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

by Booth, Steven

  They did.

  “Cross your ankles and sit back.”

  They did.

  The police fanned out, weapons trained on Miller and her friends. They stayed low and in perfect formation as they approached. There were four of them, all men.

  “We’re damn sure glad to see you, officers,” Miller said.

  The men exchanged looks. The first one to speak said, “Jenkins, you go shoot that mutt, then cover the women. We’ll kill the men.”

  Miller looked up at him sharply. “What?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Once again, things had gone from bad to worse. Another dog howled from somewhere else, a police car in the background, the sound making Dudley visibly agitated and excitable. He barked and whined. He seemed oblivious to his own fate, but concerned about his master. Meanwhile, Rolf was chewing the finger bone and talking quietly to Walter.

  Jenkins aimed his 9mm at Dudley, and then extended his arm as if he were a fencer taking right of way. Though he appeared indifferent to shooting the humans, he was clearly reluctant to kill the dog. He hesitated as Miller and her crew looked on.

  “Sir?” said Jenkins.

  The man in charge didn’t look up from covering the men. Scratch looked like he was about to make a move, but with his arms and legs all tangled up in prisoner of war position, there wasn’t a lot he could do. “Are we going to have another problem with you, Jenkins?”

  “No sir, but… our orders are to arrest them, not kill them.”

  “Winnick,” said their leader, “just shoot the damn dog, please.”

  Another one of the officers raised his weapon. Dudley finally sensed the danger. He whined, sank low to the ground, and ran off to hide behind one of the van’s rear tires. The dog in the distance went silent.

  “Damn it,” said the leader, “you had one job, and that was not a complicated assignment.”

  “You don’t have to kill us,” Miller called, as if finally catching on. “We haven’t been bitten. We’re not infected.”

  “Shut up, lady.” The apparent leader seemed overwhelmed, a bit thrown off. “Our orders are to stop any traffic from Nevada into Idaho. They don’t say a thing about infection.” He seemed to be trying to convince himself to proceed. The other officers stood with their weapons out, but they were now watching the leader. Morale was weakening.

  Miller caught some movement the others missed. She didn’t turn her head, but instead shifted her eyes. At the extreme edge of her peripheral vision she saw Sheppard sit forward ever so slightly and uncross his ankles. She smiled. She had forgotten how nice it was to work with a professional. She shifted her weight off her legs, and carefully lifted one foot off the other. That brought the policeman’s attention back to Miller.

  “Hold still.”

  Miller didn’t know if she could reason with these lunatics, but she had to try. “Look, we’re not sick. That makes you murderers, not officers of the law.”

  “Goddamn it,” said their leader, whose voice now trembled in the gloom. “I guess I’m going to have to do this myself. I’ll get the mutt, you shoot them.” He stalked off around the corner of the van to find Dudley.

  Sheppard needed another diversion. Miller had gotten pretty good at those since the start of the apocalypse. She turned to the nearest officer. In the darkness, reflected by moonlight and headlights, she could just make out his nametag. “Hey, Boyington, you don’t have to listen to that dipstick. None of you do. If a superior officer gives you an illegal order, it is your duty to refuse it. That’s true anywhere in this country, maybe now more than ever.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I’m Sheriff Penny Miller, of Flat Rock County, Nevada. I’m not a criminal.”

  “Sheriff? Jesus.”

  Miller had bought Sheppard a bit of time. That had been her goal. She thought the cops would shut her up again, but surprisingly, they seemed be listening. She felt the tension as trouble brewed in the ranks. Dudley whined from beneath the van. The officer chasing him crawled around, swearing under his breath. The other cops stared back and forth at each other. Their discipline was falling apart.

  Boyington turned to Jenkins. “She’s got a point.”

  Jenkins nodded, slowly.

  Winnick turned his attention from the men back to Miller. “Shut up, all of you. We’re following Hofstadter’s orders, period.”

  “Yeah,” said Miller, “that’s just what the Nazis said, and look where it got them.”

  “Look, lady, you’re not in charge here.” Winnick turned his weapon on Miller. “Shut the hell up right now, or I’ll shoot you myself.”

