“Brandon, we’re still having a pow-wow,” Miller said. “Is this important? Can it wait?”
“I think you’re going to want to see this.”
Miller turned fully to face him. “Go ahead then.”
Brandon went back to the luggage rack in the back of the van. He moved some gear around and opened a container. “Like I said, you might want to come and see this for yourself.”
“Just tell me it isn’t something dead that’s about to get up and boogie,” Miller groaned.
Brandon smiled faintly and shook his head. “No, I think you’ll like this.”
Miller stood up, and went to join him at the back of the van. She shined the lantern into the box he had just discovered. She whistled and grinned.
Inside the crate were four M-4 rifles, with three empty magazines for each of the weapons. They had also been properly cleaned and packed very carefully. A perfect resupply for their broken and battered weapons. If they’d just had some ammo, it would have been a real Godsend after one long and shitty night.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Miller said. “Charlie, you miserable prick. Guys, that ornery son of a bitch kept on holding out on us, right to the very end.” She patted Brandon on the shoulder. “Good job, Brandon. Too bad you didn’t find us any ammunition for those beautiful babies.”
“Don’t worry about that, Sheriff. It turns out that Rolf’s been sitting on a gold mine.” Brandon turned to Rolf. “Show her.”
Rolf, who had been watching the exchange, stood and bowed. He had that little trinket he kept on a string around his neck in his mouth again. The thing he kept chewing. He patted his leg and Dudley went to his side. Rolf bowed again, his odd gaze focused on Miller. She ignored him, and stood there grinning, staring down at five pristine, unopened containers of ammunition for the new M-4s.
“Brandon, that’s damned fine work.” Miller turned to Sheppard and Rat. “It looks like Charlie left us a late Christmas present after all. Everybody grab a couple of magazines and an ammo box. We might as well pass the time loading and sighting these weapons. It sure beats hell out of staring out the window.”
Brandon, Rat, and Rolf each picked up two magazines. Rolf opened one of the ammunition boxes, and they shared the supplies between them. Miller knew the others felt as glad as she was to be both busy and heavily armed. The world didn’t seem quite as grim as it had just moments before. The music helped a bit, too, though Miller wished Scratch would switch to some solid gold country.
For some reason, Sheppard hadn’t started loading ammo. Miller looked at him. He was staring at Rolf. He had a concerned look on his face. Miller felt a flicker of alarm.
“What’s the matter?” she asked him.
He ignored her. He cleared his throat. “Rolf, what’s that you’re chewing on?”
Rolf smiled. He had that little white stick he wore around his neck clenched between his teeth like a cigar. “This is my relic, my balm, my salvation. It is mine and no one else’s but the one I took it from.”
Miller frowned. “You want to try that again in English?”
Brandon spoke without looking up. He slapped a magazine into his M-4. “That used to belong to his wife.”
“Oh,” Miller said. “Then what’s the big deal, Karl?”
“Sheriff,” Brandon said, “I don’t think you understand. That thing literally belonged to his wife, okay? It’s her index finger.”
They all stared at Rolf. He just chewed on the tiny bone.
Brandon didn’t notice. He continued without emotion. “Her named was Naomi. She was one of us. She disobeyed Father Abraham, so he decided to feed her to those zombies he’d conned us into worshipping. After she’d been bitten and turned, he ordered Rolf to put her down. He did it, but I guess that was more than he could bear. He hasn’t been the same since. Anyway, he keeps that finger around his neck as a remembrance.”
“Oh, my God,” Rat whispered. Miller was surprised. Nothing rattled Rat, except maybe Scratch on occasion. She was now studying Rolf with genuine sympathy.
Miller also kept her eyes on Rolf, who was definitely not tuned in to the content of their conversation. “So she was turned?”
Brandon looked up. “Yeah, because that was before we figured out that the zombies needed uninfected human meat in order to eat.”
Rolf chewed and sucked on the bone.
Sheppard watched Rolf. He licked his lips. “I’m not sure you want to put that thing in your mouth, Rolf.”
