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

by Booth, Steven

  Too late. A worried look crossed Charlie’s face. He started to say something but couldn’t. His body began to tremble. His arm dropped to his side. His eyes got very wide. Then he stiffened and gave off a high pitched, horrible shriek of agony that echoed all the way through the dark parking garage and bounced back again. The ground seemed to shake from the noise.

  The big man trembled and shook as he screamed but he did not manage to take a single step. Miller felt the others crowd in behind her as they waited in the doorway. Poor Charlie’s cries rose in volume and pitch. He batted away at his lower body like a man in a pool of piranhas. Everyone finally looked down just as Charlie finally managed to move. He stumbled into the lantern light. He had been bitten several times. A very short zombie in a jolly green and red costume, complete with silly hat and pointed ears, was busily chewing on his right leg.

  Charlie finally snapped out of the trance. He sprayed the zombie elf with the last of his extinguisher, but it didn’t let go of his leg, or even flinch away. It was too busy feeding. Miller noticed that it didn’t appear to be one of the albinos, for whatever that was worth. It looked more like a human child turned zombie. Jesus, it had rosy Christmas cheeks painted on its little face.

  “Stay here.” Miller ran out into the garage and kicked the thing hard. It finally let go of Charlie’s leg, but unfortunately also took a large chunk of his calf with it as it sailed away. Rolf disobeyed Miller and moved into the dark garage. Dudley followed his master. Rolf fired at the creature and nailed it through the brain. The noise was piercingly loud. The group followed Rolf and crowded around Charlie. Scratch kicked pointlessly at the fallen elf. Still in shock, Miller started wondering where the hell the little bastard had come from.

  “I’m fucked,” observed Charlie. He was seated on the cement floor, twitching and bleeding out.

  “Shit! Damn it, Charlie, we needed you for later on,” Miller said. We have to get the hell out of here…

  “Dead by elf bite, for Christ’s sake. That’s pathetic,” Charlie said with a dark grimace. He clutched at his leg but could not slow the bleeding. They all knew it would be better to let him die, but no one said a word.

  “Well, we’re all dead now, if you don’t show us this truck of yours,” said Miller. “Maybe Sheppard can figure out how we can help you once we get out of here.”

  “Help me? How would you do that, exactly?” Despite the pain, Charlie’s eyes went all crafty. He was still looking for an angle.

  The bastard is bargaining. Miller grabbed him by the shoulder. He groaned and she lightened her grip. “Charlie, for once in your life just do something good for someone else. I need to get my people out of here. There will probably be more of them.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “Where is the damn truck?” Miller said those last four words slowly, as if he was hard of hearing. The noises above them continued. The albinos upstairs were closing the distance. That sound was drifting down the stairwell, unhhh hunhhh…

  Charlie pointed with his flashlight. Scratch held up the big lantern. The two beams merged. They all looked. In the far corner sat a mid-sized red shuttle van, the kind found at an airport. The way over to it seemed clear, but who knew? Nothing was sure down here but death and zombies.

  “Where are the keys?”

  “The keys are in it, Penny,” Charlie moaned. “Screw that rotten little bastard. Goddamn this hurts.”

  They could hear shambling footsteps moving down to the garage level. The albino horde was closing fast.

  “All right, people,” Miller said. She grabbed Charlie’s flashlight and held it up. “Stay sharp. Let’s get to that truck, and get the fuck out of here. Sheppard, Scratch, you two bring Charlie’s ass along.”

  Rat said, “Penny, you sure about that?”

  “Just do it.”

  Sheppard and Scratch grabbed Charlie and held him under the arms. They dragged him toward the truck. His leg twisted on the cement. He screamed once and passed out. Miller moved the small group through the parking garage at a dead run. They couldn’t see worth a damn. Scratch let go of Charlie, and he and Rat automatically fanned out to protect their flanks. Rolf brought up the rear, with Dudley at his side. Shirley stood over Charlie, looking stricken and otherwise useless. They made good time, but to Miller it felt like they were racing through a vat of molasses.

  And then Miller caught some movement in the dark, between two parked cars. “Scratch, look out.”

