The Hungry 5: All Hell Breaks Loose (The Sheriff Penny Miller Series)

by Booth, Steven

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Son of a bitch!” Rat said, without much enthusiasm. “She hijacked our ride.”

  As for Scratch, he had the gall to smile. “It works better if you say it all at once, Rat. Like this. Sonofabitch!”

  Rat snapped back. “I do not need swearing lessons from you, biker boy. I was in the motherfucking Army, remember?”

  “I always heard it was the sailors who really know how to swear, Francine.”

  Rat balled her fists. “What the fuck is your problem, Scratch. Why are you all up in my shit?”

  Miller stepped between them. “Would you two clowns just cut it out? You’re wasting precious time. We have a real situation here.” She half expected each to accuse the other of ‘starting it first,’ but instead they just glowered. When Miller was reasonably sure that they weren’t going to start fist fighting, she walked a few steps and went out into the parking lot. “Well, I guess we’re definitely spending the night here.”

  “Sure looks that way, Penny.” Scratch said. He came to stand next to her. “This is my fault,” he said. “I shoulda taken her keys.”

  “It’s not your fault, Scratch. It’s mine. I’m the one should have thought of it. I trusted her. Look where that got us.”

  Scratch caught her eyes. He had a strange look on his face. But it was Rat who said, “It is your fault, you know, Penny.”

  Miller’s head snapped around. “Say that again?”

  Rat shrugged. “In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never learned to delegate. You give assignments, you give orders, but you don’t give responsibilities. This is a hell of a time for a leadership lesson, Penny, but you might as well make the most of it.”

  Miller stared at Rat, speechless. It wasn’t that she couldn’t find the words. It was that she knew Rat was right.

  Scratch looked away from her, so she couldn’t see his expression.

  “Let’s go back inside and tell the others.” She headed back into the building.

  Scratch followed dutifully. Rat joined them, but stayed a few yards behind. Miller studied Scratch.

  “We will have to find more transportation,” Miller said after a moment. “I remember that there’s a big parking garage under the casino. The fight probably didn’t get that far. All we need is one gate or driveway that stayed open. Maybe there’s something still working down there on a lower level.”

  “Maybe they have a lantern or something.” Rat didn’t have to explain who ‘they’ were.

  Scratch snorted. “Oh, that’s just great. I can see it now. It’ll be pitch black down below, with us distracted by looking into cars for one that works, and a whole fucking herd of zombies will sneak up on us in the dark and consume our quivering flesh. Meanwhile your old lover Sheriff Charlie Robinson and Miss whatever the hell her name was will sit upstairs and look out at the desert scenery and eat dried fruit from plastic bags.” Scratch was fuming. “No, I don’t fucking think so. It’s a bad idea.”

  Miller nodded. “Okay, you got a point there, Scratch. Some sunlight would be good. We’ll do it in the morning.”

  They headed back into the empty building. The lobby was already filled with long fingers of shadow. Like most casinos, this one didn’t have windows on the casino floor—that gave the place a kind of timelessness, which had made it easier for the suckers to gamble away the rent money well into the night. Darkness could be a friend to a fan of the one-armed bandit and the card table, but right now it wasn’t doing them any good at all. They hurried across the casino, all three of them very conscious of nightfall and the terrors it might bring. The room closed in like a fist as they reached the frozen escalators.

  “Sheppard?” Miller called.

  A voice came from the second floor. “Here, Penny.”

  “Report.”

  “Nothing exciting,” Sheppard called. “You were probably about half an inch off from killing your ex-boyfriend, but he’s going to live.”

  “Good,” Miller said, without conviction.

  “Where’s Vanessa?” Brandon asked.

  Scratch spoke first. “She has become one with the four winds.”

  Sheppard poked his head above the railing. “She’s gone?”

  “And the SUV. And what was left of our supplies.” Miller headed up the escalator. “Find out where they’ve been holing up. We’ll retreat to their lair and regroup there.”

  “Copy that.”

  Outside, the desert rapidly turned dark and the broken windows allowed a rush of cold air into the building.

