The Hungry (Book 6): The Rule of Three (The Sheriff Penny Miller Zombie Series)

by Booth, Steven W.

  Prisoners, Miller thought. That’s what had her hackles up. This is a freaking prison bus.

  Cautiously, Miller put her head into the driver’s window and looked along the length of the bus. The windows in the back were barred. Heavy plates were secured to the flooring, and all contained rings for men in chains. “Prisoners and the government can only mean one thing, especially this close to Mountain Home, Scratch. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “If you’re thinking Sheriff Penny Miller has totally lost her sense of objectivity and has gone completely off her nut, then yeah, I was just thinking that.”

  Miller shot him a nasty look. Then she put her head back inside the bus. “Anyone alive back there?” Miller called.

  “Yes,” called a deep voice from the back. A moment later another man cried, “Please help us!”

  “All right,” Miller called. “Hold tight. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” She turned to Scratch. “I’m trying to be prudent here, since you’re the big guy. Do you think you can climb down and help me get this driver out of his chair?”

  “Penny, I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, but this is not our fight. Come on, we need to skedaddle.”

  “Okay, I’ll go first,” she said, ignoring him. Ordinarily she trusted his instincts, but at the moment, she trusted her own more, even if that meant doing something bordering on reckless.

  “No, I’ve got it.” He huffed and tucked his weapon into his belt. He shot her a dark look and began climbing down into the bus, being careful not to step on the wounded men. A moment later, he was standing next to the driver.

  “Yeah, these guys are prison guards.”

  “Check the live one for bites.”

  Scratch said, “Trust me, I’m already working on that.” He inspected the crumpled guard. “I’ve got a heartbeat. It’s piss poor but he’s alive. I don’t see anything like a bite, but he’s got some pretty bad cuts and he’s losing blood fast. I don’t even want to try to move him, but guess we’d best give it a shot. He really needs an ambulance and an ER, which we surely don’t have, but if we just leave him here to bleed out he’s definitely a goner.”

  “Hey, what about us?” called a third male voice from the back. Someone rattled chains and kicked at the side of the bus.

  “Keep your damned panties on,” Scratch bellowed.

  Miller made a judgment call. “Okay, help me get the driver out.”

  Scratch anchored a foot on the dash while Miller took hold of the driver’s arm. “I’m going to unbuckle him, Penny. You ready?”

  Miller braced herself for the shift in weight. “Go ahead.”

  Scratch got his shoulder under the driver, and unbuckled the seat belt. The driver slumped precipitously, but was not quite as heavy as he looked, so between Miller and Scratch, they had him pretty good. Miller began pulling with everything she had. Scratch was right, she didn’t have her zombie super-strength any more, but she was still in good shape, and with all the transformations she had gone through her muscles held. Scratch pushed hard and Miller was eventually able to haul the driver up and onto the side of the bus. His skin was pale and his clothing soaked with blood. He felt loose and waxen to the touch. Miller laid him out flat, and immediately checked him again for a pulse. This time she couldn’t find one.

  “Shit, he’s already gone,” Miller said. Then she sniffed the driver. He smelled like blood and sweat, but she caught no trace of decomposition. He wouldn’t be coming back. Miller breathed a sigh of relief. She dragged the man a bit further away from the open space and looked around. There was still no one else in sight. They were safe for the time being, but now the sunlight was fading fast. They didn’t have much time before it would be pitch black outside. Bad things happened in the dark.

  Scratch called up to her. “What do we do about this other guy?”

  “Let me come down and have a look.”

  Scratch stepped back into the shadows. He was already on the lookout, searching the bus, weapon at the ready. Miller climbed into the front, loosened her knees, and dropped lightly down. Her instincts fluttered and she stiffened. Something felt off. She sniffed the foul air and at once could smell it—that unmistakable reek of the walking dead. Damn it to hell.

  “Scratch, heads up.” The gun was instantly in her hand.

  “What?” Scratch’s eyes widened.

  “You don’t smell that?”

  Scratch sniffed. “Decomp. Fuck. Penny, we need to exit the premises, right now!”