“Ani l’dodi, v’dodi li,” Rolf said. He stared at the rivets on the wall with blank eyes. “I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.”
Sheppard moved a little closer and squatted down next to Rolf. He patted the man on the knee. “That’s a beautiful sentiment, Rolf, but trust me on this, you will get very ill if you keep doing that. It’s just not safe.” He edged closer, much as one would approach a sick animal. Miller saw that he was going to try to take the finger bone away. Her instincts flared.
“Wait, Karl.”
“What?”
Miller put her hand on Sheppard’s shoulder. She pulled him back. “Let him keep it,” she whispered. “If that thing is going to infect him with something, it already did its job a long time ago. If you take the finger away from him it might go over wrong. Who the hell knows what he’d do?”
Sheppard nodded. He let it go. He edged away from Rolf. He sat on one of the seats and picked up a magazine.
Miller sat back and closed her eyes. They’d escaped certain death yet another time. She dared to imagine a happy ending. In a very short time, they would be that much closer to their goal. Rat would be off to collect her pay, and Sheppard would be delivering the data on the zombie virus to the World Health Organization. He’d need to go alone. Rolf and Brandon would probably take off at that point too. That would allow Scratch to try to find his son Jimmy and Jimmy’s little brother, Lex, who should both be somewhere in Mountain Home. And all those resolutions would leave Miller free and clear to find the assholes who’d started this whole mess. She could try to knock some sense into them, or maybe just kick the shit out of them.
She’d reached her limit. This plague was going to end, even if she had to settle it with the business end of a very large gun.
“Shit!” Scratch said. He swerved to avoid some wrecked cars piled up on the road. Miller looked out the window. The vehicles appeared to have been hit all at once, perhaps by a drone, or with a mortar attack. She wondered vaguely why they’d all been so clumped together in the first place. Scratch went off the road for a time and got back on when the way was clear.
Miller headed up to the front. Scratch seemed to be completely in his element driving the van. He was happy to have something to do. She watched as he turned up the CD player to provide a little privacy. Or was he drowning her out?
“How are you holding up, Scratch?”
“Wow, are you talking to me again?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Miller could hear defensiveness creeping into her tone. Scratch always got under her skin. Her feelings were at the surface every time. The smart remark had embarrassed her, but if she tried to take it back, it would just drag things out and maybe start a fight. She looked away instead.
“Nothing,” Scratch said. “What’s going on back there?”
“The others are loading the weapons Brandon found. I’ll get you armed soon.”
“Outstanding,” Scratch said, but without much conviction. He was worried about something. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“Later. Right now I just want to ask you a question.”
They both smiled.
Miller didn’t like where this was going, but she couldn’t exactly say no. “What is it?”
“What the Sam Hill is going on with you? Not five days ago at Crystal Palace, you and I were a team. We took on the zombies, Rubenstein, and the Army. You were fairly happy with me, and I was flat out in love with you. Something changed this morning. What the
hell was it?”
“Nothing,” she said curtly. “We’re still friends.”
“Friends? What the hell do you mean by ‘friends’?”
She didn’t answer.
Scratch took his eyes off the road for a second. He sighed. “You’re dumping my ass, aren’t you? Come on, tell me. I’m tough. I can take it.”
“Scratch, no offense, but just drive the van. This really isn’t the time or the place to be discussing our relationship.”
“It isn’t?” Scratch waved his hand at the darkness outside. The road up ahead was empty but for the twin beams from their headlights. Miller leaned closer. They spoke in urgent whispers, not wanting to be overheard. Behind them, the others pretended not to watch, but it was a small van. Still, Miller could feel their presence and their deep and abiding interest in her personal life. She didn’t blame them. A leader’s weaknesses were always a danger to the group.
“Penny, by your own estimate, we’ve still got like three or four hours of driving till we get to Mountain Home. We will most certainly be back in the shit by then. Right now we have a lot of clock to kill. If we don’t do it now, when exactly will it be the right time to talk things out?”
