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

by Booth, Steven W.

  At first D’Amore paid no attention to the conversation. He waved his hand at the security forces specialists. “You heard me, I said arrest her.”

  But none of the men moved. The hidden sprayer released, filling the room with the lilac scent, sickly sweet and unwelcome.

  Dr. Williams’s eyes narrowed. “So it’s you,” she said. “I should have guessed.”

  “Yes,” said Crespi, almost casually. “You should have. Everything is in place on my end, but the reports I’ve been hearing tell me that you are falling behind.”

  Williams turned white as her blood pressure dropped. She licked her lips. “Do you think we might have a more private conversation, Miguel?”

  A large vein bulged out of D’Amore’s head. He looked like a toddler having a temper tantrum. He took Crespi by the arm and shook the man violently. “Now you listen to me, you little worm. You saw the memo from the Secretary. I’m the chairman of the committee. Me! So until further notice, I’m the one making the decisions around here.” He turned to the security forces specialists, who were watching the theatrics with bland expressions. “Men, I want you to clear this office, right now.”

  No one moved. Crespi had somehow taken control of the situation.

  Crespi looked up at the much taller D’Amore. “Raymond, you may be the chairman, as you say, but it is my job as a member of this committee to dissent when I have reason to believe that the chairman is wrong, or that his orders are illegal.” Crespi turned to the security forces specialists. “Gentlemen, would you please escort Chairman D’Amore to a holding cell. Please treat him with the respect that is due his office, but be sure to remove his belt and shoelaces.”

  “You little shit!” D’Amore lost it and reached out for Crespi’s throat. The security forces specialists acted instantly. They restrained D’Amore, turned him to face the wall, and handcuffed him smoothly and efficiently. Then they dragged him roughly from the room, the now ranting D’Amore struggling the entire way. Williams watched Crespi close the door and turn around to face her. He waited for silence.

  When the sounds of D’Amore’s protests died away, Crespi pulled up a chair. He sat down across the desk from Williams, and smiled.

  “How are things proceeding, Charlotte? I need to make a report soon, and I don’t know what I should tell them about your progress.” He smirked knowingly. The little shit had her over a barrel. If he was working for Cecil as well, and she hadn’t known it all this time, it meant that Cecil didn’t trust her. Two options presented themselves to her. She could kill Crespi, or she could trust him. Neither choice seemed like a good one. However, there was no third option.

  Dr. Charlotte Williams took a deep breath, and told him everything.

  Chapter Nine

  12 hours, 0 minutes to Stage Three (12:00pm)

  “All right,” McDivitt said, upon entering the common room. “Heads up.”

  Miller snapped awake. She had been curled up in one of the overstuffed chairs near the fireplace, sneaking a cat nap. She sat up and looked around. McDivitt was flanked by Bean and Judy. Though they seemed to be a unit now that they were together, Miller felt that Judy seemed off somehow, like an actress just a bit out of character. For his part, Bean appeared remarkably stable, especially for having been captured by the military and almost fed to the zombies. Apparently McDivitt had trained his people reasonably well.

  “What’s the latest?” Miller asked with a small yawn.

  McDivitt said, “They’re on their way.”

  Miller blinked and stretched. She was still tired and a bit stiff from traveling, as well as a tad sore from making love with Scratch. She told herself to get it together. “That’s good to hear, Major. But who’s they?”

  McDivitt came over and sat in the chair next to Millers. “‘They’ are our backup, Sheriff, your troops. I’ve contacted every trustworthy asset who’s ever owed me a favor, and that’s going back a few decades.”

  Miller brightened. “They’re really coming?”

  “We’ve hired every friend who is a reliable professional and lives within traveling distance. It’s done and the wheels are turning.”

  “I’m impressed,” Miller said. She rubbed her eyes. “That didn’t take long.”

