Terrill Lee stared at the big, silver-plated revolver. Courage and resolve settled on his face. “No. I’ll do it,” he said. “I don’t want you last memory of me to be putting a bullet in my brain. I want you to remember the good times, not… this.” He waved the dripping stump at her. Then he held out his remaining hand for the revolver. Reluctantly, Miller gave it to him. She reached down and picked up the Stoner.
“Promise me something.” Terrill Lee looked deep into her eyes. “I need you to make it out of here, Penny. No matter what else happens. Make it out of here. I need to know that you are going to survive.”
She swallowed. “I know that feeling.” She looked at him back, holding his gaze. “Terrill Lee, you already know I loved you, don’t you?”
“Always have, always will.” He smiled weakly. “You should go now, before I change.”
“Goodbye.”
“I love you, Penny. Say goodbye to the fellas for me. Lock the door behind you.”
Somehow Miller found the strength to turn and walk through the doorway. She stood with her back to the room. The others waited outside, watching her, waiting for her to tell them what to do next.
“Don’t look back,” Terrill Lee said from the room behind her. “Don’t watch. Remember me the way I was, honey.”
Miller closed the door behind her.
Sheppard stood before her, shoulders hunched. He looked beaten. “I’m so damn sorry, Penny.”
“It doesn’t matter now. Not anymore.”
Miller tried not to think about Terrill Lee or Michelle, or Sheppard’s apologies. Instead, she focused on the present situation, and the one person who stood between them and escape. She turned to face old Gunter.
“Now, dickhead, you’re going to answer the question or get castrated with a dull putty knife. Is there another way out of here or not?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Damn you fucking people! I can’t believe it took you less than thirty minutes to completely contaminate my bunker. I’ve been secure since Jack Kennedy got his last blowjob, and I’ve been doing just fine all that time. I’ve got everything I need right down here: Got me lots of guns, loads of ammunition, a lifetime supply of vitamin C crystals, and as much wild boar and deer as I can hunt whenever I choose to go out.”
Scratch said, “So you’re always down here all by yourself?”
“Only one other person in the world knew I was down here, and old Greta kept my secret for near fifty years. She was as trustworthy as the day is long, and the nights—well, I’m gonna miss them too, you know what I mean? The old girl could party.”
“You had the life,” Sheppard said dryly.
“Damn straight. And you know what I’ve got more than anything? Solitude! As much as I want. Or wanted. Dang, I should have blown you all away when I saw you in the wine cellar. That’ll teach me to have a soft heart.” Gunter seemed profoundly disappointed in himself for failing to kill them all. He hadn’t lived up to his own fantasies.
“Back up,” said Scratch, also stopping the procession to the back door. “What was that about guns and ammo?”
“I… I didn’t say anything about guns and ammo.”
“Gunter, you’re about as good a liar as you are a people person,” Miller observed. She prodded him with the barrel of the Stoner. “Hand them over.”
“You’re out of your goddamned minds if you think I’m going to arm you.”
Scratch closed the distance. He drew his .45 Springfield and placed it firmly against the side of Gunter’s head. “Our friend Terrill Lee gave us orders to survive, jackass. He didn’t mention a thing about you.”
“You fucking people are crazy!”
“We’re crazy?” asked Scratch. “We haven’t been living in a cave for fifty years, so don’t talk to us about crazy. So, if you want to live to take another dose of vitamin C and have a ringside seat to the zombie apocalypse, you’ll hand over those weapons right… fucking… now!” To further make his point, Scratch pulled the hammer back on the .45 and pressed it farther into the old man’s wrinkled flesh.
Gunter set his jaw and squeezed his eyes tight. “Screw you, pissant!”
Michelle’s family—what was left of them—was staring back at Scratch from further down the long tunnel. He turned to catch the eyes of Crosby, Miller, and Sheppard, who watched him silently.
After an eternity, Miller made up her mind. “Stand down, Scratch. He’s right. We’re not going to kill him. We’re not like the assholes upstairs.”
Scratch deflated. The old man had called his bluff and he had lost. He averted his eyes from the others.