  Scratch only had a .32 target pistol. Miller knew he would have preferred something more manly, but that was all they had been able to scrounge up. He was a good shot. The little gun would have to do.

  Whatever was driving her to stay was kicking into overdrive. “Keep an eye out.” Miller crouched down to check the man still on the ground. She felt for a pulse, and despite the hideous head wound, found it was still there. He was in bad shape, but the man was still alive. She looked up and nodded. Scratch stared at her wordlessly. They both knew some hard choices were coming. “Okay, just leave him for the moment.” Miller knelt down, stole the man’s key ring, and stood up. She called out to the prisoners. “You men back there, my name is Sheriff Penny Miller out of Flat Rock, Nevada. You’ve got a big problem here, and we mean to help, but if you give us any grief, even the slightest ration of shit, I will take your ass out of the game before you can say ‘hold your fire.’ Are we all clear on that?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  A different voice called out. “Just get in here!”

  Miller climbed over the sideways benches to the back of the bus with the key ring and her weapon. Scratch watched the front. Miller could smell he was sweating. They both were.

  Miller came to where the prisoners were held. She unlocked the cage door and carefully climbed inside. She wished she had a flashlight, but the only one they had was still back at the barn where Sheppard and Rolf were waiting for their return. She’d eyeballed the front of the vehicle and found nothing. She squinted into the back and saw shadowy figures, only a few, all sitting down.

  “Everybody put your hands where I can see them.”

  She heard a jangling sound. Three pairs of hands appeared from behind the benches on the bottom side of the bus. The hands and wrists all had chains and bracelets on them. These were the prisoners, not much doubt about that.

  “I count three of you. Is there anyone else in here?” Miller sighed. “Show yourself or I’ll start shooting.”

  “Just us.” One of the three men leaned forward, right into the waning light from the front window. The man was about thirty, clean shaven but with a cut on his head that bled down his face and onto his prison garb. “But the last guard is still there, way in the back.”

  “Scratch, watch these men.” She turned back to the prisoners. “Cover your ears. It’s about to be very loud in here.”

  “What’s going on?” said the first prisoner. Miller couldn’t see his face.

  Miller ignored him. She walked along the windows above the benches, and headed toward the back, just following her nose in the near darkness. She walked slowly, but with purpose. Her hand gripped the pistol. The smell of decomp got stronger. She turned her head slightly to the left. “We’ve got us a stinker back here, Scratch. Keep your eyes open.”

  “If you get bit, I’m not coming in after you. You got that?”

  Miller looked over her shoulder. “Shit, Scratch. You’ve made your point.”

  “Watch out!”

  The guard seemed to come out of nowhere. He stood up and reached for her. She could see a bit of him in the shadowy light. He was way, way dead. Half his face was missing, one shoulder partially crushed from the impact of the accident. He was ambulatory anyway, his lips and teeth moving and biting hungrily. The hideous thing reached for her.

  Miller brought her pistol up and fired. BOOM! She hit him square in the forehead, spraying blood and brains against the wall. The zombie’s head snapped back, but amazingly enough,
he didn’t fall. Miller had been fairly calm up to this point, but now her blood pressure jumped.

  “Fucking albinos, Scratch!”

  Miller aimed carefully at the zombie’s mouth. She had to hit the thing’s hindbrain or it wouldn’t go down. She let out her breath and fired just as its warm, sticky fingers touched her arm. Fingernails clutched at her flesh.

  BAAM!

  This time, the zombie dropped. Miller stood over it, and waited for it to move another time, carefully covering it with her weapon. It stayed still. She wondered briefly how albino zombies, discovered underground, had ended up loose on a fucking prison bus. She formed the words to ask Scratch. She turned back toward the front of the downed vehicle. Her heart was pounding.

  Uhhh-hunnhhh-huhhh!

  “Scratch!” Miller focused fast. She aimed at the other guard, the younger man all crumpled up at the front of the bus. Miller cursed silently. She couldn’t get a good angle. After all his warnings, if Scratch got bit because of her damned foolishness…

  Scratch spun and fired at the approaching monster, but missed the critical shot.

