The Hungry 3: At the End of the World

by Steven W. Booth

  “Take it easy, Carter.” Scratch started to edge further away from Miller. He was forcing Crosby to turn away from her.

  “Stay right there,” said Crosby. He fired one round into the snow.

  Scratch stayed.

  Crosby laughed. “You know, I had this all figured out. We had the weapons, we had the supplies, we had the men—and even the women. Everything was prepared. And when the first reports of the trouble in Nevada came in, we knew that our time had come. The fucking nukes just confirmed it. But it wasn’t until you and Sheriff Miller showed up that I realized what I was up against. Not the zombies, mind you, but something much worse.”

  Miller caught Scratch’s eye. She saw love and fear, resolve and courage. He was going to let Crosby kill him so she could escape.

  So what was she doing watching? Somehow she couldn’t run.

  “Shit, Carter. What’s worse than zombies?”

  “You are,” he said. He pointed the rifle at Scratch’s heart.

  There was a tremendous groaning sound. Crosby and Scratched turned to look. Behind them the lodge fell in on itself in slow motion, with a whoosh of flames and debris. It bought them just a split second.

  Miller moved. She leapt from the trees, and tackled Crosby’s waist. The rifle fired. Miller and Crosby wound up in a heap on the ground, just in front of the steps to what had been Greta’s little cottage.

  Miller and Crosby struggled for the rifle. She punched Crosby in the face, then on the ear she had shot, and then finally grabbed at the assault rifle, wrenching it out of Crosby’s grasp, spinning it away. The move worked better than she had expected, and the assault rifle went sliding across the thawed, muddy ground.

  Crosby punched her in the face. Miller sagged as she watched the assault rifle slide to a stop. She went over sideways, her ears ringing. Miller saw the next blow coming, and blocked it. Then she slammed her fist into Crosby’s throat. Gagging, Crosby let go of her. He grabbed at his throat with both hands, giving Miller a chance to back away.

  Crosby made soft, choking noises. His eyes were bugging out.

  Uhhh-huunnh! Huuhhh-unnhhh!

  The zombies had seen them.

  Miller knew she had only moments. Then she saw something on Crosby’s belt.

  A pair of handcuffs.

  “Come on, you son of a bitch.” Miller stood up. She took Crosby by the elbow. She dragged him to the railing of Greta’s steps, and flipped him over. She took the handcuffs out of their case. She put her knee in the middle of his chest as she snapped one bracelet around his wrist and the other around the railing. Then she dug around in his pockets until she found the key.

  “No, don’t!” Crosby wheezed.

  Miller tossed the key into the woods. She stepped back away from the terrified Crosby.

  She surveyed her work. She could hear the zombies rustling in the trees.

  “Too late, Crosby. It’s done.” Miller heard the cruelty in her voice, but she didn’t mind one damned bit. All she had to do was think about Brandy’s death, and she knew she was doing what needed to be done.

  “You… you can’t just leave me out here.”

  Miller ignored him. Where was Scratch? Why hadn’t helped her in the fight?

  She searched the snow bank and then saw him. Scratch sat on the frozen ground, not far from where he had been a moment before. He was holding his left shoulder. Blood oozed between his fingers.

  “Shit, Penny,” said Scratch. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

  Miller picked up the assault rifle. She went to Scratch’s side. “How do you feel?”

  “Like target practice,” Scratch said. His voice was still strong, but he was in pain. He was losing blood. Behind them, Crosby began to struggle against the handcuffs. He was still wheezing for air.

  “The zombies will be here in a minute. Can you stand?”

  Scratch winced and whimpered through gritted teeth as Miller helped him stand. Miller surveyed the area as she let Scratch lean on her for support. Snowflakes dotted her red hair. Scratch looked down at her with kindness in his eyes. He coughed, but no blood came up. He wasn’t hit through the lungs. She hoped he would be all right.

  “Just like old times,” Scratch said, smiling. Well, it was more of a grimace than a smile.

  “Help me,” Crosby called in a raspy voice. “Please.”

  Three zombies appeared from the trees in a loose triangle. They seemed to sense how helpless the Constable was. They shambled toward Crosby.

  Miller’s head spun. The woods were likely full of the creatures and still more might yet escape the burning lodge. She needed yet another new idea and fast.

  “Sheriff!” Crosby croaked. “Jim!”

  “Fuck you,” Scratch said.

  The zombies fell on Crosby. They began to bite and chew. His screams were painful and grating on their ears. They ignored the noise. They had heard worse than that before, hundreds of times over. Scratch and Miller knew they had to get out of there fast. There had to be a working vehicle around somewhere.