Miller thought for a moment. “In a few minutes, we’re going to feed him to Terrill Lee.”
Gunter went pale.
“He’s my ex-husband, Gunter. A good friend. And he is going to be hungry pretty damned soon, if he isn’t already.” Miller swallowed hard. “So I guess the least we can do before we leave him to die is provide the boy with a good last meal.”
Scratch watched. Miller nudged the gun out of the way. She took Gunter by the arm and forced him to his feet. She turned him back toward the bedroom. “This place can’t be that big, so we’re bound to find the back door on our own sooner or later.” She pushed Gunter with the machine gun.
“Dinnertime, Terrill Lee,” Scratch called.
“You won’t do it,” Gunter whimpered.
“All we need do is shove you inside and lock the door. Terrill Lee will do the rest. And yes, you can take this much to the bank. I’m going to let him punch your ticket and get a bit of raw pleasure before he starves to death in there. It was nice meeting you, Gunter.”
“No!”
Miller pushed hard, propelling him forward.
“You got kids with you,” the old man wailed. “Is this the lesson you want to teach them?”
Crosby answered this time. “Sure. You ought to know that survival is a pretty good skill to learn these days.”
Miller looked at Crosby. She began to wonder if he really had gone off the deep end.
“All right,” said Gunter, “you goddamned homicidal maniacs.”
Miller stepped back. She breathed a silent sigh of relief that she didn’t have to go through with the threat. Her stomach was churning. She watched as Gunter led the others down the second arm of the T to a hidden panel behind a false wall. They untied his hands. Gunter sighed. He dialed the combination, and put his hand on the handle.
“Wait!” Scratch put the gun to Gunter’s head again. “That better not be booby-trapped.”
“Give it a rest, hippie,” Gunter said boldly. “I know you haven’t got the guts.”
“If it’s you or us, I choose us.”
Despite the pistol, Gunter turned to him. “Relax, it isn’t booby-trapped.”
The old soldier opened the door and turned on the light. Scratch grunted with surprise. To a group desperate for supplies, the room was flat amazing. It was like the entrance to some kind of paranoid Valhalla. There were enough weapons to arm a pissed off platoon of Marines. They saw guns, racks and racks of them. They saw dozens of boxes of ammunition. In the center of the room was a large table, saw horse, and chair, and what appeared to be a serious gun cleaning operation.
“Okay, everyone arm up!” Miller pulled Gunter out of the room. She kept him covered while the others went shopping. Without being asked, Sheppard handed Miller several more magazines for the Stoner, along with a messenger bag to hold them. He also replaced her .357 Smith.
Miller watched Jimmy as he evaluated the choices of weapons. She watched as he ran his fingers across each of the machine guns, almost caressing them. He didn’t seem excited by the prospect of choosing a weapon. Miller caught a glimpse of his face. It was wet, though his expression never changed.
Scratch stepped up to him, and gently put another Stoner in his hands. They locked eyes for just an instant. Surprisingly, Scratch was the one to look away. Jimmy stared at the machine gun like it was someone else’s. He didn’t seem to
know what to do with it. Scratch gestured for him to follow, and they filled a messenger bag with more magazines. They spoke in soft tones. Miller could guess it was about Michelle, but she couldn’t be sure.
While she watched Scratch and his son, the others also chose weapons. Miller made a note that Lynn and Brandy seemed to know which end of the guns to hold. Sheppard and Crosby immediately went to their weapons of choice and began arming up.
Miller kept an eye on Lex, who stood next to Brandy, clinging to her side. Either he didn’t know what was going on, or he was in shock. Miller guessed the latter. He had a glassy look in his eyes, and he was quiet and still, not antsy like usual. Poor kid.
Miller began to plan their escape, step by step, though she didn’t yet know the route. They’d have to make old man Gunter take point all the way. If he double-crossed them, he’d go first.
Scratch picked up an M60. He wrapped two belts of red-tipped tracer ammunition around his body like bandoliers. Miller thought he did a decent imitation of a young Sylvester Stallone playing Rambo.