  “It’s amazing what you can get for a million dollars these days.” McDivitt smiled and leaned back in the chair with a sigh. “I’m not going to ask where you got it. You said you wanted a chance to stop the Triad. Well, Sheriff, you’re about to get your wish.”

  Miller considered Major McDivitt for a moment. He was a piece of work. He’d handled the news that they were allocating all that money to this mission with aplomb, but also held back at first as if suspicious. Once he’d verified that the transfer of funds was happening, he’d begun to really get into the swing of it. Apparently there had just been a healthy sense of cynicism operating. Miller was beginning to understand him. Christa had probably approved the deal, and everything was a go.

  For her part, Miller hadn’t been entirely certain that McDivitt wouldn’t pocket the million, lie to her, or just put a bullet in her head. It appeared, at least for the moment, that they had achieved a decent working relationship. They’d finally built up some trust and now shared a specific common goal. Miller rolled her shoulders and tried to get the blood circulating again.

  “How quickly will the gear and the rest of your assets be able to get here?”

  “That’s something I wanted to discuss with you, Sheriff. We figure that the support personnel will arrive within the next thirty-six to forty-eight hours. The good news is that most of the heavy equipment should be available by this time tomorrow. We’ve also got some people on the way to resurrect the super-truck you told us about that’s down the way towards Elko. They should be here tonight. However, I still need to discuss the battle plan with you. Can you spare a few moments right now?”

  “Would you mind if I asked Scratch and Captain Sheppard to join us? I value their input.”

  McDivitt simply looked at Bean, who nodded, rose, and left without a word. Miller noted how seamlessly they worked together. As they waited, the lights flickered a bit, as if something had once again temporarily strained the power supply. No one reacted with alarm. Miller figured it was another non-event, perhaps just a probe by frustrated looters.

  They both stood and went to the large conference table. Judy had prepared some papers and maps for review, and Chuck and Scobee were just arriving. Each of them took a seat at the table.

  Good ol’ Rolf was periodically sane now, more often than not. He emerged from behind the falcon cage, where he had apparently been trying to talk to the bird. Miller didn’t quite know how sane that made him, but at least the bird was real. He came and sat at the table with the rest of them. Miller watched as Bean seemed to clench up. Whatever he had against Rolf hadn’t gone away just because McDivitt had raised the white flag.

  Miller looked closely at the presentation and smiled.

  On the table in front of them was a crisp aerial map of Mountain Home Air Force Base. A few spots were marked in bright red or a cool green. There were also a few blown up, clear detail maps of specific areas, in particular those marked in red, indicating the main targets of the assault. Miller felt a sense of hope rise in her heart. They finally had the keys to the kingdom. I’m going to get you bastards this time, Miller thought. I’m going to take every damned one of you out. This is for Terrill Lee, and Rat, and all the others we have lost along the way. We’re coming for you.

  “While we are waiting for your men to arrive,” McDivitt said, interrupting her thoughts, “I want to go over some of the most interesting features of the base. If they miss anything, you can brief them later.”

  Miller shrugged. “Fair enough.” She leaned closer.

  “Obviously, the flight line takes up much of the base.” McDivitt placed his right palm on the map. “Up here in the northwest corner is base housing, the PX, and some administrative offices. Apart from your interest in those two boys you
were telling us about, Scratch’s sons, we don’t really have any business operating in those areas. We will leave all that to you.”

  Miller didn’t bother to correct McDivitt about the parentage of little Lex. Whoever his father was, it sure as hell wasn’t Scratch. “Understood. How long before we have an idea of where to find Jimmy and Lex?”

  McDivitt waved his hand. “I’ve got a few contacts in Family Services. If what Captain Sheppard told us was accurate, we should have a line on them by this time tomorrow.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, Major.”

  McDivitt’s face tightened. He stabbed the large map with his finger this time. “It is here, in the northeast section, where we will be focusing most of our efforts.”

  “I take it the Triad works out of one of those fortified buildings in the northeast?” Miller indicated the dark cluster where McDivitt’s finger still pointed.

