“I suppose every single one of those trucks outside has a rifle in it,” Palmer remarked with frustration.
“Yeah, mine too, but I'm not volunteering to go out there and get it,” Dirk scoffed lowly while counting the remaining shells for the shotgun.
Shelly appeared from the kitchen and approached them. “We have enough food to last us a couple of days.”
“Hopefully that'll be enough,” Palmer replied.
Shelly frowned and appeared uncomfortable while rubbing her chilled arms. “Sheriff, there's no response from Wes locked in the pantry.”
“He's almost certainly one of them by now,” Daniels bluntly informed them.
“Your compassion in commendable,” Palmer muttered.
“When we don't report in, it'll be at least a day or two before someone comes to check on us,” Daniels announced. “If I hadn't given Anderson my cell phone--”
“I suppose us hicks are a dime a dozen, huh?” Palmer demanded and allowed his temper to again rise. “If they lose control over this infection, they can just blow the entire island off the map, isn't that right, Daniels?”
Daniels appeared uncomfortable with Palmer's rising temper. “Drastic measures would only be used as a last resort.”
“I'll take that as a ‘yes’,” Palmer remarked then looked back at Shelly. “Any luck with the radio?”
“It was trashed when those things broke into the back,” Shelly informed him.
Palmer appeared humored and snorted a laugh. The stress was clearly getting to him. “I suppose every one of those damned trucks outside has a radio too? Not that it'll do us any good in here.” He looked at Daniels while casually placing his hand on his gun holster like some western day gunslinger. “This is your party, Daniels. I elect you to take a little stroll into the parking lot and call someone up on one of those radios.”
Daniels glared his disapproval at Palmer's tasteless joke. Of course, with Palmer, it was hard to tell if he was joking or not. Shelly remained tense and watched the exchange between Palmer and Daniels.
“What about Wes?” Shelly asked with a more determined tone. She was obviously bothered about Wes' fate.
Palmer looked at Shelly, shifted with discomfort, and reluctantly removed his revolver from his holster. “Yeah, I'll check on him.” As he headed toward the kitchen in the back, he was heard mumbling, “Where the hell is that damned deputy when you really need him?”
Sheriff Palmer entered the kitchen and approached the bolted pantry door. He stared at the door a moment while clutching his gun, took a deep breath, and pounded on the door.
“Yo, Wes, you in there?”
There was no response. Palmer waited a moment longer, frowned, and reached for the bolt on the door. Shelly suddenly appeared behind him. He turned with surprise and aimed his gun at her. She screamed and jumped back. He lowered his gun while groaning.
“Jesus, don't do that,” Palmer scoffed. He looked at her then indicated the door while taking a step back and aiming his gun. “Open the door.”
“Are you out of your mind? What if he's one of them?”
“Then I shoot him in the head,” Palmer informed her. “You'll be safe behind the door. He'll come after me.”
“You're not exactly making your case,” she remarked. “What if he gets you?”
“Then we're all screwed,” Palmer snapped, realized how he sounded, and then attempted to sound more reassuring. “It'll be okay. Just open the door. I won't let anything happen to you. Trust me.”
Shelly uncertainly nodded. She moved in front of the door, grasped the handle, and reached for the bolt. She looked back at Palmer. He took a wide stance, aimed his gun at the door, and nodded to Shelly. She pulled the bolt free and threw open the door while seeking shelter behind it. Palmer aimed his gun at the empty pantry then appeared surprised.
“What the hell--?”
Shelly uncertainly peeked around the door. Palmer slowly approached the open pantry and looked inside. Wes lie moderately spread out against the back corner with his eyes closed. He appeared to be dead. Palmer uncertainly approached the motionless man with his gun aimed and his finger tight on the trigger. He paused before him and gently kicked his foot.
“Yo, Wes,” Palmer announced. “Last call.”
Wes didn't move. Shelly now stood in the pantry doorway and stared as well.
“Is he dead?” she asked softly. “I mean dead dead?”
Palmer frowned and shook his head. “That bastard Daniels doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground. Wait until I get my hands on him.”