  Something short and squat was scurrying toward them. Alerted, Scratch shot it in the head, and the little thing went down hard. Miller caught another glimpse of a green costume of some kind, and that silly hat. Whatever the difference between the albino zombies and the normal ones were, these appeared to be more like the ones they’d had experience with. They were obviously actors in whatever had been filming here when the plague struck. They’d been bitten and turned while in costume. Where the hell were they all coming from?

  “What’s with the little green men?” demanded Scratch, as if reading her mind. “What did we do in a past life to deserve this, fuck a reindeer?”

  Miller opened her mouth to fire off a smartassed retort, but closed it just as quickly. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The whole thing was just absurd. Her mind tilted and went a bit crazy. They ran past the largest pile of fake snow and the camera gear and finally got near the van. Miller went tense inside. She could smell the undead closing in now, trying to keep them from reaching the van. The zombies seemed to sense where Miller and her people were headed. They were preparing to attack. The dry darkness gave them cover.

  “Incoming!” Miller shouted.

  Uhh-huunnnhhh!

  Several zombies came toward them and this time in a tightly knit group. Brandon held up his lantern. Shirley whimpered as the fresh nightmare came into view, but Miller once again fought down an urge to giggle at the absurdity of their situation. One tall zombie came toward them with his arms up, drooling and staggering, apparently leading all the rest. He was surrounded by about a half dozen short ones dressed as elves.

  The big one was tall and fat and dressed in red and white. A zombie Santa, complete with a flowing white beard and a pointy hat with a white ball of cotton sitting at the very top. He’d been the star of the show, no doubt about that.

  Shirley screamed out loud, but Scratch and Rat, also on complete emotional overload, exploded into laughter.

  “Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” said Scratch.

  “This sure doesn’t look like a very merry Christmas,” Rat snickered, “or a silent night for that matter.”

  Sheppard let go of Charlie’s arm. Charlie sagged down to the cement.

  “Penny, this is bizarre.” Sheppard shook his head. “They must have been down here starving all this time.” He raised his weapon to shoot Santa in the brain. The weapon clicked benignly. “Uh, I’m out.”

  “Me, too,” Rat said. The situation stopped being funny in a hurry.

  Scratch threw the M-4 on the ground and brought up an axe.

  “Wait,” Sheppard called. Rolf dragged the delirious Charlie straight toward Bad Santa and the evil little elves. Little Dudley followed, barking and growling and frothing at the mouth. “Hey, wait, what are you doing, Rolf?”

  “Sheppard,” Miller called. “Be careful. Rolf, come back here!”

  But Rolf didn’t answer or comply with Penny’s orders. That was a first. When Miller realized what he was up to, she still felt sick. She’d understood the logic before the others did. Charlie had been bitten. He was bleeding out and inches from death. He was a goner. He’d turn zombie in a matter of minutes. Rolf was saving their lives.

  Sheppard came to his senses. He stopped shouting and backed way. By then Rolf had Charlie yards off in the darkness, very close to Santa and the elves. They could just see his big body by lantern and flashlight beam. Rolf was risking everything on one bold move. Bad Santa was stumbling their way and the little green elves were just about on top of the t
wo of them when Rolf stopped moving. The creatures closed in fast. Their mouths were open and their fingers claws and their tiny teeth chattering for food.

  “Help me. Stop him,” said Charlie weakly. Sadly, he was not unconscious. He’d snapped out of it after all. Miller could see by the look on his face that he was about to give up the ghost, but it still broke her heart, even knowing that he’d have turned immediately. She’d hoped to help Charlie die sooner rather than later and that he would not have to go through pure hell on the way. He was a bastard at heart, but no one deserved that fate. Still, whatever she thought of Rolf’s decision, she couldn’t afford to lose someone else trying to save Charlie. He was dead and they all knew it. Rolf held on, as he and the cadaver dog faced the nightmarish Santa and his wicked little assistants.

  Charlie’s body stiffened and trembled in Rolf’s grip. He jerked like a man having a seizure.

  “Rolf, drop Charlie,” Miller shouted. “He’s starting to turn.”