  Miller shut up. She’d done the best she could. Scratch seemed to be pondering a move of his own. Jesus on toast, what the hell is Sheppard waiting for?

  Rolf stopped chewing the finger bone. He whispered something.

  They all heard an ominous growl. Just as Miller realized what was going on, Dudley scooted out from under the van and raced in their direction. He was snapping and growling and barking at the top of its lungs. His teeth were bared. He attacked the nearest cop. The policemen flinched back instinctively.

  Sheppard reached out and snatched the pistol right out of the hand of the one called Winnick. He didn’t hesitate. He shot Winnick and turned the pistol on Boyington and fired again. Boyington tried using Miller as a human shield. She thrust her fist into his crotch, and nailed him right in the nut sack. Boyington doubled over in pain. Miller tried to take the pistol away from him, but he still had a firm grip on it.

  Dudley took Jenkins by the gun arm and bit down hard. Jenkins shrieked and fired one useless round into the dirt. That was enough for the rest of them. Scratch, Rat, Rolf, and Brandon got to their feet and took action. Not surprisingly, Rolf went after his dog and ordered Dudley to let go. Then he punched Jenkins in the face, who stumbled backwards. Scratch and Rat tackled Jenkins. Confused and seemingly overwhelmed at the moment, Brandon crouched down to hide next to the van. Miller found that odd, but didn’t have time to think on it.

  That’s when the leader, Hofstadter, came around the other corner of the van. He saw all the commotion—bodies in motion, a growling dog, screaming men, and weapons in the wrong hands—and raised his weapon to shoot Scratch. Fortunately, Sheppard was faster. He shot at Hofstadter, clipping the van and missing him by inches. Hofstadter spun around in a crouch and returned fire.

  Sheppard went down, wounded.

  Miller was still struggling with Boyington. She caught the exchange of gunfire out of the corner of her eye, but was more concerned with her own troubles. She had Boyington by the gun hand, but she couldn’t manage to wrestle the pistol from his grip. She shifted her weight and forced him to point the weapon right at Hofstadter. She jammed her finger over Boyington’s trigger finger and squeezed twice. The shots went wild, but the risk was enough to keep Hofstadter’s head down.

  “Brandon,” Miller shouted. “I need help!”

  Brandon stayed down. Miller stopped shouting. She struggled with Boyington. Miller was powerful in her own right, but his upper body strength was bound to win out soon. “Brandon!”

  But Brandon stayed by the van. Miller couldn’t see why. Maybe his nerve had finally run out. He’d sure picked one hell of a time to go chickenshit.

  A form came up behind Miller. A fist struck out, and punched Boyington in the jaw. He went down on his face and rolled over in pain. The punch had weakened him. Miller wrenched the pistol from his hand. She looked up to see Scratch standing there. Rat was looming over her own man, Winnick, shaking her hand and rubbing her knuckles. They were winning.

  Miller stood up with the gun in her hands. “All right, Hofstadter, we’ve got your men. Unless you want them all dead, I suggest you throw down your weapon. Come on, show yourself with your hands raised.”

  But instead of Hofstadter appearing, Brandon, still hiding by the van, waved his arms. He shouted something and pointed. Miller could see more red and blue lights reflected in the windows of the van. She turn
ed to see that there were several other police cars approaching. Dust clouds floated by the beams from their headlights. How many people were up on this damned mountain tonight? Were these good cops or bad ones? The situation was spiraling out of control.

  “Brandon, grab those M-4s from the van. We’re going to need them.” Miller turned to Scratch and gestured to Boyington. “Keep his ass down on the ground!” She ran off to take care of Hofstadter. He’d have to be taken out. She couldn’t have him running around coordinating the other officers from their flank.

  The sound of engines again filled the air. Armed people screamed back and forth, everyone ordering everyone else to put the gun down. It was clear no one was going to cooperate and disarm their side. Someone was going to die, and soon, if Miller didn’t protect her people and persuade Hofstadter to surrender.