He returned his gun to his holster, turned within the pantry, and approached Shelly by the open door. Shelly suddenly appeared horrified and screamed. Palmer quickly turned. Zombie Wes was already on his feet and charging for Sheriff Palmer. Palmer reached for his weapon as Wes plowed into him and knocked him against the nearby shelf. His gun flew across the pantry floor. Palmer held Wes back with his forearm against his throat. Zombie Wes snapped at Palmer's face while snarling viciously. Palmer reached behind him, grabbed a can, and repeatedly struck Wes in the head with it. As Wes fell to the floor, Palmer delivered the final blow, crushing his skull. The can opened and coffee grounds flew across the pantry floor. Wes no longer moved. Palmer slowly straightened and looked at the coffee can in his hand. He snorted a laugh.
“Look at that,” he announced and appeared almost humored while indicating the coffee can. “Saved by coffee. There's a little bit of irony to that.”
“Yeah,” Shelly said and appeared relieved. “That was our last can of coffee too.”
Sheriff Palmer looked at the empty can in his hand then to the coffee grounds scattered across Wes and the floor. He rolled his eyes and tossed the can over his shoulder.
“Irony is cruel,” he muttered.
The faint sound of loud, rock music vibrated the kitchen walls. Palmer and Shelly exchanged bewildered looks then appeared surprised, if not encouraged by the sound. They ran from the pantry, across the cluttered kitchen, and into the bar area with the other startled patrons. The pulsating rock music grew louder along with the sound of a car. Everyone ran to the windows and peered out through the cracks in the boards.
A black sports car with flames on the side flew past the tavern. The loud, rock music blared from the car's speakers and vibrated the entire area. The screeching of tires was heard as the car skidded into a turn. The car burned out with a cloud of smoke and raced back past the tavern. The zombies turned away from the tavern and headed across the parking lot toward the car and the loud music it produced. The sports car again spun around and made another pass, this time flying into the parking lot as it skidded in a circle, and struck several zombies. The car peeled out in the gravel, drove back to the road, and spun again. Hunter appeared from the sunroof with an assault rifle. He wore black swat gear and clenched a cigar between his teeth while grinning. He rapidly fired with precise headshots at the zombies in the parking lot. The car spun and sped back down the road with Hunter continuing to fire. He pounded the roof of the car. The car again spun and returned for another pass. He was obviously having a little too much fun.
Sheriff Palmer appeared horrified and turned toward the others while frantically waving his arms. “Everyone down!” Palmer shouted. “It's that crazy, son-of-a-bitch, Hunter!”
Everyone screamed and dove to the floor. Palmer returned to the barricaded window and watched.
The car skidded to a stop near the tavern. Hunter no longer had the assault rifle in his hands. He casually held his cigar and maintained his enthusiastic grin.
“Hey, maggot bait!” he called out. “Fresh meat! Come and get me!” His chuckle could be heard above the blaring music.
The zombies made their way closer to the car. Desmond sat behind the wheel and watched their approach with a concerned look on his face.
“They're getting closer, Hunter!”
Hunter chuckled lowly and puffed on his cigar in a most sinister manner. He was definitely off fig
hting the war this time. “Crazy is the new sexy, Desmond! Enjoy the rush!”
The zombies got closer to the car. Desmond revved the engine and stared out the window with a paranoid expression.
“Don't get twitchy on me!” Hunter yelled to him.
The zombies were nearly upon the car. Hunter produced a stick of dynamite, lit it from his cigar, and handed it to the closest zombie. The zombie grabbed for him and took the dynamite. Hunter hit the car roof. Desmond burned out and raced down the road as Hunter disappeared into the car. The zombie looked quizzically at the dynamite in his hand. The fuse ran out. It exploded and took at least ten zombies with it. Zombie parts rained down upon the parking lot in a bloody, fleshy mess.
“Jesus Christ!” Palmer was heard shouting from within the tavern.