  Charlie Robinson was sitting on a bench near the railing of the second floor. Shirley knelt next to him, speaking soothingly in his ear. Sheppard and Brandon waited patiently. Meanwhile, Rolf was standing guard. He kept playing with a trinket on a string around his neck. Whatever it was he’d been chewing on all this time. He was muttering to himself again. Dudley was lying on the floor. He raised his head when Miller and the others approached and whined a brief hello. Rolf turned to face them.

  “O Chosen One?”

  The name was grating on her, but the guy was decidedly bat shit, so Miller opted not to fight it. “Yes, Rolf?”

  “Walter and I have been discussing the situation. We are concerned that we are way too light on supplies. As a matter of fact, Dudley hasn’t eaten all day, and frankly neither have Walter and I.”

  “Who’s Walter?” asked Shirley, confused.

  Everyone shushed her with a sense of urgency. Charlie Robinson looked around. He studied Rolf and seemed to catch on fast. He shushed her too.

  “Karl,” said Miller, “is the patient ambulatory?”

  Sheppard nodded. “Yes, Penny, he can go wherever you say he can.”

  Miller turned to Charlie. “Charlie, it looks like we’re having a campout tonight. Lead the way.”

  Charlie stood up.

  “You can’t be serious.” Shirley turned to Charlie. “You’re not actually going to do what she says, are you?”

  “If there’s one thing I know about Penelope J. Miller,” Charlie said, “it is that when she gets something in her head, it’s best to just go along with it, else you get your ass handed to you.”

  “Which is a charming way of saying that we’ve got you outgunned two to zero,” said Rat with a wink. “But you’re right about one thing. The Chosen One is also known as she who must be obeyed.”

  Miller ignored Rat. “Lead the way, Charlie.”

  Charlie bowed slightly and walked ahead of them down the ornate hall. “Right this way, folks.”

  Brandon couldn’t resist a dig. “Charlie, you’re always such a gentleman.”

  Charlie didn’t look back.

  Miller studied her old flame as he led them along. He wasn’t smiling. Miller was still adjusting to the fact that he’d probably been rolling in the hay with everyone in town, including young Brandon. She’d really cared for Charlie back in the day, after her marriage to Terrill Lee had collapsed. He’d been a handsome man then, full of fun, and filled with energy. Now he just looked old and haggard, desperately in need of a shower and a shave. He was not the tall man with perfect posture and a pressed uniform that she’d known before the zombie plague. She’d found his office wrecked and abandoned and taken Charlie Robinson for dead. In a way, turns out he was.

  Miller could see that Charlie’s role as Miller’s ex-boyfriend had stuck in Scratch’s craw in a way that Terrill Lee’s presence never did.

  One way or another, this was going to be an interesting night.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Shirley sat primly on a plush easy chair, outlined by the sunset that came streaming through the penthouse window. The light gave her features a rosy glow. She tuned and strummed the Martin D-28 guitar expertly, went somewhere behind her eyes and started picking. In a clear alto, she sang a country classic called Small Two Bedroom Starter, a melancholy Reba McIntire tune that somehow managed to put Miller in a good mood. The girl had talent. The kerosene lantern parked on the coffee table acted like a small spotlight, makin
g her the automatic center of attention, not that she needed any help. Her singing really was nice, and as far as Miller could see, Shirley had the small audience captivated. Miller had really missed a simple pleasure like listening to music. It had been too long.

  They were locked safely in and had their assigned slots for guard duty. Miller figured a little noise was okay as long as they kept it down. The suite seemed safe enough, and Charlie and Shirley had survived.

  Rolf and Dudley were outside on the balcony looking for unusual movement or sounds or specific signs of approaching danger. Miller mostly wanted to get the crazy old son of a bitch away from her for a while. He rarely left her side unless ordered. He’d be back in shortly.