“Hold up.” Miller looked out the front window. Something up ahead flickered and glowed, sort of like a search light, or maybe a large bonfire. She pointed it out to Scratch, who slowed the van. “What is that?”
But just as Scratch looked in that direction, the winking light was gone, as if it had never appeared. Scratch, assuming she was trying to change the subject, snorted in scorn. Then he turned his attention back to Miller. “You’re not going to get out of this that easy, Penny. What’s going on?”
“What’s going on is I think we have a new batch of trouble.” Miller turned to the others in the back. “You people ready to rumble?”
“Yes,” called Rat. “What’s up?”
“I think something’s going on outside and up ahead. Scratch, you’d best ease down to a snail crawl.”
Scratch slowed the van. He’d seen it now, too. His eyes were now fixed upon the light, which had returned. It flickered again, something large and bright. “I see it. I think it’s smack dab in the middle of the road.”
“Load up,” Rat said. Miller heard everyone comply.
Scratch came to a stop in the darkness. He squinted into the night up ahead. “Roadblock, you think?”
“Most likely,” Miller said, “but whose roadblock?”
Rat and Sheppard came forward. They were both carrying their M-4s. Rat touched Miller’s shoulder. “Okay, what do you want us to do?”
Miller didn’t turn to look. She kept her eyes on the threat. “Take up positions in the back, and keep the hell out of sight. This big beer can won’t stop a spit wad, not if they unload on us, but then again, I don’t think whoever we’re dealing with will expect the kind of firepower we’d deliver back. We need to see what we’re up against. Until then, we’re going to have to play this one by ear.”
“What if it’s the cops?” asked Sheppard. “Maybe they’re just guarding the border.”
“If it’s the cops, don’t shoot at them, at least not until I tell you to.”
“Copy that,” Sheppard said. Sheppard headed back to the rear of the van to take cover. Rat, however, stayed where she was.
“I think it’s time to start learning from that leadership lesson, Penny.”
Miller sighed. “I don’t have time for philosophical conversations on leadership theory right now, Rat. Just go take your position in the back, please.”
Rat’s face hardened. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, and turned to go back to where the others were hiding. Miller heard them whispering to Brandon and Rolf. Dudley barked and Rolf shushed him quietly.
“Go ahead, Scratch, but drive slowly.”
Scratch started up again. They rolled along. They came around a sharp curve in the road, and that’s when they could finally see the problem. It was a barricade. A wrecked car, surrounded by burning trash, sat right in the middle of the road. Lights swarmed all around it, and they weren’t fireflies. Small flashlights or headlamps of some kind?
“Well, this seems a bit much,” said Scratch. He shook his head in dismay. “My karma must suck swamp gas.”
“Huh?” Miller was still trying to figure this out. She noticed men aboard the lights, men who wore thick leather vests and jeans and chains on their belts. Then she got it and winced. She fully understood Scratch’s reaction. The lights ahead were all too familiar to him. They were motorcycles. It was an entire biker gang, and probably not one friendly to Scratch and his brotherhood.
“Now would be a good time to tell me what’s bothering you, Penny,” said Scratch. “You may never get another chance.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The motorcycles broke off from the burning car and broke ranks to challenge their arrival. Engines roaring, they circled the van like hungry road sharks, bikes ridden by men who were proudly dangerous and virtually unpredictable. Miller and Scratch stayed still at the dash, with their hands in plain sight. The riders rode around and around, shining various lights on them. Periodically one would slap the side of the vehicle, a harsh sound which reverberated through the van and made them all jump.
“Just stay put,” Scratch said.
Rat, Brandon, Sheppard, and Rolf stayed low in the back as instructed, where they could stay armed and have the element of surprise on their side. Theirs was the only area Scratch and Miller left dark. As they waited, the only light within the van was from the dashboard and the glaring headlights of the motorcycles, which swarmed past and around them again and again in long, chaotic waves. The noise outside was overwhelming.
“Well, fuck a duck.” Miller put her hand on Scratch’s shoulder. “What happens now?”