The sports car sped down the road in reverse then spun around in front of the tavern. Hunter shot more zombies from the sunroof. The sports car pulled into the parking lot and up to the front door. While Hunter continued to shoot from the sunroof, Desmond jumped out of the car and hurried to the trunk. He slammed his palm against the tavern door then opened the trunk. Loud movement of the jukebox being dragged across the floor was heard from inside. The door opened to reveal Palmer with a stunned look. Desmond tossed him an assault rifle. The trunk was filled with weapons and ammunition. Hunter climbed through the sunroof, stood on the hood of the car, and continued to shoot approaching zombies. Palmer turned to the tavern and yelled inside.
“Get these weapons! Let's go!” Palmer cried out.
Several people hurried outside to the car. Palmer and Desmond handed out the arsenal of weapons.
“May I make a suggestion?” Hunter casually announced between shots from the car's hood.
“What?” Desmond asked.
“Turn off that fucking music!”
Desmond groaned and shut off the car. Zombies continued their approach but from further away. Desmond passed out the last of the ammo and shut the trunk.
“Done!” Desmond cried out.
“Is there access to the roof from inside?” Hunter asked the small crowd of patrons collecting outside.
“There's a crawl space in the attic, but it's blocked with shelves in the supply closet,” Shelly informed him.
“Well, open it up,” Hunter announced then looked at Desmond and grinned. “I'll be on the roof. I'll meet you inside when I'm bored.”
“How the hell do you intend--?” Palmer asked then fell silent while watching Hunter.
Hunter slung his weapon over his shoulder, easily leaped to the porch roof, and swung up onto the tavern roof. Palmer stared with amazement at Hunter's agility and shook his head.
Desmond offered a tiny, nervous smile. “He's in commando mode. Be afraid.”
He hurried Palmer inside and shut the door behind them. Desmond and Palmer approached the bar where all the weapons were laid out. Dirk set a bottle of whiskey on the bar near Desmond. Desmond took a quick swig and immediately grimaced. Gunshots were heard from the roof.
“We heard some radio chatter from a crashed truck on our way here,” Desmond informed the group surrounding him. “People are trapped in the school and at the hotel. We'll wait until morning to make our move.”
“How many people?” Palmer asked.
“Unknown,” he replied. “We didn't exactly hang around for the entire conversation.” Desmond clapped his hands together and looked around the tavern. “Listen up!” All eyes were on him. “Hunter is off fighting the war. No one is to mention Jetta! If he thinks she's in any danger, he's going to lose it, and we can't afford that. Got it!”
Everyone nodded. A few minutes passed. Hunter appeared in the tavern and approached Desmond at the bar. His rugged swat team appearance and the assault rifle in his arms caused tension among everyone. Hunter propped the rifle against the bar, sat on the stool, and reached for the whiskey bottle. Desmond tensed and stopped him.
“We need you frosty, Hunter,” Desmond said gently while attempting to sound calm despite his concerns. “How about a cup of tea instead?”
“Tea?” Hunter asked gruffly and appeared almost offended by the suggestion.
Desmond and Palmer tensed.
Hunter suddenly smiled. “I'd love some tea.”
“I'll be right back,” Desmond announced then eyed Palmer and indicated the pool table in the back.
Palmer nodded as Desmond hurried for the kitchen. He looked at Hunter and attempted a casual smile.
“Care to play some pool?”
“Don't mind if I do,” Hunter replied cheerfully.
Chapter Twenty-four
Everyone within the hotel remained in the lounge at the bar or at tables with drinks before them. It was getting late and everyone was exhausted.
“We should probably get some rest; maybe sleep in shifts,” Carter announced. “We can take turns guarding the kitchen and lobby.”
“If there's an emergency, we can pull the fire alarm,” Styles remarked.
“The place seems pretty secure,” Jetta said while standing wearily. “We could use rooms on the second floor and pair up. That way no one is alone, and we're still close enough to one another. I think we could all use some sleep.”
“I'm never sleeping again,” Stacy muttered.
Rafael looked at Bishop. “Guess it's you and me, dude. Hope you don't snore.”
“I'm staying with Jetta,” Bishop casually replied.
