuck?” Scratch said.

  Instantly, everyone else was on their feet and yelling in panic and outrage. Miller stood still, dumfounded by Crosby’s strange maneuver.

  Scratch was red-faced. “Crosby, are you out of your Goddamned, flea brained, country-assed mind?”

  Terrill Lee surprised Miller by stepping up, taking aim, and popping Crosby square on the jaw. Crosby went down fast and hard. Terrill Lee stood over him. He shouted, “We had a shot at getting out of here with our skins intact before you opened your fucking pie hole, you tin badge dipstick.”

  Crosby shook his head and struggled to sit up. Dust covered half his face. His hair was a mess. His lip was bleeding.

  “Hold on,” Miller said, finally finding her voice. “Knock it off. Settle the hell down.”

  “Crosby, I should shoot you myself.” Terrill Lee stalked off into the rows of wine racks.

  Miller stared at Crosby on the floor. He was holding his jaw and still looking dazed. She wondered what the hell he’d been thinking to have said such a thing. Did he want to get them all slaughtered?

  “I’m sorry,” Crosby muttered. “I just reacted.”

  “Nice work, Constable.” She turned to Sheppard. “Get him up off the floor.”

  Sheppard stepped forward, took Crosby by the elbow, and hefted him up. They all exchanged looks in the gloom. The silence was oppressive. So was their collective fear. Just as Crosby found his feet, the lights flickered and finally failed. Darkness fell like a thick blanket. The only light in the room came from Jimmy’s laptop, which Lex had turned back on while no one was looking. He’d been playing a game of Angry Birds. At least they weren’t in total darkness. Everyone was silent.

  “You think they shut off the power?” asked Terrill Lee.

  “That or the whole damned grid went offline,” Scratch said. “Bound to happen sooner or later.”

  “Mommy, I’m scared,” whined Lex.

  “Jimmy, we need your light,” Miller said. “Hand that laptop up here.”

  “Like I said, the battery’s about to die,” Jimmy made no move to bring her the laptop. “Let Lex finish his game.”

  “Give it here, damn it,” said Scratch. He reached for the laptop, but Jimmy pulled it away. Scratch stepped forward, and in the dim light, attempted to pull the computer out of Jimmy’s hand. Miller shook her head. It was like watching the car wreck happen in slow motion.

  “Don’t,” Miller said.

  “It isn’t yours,” Jimmy insisted. He held on to the laptop.

  Scratch was the stronger of the two. He ripped it from Jimmy’s hand. His face showed his macho satisfaction, then consternation as he juggled the device and it began to slip through his fingers. It sailed up in the gloom and bounced around. Miller started in that direction but knew in her heart she’d never make it in time.

  “I’ve got it,” Scratch called. He laughed in triumph. Michelle sneezed. Scratch flinched and promptly dropped the laptop on the cement. It fell with a crunch and a crash.

  The light went out.

  Lex cried.

  Michelle sneezed again.

  Miller moaned. She thought, Jesus, what else can go wrong?

  They all stood there in the dark, speechless.

  OooOOOooohh.

  Someone screamed. It was a high-pitched, keening sound. It came from the back of the wine racks, where Terrill Lee had stalked off to.

  “I saw him!” The terror in Terrill Lee’s voice was unmistakable, as was the sound of old wine bottles falling to the sawdust floor. The tinkling they made as they hit the ground reminded Miller of far away church bells. “God help me, I saw him!”

  “Calm down, Terrill Lee,” said Miller. “What the fuck’s your problem?”

  “The ghost! I saw him! I saw him.”

  Scratch cleared his throat. “You’re imagining things, T.L.”

  “No, I’m not! He’s right there!”

  Miller turned, searching the gloom.

  And that’s when she saw the ghost.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  They all stared as a roughly human shape, bathed in an eerie light, raised its arms and floated forward as if born aloft by a non-existent wind.

  “Holy shit,” Miller whispered.