  Instantly, Rolf let go. Charlie Robinson crumpled to the ground. His head hit the cement with a thump. Rolf backed away rapidly, Dudley at his side. The closest elf fell on Charlie, and took a healthy bite out of his face. Charlie screamed one last time and kicked out with his good leg and finally went still. The elf bit down on his neck. Meanwhile, Rolf ran back to the group as the rest of the zombies fell on what remained.

  Shirley screamed. “You bitch! You just let him die.”

  Miller brought up Charlie’s rifle and checked it. It was almost completely full. She aimed. BAM. BAM. BAM. BAM. BAM. Miller shot each of the little elves through the head, including the ones that had begun to feast on Charlie. She lowered the rifle. She’d screwed up. That outburst had taken all her ammunition. Now Charlie and the dead Santa were the only ones left.

  Charlie’s leg twitched again. He sat up. Little elf bodies fell off him. Most of his face and leg were gone. Charlie was gone. His body had reanimated. Zombie Charlie sat up slowly and began to struggle to get to his feet to attack and feast on his former friends. Santa waited, as if entitled to reinforcements.

  “Go,” called Miller to the others. “Get in the van.”

  All seven of them went for the van. Shirley was the first to board, and went straight to the back of the van. She sat heavily on one of the benches and dropped her face into her hands.

  Sheppard slammed the sliding door to lock them all safely inside.

  “Keys are in it, just like Charlie said,” reported Scratch. He fired up the engine. Everyone buckled in. Rat sat staring down at her lap, trying to clear something from her weapon. Rolf and Dudley sat together, and this time both were panting. Rolf was talking to himself again, muttering something about New Year’s Eve.

  Miller had an uneasy feeling it wasn’t over yet. She felt terrible about Charlie and especially bad that she had not saved a bullet for him. Things had gone south so quickly. She supposed in the end that it was just his bad karma, but that didn’t make her feel any better. She was sick about leaving him behind. Still, they’d had no other choice.

  “Come on,” Miller said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Uhh-hunnhhh!

  “Where’s that sound coming from?” asked Sheppard. “Is it Charlie?”

  Scratch shrugged. “More likely Bad Santa, my man. Old Charlie doesn’t have a voice box anymore.”

  And just then Shirley screamed.

  Miller spun around in her seat. Mrs. Claus had been hiding in the back of the van. The costumed woman appeared suddenly and wrapped her arms around Shirley. She chomped down on the carotid artery, looking a lot more like a chubby vampire than a zombie. Miller swore under her breath. Then, as they all watched, Mrs. Claus brought her head up and smiled, the gore and blood dripping down from her open mouth. Her white wig was askew. Shirley gurgled and died.

  Brandon brought up Charlie’s .357. He shot twice—once into Mrs. Claus’s head, and after a brief hesitation once into Shirley’s. He turned to Scratch with a sad face. “Better release the back doors.”

  Scratch fumbled with the controls and finally found the one he wanted. The rear doors opened. Brandon went to the wheelchair lift and pushed both Mrs. Claus and Shirley out of the van. He kicked their bodies off the ramp and down into the garage. They hit the floor with a loud thump and a disgusting splat. Brandon stepped back and Scratch closed the doors from the dashboard.

  “And now we are six,” Brandon said, with his face impassive. Miller almost smiled at his gallows humor. He was becoming one of the team.

  Scratch gunned the van. They rolled forward.

  “Wait.” Miller raised her hand.

  Seconds later, just as Miller had expected, first Charlie and then Santa stumbled out into the glare from the bright headlights. They stared at the front windshield, drooling with hunger. Zombie Charlie’s eyes were empty and his face just a scrambled mess. Santa was biting mindlessly at the air. Scratch looked at Miller for approval and she nodded. He slapped the van into gear and the tires screeched. Santa was knocked to the side. The van headed straight for Charlie. They hit the zombie straight on and when the big corpse rolled under the wheels they all felt the skull pop.

  Goodbye, Charlie…

  Scratch wheeled for the exit and raced up the ramp that led out of the parking garage. They sped up towards the surface without saying another word.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Take 225 North, Scratch,” Miller said. She pointed to the turn up ahead.