  “Penny?”

  Miller looked. Her face lit up. Next to Greta’s cottage, rusting in the snow, they saw Greta’s old Harley Electra Glide. “You think you can ride?”

  Scratch brightened. “Hell, yes.”

  She smiled back. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The radio screamed in Rat’s ear. “I’m almost at Bingo fuel, Rat. They’re gone. There’s nothing more you can do!”

  Rat considered stomping on the little radio to get Lovell to shut up, but it was her only link to safety. She was running, followed by Wolfson, around the perimeter of the collapsed lodge. McGee, her other remaining teammate, was up in the helicopter with Sheppard and the two boys. And Lovell, who was still talking to her.

  “Look, I’ve made two sweeps of the area, and I haven’t seen anyone who could even remotely be Penny and Scratch. Sheppard has been checking any moving bodies down there, and aside from you and Wolfson, everyone else is a zombie.”

  “I won’t accept that,” said Rat. “They have to be here somewhere.”

  Wolfson targeted a walker, and fired. The undead thing went down, half its face blown away.

  The area around the lodge was a mess of mud and soot and burning zombies. Rat kept searching faces, even the half faces, for Miller and Scratch.

  A new voice was in her ear. Sheppard. “Rat. They’re gone. They couldn’t have made it out of the lodge. You’re going to get yourself eaten or shot. We need you for later.”

  “We need Penny for later, too,” she said.

  There was static on the radio, and Sheppard’s voice said softly, “This is about Gifford, isn’t it?”

  “No,” she said, a little too quickly.

  Rat could hear Sheppard say something, but there was too much static. Lovell came through clearly.

  “Rat, I’m at Bingo. If you want to go home in the helicopter, I have to pick you up now.”

  Rat realized she had stopped moving, and was staring at the wreckage of the lodge. Wolfson stood next to her, waiting for orders. She looked at him.

  “All right, Lovell. I’ll meet you at the exfil point. Out.”

  She looked at Wolfson. “It’s over. We lost the prize.”

  The Blackhawk circled overhead. It was time to go.

  “Let’s go home,” she said.

  EPILOGUE

  The mountain air was clear, crisp, and carried along by an almost arctic cold. It whipped Miller’s hair across her face, lashing her cheeks, but she really didn’t mind. She felt great. Apparently freedom tasted like melting snow. Scratch held on to her from behind as Miller reacquainted herself with the long-forgotten skill of riding a motorcycle. Scratch was going to be okay, but he was still in no shape to drive.

  The engine worked perfectly. The bike drove smoothly up the mountain highway, circling gently through the lazy pine forest. The world was an endless green carpet of trees that had been speckled with clean, white snow.
They headed up and away from what was left of civilization, both just glad to be on their own and still breathing. The still-burning lodge was already far below them now, the horrors within it receding into history, along with countless other recent memories of joy, pain, and loss.

  The bright sun sitting directly overhead, and the dappled country road, free of vehicles, reminded Miller of far better times. The fallen snow misted and rose up with the growing heat of the day. Miller let herself enjoy the raw power of the bike between her legs. She’d never really thought of herself as a likely candidate for what she used to think of as a biker bitch, but as long as Miller had Scratch riding with her, she figured to wear that label proudly. Why the hell not? He was her man.

  They’d bandaged his wound as best they could and opted to head up the mountain to the east, riding toward Denver. They had no idea what they’d eventually find there. It seemed as good a destination as any. They might discover a safe haven for the rest of humanity, or just another dead city already overrun by the zombie horde. At least they had each other. They would just have to find a way to deal with things. They’d had a lot of practice.

  Miller hoped her friends were safe again. They most likely were, with Rat and Lovell there to protect them. She would miss Karl Sheppard, a good companion and confidant, but Sheppard knew how to take care of himself. He’d keep searching for a cure. As for the boys, including Scratch’s newfound son, hopefully they would find a safe place to thrive and continue on. People needed to live again. There had been enough dying.

  Terrill Lee crept back into her thoughts. Sheriff Penny Miller blessed him even as she vowed to let him go.

  A bump in the road brought her back to the present. Today was all they had. The past was gone, and their future might have been stolen from them, but Miller and Scratch had each other now, and in the end that’s all that really mattered. That was all people ever really had.

  Scratch surprised her by kissing her on the ear. Penny Miller gunned the engine, and let out a whoop of joy. A second later, Scratch joined her, and soon they were both screaming their heads off as the endless ribbon of highway raced by.

  It felt good to be alive.