The Hungry

by Steve Hockensmith

  "How come you ain't gone?"

  Terrill Lee grimaced. "I just waited too damned long. Got trapped last night. The streets were filled with zombies. I managed to take out a couple, but for the most part I just hid out in the garage."

  That sounds about right, thought Miller. You never were the Batman type.

  "Anyway," he said, "I was about to take off this morning when you came home and plowed into the oak tree. I want you to know that I could be 500 miles from here by now if it weren't for you."

  Miller could feel the old anger and frustration welling up. He may have been kidding but then again, maybe not. He sure knew how to push her buttons. "I'm sorry I ruined your chickenshit plans to run and hide, Terrill Lee."

  "Now, you listen to me…"

  "No, you listen!"

  Just like the old days. Shit…

  "Hey, look, I don't want to fight with you." Terrill Lee turned away to collect himself. "How are you doing? You sat up this time. You must be feeling better."

  Miller glared. Terrill Lee didn't look up. Finally, she softened. There was no sense in fighting with this man. Certainly not now. They needed each other more than ever before. And after all, he had just saved her life. Put all that old crap aside once and for all, girl. Survive.

  "I'm better. Not great, but much better than this morning." She hesitated. "Thank you, Terrill Lee."

  "You hungry, girl?"

  "I could eat."

  "I'll bring you some soup."

  "Help me up. I'll come with you."

  "That's not such a good idea." He raised a hand to keep her flat on the bed, but Miller was already sitting up again. She tested her muscles. She felt much better.

  "I said I'm coming with," Miller insisted.

  "Fine, whatever." Terrill Lee helped her up. Miller was glad to find her legs were already stable, and that she was indeed hungry. All that time in the gym had paid off. Terrill Lee led the way down the hall and into the kitchen. Miller followed slowly behind him, sometimes palming and hugging the wall for support. She felt far better than she had any right to feel.

  "You want me to…"

  "No, I'll do it." Miller made her way into the kitchen—she tried not to think of it as their kitchen—and sat down at the breakfast table. The new leather chair was cold on her bare butt. Miller looked around slowly. She saw the den through the passway. She took in the new décor. Every conceivable surface was now covered with animal skin. Hideous stuff. There was a new elk's head over the fireplace in the adjoining living room, as well as huge fish, hunting rifles on racks, and another large oil painting of a woman with enormous boobs. Damn, this lady was considerably more naked than the others. Her nether regions sneered back like a rival.

  "Where do you get your decorating ideas? Field and Stream?" Miller nodded to the oil painting. "Penthouse?"

  Terrill Lee, now standing at the kitchen counter, ignored her. He opened two cans of soup and some crackers. Miller hid her growing resentment in deadpan humor. She'd had a lot of practice at that.

  "Seriously, Terrill Lee, since when do you like your critters dead and skinned? I thought your 'life's work' was to save animals, not sit on them." She rose up and down quickly, her sticky butt cheeks slapping the chair.

  "I guess you don't know as much about me as you thought you did," Terrill Lee said. He managed to glare razor blades without turning toward her. In response, a small potted sprig of succulent he'd placed near the kitchen window seemed to lose a hard on. Score one for Miller.

  She studied his back. How well did she know him, when it was all said and done? Once she had considered Terrill Lee loyal and loving, but she'd gotten suspicious about seven years into their marriage. She'd read his phone texts and discovered that he'd been banging his new veterinary assistant. The shit had run through the fan and festooned the flocked wallpaper. They'd raged about it all weekend long. Seven year itch? Bullshit! All men are assholes. Why, why and why? Finally, desperate to defend himself, Terrill Lee had blamed it on Miller, saying she was withholding sex to be in control. And that's how he phrased it at their mediation, too. The rat bastard. Fact of the matter was, he hadn't made a pass at her in nigh on two years. Well, even now, she couldn't have sworn in court as to how she would have reacted if he had, but surely it wasn't all her fault for ignoring him. Not really. Well… No, there was no sense dwelling on this.

  "That fancy thing work?" Miller asked. She pointed to a new, widescreen LCD TV sitting on the kitchen counter.