  Miller came to the edge of the van. She carefully poked her head around the corner. She pulled her head back just in time. Hofstadter was drawing a bead on her head. She looked into the van for Brandon, but he wasn’t there.

  “Brandon, I need you!”

  An enormously loud sound shattered the relative quiet. “Put down your weapons. Do it now!” The voice came from the speakers of the police cars. Their spotlights lit up the area around the van. It was now bright as day, except for someone standing in the shadows on the far side of the van.

  And that’s when all hell broke loose.

  Someone opened up with an automatic weapon on burst shots, three rounds at a time. Miller jumped and ducked down. A shot whizzed over her head. She saw some additional movement near the corner of the van. Hofstadter was coming for her. She whirled around, pointed her pistol and fired. It was a lousy shot, taken on the fly. She had little hope that it would do anything but keep his head down. But Hofstadter screamed and dropped his weapon. She’d lucked out and hit him in the right hand.

  “Fall back behind the van,” Miller called.

  The new police presence opened fire in response to the automatic weapon. A moment later, Rat, Rolf, and Scratch came around the corner of the van and crouched down next to Miller.

  “Where are Brandon and Sheppard?”

  She turned around. She could see that Sheppard was half in the open, now lying on the ground near the two downed policemen. He was gripping his side as if afraid to try and get to his feet. Some of the policemen’s bullets struck the ground near him. Another struck one of the downed cops. Bullets ripped right through the van and sailed over their heads. Pinpoints of bright light appeared in the metal above them. The vehicle was going to look like scrap metal in no time.

  “Sheppard, keep your head down.” Miller turned to her people. “Covering fire!” Miller cried. She returned fire toward the police cars. Glass shattered and metal groaned, popped and otherwise complained. Their only protection was turning into a cheese grater as the police kept up a relentless field of fire.

  Miller turned to Scratch. He now had a 9mm pistol in his hand.

  “Scratch, we need to get Sheppard and find Brandon.”

  He shouted back. “Brandon is at the back of the van with the machine gun, Penny.”

  “Take that damned weapon from him and keep those officers’ heads down. Take Rat with you and see if he has any more of the M-4s.”

  “I’m on it.” Scratch tapped Rat on the shoulder, and the two of them crouch-walked toward the back of the van. Miller saw a round narrowly miss Rat’s head by a couple of inches. They weren’t going to last long this way.

  Hofstadter was still on the ground. Miller reached down and pulled two magazines from his belt. Then she ran to hide behind a small out cropping of rock near the rear tire. She opened up again to cover her friends, trying to keep the police from popping up and returning fire. The moon lit up the clearing and Miller felt exposed.

  Fully automatic fire came from the back of the van. Finally. Apparently, Scratch had succeeded in getting control of the weapon.

  Miller called out to Scratch and Rat. “Cover me, I’m going after Sheppard.” She ejected her empty magazine and inserted a new one. The automatic fire intimidated the police and they took cover and crawled under their cars for safety. Miller waited a few seconds to let them get nice and scared. Then she ran out into the night and headed toward Sheppard.

  Scratch and Rat opened up again, but while firing they left their position by the back of the van. They came forward to support Miller. Brandon was with them finally, now holding Scratch’s pistol. He ran ahead of the others and joined Miller at Sheppard’s side. Sheppard looked pale and was clearly in pain. Bullets thwacked into the ground and rattled the leaves above their heads. The cops were largely pinned down, just risking random shots from behind cover. Miller and Brandon picked up Sheppard and dragged him back toward their van. Once behind the van and small outcropping of rock, they all stopped for breath.

  “Brandon, check Sheppard for wounds.”

  Brandon was already doing that.

  Miller turned to Rat. “Sitrep?”

  “The tires are out on the van,” reported Rat. “We’ll need to get the hell out of here, but it looks like we’re going to have to steal some police cars to do it.”

  Scratch opened up again. “Got one of the bastards, Penny.”

  “Yeah, but how many are left?”