Jetta suddenly glared at him and appeared surprised if not shocked. “Excuse me?”
She didn't know what he was up to, but she wasn't humored. Bishop remained casually reclined in his chair and stared at her. Jetta stared back at him.
“Yeah, right, that will be the day,” Carter said with a throaty chuckle.
Jetta and Bishop maintained their locked stares, almost as if waiting to see who blinked first. For a second, she thought she read his mind, and his reasoning suddenly dawned on her. Jetta finally looked away.
“Okay,” Jetta casually replied.
A tiny smile crossed Bishop's face. Carter appeared surprised then instantly annoyed.
“Wait--so I'm alone?” Rafael suddenly asked.
“You can stay with my father,” Lee informed him. “I'll take a room with a connecting door. We can leave the connecting door open.”
“Oh, okay,” Rafael replied and appeared relieved.
Elise glanced at Stacy. Stacy seemed painfully aware that she was about to be stuck in a room with her monster of a boss. Life was suddenly even less fair. It couldn't be allowed. Stacy sheepishly glanced at Lee.
“Is there room for one more in your room?” Stacy asked Lee while attempting not to sound desperate but failed.
“Absolutely,” Lee replied while understanding Stacy's concerned look. “Elise can pair up with Colleen.”
Elise looked at Colleen, who sat at the bar in a drunken stupor and babbled incoherently. Her mental state was clearly questionable after seeing her husband turn into a zombie, nearly kill her, and then being shot in the head.
“I'll get key cards for everyone,” Elise said without enthusiasm and left the room.
Jetta avoided looking at Bishop, who continued to watch her with a grin on his face. She caught Carter's cold stare. He was obviously upset that she agreed to stay in a room with Bishop over him, though she couldn't understand why he seemed so surprised. She wanted him to get the wrong idea. He tried to play her feelings for Hunter to get her into his bed and didn't even have the means to uphold his end of the bargain. If she had fallen for it, there would be a good chance she would have seriously hurt him.
†
Nearly everyone within the tavern attempted to sleep in chairs or on the floor using anything they could find for a pillow. Random gunshots were heard coming from the roof, but they were fewer and far between. One or two armed men remained awake in chairs by random windows and watched outside. Hunter slept reclined in one of the chairs with his feet propped on a nearby table and his hat over his face. His assault rifle
lie across his lap with the heat-seeking device alongside it. A tiny hand touched the rifle.
“That's not a toy,” Hunter said softly without looking.
Fei Yen jumped back with surprise. Hunter raised his cap and looked at the little girl standing alongside his chair.
“I wanted to play with your game,” Fei Yen said softly while indicating the heat-seeking device on his lap.
Hunter looked at the device then handed it to her. “It's not a game, but you can see body heat with it.”
He showed her how it worked. She aimed it at the people around the room and watched to see their body heat. She looked at him with great curiosity.
“Are you the crazy Army guy?” she asked.
He suddenly grinned at her question. “No, I'm the crazy Navy guy.”
“My daddy was in the Army. Did you know him?”
He found her notion that all military men must know one another endearing. “I don't think so,” he replied with a tiny smile. “I've been retired a long time.”
“My daddy died,” she said without hesitation. “A car blew up.”
Hunter stared at her a long moment with a shattered look. He twitched slightly at the grim reminder. Sounds from the past of men yelling and guns firing echoed through his mind. He returned to his version of reality and stared at the little girl.
“I'm so sorry, Fei Yen.”
“Mommy says you got blown up too.”
Hunter again sank into his own thoughts while staring at her. Ming hurried toward them with mild alarm and placed her hands on Fei Yen's shoulders.
“Fei Yen, don't disturb people while they're trying to sleep.” She looked at Hunter and smiled timidly. “I'm sorry.”
“It's okay,” he replied. “Believe it or not, I'm actually very good with children. I helped build a treehouse for Jetta when she was--” Hunter suddenly looked around and appeared concerned. Something was wrong. “Where is Jetta?”
Ming stared at Hunter with some concern then indicated the device Fei Yen held. “What is that?”
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