  "Remote's right there," he said. The slim black device was sitting on the breakfast table next to the salt shaker. Miller found the power button. The first channel that appeared was pure static. So were the next two. Not a good sign at all. The third one was the local news channel. A reporter spoke in low, urgent tones. Her words came out pressured, and stumbled over one another.

  "… Have a visual on about three dozen of the individuals. At the moment, they are making their way from the Elko area toward Flat Rock." The frantic station showed a long, telescopic shot, evidently taken from a helicopter or small private plane. A large group of what appeared to be zombies were seen shambling away from the camera in search of food.

  "Do they pose a threat to you?" asked the faceless anchor.

  "Not at the moment," said the reporter. They showed her now, a petite redhead woman with curly hair. She wore a pilot's headset. "But if we can roll that earlier footage…" The excited woman turned away from the camera. She whistled, then signaled the technician in the back of the helicopter. "No, not that one, Bobby. Number four."

  Someone else, a man, said, "Ladies and gentlemen, stay in your homes. Believe me, these are real events. This is not a hoax or some B movie. We must warn you, the video you are about to see is truly disturbing."

  Terrill Lee and Miller exchanged glances. It was hard to believe all this was really happening. The TV screen flashed white, then settled again. The same group of undead was seen swarming around a gas station. The picture twitched and danced because the cameraman was a long way off, using telescopic equipment, shooting down from the chopper. A woman came out of what appeared to be the bathroom. She was firing a pistol, running as fast as she could. There were too many of the things. She wasn't going to make it. She knew it, even from far away, her eyes wild and her mouth open in horror. She fired and fired but quickly ran out of ammunition. Miller wanted to scream a warning. The zombies fell on her. They tore her to pieces, that soft flesh rendered and ripped. They devoured her, all in tight close-up. The woman struggled on, still screaming, until one of the zombies bit her neck, a fountain of blood sprayed the others chewing on her body. It was over. Miller nearly sighed aloud with relief. The poor woman could rest in peace.

  The zombies moved on. The camera stayed on the corpse. The woman lay still.

  And then she moved again.

  "Son of a bitch," groaned Miller, Terrill Lee, and the anchor—all simultaneously. Terrill Lee and Miller exchanged a look of horror. The butchered woman sat up. She somehow struggled to her feet. The newly minted zombie marched away to join the steadily growing horde.

  "That's the least disturbing of all the tape we have," the reporter said. "Frank, have you heard anything about what's actually causing all this?"

  The view switched back to the anchor, a white-haired man with a lined face and an alcoholic's red nose. "I'm sorry Marcia, but we only know what we've been reporting, which is that the trouble started at the Desert Springs Outlet Mall near Elko yesterday afternoon about 10 a.m. local time. Again, folks, this is not a hoax or a motion picture. This is real, this is happening. Stay in your homes. The dead are coming alive."

  A box with security camera footage appeared next to the anchor's head. A man with a short, military-style haircut staggered away from the camera, approached a blonde woman and fell upon her. A plain-clothed police officer shot him once, twice, but he continued chewing unperturbed. Someone kicked him. The attacker turned. Even in the stuttering, black and white security footage, you could see that
he was covered with the girl's blood. He moved toward the officer, who emptied his weapon into the man, but the creature didn't stop. Just out of range of the camera, the attacker jumped on the officer as the other patrons ran away. Terrill Lee and Miller watched more biting and gore spraying. Abruptly, that scene disappeared. The camera was back in the station. People hurried through the background carrying bags and bottles of water, abandoning ship.

  "As you can see," continued the anchor, "whatever is causing this is affecting everyone who was at or near the Desert Springs Mall, and now those individuals are spreading in all directions, though there seems to be a large thrust of movement toward Flat Rock." Frank touched the speaker in his ear. "Okay, okay. Folks, some of us have volunteered to stay here for as long as we can. We'll keep everyone posted as news comes in. Once again, at the top of the news is an unprecedented disaster of unknown scope involving…"

  "I've seen enough," said Terrill Lee. He flicked a switch and the screen went dark. The kitchen was silent except for their rapid breathing. Miller could hear her own heart pounding, and suspected it was the same for Terrill Lee. Whatever it was, it was spreading like a wildfire in August.