“Beats the hell out of me, Penny. I made out their patch. Those guys are The Demons of Death. They are the ones Vanessa was telling us about earlier today. To a man, they’re looney tunes. They could be up to pretty much anything.”
“Wow, I thought you of all people would know what to do in a situation like this.” Miller patted his hand to show she was kidding.
Scratch took his eyes off the swirling bikers to look down at her hand. He met her eyes. “While I appreciate your confidence in my bad-ass-ness, Penny, it’s not like there’s a Universal Code of Conduct for your genuinely sociopathic biker gang. Believe me, in our own way, some of us have honor to spare, but not these Demons.”
They watched the chaos outside.
Penny said, “So we’re screwed?”
Scratch said, “Maybe. I have no idea what these clowns have in mind.”
Miller ran her hands through her long red hair. “God, I could really go for a gallon of coffee and a good night’s sleep right now.” She raised her voice so the others could hear. “Okay everybody, just stay quiet and frosty. We’ll make it up as we go along, just like we always have.”
“We’re only outnumbered four or five to one, counting Dudley. That’s not so bad.”
Another biker slapped the main door and left a handprint. Scratch stayed put. With a plain face he spoke loudly as well. “Guys, don’t forget they probably have reserves.”
“Great,” Rat said. “That makes me feel a whole lot better.”
“Chosen One?” Rolf called from the back of the van. For the first time, Dudley the cadaver dog growled at their new situation. The dog is either a bit off in the head or a mite slow on the pickup, Miller thought. Just like his Daddy.
“Yes, Rolf?”
“Walter says that this may be just the next trial after the Well of Souls. He is certain that that you will survive and be fine in the end, but he says it is likely that the rest of us will die tonight.”
Rat snapped, “Tell Walter that he can shove it.”
“Knock it off,” Miller said. “Leave him be.”
The motorcycles circled more slowly. Perhaps the gang was tiring of the game. Miller realized they were behaving like angry Nativ
e Americans in those old west movies, attacking John Wayne and his pioneers who’d invaded their land. In fact, the bikers’ behavior really did look sort of theatrical. Yes, that was exactly the right word to use. They were trying too hard. A lot of chest pounding didn’t necessarily indicate great confidence.
“Okay we all agree there are at least thirty or more, then. Scratch, is there any way to tell which one’s the leader?”
“There’s a small but real possibility that he’s one of the bikers swarming us, Penny, but I doubt it. If it were me, I’d be up on top of one of those small foothills, in the trees, watching as things go down.”
“Go on.”
Scratch leaned forward on the steering wheel. He kept staring out through the windshield as if not in the least intimidated. The bikers outside were starting to get bored. Scratch looked around, but spoke to Miller. “See, I’d send these crystal-snorting pissants to do the heavy lifting, and then I’d have reserves if the target—which is us—suddenly opened up with some serious firepower. Hell, if this was my world, and I could pull it off, I’d send a horde of zombies up our collective ass just to see if we were seriously armed. He’ll want to avoid wasting any of his own ammunition.”
“He’s just observing?”
“I think he’s holding back to take our measure.”
“Duly noted,” said Miller. Her mind was working double time. She figured Scratch was probably right.
“And another thing,” Scratch continued. One bike pinned him in its headlight. He yawned and stretched as if bored and waiting them out. His face looked pale in the glare. Thick stubble was shadow dark on his cheeks and chin. “The fact that we’re coming north from Nevada in a civilian vehicle says a lot. We’re probably not well armed, we may be weak and desperate, and we have had some experience with the zombies. On the whole, that’s a mixed bag. So again, if I were the big man, I would provoke us into showing our strength, evaluate, and attack our weak points.”
“We may be dead meat, then.”
“Probably, because right now our weak point is that this van provides no cover at all. They are only holding back because they don’t know who or what else is in here, and of course what we’re armed with.”
The Hungry 5: All Hell Breaks Loose (The Sheriff Penny Miller Series) Page 17