  “It’s another albino, Scratch,” Miller shouted again. “Remember, aim for the mouth!”

  Scratch slapped at his weapon. “I’ve got a jam here, Penny!”

  Miller raced forward toward the front of the bus just as Scratch stepped backward and out of the way, hoping to open her view. She brought up her revolver and fired into the side of the zombie’s head, aiming for its brainstem. The shot struck home, brain matter exploded in a mist, and the zombie dropped like a bag of spuds. Miller’s ears were ringing. She licked her lips. Scratch nodded wordlessly.

  “Please, please don’t kill us,” cried one of the prisoners.

  Scratch walked forward. He finally cleared his gun. He looked down at the frightened prisoner. “If you’re talking, pal, you can relax. You’re not a target.” He turned back to face Miller. “Albinos don’t work in teams or triads, Penny. At least they didn’t use to. That seemed like a well-coordinated trap. And you fell for it, hook, line, and sinker.”

  “Look, we’re here. Let’s get these three out of here, and you can rip me a new one later.” But what was she trying to prove, anyway? Whatever was drawing her to this place was gone now. Was it the albinos? Hell, it didn’t matter anymore. The zombies were toast and they had to get out.

  Miller inspected the second guard. He had what appeared to be a functioning cell phone off his belt. He also had a Colt M1911-A1 and four magazines. She pulled them out and handed them to Scratch. “Retire that pop gun, Scratch. It’s going to get us both killed.”

  Scratch accepted the pistol and reloads gratefully. “Nice.” He headed toward the back of the bus. “This guy’s not armed except for maybe a club.”

  “You three,” she said to the prisoners, “are any of you hurt?”

  “Glen’s in pretty bad shape,” said the first prisoner, the one who had been doing most of the talking, “but Scobee and me are okay.”

  “Which one of you is Scobee?”

  The prisoner in question raised his hand. It was shaking. He was thin, with strong features and acne-pocked skin. She read him as more wired up than frightened. Miller went on to the third prisoner, the one situated toward the back of the bus.

  The young prisoner looked scared and sick as a hound with a half-eaten Snickers bar. He was shaking and jerking with terror. Miller stepped closer, but not too close. She studied him and saw that he had a large, livid bite on his arm. Her stomach sank.

  Miller looked at Scratch and mouthed the word “bite.” Scratch nodded back in understanding. Miller stayed a few feet away. He forced a tight smile in the gloom. The other prisoners watched.

  “What’s your name, son?”

  “G-G-Glen,” he said. “I’m fucked, aren’t I? That guard, he just… he…”

  “You have a big problem, Glen,” Miller said simply. “Hell, I guess now we all do.”

  “Lady, I don’t want to become one of those things.” He stopped moving as the shock of it hit him.

  “Bites aren’t always fatal.” At least, not right away. She tried to reassure the kid with conviction. Hell, it was even true to an extent. She had seen bites that hadn’t resulted in immediate death. Her ex-husband Terrill Lee had lasted a while, though he wasn’t exactly a textbook case. They’d cut off his arm in an effort to save him, but the attempt failed in the end. Miller knew she was lying, and now, reading her sad eyes, so did the boy. No heroic measures would work for this poor kid. He was a goner.

  “Oh, my God, I can feel it inside,” Glen said. He resumed shaking and twitching. “Jesus, help me.”

  “What are you going to do, Sheriff?” asked the first prisoner. “Can’t you help him somehow?”

  Miller didn’t know how to explain the facts quickly, and couldn’t afford to waste any more time. “Scratch, get these two guys out of here.”

  Scobee stood up slowly with his hands in front of him. The chains rattled. Scratch moved closer with the key ring. “Bean, you’re not going to let her just kill poor Glen here, are you?” Scratch opted to unlock the one called Bean first. Scobee looked at Bean as he flexed his wrists and fingers.

  Bean was more muscular, with blond hair. He said, “It’s time to head out, Scobee. Just let the lady do what she needs to do.” He turned and headed toward the exit. Scobee stared at him, mouth agape, but when Scratch unlocked his chains he followed Bean’s orders. Miller made a mental note that Bean seemed to be the one in charge. Scratch followed the two prisoners silently. Moments later it was all quiet within the bus. Miller sniffed the air. Gasoline and decomp.