  "Wait," protested Miller. She clicked wildly at the remote. "Turn that back on. Don't you realize our lives may depend on what he says next?"

  "Eat your soup," said Terrill Lee.

  "Goddamnit, Terrill Lee, don't you start patronizing me again. I'm a Sheriff, not a cheerleader. Not anymore, anyway. Now turn that set back on."

  "I said, eat your soup," he said calmly.

  "Fine, I'll do it myself." Miller stood quickly. She almost made it all the way to the TV before her legs gave out. She found herself on the floor, flat on her butt. The floor was cold on her cheeks. Tears burned in her eyes but she held them back. A voice in her head told Miller he was probably right, that they knew as much as anyone else by now. They were on their own. She just didn't want to accept that.

  Terrill Lee watched her for a moment.

  "Well, what the hell are you waiting for?" asked Miller. "Help me up!"

  Terrill Lee slurped his soup. "Are you going to do what I say for once?"

  "Fuck you, your bachelor pad and all the condoms in your wallet."

  Terrill Lee just ate another spoonful of soup, not taking his eyes off her. The kitchen clock ticked forward. Her bare ass felt cold. Checkmate.

  "Crap. I'll follow orders like a good little soldier, at least for the time being. Now help me up."

  Terrill Lee came around the table. He helped Miller to her feet. He walked with her to her seat, and gently placed her weary ass back on the chair.

  "Eat your soup," he said.

  "Yes, sir," said Miller. Her tone dripped sarcasm. Still, she needed his help. She was pissed because he seemed to be enjoying this shit. He seemed so calm about what was happening to her, to the world. But he was also right. For the moment, there wasn't anything to do but eat her soup.

  "Tomorrow we're going to Elko," said Terrill Lee.

  Miller almost choked. "Are you out of your fucking mind? Didn't you hear what that newsman was saying? Elko is where the zombies are coming from. You want to get us both killed?"

  Terrill Lee ate his soup in an infuriatingly calm manner. She glowered at him, forced to wait for an answer.

  Finally, he looked up. "I have a plan."

  FOUR

  They finished their soup. Miller felt stronger. She watched as Terrill Lee washed the dishes as if desperate to return some normalcy to the situation. A repeating sound in the distance, like popcorn in a pan? No. Shots! Miller heard gunfire and it was getting closer. She and Terrill Lee moved closer together. He put an arm around her waist. They stepped back from the kitchen window. And then the sound of engines and shouting were coming from right outside.

  "Is that part of your plan?" asked Miller.

  "Shit." Terrill Lee led them back into the living room. He went to the window and peeked out through the thick, closed drapes. "Go get some clothes on, Penny." His voice remained steady, but he looked like he was ready to pee his pants.

  "What do you see?" Miller went into the hallway that led to the bedroom. "Who is out there?"

  "Can't see nothing yet. Can't even tell where the shots were coming from. I think maybe up by the old Altmeyer place, but without going outside to look, there's no way to be sure." He turned to look back at her. "I found some of your old shit in the garage when I was out there looking for weapons. It's just inside the bedroom door. There's some clothes and old travel stuff in there. I'll be right behind you."

  Miller made her way down the hall moving at what seemed like a crawl. She walked inside and over to the bed. She sat, catching her breath, and was there when Terrill Lee reappeared in the doorway. He was flat loaded for grizzly. A pistol was strapped to his leg, gunfighter style, and he carried a shotgun and across his chest was an actual bandolier of extra shells.

  Miller blinked. "What the hell is it?"

  "Let's just say I think you're going to need these." He tossed her spare service pistol, a big ol' Smith & Wesson model 1911, onto the bed. Followed it with two magazines of .45 ammo. Adrenaline washed through Miller. The fear gave her renewed energy. The food had helped. She seemed to be healing rapidly. The confidence made her stand up. Her balance was almost back to normal. Miller moved to the edge of the bed and grabbed the weapon.

  "Where did you find this baby?" It felt heavier than she remembered, yet she hefted it easily.