  Sheppard was on guard duty, so he was watching the show from a chair near the front door. Miller, Scratch, Charlie, and Brandon played the role of audience. Shirley entertained them well, like someone born to the task. They all knew every bit of the set was rehearsed, but everything in it flowed like water. Charlie stuffed tinder and newspaper into the fireplace with some logs and set them ablaze. The fire replaced most of the light in the room. The sun finally sank beyond the horizon and darkness flowed in to stay, sliding across the desert floor like a falling curtain made of black velvet. The sky outside turned bright with stars. Shirley finished the song with a flourish.

  Everyone applauded, albeit very softly. No one cheered. The night held dangers.

  Shirley switched to an old George Jones song, He Stopped Loving Her Today. Watching, Miller choked up a little, since it had been one of Terrill Lee’s favorites. She fought down her grief.

  Charlie finished with the fireplace as Shirley completed the next song. He stood up, cracked his neck and crossed the room. He closed the curtains, and Miller heard him mumbling something about not giving away their position. She assumed he was just being careful. Miller was already focused on the next song, one she didn’t recognize. Charlie may have been a two-timing sleaze, and she was going to have a word with him about all that at some point, but he certainly wasn’t stupid. He knew their surroundings and surely would try to look out for their security. He knew the suite better than she did, so she left it up to him to take care of simple things like the fireplace and the curtains.

  Of course Miller wasn’t stupid either. Rat had been taking an inventory of Charlie and Shirley’s stockpiled weapons and ammo. Rolf came back inside and joined her. Rat snapped her fingers for more help. Miller nodded and Sheppard left the door for a minute to assist her. The three of them were half in shadow, working fast. Miller raised an eyebrow. Rat returned her gaze and nodded. They were almost done.

  Miller looked down. Dudley sat at her feet, licking from the bowl of tuna she’d eaten for dinner. There wasn’t much left, but the cadaver dog was a survivor, and doing pretty well for himself overall. He had plenty of meat on his bones. He’d cleaned up after all the others before stopping at Miller. He’d already had an eight course meal. He was bound to growl if any trouble showed up.

  Like the others, Miller sipped wine from a glass tumbler. It was a red, it tasted nice, it made her feel all warm inside, and that’s about all she knew about wine. Hell, that was all she needed to know. Now, good old Terrill Lee could have told her nearly everything about the wine, including where it was grown and the type of oak they used to make the damn barrels. She smiled at the thought of her ex-husband and all his eccentricities. He had been a good man at heart, and even after all the shit he’d put her through, she still missed him. Miller supposed she always would. She hoped that wherever he was that made him happy. She took another sip to honor his memory, and went back to listening to the soft music.

  The girl sang an Eddy Arnold classic called Cowboy, and nailed the gentle yodel in the chorus section perfectly. The mood in the room stayed sad and pensive but in a good way. Miller reckoned the kid had a gift. When Shirley came to the end of her song, her rapt audience whispered appreciation and clapped, though still very quietly. Miller joined them.

  “I can see why they hired you here, Shirley,” said Scratch in a whisper. “That was downright incredible.”

  “Yes,” Miller said. “You’re damn good.”

  Shirley managed to look modest. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ve been playing this here Martin since I was eight years old, and it’s never let me down. It was my daddy’s guitar.”

  Scratch slid closer. “How did you end up here?”

  “I’d been writing my own songs of late and got some real interest in my demo. A label offered me a deal. You know, I actually had a plane ticket to Nashville right in my hand. But then that was the night the zombies came.”

  Shirley was overcome by tears and she hunched over and turned away from the harsh light of the lantern.

  “You would have taken Nashville by storm, I’ll tell you that,” said Scratch. He shifted his big frame. He turned away from Miller toward Shirley. He scooted even closer to the singer and cut loose with the charm. “Play us an encore, pretty lady.”

  Miller felt a twinge of jealousy, but said nothing. She had already pretty much made up her mind that they were no longer together, so complaining would only send mixed messages.

  “Okay, if you insist.” Shirley plucked the strings lightly, tuning them back up, and said, “I wrote this one myself.”

  The song was simple, a standard chord progression like most country songs, but composed with neat little twists and turns. The lyric compared life to a long ride on a train, and hinted that the last stop would reunite everyone you’d lost touch with on the journey. Miller enjoyed it. Scratch was right that the kid could have had a bright future.