  “Yes, that’s correct. They are headquartered here, not far from the main entrance, just north of the flight line.”

  “Do we have a schematic of their facility to work with?”

  McDivitt removed his finger from the map. “That won’t be necessary. They aren’t our primary target.”

  Miller did nothing to hide her astonishment. “Excuse me. They’re not?”

  McDivitt smiled and for a split second Miller despised him. His arrogance was back. He was clearly enjoying himself. “No, Sheriff. This is.” He held out his hand, and Judy placed a detail map in his grip. McDivitt put it flat on the table and turned it ninety degrees to orient it with the larger map. He then placed both in front of her. Miller thought, He looks about as pompous as some high school boy about to recite Shakespeare.

  Miller let her breath out. She looked at the detail map. Shown were a series of circular objects, but the angle was all wrong, and at first Miller couldn’t identify what she was looking at. McDivitt seemed to be savoring the moment, and she didn’t enjoy being left in the dark, whatever his motive. She let her eyes play over the details, trying to make sense of them. Things gradually began to clarify themselves. The busily marked map started to come alive. But before she figured things out on her own, Bean returned with Scratch and Sheppard. They sat down to Miller’s left without comment. Christa brought coffee and cups and cream and sugar on one large tray and set it down. The china rattled in the silence. No one spoke until she left the room. No one reached for the coffee. Everyone was looking at the two maps.

  “What’s the scoop, Sport?” asked Scratch after the long moment of silence. “How about somebody fills us in?”

  “Major McDivitt was just explaining that we aren’t targeting the Triad’s main building.” Miller tried to speak with an air of nonchalance, but it came out, even to her own ears, almost as an accusation. She was still behind the curve and feeling baited for some reason. She didn’t like it one damned bit.

  Scratch did nothing to hide his disdain. “We’re not going after their nest? Shit. What the hell good will that do us?”

  Sheppard leaned over and peered at the detail map. Miller figured he’d be faster at catching up and he was. He looked up at McDivitt and said, “What is that you’re looking at? The antenna farm?”

  McDivitt seemed mildly disappointed to have lost his advantage. “That’s correct, Captain. That’s the target. That’s what we’re going to hit first.”

  Miller took back the detail map and turned it this way and that. After a moment, she could finally see that the circular objects were in fact satellite dishes—about ten of them in all—and that they were pointed more or less directly at the camera that had taken the photo. Someone had done a bit of recon and fairly recently. The plan began to take shape and she nodded.

  Sheppard said, “Interesting approach, Major.”

  “I still don’t get it,” said Scratch.

  Someone at the table cleared their throat. Miller looked up to see that it was Rolf. Whatever had been ailing him when they first met seemed to have worn off.

  The lights flickered again and someone shouted outside. Again, no one in the room flinched. Miller began to wonder what was really going on, but this wasn’t the time to bring it up.

  Rolf smiled. “If we cut off the head of the serpent, Scratch, the body dies.” Beyond that remark, Rolf did not elaborate.

  Scratch and Miller exchanged a glance. After a moment, Scratch said, “Okay, I can buy that as a concept, but isn’t the Triad the ‘head of the serpent’ here?”

  Miller glanced at the others around the table. McDivitt and his people seemed to be taking the conversation very seriously, even though the pauses appeared hard on the others. They obviously agreed with what Rolf was saying. She opted to play along and see if she could figure out why McDivitt was being so obtuse. Perhaps he just wanted to create a kind of “Aha!” moment in the others, a click that would drive his point home. Perhaps he merely wanted to upstage her.

  Sheppard sat still, quietly nodding, muttering almost to himself. “Actually, that’s not a bad strategy.”

  Miller could feel her frustration rising. She thought she understood but didn’t want to be wrong in front of these people. She felt like she was being left out while the cool kids shared a joke. McDivitt had made his point. He had something she needed. He had the right to be in command when the time came. She sighed aloud.