  "I raided your cruiser while you were sleeping," Terrill Lee said. "Found an emergency kit, a couple of spare sets of handcuffs, and that bad boy. You sure do love you some big-assed guns. I'm going to have to start calling you Dirty Harriett again." He glanced down at her crotch.

  "Please don't," Miller said, not sure whether she was referring to the statement or his schoolboy lust.

  She hefted the weapon, checked to see that it was loaded. Okay, a round in the pipe, a full load in the clip, plus two more magazines. So 25 rounds was all she had for now. That would have to be enough. Miller rolled her shoulders. The pain was acceptable now, not bad at all.

  Terrill Lee jogged back to the bedroom window. Parted the curtain a tad and carefully surveyed the neighborhood.

  Still holding the weapon, Miller felt glad she had been shot in the left shoulder, not the right. Otherwise she wouldn't even be able to lift the damned pistol. She moved her shoulder around just a tad too ambitiously, and immediately wished she hadn't.

  "Do I have to immobilize that?" he said.

  "I'm fine," she said. "I feel better already. Just don't call any passes over ten yards. What have you got for me to wear?"

  He waived his hand. She spotted a dusty cardboard box that sat like a sulking gnome in the near corner of the room. Miller moved a few steps forward. Stopped. Bracing herself against the wall, she took a couple of deep breaths. The house smelled dusty from lack of circulation. Perhaps the power had just gone off? Her arm had stiffened a bit and the ache was better, though still dull and persistent. Breathing slowly and deeply, she made her way over to the box. She got down on one knee and started digging through it with her good arm. She tossed out a few odds and ends before stopping. You have got to be fucking kidding me…

  "Turds on wheat toast! All the pussy you've been racking up since we split up and this is the best you could do?" She held up a white box covered in plastic and carefully taped shut. "You cannot be serious."

  "There's something you can wear in there, right?" He stared at the box, face devoid of expression. He didn't know or didn't care.

  Miller pulled the plastic bag off the box. She broke the seals. As she lifted the top off it became clear what had been stored inside. Terrill Lee grunted. He fought back a wry smile.

  "This is my wedding dress, genius!"

  "Bet it still fits, don't it?" Terrill Lee managed a weak smile.

  "Poop on a popsicle." Miller held the long white dress out at arm's length, not certain whether to be repulsed or amused. It was a beautiful
dress, and she'd looked like an angel that day. But now? How wrong can you get?

  "Well," Terrill Lee said, "I did find a couple of other things there in the bureau, but you don't want them."

  "Yes, I do. Anything's better than this dress." Miller dropped it unceremoniously back into the box. "I can't go out and do me some undead murdering while all dressed like a red-state bitch on a reality TV show. So what else have we got?"

  Terrill Lee dug around in the drawer. He seemed to be stalling for time. Finally, he pulled out a couple of frilly, lacy things, just skimpy nightgowns and such. He produced a sickly smile and the last two items. Her choices were a wedding dress, those crappy nightgowns and one cup-less bustier with a pair of black, lacy panties.

  "Butt floss underwear? Are you shitting me?"

  He shrugged and actually had the good grace to blush.

  "You dumb, redneck son of a bitch, I might as well go outside wearing Kleenex. What, you put those on when you're all alone and lonely?"

  "Marilyn left these here after she moved out," he said.

  "Marilyn?" Miller's mouth hung open. "Wait. You'd actually expect me to wear something that fake-tittied little redneck twat couldn't be bothered to take with her when she dumped your country ass?"

  Terrill Lee glared. "Hey, I said you wouldn't want them." He threw the undies back into the drawer. "Looks like it's either the wedding dress or you get to walk around in that T-shirt with your fuzzy beaver and butt cheeks hanging out for all to see." He gestured to her bottom, which was simultaneously exposed and shivering. Damn it, he had that look of teen lust again.

  Furious, Miller struggled to contain herself. She eyed the wedding dress like a feral cat staring at a flea bath. "Jesus Jones in a port-a-potty. I don't really have a choice, do I?"

  "Doesn't appear you do," he said, matter-of-factly. He continued to look at her, his eyes slowly drifting down to her exposed crotch. The son of a bitch was actually enjoying this.