by Steven Booth
The human and animal remains scattered around town were just baked skeletons now, the tormented flesh already melting into the arid landscape. The house itself was a lonely old ghost. The lawn had grown into a jungle of high grass and weeds, punctuated here and there by the resilient flowers of late winter. Miller studied the place. There were a few bullet holes visible in the light beige paint, but there were few other traces of the pitched battle that had taken place here, shortly after the plague struck Nevada. The earth abides, she thought.
There were a few skeletons crumbling on the sidewalk right outside the home. Miller tried not to ponder if she’d known these people, though she probably had. The thought of everything she’d lost since that first fateful first night still weighed heavily on her soul. Friends, Terrill Lee, all the strangers she couldn’t help. Miller swallowed dryly. She sighed and turned off the engine. The world went quiet, except for the faint cawing of a crow. A grasshopper clicked in the dry, brown grass.
Four tired survivors stepped out into the open. The two men stood watching Miller as she examined what was left of her home. The fourth person remained behind in the Hummer for a time then painfully pulled herself out of the vehicle.
“Nice place, Penny,” said Scratch.
Miller didn’t turn to look at him. She couldn’t due to guilt. She was remembering Terrill Lee.
“Or, you know, it was nice. Once.”
“Just shut up, okay?”
The bright morning sun beat down with a pulse. Karl Sheppard put a hand on Scratch’s shoulder. He had a bandage on his face from where poor crazed Alex had punched him before dying in convulsions. Fortunately for them, Sheppard had not been bitten. His own conscience seemed strained to the breaking point by the mess he’d helped to create… and once again failed to fix. His eyes were red and his face dark with exhaustion. “Scratch, let’s just give her a minute.”
Rat passed the two of them. She limped up to the porch, bent at the waist and looked in the window. “The place seems pretty much intact.”
Miller went to the side of the house. She knelt down in the dirt and reached underneath the house to where the key safe was still attached to the foundation. The box was unopened. Miller punched the combination into the mechanical lock, and it opened to offer up the key.
“Might as well come inside, guys. I can’t offer much in the way of hospitality, but you’re welcome to look around.”
Scratch and Sheppard closed the gap. Neither man spoke. The crow cawed again.
Miller turned the key and opened the lock. The door opened a foot or so but then it jammed on something.
“Aw, shit.” Miller’s eyes filled.
Scratch jogged forward. “What’s the matter?”
“I was hoping Sgt. Pepper had made it outside somehow.” Miller sagged against the doorjamb. The fate of her cat got to her more than she’d expected. She sighed. On the floor behind the door lay the skeleton and most of the pelt, jumbled like a wad of cleaning rags. The odor of decay was like a sickly-sweet faint perfume.
“I’m sorry, Penny,” said Scratch.
“Nothing for you to be sorry about,” Miller said. “You didn’t unleash the undead on my town.”
Miller stepped inside. She didn’t meet Scratch’s eye. She did, however, look long and hard at Sheppard. But you did, damn it. You did.
Sheppard reacted as if he’d been slapped. He swallowed dryly. “I have so much I want to explain to you, Penny, once we have time. I owe you that much and more.”
Her expression made him wilt again, but Sheppard did not look down. She held the stare long enough to make her point, and then looked away again. “I’m just surprised no survivors came in here looking for weapons. I was the local law. Would have figured someone would have broken in and Pepper would have escaped that way, sooner or later. I guess things happened too fast.”
Scratch went into the kitchen. He tried the faucet. “No water pressure.”
“There should be a couple of five gallon bottles in the cabinet,” Miller said, “along with some canned food. Most of it is probably still good.”
Miller finally looked at Scratch. He looked back with a question in his eyes. She communicated silently. Scratch held her gaze just long enough to be sure. “Hey, Karl? Give me a hand in here for a minute.”
With Scratch and Sheppard out of the room, Miller went into the back of the house, toward her bedroom. Rat followed, moving slowly and carefully. Miller opened the door. It moved with a faint creak. The old room was dusty but neat, more or less the way she’d left it all those months ago. Miller went to the closet, and instinctively tried to turn on the light. Nothing happened, of course. Enough light was streaming in through the window for Miller to see clearly. So many memories, so much loss… She began sifting through her stuff, looking for items they could use.
“What do you need me to do?” asked Rat in a hushed tone.
“Help me pick out our new wardrobe, I suppose.” Miller hesitated then made a fateful decision. “Go for the warm stuff. It’s still winter up there in Idaho.”
Rat obeyed. Miller laid a suitcase on the bed. She filled it with clothes, many items that were probably too big for her now, but at least they were clean. A couple of uniforms, some civilian clothes, and enough clean underwear to last her a couple of weeks. Some sweaters and long johns, things Rat could also wear. She pulled a couple of pictures off the dresser—one with Terrill Lee on their wedding day, another with Elko County Sheriff Charlie Robinson on a trip to Reno, one of her and Sgt. Pepper cuddling on the old living room sofa. The thought of what that cat must have gone through before it starved to death suddenly weighed heavily on Miller because the suffering was so new. Hell, humans had at least been given a chance. That poor cat was just locked up to die. Miller knew the memory of her lost pet was standing in as a metaphor for all these months of anguish, but she couldn’t stop herself from feeling absolutely broken-hearted. The thought of the poor animal meowing stung. Miller suppressed a sob.
As if sensing the mood, Rat offered space. She left the room.