  Again, they all applauded softly when Shirley was done.

  “Let’s stop there,” Miller said. Charlie was looking stressed. She made a mental note to ask him why.

  Shirley put her guitar away. The audience was happy. Even Rolf and Dudley seemed enchanted. Warmed by the alcohol, Miller watched distantly as Scratch worked his way closer to Shirley. She glanced over at Charlie. Miller would have thought that he would be more protective of the young country singer—a mite jealous, even, depending on their recent circumstances. But Charlie didn’t seem threatened by Scratch. Maybe it was the wine working. Miller had expected to be feeling more jealous too, regarding Scratch, but the resentment was just fading away. Miller pondered the state of the world. In her slightly buzzed mind, she was now able to observe their situation from a distance. Their relationship was poison, literally. The virus was stable in Miller’s system, but they hadn’t scientifically studied what was going on inside Scratch. If there was even a possibility that being physical with Scratch would endanger him further, she had to back off.

  Scratch loved her. Miller knew that. She didn’t think he was so shallow that he just wanted to get laid, and that Miller had been the most convenient supplier of that service. What they’d had meant something. When they were in the burning lodge back in Colorado, Scratch had made it clear that he cared, and that he was quite willing to die for her. There was a deep bond between them. The conviction felt bittersweet. They belonged together.

  And that’s why she had to let him go.

  If Miller allowed him to think there was hope, Scratch would likely to do something heroic, like die for her. She didn’t want anyone to sacrifice themselves or any part of their lives. There had been enough death and loss already. They should protect each other, yes. Fight for each other, yes. But die for her, or give up what happiness he could find in this barren world? No, not if she could help it.

  So Miller said nothing as Scratch talked quietly with+ Shirley. His hand drifted to land around Shirley’s shoulders. Miller closed her eyes. She told herself to let Scratch go, move on, have the life he so richly deserved. She sighed.

  That’s when she found Charlie’s hand on her right knee. Stunned, she opened her eyes and turned to face him. He had manufactured the classic puppy dog eyes she remembered so well. He was working her again, just like back in the old days.

  “Penny, I just
wanted to let you know there are no hard feelings,” Charlie said. “It’s not often that an ex-girlfriend tries to kill me, but I suppose it was bound to happen someday. Especially the way I behave.”

  Miller could smell the Jack Daniels on his breath. She knew he was a whisky man and that he’d always been able to hold his liquor well when she’d been around. No telling what the hell had gone on otherwise and with other folks, from the sound of it. That remark from Brandon had upset her more than she wanted to admit. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that Rolf and Dudley had both fallen asleep on the floor, the dog’s head on the master’s big thigh. Dudley’s tail thumped once, but he wasn’t alarmed by anything. Miller addressed her ex-boyfriend.

  “Charlie, that whisky must be affecting your memory. I seem to recall you pointing the .357 at me first, not the other way round.”

  “Fair enough, but you were threatening me and mine. It was just self-defense. If you had identified yourself, we could have avoided all that unpleasantness.”

  Miller chuckled, but kept her voice low. “You just keep telling yourself that, Charlie. Anyway, you old bastard, it’s nice to see you.”

  “I’ve missed you, Penelope.”

  “Charlie?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Take your hand off my knee.”

  He stroked her thigh for a brief moment, but then removed his hand. “I’m real glad you survived. How long have you been hiding out in Flat Rock?”

  Before Miller could answer the question, someone tapped her on the shoulder. Miller looked up to see Sheppard standing behind her. He looked much too sober for the moment, as usual. He was always the responsible party. “Penny, I have a report on our defenses.”

  “Oh, I need to hear this,” said Charlie.

  Miller ignored him. She edged away. “Okay, what have you got?”

  “It will be easier to show you.” Sheppard waved a hand at the back of the suite, where Rat and Rolf had been gathering up ammo and checking them for functionality. Everything was already organized on the couch and spread across the floor. “Follow me.”