  “Would someone care to elaborate?”

  Again, it was Rolf who spoke, not McDivitt or one of the others. “Chosen One,” he began, “I’m sure you have already figured this out, but this is not a test, so I will explain. The Triad never gets its hands dirty even as they corrupt their own souls. Their minions are legion, but they are without a brain of their own. If we cut off the Triad’s ability to communicate with the demon armies it commands, they can no longer wage this war.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Miller said. “We blow up the satellite antennas first, and then the Triad can’t get their message out to Crystal Palace or whoever else is working for them. They will be isolated. We can attack the rest of the body piece by piece until it stops moving. Is that what you’re saying?”

  Rolf smiled and McDivitt nodded. “That’s the plan.”

  Miller shook her head. “It’s logical, sure, but I’m not buying it. I know for a fact that satellite phones exist and that most still work, and that they don’t need a big-assed antenna like these to operate. Jesus, Major, it’s a little thing about a foot long and a couple of inches in diameter. You’re telling me the Triad doesn’t have any of those for emergency use? Give me a break.”

  Rolf smiled. Miller noticed for the first time that he had a beautiful smile. If he ever turned completely sane he’d probably be a nice guy. “And this, I say to all, is the reason you are the Chosen One.”

  McDivitt leaned forward. “It’s not quite that simple, Sheriff. There’s a lot of data that is transferred between the Triad and Crystal Palace. Also, their ability to communicate with their command structure is all through those satellite antennas. A satellite phone would let them talk but not with the bandwidth they are accustomed to. It simply wouldn’t be adequate for any of their operating needs. We would be taking down their ability to exchange data or give detailed orders to their forward positions, aircraft, or long range weapons. We’d bring them down to our level.”

  Scratch leaned forward. “Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say we blow up the antennas first, and then what? You have something more in mind after that, right?”

  Miller was catching on again. “Yeah, Scratch. They do.”

  “The protocol is to evacuate the Triad in the event of a communication failure—or, as in this case, upon insurrection.” McDivitt pointed to the big map again. He was just getting warmed up. “This is the second move. We hit them right here. There’s a tunnel between the Triad’s main building and this hangar. Our intelligence says a C-17 Globemaster that has been allocated only for their personal use is always fully fueled, parked, and waiting right there. Once the fighting starts, they will make their way through the tu
nnel to the Globemaster and attempt to depart for another secret base, which we think is located somewhere on the east coast.”

  “So we start some shit, cut them off, and lay an ambush for when they try to run,” Miller said.

  “Yes. We will be waiting in this tunnel for them to try to escape, and take them out well before they get to the Globemaster. We will kill or capture every last one of their executives, and once we do the Triad is finished. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Assuming everything goes according to plan, which we all know happens only on rare occasions.” Miller looked at the maps, and carefully considered their idea. Something just didn’t sit well with her, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She just hoped she would figure it out before they were all lying dead somewhere, or worse, walking around with missing body parts, looking for a meal that would never arrive.

  The sound of feet running caught Miller’s attention, and she and the others looked up to see Piper dash into the room.

  “Major, request permission to report.” Piper came to and remained at full attention. Miller caught the scent of fear. She was sweating heavily and breathing like a horse put up wet.

  “Go ahead.” McDivitt leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed, working to project masculine strength and calm. He did that sort of thing a lot, Miller realized. He was trying way too hard. Perhaps he wasn’t half as confident as he wished his subordinates to believe.

  Piper licked dry lips. She blinked rapidly, another sign of anxiety. “Sir, I was on recon and there is some strange activity on base. Just as I finished my shift, I observed several sturdy, locked crates being loaded onto four different cargo planes.”

  “Locked crates?”

  “Yes, sir,” Piper said. “They had inventory numbers on them, but they also had what I can only imagine are breathing holes. And while I was watching, one of these crates slipped off a ramp, fell over, and somehow broke open of its own accord. Not at the locks, sir, but at one of the seams.”