Crosby stepped close to Miller. “Sheriff,” said Crosby, just loud enough for Sheppard to hear. “May I talk to you two privately?” he asked, including Sheppard.
Miller signaled for Scratch to watch Gunter, and she stepped away from the others.
Crosby didn’t waste time. “I’ve got a problem.”
“What’s that?” asked Miller. She glanced at Sheppard, who rolled his eyes, just enough to be noticed.
“I was there with you at the store when Greta was killed, same as you and Jim. Same as Michelle.”
“So?”
Crosby’s tone became low, urgent. “Michelle and I both got splattered when you shot Greta back in the general store. Michelle got sick and turned into one of them. I’m scared, Sheriff. The only place she could have possibly picked up the virus was at the store when Greta died. How do we know that I didn’t get it too?”
Miller stared at Sheppard. She wanted to say, that’s a really good question. She couldn’t find a way to do that without sounding as accusatory as she felt.
Sheppard finally collected himself. He said, “Are you feeling any symptoms?”
“I’m not sneezing, if that’s what you mean.”
“No, I meant, are you feeling hungry, excitable, racing thoughts, unable to sit or stand still, fever, pain, aggression, accelerated reflexes, anything like that?”
“Maybe a little hungry,” Crosby offered, putting his hand on his belly. “Is that serious?”
“We’re all hungry, Crosby. It’s dinner time.” Miller spoke reassuringly to Crosby. “I wouldn’t panic if you have no other symptoms.”
“Sheriff, Michelle was sneezing the whole time, on you and me and everyone else. Karl, earlier you said that the zombie virus can be transmitted through bodily fluids, not just through blood but saliva too.”
“True.”
Miller stood straighter, shoulders squarely facing Crosby. “Listen to me. We can’t afford to panic. You have to stay calm. You’re fine.”
“You don’t know that, do you?”
Before Miller could answer, Sheppard replied, “No, I suppose we don’t.” His own face darkened.
Miller darkened too. What the hell was wrong with Sheppard? She presumed that Sheppard was feeling guilty over Michelle and Terrill Lee. Perhaps he should, she thought. And then, without meaning to, she let the thought slip through her defenses. Perhaps he should feel guilty about all of it. They’re dead because he missed the signs. Because of his poor judgment in starting this whole damn mess.
Miller shook that anger away. She had finally learned not to think of Sheppard as the cause of all their troubles, and she didn’t want to start thinking that way again. And the last thing she needed was Crosby to go completely off the deep end.
“Gentlemen, let’s stick to what we know. Until Constable Crosby here actually gets sick, we’re going to operate as if he’s fine.” She turned her back on Crosby and Sheppard and looked at the others. She raised her voice. “All right, is everyone ready to get the hell out of here?”
Scratch spoke for the rest of them. “Ready to rock, Penny.”
Miller glanced back at Sheppard and Crosby. They were conferring quietly. When Sheppard noticed Miller looking at him, he shushed Crosby and came to something like attention. Miller didn’t spend the time to wonder what that was about. She turned to Gunter. “All right, let’s go. Lead the hell on, MacDuff.”
Gunter rolled his eyes. He knew when he was beaten.
He led.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Exiting the underground bunker turned out to be difficult and time-consuming. It took them the better part of ten minutes to make their way out through the winding, damp, cramped, freezing-cold cave. Finally the group ended up emerging one by one into the cold night air. They were just on the other side of the lake. The moon was high, and the light seemed bright after the long stretch of claustrophobic darkness and pale flashlight beams.
They stood in a circle outside, damp and cold and tense. A stand of trees blocked them from being seen from the lodge. The muddy ground was powdered with snow and ice, and some of the rocks were wet and slippery. Miller gathered the small group together using hand signals. She settled in to whisper instructions.
“Okay, listen up. The mountain over there blocks our escape to the east and south. That means north and west are our only options, and that means being seen from the lodge. I reckon Gunter here knows the area best. You’re on point, old man.”
“Hey, leave me the hell out of this!” The old man barked.
“Shh,” they all said in unison, even little Lex.