  Scratch smiled. “Aye, north it is, Cap’n!” He threw in a gratuitous, “Arr,” presumably because he thought someone might have missed the pirate reference. No one did, but no one cared, either. Scratch was doing his Terrill Lee thing again. He’d been trying to lighten the mood. They were all feeling sad and being too quiet. The van rocked to the right. Scratch took the turn a tad too fast and the metal frame complained. Miller searched herself for emotion but in the end she just felt numb. She didn’t want to think about Charlie, much less all the others she’d lost over the last several months. Hell, she didn’t want to think at all. She wished they’d taken a bottle of wine.

  Up front, Scratch found some old CDs and quietly played some ‘90s rock.

  Miller got up, held on to the ceiling with one hand, crossed the van and sat down next to Sheppard. “Brandon, would you excuse us?”

  “Sure, Sheriff.” Brandon stood and went two seats farther into the back of the van. He sat down next to Rolf, who was mumbling, and brave little Dudley. He then made a big show of looking around the back of the van and up on the luggage racks. He was whistling tunelessly. Miller knew perfectly well that he would be able to hear some of their conversation, but she needed to confer with her people. Brandon wasn’t quite one of her people, at least not yet, and neither was Rolf. With luck they’d be in Idaho soon, and then in Mountain Home within a few hours. Then it wouldn’t matter if Brandon and Rolf remained with their team or not. Miller rubbed her temples. She dropped her voice close to a whisper and leaned in to speak with Sheppard.

  Miller looked up at Scratch and said, “Hey, Scratch. Can you turn down that music? I need you to hear this.”

  Scratch reduced the volume, but didn’t turn the music completely off. Sheppard signaled for Rat to come over and join them. Rat moved closer and sat on the bench seat next to Sheppard. They all huddled together.

  “Okay,” said Miller, “this road will take us over the state line into Idaho, and then it leads directly up to Mountain Home. That’s the next real city on this route, but it’s about two hundred miles away. In case you were wondering, the rest of this stretch is pretty empty as far as I know.”

  Sheppard frowned. “We don’t know exactly what we’re getting into, no matter how you look at it. We’d better slow down once we’re out in the open.”

  Rat nodded in agreement. “Look, I can tell you that the road through to Idaho should be open and pretty much intact. Back at the base, I heard some talk about blowing up Idaho State Highway 51—same road as this one higher up—but that l
ast I heard that plan got scuttled. The brass thought they might need it for tanks and fuel trucks.”

  “I concur,” said Sheppard. “I heard the same rumor. Crystal Palace was often supplied by convoys moving up and down this road, and the government wanted it left open. Not everything can be flown in.”

  “It’s bound to be guarded, at least on the other side,” Miller said.

  Rat and Sheppard nodded. Rat said, “Yeah, but we’ll just have to face that once we get there.”

  Behind them, Brandon opened something he’d discovered up on the luggage rack. He explored the contents.

  Sheppard and Rat waited. Miller looked at each of them in turn. “So it looks like we have us a plan, such as it is. We stay on this road all the way up to Mountain Home.” She turned to Rat. “I need to clear up something that’s been on my mind of late. Francine, what are your intentions once we get back to civilization?”

  Rat seemed amused by hearing her first name. “Penelope Jean, Mountain Home was General Gifford’s home base, may he rot in hell. So that’s my only connection to what is left of our civilization. And civilization means access to my overseas bank accounts. As much as I’ve enjoyed wading hip deep in zombie shit with you folks at my side, that’s where I expect to get off this train.”

  Miller just shrugged. “Actually, I figured as much. Just don’t start counting your money yet. God knows what state the banking system is in, or how far the plague has spread by now.”

  “You can count on one thing,” Rat said. She sat back against the wall of the van. “The rich will be safe and sound.”

  “Most likely,” Miller grinned. “You got me there.”

  They rode in silence for a while. Miller felt a flash of envy, yet she was happy for Rat, who seemed determined to get far away from the plague and live a luxurious lifestyle. Despite their differences, Miller had come to care for her. They all had. Rat was courageous and witty and competent. She’d most surely be missed.

  Seeing the conversation had slowed, Brandon edged over. He appeared next to Miller’s shoulder. “Sheriff, can I have a second?”