  Rolf stepped forward, seemingly from nowhere. He was standing up, indifferent to the battle around him. He was holding Dudley by the leash. The dog was panting and its eyes were wide and wild with terror. “Walter’s been counting. You’re people have done well. Four dead, three wounded, and only one still healthy and active. He’s the one still shooting at you from the police cars.”

  “Cease fire.”

  They all slowed and then stopped the barrage of bullets. Some men could be heard groaning in pain. Eventually, the lone officer stopped firing as well.

  Miller poked her head out from behind the rock. “Hey, friend? Looks like you’re all alone out there.”

  There was no response, but the man had stopped shooting. One of the other cops asked for help. A third gurgled as if dying.

  “I got an idea,” Miller continued. “How about you come collect your wounded, and we’ll just go away and call it even.”

  “No chance,” called the officer. “I can’t let you into Idaho. I’ve got my orders.”

  “You’re outnumbered and outgunned. We haven’t been bitten. None of us are infected. Even if you survive this fight, you’ll be all alone in zombie country unless you knock it off now and patch some of your friends up. Think about it, I’m offering you a chance to survive.”

  Silence again.

  “Come on, you know it’s the best option. Put your weapon down and show yourself, and I assure you we’ll hold our fire. I’m an officer of the law.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “This is Sheriff Penny Miller from Flat Rock County, Nevada. You have my word.”

  For a moment they all thought she’d won out. The officer started to show himself in the dusty light. Something changed his mind. Instead of complying, the officer ducked down behind his vehicle.

  “Ah, shit,” Miller whispered. “Here we go.”

  Hofstadter’s radio came to life and they all heard the conversation loud and clear. “Headquarters, this is Twenty-Two Oh Two. Officers down. Requesting reinforcements. We’ve got invaders from the south.” The prick then gave their position, then added, “Suspects are armed and extremely dangerous.”

  Miller turned to Rat and Scratch. “Go capture that son of a bitch.”

  Rat turned to face Miller. “By the way, it’s sonofabitch, Penny,” she said, and smiled back at Scratch. He smiled too, and they went forward to take out the last remaining police officer. “And I may just kill him on general principle, if you don’t mind.”

  “No, only if you have to.”

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Miller heard Scratch call, as he danced around the edge of the patrol car. “Duty ain’t worth dying for.”

  “Listen to him,” M
iller called. “Don’t make us kill you.”

  The officer popped up from behind his vehicle. He pointed his weapon. Scratch and Rat, accustomed to zombie kills, fired at the same time. The officer’s head disappeared in a mist and his body dropped to the dirt. It did not get back up.

  Miller watched as Rat and Scratch ran around checking the other casualties. Finally, Miller could hear Rat’s voice in the distance. “All clear, Penny. It appears the enemy is all dead or dying.”

  “Shit.” Frustrated, Miller waited for the two of them to return. “Okay, gather weapons, ammo, and keys. Brandon, get Sheppard up. We’re taking the police cars. Let’s get the hell out of here before reinforcements show up.”

  “Or something else,” Sheppard groaned, clutching his wounded shoulder. “This would be a picnic for a horde of zombies.”

  “Don’t even think about that,” said Scratch. “Penny, we just screwed the pooch again. Now every cop in Idaho will be looking for us, along with zombies, Hellfire strikes, drones, cannibals, and the entire U.S. fucking Army.”

  Rat nodded. “Don’t forget the bikers are after us, too. And that’s just for starters. Jesus, our enemies are mounting steadily, Penny. I sure hope you have a brilliant move or two left up your sleeve.”

  Miller could only shrug. They were both right. “We’ll just deal with what’s in front of us, folks.”

  A drop kissed her cheek. They all looked up. A storm had gathered above them. The puddles of blood around the clearing began to dimple with rain drops. “Come on, let’s get moving.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  They drove right through the night. All that time the light rain increased steadily until it finally became a torrential downpour. The trip was miserable. They were nearly blind in the storm, and the stolen police cars had so many holes in them that Miller and her crew were soaking wet. Every once in a while, they caught something on the police radio, but the car Scratch was driving had taken several shots to the dash, so the signal came and went like their good luck, and could not be counted on for long.