Miller glared him down. “You were invisible for the better part of 50 years. You’re on point.” It was not a request. To make her point, Scratch and Sheppard moved their weapons ever so slightly in his direction.
“We went through this before. You won’t kill me,” he said, and took a step in the direction of the cave. “If you shoot me now, all those idiots back at the lodge will know where you are.” He took another step. “You bastards are going to die tonight, just like those two fucking freaks inside, and I say good riddance to all of you.”
“Don’t talk about my mother that way!” shouted Jimmy.
Miller looked away. She had no more patience for the old man.
“That was your mother?” Gunter grunted. “I was just trying to figure out how I could dump the skanky whore outside without getting slobbered on by that crushed melon she used to use as a head.”
Gunter turned, but he never had a chance to take a step. POW POW. The bullets struck Gunter in the back and neck, removing large chunks of flesh. Gunter fell hard to the ground, cracking what was left of his face on a rock. He bled out quietly into the snow. Miller pulled the machine gun from Jimmy’s hands. She pushed him hard, driving the kid back into Crosby. She was livid—at Jimmy as well as herself—for not seeing that one coming. For not stopping it.
Crosby grabbed Jimmy’s arms. Jimmy struggled, but Crosby was stronger. Crosby reached behind him, and drew out a pair of handcuffs, which he snapped around Jimmy’s wrists.
Scratch was furious. “What the hell, Jimmy? You killed him for mouthing off?”
Crosby held Jimmy back. He screamed at Scratch. “You heard what he said about my mom! You were too much of a wimp to do it, so I had to!”
“They’re going to know where we are now,” observed Sheppard. He was always one to state the obvious.
“Shit, Karl. They already do,” said Scratch.
Uhh-huunhh…
New zombies shambled out of the snowy tree line, one after another, all tattered cloth and gory flesh. Exposed bone glinted in the moonlight, feet crunching through the frost, the corpses leaving trails of blood and entrails on the ice. The virus that had taken shape up in the mountains had arrived in full force at last.
Sheppard opened up with his assault rifle, hitting the first zombie in the chest to slow it up. Sheppard let his aim climb and nai
led the thing in the head. It flipped backwards and was immediately replaced by another. A naked man with white hair and half of his jaw missing hissed like a snake. Scratch took him out.
The night became chaos. The next zombie, a tall farmer in overalls, came from the left. Miller and Brandy both cut loose. Brandy hit the zombie in the chest, exploding its rib cage—an utterly useless gesture and a waste of ammo. She froze when the monster kept right on coming. Its huge hands went up, fingers extended. Unhhh. Hunnhhh…
“Aim for the brain!” cried Miller. “Destroy their heads, damn it.” She screamed in rage as she shot the zombie in the skull just above the eyes. “Don’t waste ammo anywhere else if you can avoid it.”
Brandy snapped out of her fog and resumed firing. Little Lex began wailing. Miller couldn’t blame the child. She would be doing the same thing if she weren’t busy as a three-legged cat trying to cover shit on a marble floor. She was starting to worry that she wasn’t going to be able to kill zombies, defend her people, and somehow come up with a new plan all at the same time. This night had become too overwhelming. She didn’t like to worry. It wasn’t her strong suit.
“We gotta move. Crosby, you’re on point. Can you get us to the north side of the lake without getting us eaten or shot?”
“I’m on it.”
Crosby led, and the rest followed. Miller was happy to be moving again. She was finally beginning to warm up. Miller kept Jimmy in front of her. She wished she could have given him back the machine gun, but she couldn’t trust him at the moment not to shoot someone else in the party. They spotted a few more zombies as they ran, but they were too far away to be a threat. Nevertheless, Crosby shot at them, making a terrible racket.
“Would you take it easy?” called Miller. “You’re just drawing attention to us and wasting ammunition.”
“Sheriff, we’re on my turf now,” Crosby said breathlessly. “And I know what I’m doing.” He ran out ahead, leading them around a clump of trees and boulders, and disappeared from sight. Snow fell into his boot prints.
The Hungry 3: At the End of the World Page 16