Miller went to the wall and opened the gun safe. Inside she found a couple of tactical rifles, a 20-gauge shotgun, and a variety of large caliber handguns—what Terrill Lee would call the big-assed guns—and plenty of ammunition for them all, at least for the time being. She laid the weapons out on the bed next to the suitcase. This was just a supplement for what they had already gathered from Crystal Palace, but they were hers. There were a lot of enemies waiting for them to show their heads. This was far from over.
Rat came back into the room. She silently packed up the weapons, placing them in various carrying cases. Her touch was sure and professional, as usual. Penny Miller went into the bathroom. She had another, more secret reason for stopping at her home. She closed the door and locked it. Her hands were trembling.
Miller took the small home pregnancy kit out from under the counter. She tore it open. It had expired almost six months before, but it would have to do. She read the instructions and followed them as well as she could. There was no running water to help clean up the mess, not that it mattered.
Sheppard knocked on the door. “Penny, you in there?”
“Just give me a minute.” Miller kept her eyes on the little indicator lines. Nothing had changed, and she didn’t expect it to.
“Scratch, Rat, and I have finished. We have the Hummer all packed up. We’re ready to go any time you are.”
“I said, just a minute!” Miller’s voice cracked a bit. The test result was appearing.
Miller watched as the one reddish line appeared, but not the second. She checked the instructions again, just to make sure she’d done it right. It was almost certainly negative, negative, it had to be. It just had to be. She couldn’t be pregnant too, not after all this.
After another minute, Miller was ready to give up. Then she saw it come to a conclusion. She stared down at the pregnancy test.
The pregnancy test stared back.
About the
Authors
Steven W. Booth is an entrepreneur and author with four novels to his credit—and you are holding one of them. He has had short stories published in the anthologies Dead Set (edited by Joe McKinney and Michelle McCrary) and Horror for Good (edited by Mark Scioneaux, R.J. Cavender, and Robert S. Wilson). He has earned a BA in Economics from UC Santa Cruz, an MBA in Nonprofit Management from the University of Judaism, and a Masters of Arts in Teaching from National University, and one of these days he’s planning on using all three degrees at once. As the publisher at Genius Book Publishing, Steven has the honor of working with amazing authors like Karl Alexander, Al Carlisle, David Dean, Ed Gorman, Brian Knight, Tim Marquitz, Gene O’Neill, and Harry Shannon, and he is hoping to expand those ranks in the near future. Steven is currently writing three novels: a new book in The Sheriff Penny Miller Series; a thriller (to be co-written with Harry Shannon); and a YA thriller tentatively entitled Chasing Shoeless Joe. He can be contacted at www.GeniusBookPublishing.com or www.GeniusBookServices.com.
Harry Shannon has been an actor, an Emmy-nominated songwriter, a recording artist, a music publisher, a VP at Carolco Pictures, and a Music Supervisor on films such as “Basic Instinct” and “Universal Soldier.” In addition to The Sheriff Penny Miller series, co-written with Steven W. Booth, his novels include Night of the Beast, CLAN, Daemon, Dead and Gone, and The Pressure of Darkness, as well as the Mick Callahan suspense novels Memorial Day, Eye of the Burning Man, One of the Wicked, and Running Cold. His collection A Host of Shadows was nominated for the Stoker Award by the Horror Writer’s Association, as was his short story “Night Nurse.” Another short story “Fifty Minutes,” co-written with Slake Magazine editor Joe Donnelly, was included in Houghton-Mifflin’s “Best American Mysteries of 2011.” Readers may contact him via Facebook or www.HarryShannon.com.
The Sheriff Penny Miller Series
The Hungry
Meet Sheriff Penny Miller of Flat Rock, Nevada. Miller is the kind of woman who will do whatever it takes to protect those she is sworn to serve, even when that includes a murderous biker, her wimpy ex-husband, a unit of incompetent National Guardsmen, and the scientist responsible for releasing the undead upon an unsuspecting world.
Get The Hungry
The Hungry 2: The Wrath of God
Nevada: America’s number one tourist destination…
if you’re dead!
After surviving the first days of the zombie apocalypse, Sheriff Penny Miller and her friends relax in what's left of Las Vegas. The Army asks Miller and her party to return to Crystal Place, the Top Secret base that was birthplace of the zombies. Even though the mission is to recover data that may lead to a cure for the virus—and Miller herself—she's pretty sure its a bad idea. The Army assures her that a crack team of mercenaries will be there to protect them every step of the way.
When Miller sees weird religious graffiti scrawled in blood on the concrete walls of the deserted base, she's sure their chances of survival have just dropped to damn near zero. Again.
Sometimes it sucks being right!
Get The Hungry 2: The Wrath of God
The Hungry 3: At the End of the World
The Zombies are Spreading…
Small town Sheriff Penny Miller and her friends Scratch, Terrill Lee, and Sheppard escaped from Nevada moments before a devastating nuclear explosion intended to eradicate the zombie plague. The Government’s plan didn’t work, and the zombies are spreading. When Miller and her men find an abandoned hunting lodge in a remote village in Colorado, they’re hoping to steer clear of zombies, redneck survivalists, and panicked locals, and to simply ride out the winter.
Penny Miller just wants some peace and quiet, a glass of wine in front of the fireplace, and maybe some quality time with Scratch over the holidays.
Unfortunately, that isn’t Santa coming down the chimney—and this will not be a Merry Christmas.
Get The Hungry 3: At the End of the World
Table of Contents
The Hungry 4
Table of Contents
Dedications
Acknowledgments
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EPILOGUE
About the Authors
The Sheriff Penny Miller Series