  Glen was crying softly now. “I don’t want to die!”

  Miller slowly raised the pistol but kept it just out of his sight. “I promise it will better than what would happen to you if we didn’t…”

  “Please, don’t shoot. Help me!”

  He looked so young, so innocent. Miller fought back some uncharacteristic tears. This was almost harder than when her friend Rat had gotten bit. She patted his arm in a motherly way. “Relax, kid. I am going to help you.”

  “Thank you. There’s a hospital not far from here, I think. You gotta get me there.”

  “Okay,” Miller said after a time. “Sure.”

  The boy closed his eyes thankfully. She raised the pistol, aimed for the brain and shot him dead. She stared down at the body of what was once a young man, but not yet a zombie. She aimed for Glen’s hindbrain, and fired one more round. Just in case. She whispered, “Rest in peace, Glen.”

  “You okay in there, Penny?”

  “It’s done.”

  Scratch was silent. They both knew there had been no other choice. “Since everybody else in there is pretty dead, and our two prisoners are more or less intact, I suggest we all beat feet. It’s going to be dark any second now.”

  Miller got up and walked briskly toward the front of the bus. Scratch reached down to help her out the window. He lowered his voice. “Um… what the hell are we going to do with these prisoners, anyway?”

  “We’re not going to kill them, that’s for sure.”

  Scratch made a face. “I’m sure they’ll both be relieved to hear that.”

  With Scratch helping, Miller climbed to the top of the wrecked bus. The waxing moon was high up, and that orb combined with the emerging blanket of stars provided some light. That faint light made it easier to not fall off the bus accidentally and break something useful.

  Miller looked down at the ground ten feet below. “We have to get off this crate before some redneck asshole comes racing around the corner to wipe us out.”

  “Who are you people?” asked Bean. He was propping up Scobee, who was shaking from the chill. “Where did you come from?”

  “Let’s talk on the ground.” Miller stepped forward to the two men. “I’m going to unlock the rest of your chains, gentlemen. I don’t know what you were arrested for, but as long as you don’t try to hurt anybody, you won’t get any hassle from us. T
he world ain’t what it used to be, and we all know it. Do we have a deal?”

  Before Bean could speak, Scobee stepped forward with his wrists out. He seemed to have recovered his composure. “Deal.”

  With Scratch covering, Miller found the handcuff key and unlocked their legs. Then each of them climbed down. They went to the side of the road to get out of the way. Miller didn’t like that they’d been in one spot for so long and making so much noise. She wanted to get free of any danger from other vehicles or anyone who came looking for a missing bus.

  When they were on the ground, Miller said, “There is a town about twenty minutes’ walk that way.” She pointed east into the gloom. “Those prison uniforms aren’t going to do you any good when it comes to making friends, but I don’t have any other options to offer you at the moment. Find a hardware or clothing store and break in. Stay out of trouble. If you run into anyone infected with the virus you have to trash their brain, every damn part of it to be safe. Oh, one last thing. If you get bit, eat your gun. Good luck to you.”

  Scratch looked at her like she had just started reciting Lewis Carroll while spinning on one foot. “That’s it? We went to all that trouble, wasted like ten rounds of ammunition, and almost had our brains sucked out our nostrils by a pair albino zombies, and all you have to say to these clowns is, ‘good luck to you’?”

  Miller nodded thoughtfully. “We’re sorry about your friend back there.” Without looking at Scratch, she said, “There, does that feel better?”

  “Who are you people?” Bean once again.

  “As far as you’re concerned, we’re your guardian angels.” Miller turned and headed back to where they had dropped their packs when the bus arrived. “Now why don’t you just start walking? We’ve already been here too long. We all want to be as far away from this bus as possible when the authorities find the wreck.”

  “That’s just not good enough,” demanded Bean, now moving closer to Miller. “How did you know how to handle those… things, those damn zombies? Christ, Sheriff, you looked like you had been doing that all your life.”