  It was about thirty feet away from Miller, between two wine racks. She felt a cold malevolence wash over her, and the creature came into focus. It appeared to be the head and upper body of an old man. A very old man. Miller looked at her friends. They were just visible in the dim light coming from the creature. Everyone seemed both stunned and frightened.

  The old man did not look happy either.

  “What the hell is wrong with you people?”

  The apparition shook its finger in their direction. Miller blinked and looked more closely. The ghost was lit by a reddish light coming from somewhere overhead. It was missing several teeth. It was shirtless and excessively wrinkled, that wizened body covered with thin white hair that had become matted in spots, kind of squashed into mini cotton balls. Then the ghost cleared a raspy throat—which, from the sound of it, led to the expulsion of a large quantity of otherworldly phlegm. It spat on the ground. Miller thought stupidly: Do ghosts spit lugies?

  Terrill Lee still cowered behind Miller. He was whimpering like a puppy. “My God, it’s hideous!”

  Miller shrugged her ex-husband away. “Relax, Terrill Lee. You’re embarrassing yourself in front of the children.” She took a step forward into the shadows, intending to speak directly to the creature. A hundred poorly written scenes from horror films flooded her mind. She tried to think of something to say that wasn’t cornball.

  “Hold it right there, lady.”

  Miller blinked again. She froze in the middle of a step forward. The ghost had raised a machine gun. It was one big, brutal weapon, and the wide barrel gaped at them, ready to unleash a very real, fiery death. This time everyone cringed and not just Terrill Lee.

  “That’s a Stoner 63.” Terrill Lee knew his guns. He stayed behind Miller, his eyes wide as paper plates. “He must have been killed sometime during the war in Vietnam.”

  For her part, Miller stared at the ghost. Now that her eyes had adjusted to the introduction of a new source of light, he looked more pathetic than terrifying, although that humongous gun was definitely an attention hog. It had a butt pucker factor of ni
ne.

  “I’m not dead, you idiot,” the old man said. “I’m as alive as you are.” He pulled back the receiver lever on the gun. It made an ominous click. “And I intend to stay that way.” The old man eyed them angrily. “I was going to let those amateurs upstairs wipe you out, but now I can’t be certain they’ll kill you all, and I sure as shit can’t have you telling them about me, so I guess I’ll have to do you all myself.”

  “Wait, what do you mean, kill us?” one of Michelle’s sisters shouted. Miller shared the sentiment. Her mind worked furiously, trying to find a way out of this mess. The old man felt as threatened as they did, and for good reason. Now they were trapped from both sides. Scratch had eased his gun up and casually sighted on the old man. Terrill Lee was useless, but Sheppard was edging closer to his own rifle. Miller knew that if she didn’t figure something out quickly, the old man would open fire or her men would, and they’d all likely be a footnote in a history book that might never be written. Close quarters, no quarter. If everyone started firing, it would be over within a few seconds, a total massacre.

  “This isn’t twenty questions, miss.” The old man coughed again, his semi-toothless mouth battling another ball of phlegm. Miller watched as he spat the second wad of goo into the darkness.

  Miller raised her hand, palm out. “Can we take a minute to discuss this?”

  “Time to die,” the old man said. He started to squeeze the trigger. As he did, a wine bottle flew out of the darkness. It hit the old man squarely in the forehead with a clank, but didn’t shatter. The old man’s jaw dropped open. His eyes rolled up into his forehead. He fell backwards, triggering the huge machine gun to fire a volley of five or six rounds. The noise was deafening and the air reeked of cordite.

  “Return fire!” Someone outside the cellar door had shouted. A barrage of bullets struck the cellar door, punching holes in the thick metal and supporting wood, allowing slim shafts of light to illuminate the wine racks and dot Miller’s followers, the rapidly moving sight twirling like a disco ball of violence. Ricochets pinged and clanged around above them, bouncing off cement walls, metal hinges and plates. Bottles of rare wine exploded and rained glass and alcohol everywhere. There was no going back now, no room for negotiation. That much was clear.