Judy seemed to be holding her breath. The color left her face. Her shoulders sagged. She bent down to put her weapon on the ground. Her fingers stayed on the grip, and she did not straighten up right away. Miller, Scratch, and McDivitt saw the move at the same time. That tightening of her forearm, the way Judy kept her eye on Williams. Judy was going to try to kill Williams, come hell or high water, the dumbass. She must have forgotten to pay her brain bill.
“Get down!”
Miller shouted and then moved without thinking, and realized that McDivitt was right beside her. They both tackled Judy just as she fired. The round discharged harmlessly into the wall and screeched away down the corridor. Together, they covered Judy as the soldiers surrounding Williams fired a brief hail of bullets.
Judy was screaming, they were all screaming now. The first round hit Miller in the back, knocking the wind out of her. She felt more like she’d been punched than shot. She knew that the hot, burning feeling would follow shortly. Another one hit her in the leg.
“Case fire! Cease fire!”
Someone was shouting orders. It was hard to know who. The firing continued. Miller covered her head with her arms, knowing that it would do nothing to stop a headshot, but she couldn’t help herself, it was a natural reflex. She was going to die, right here, right now, and all because Judy didn’t have the damned sense to do what she was told. Miller cried out as the pain hit. Another shot hit her in the shoulder, shaking her, twisting her in ways she never knew she could move. Scratch was crawling her way, his eyes desperate, big hands out to reach for her body.
Miller was out of breath, out of time, and out of options. The lights dimmed down and finally went dark.
Chapter Twelve
5 hours, 18 minutes to Stage Three (6:42pm)
Scratch was bored. Sure, he had been in jail before, and hadn’t much liked it then either. It wasn’t the cold bars, the lack of privacy, the bad food, or even the body stink. It was the boredom. Something about jailers made them want to frustrate their prisoners for as long as possible. And in Scratch’s case, it was working. He was pissed off.
It had been one hell of a long time since they had been locked in this stupid cell. At first McDivitt and Scobee tried to whisper ways to get out, the usual stupid jailhouse stuff about how somehow to outthink or overpower their guards. But their guards had only stopped by once about four hours before, and that was to give them a bite of food and some water. The stuff was shoved closer on a tray that slid beneath the cell door from a yard away. The chow was regular jailhouse crap, too, nothing truly edible.
Scratch had finally just tuned the other men out. He occupied himself by being very worried about Miller. The last time he had seen her, she had been unconscious and bleeding. Then he’d gotten clubbed upside the head, knocked silly, and hauled off to this damned cell to wait for… what? Considering the people who had captured them had a habit of turning random, innocent people into rabid zombies, who the hell knew what they would do with Scratch and the dunce cap Batman and Robin who were sitting on the other end of the bench.
This was all taking too long. Another thing that was damned strange was that no one had come to talk to them. Here they were, alone with nothing to do but wait and worry. Scratch saw three possibilities. One, perhaps Miller was alive and well, had killed them all, and was on her way to rescue Scratch at that very moment. Two, Miller was dead, their dickhead captors had all the information they needed from Piper and Judy, and they didn’t even need to ask the men questions. Three, they were being watched, and someone was waiting for Scratch and his cellmates to say something worth recording. Scratch hoped it was option one, though he suspected it was option three. He didn’t want to even think about option two.
Scratch was about to shout for some more water when he heard lots of large, very heavy footsteps coming their way. He backed away from the cell door. The entrance to the holding area opened with a metallic clang, and five hulking security specialists came in. They opened the cell and spread out like the offensive line for the Dallas Cowboys. Scratch half wondered if a quarterback might come through the door next, hollering hurry-up plays. He wondered what they’d come hoping to accomplish. More importantly, he wondered why in the hell four guys who had just been on the buffet table for zombies, not to mention shot at by the living, still posed enough of a threat to warrant this big a response. Someone or something important must be on deck.
Well, either that, or Scratch, Scobee, Rolf, and McDivitt were all about to have their asses handed to them. There was that possibility, too.
The soldiers stood still, glaring at the prisoners. Scratch stared back. The room reeked of testosterone, pit sweat, cordite-powdered clothing, and stale man-farts. No one spoke. Scratch stretched his back and popped his neck. He forced a big, happy shark smile, and saw one of the security men flinch just a tiny bit. Good, I’ll take him first, Scratch thought.
Major McDivitt stared at Scratch, asking him with his eyes to stand down. Scratch shook his head almost imperceptibly. He’d had it. His guts were in turmoil now, knotted up with worry for Miller. He was past angry. In fact, Scratch was as prepared for a good old-fashioned brawl as he’d ever been back with the Blood Riders, and he was glad he didn’t have the long hair as a liability. He might not be able to take on all five men, since they were armed, but he sure as hell would give the first one or two a rapid lesson in manners.
“You, get back.”
“Sure, boss.” Scratch, still grinning like a fool, only moved back two inches. “Whatever you say.”
“Stand up,” said the starting center to the rest of them. “Get your asses against that wall.” McDivitt had survived the shower of bullets and was somehow none the worse for wear. The Major did as he was ordered. Scobee obeyed as well. Rolf, much to Scratch’s surprise, yawned and stretched, but didn’t get up. He’d gotten the memo. He remained seated on the long bench that served as their only furniture. Either Rolf was one cool dude, or he had absolutely no idea what was about to go down. Scratch wasn’t sure either way. After all, Rolf’s antenna didn’t pick up all the channels.
“Hey, buddy,” Scratch said. His eyes were fixed on the man who had winced. The guard did not look his way, but he was definitely paying attention.
Scratch slowly, deliberately gave the frightened man the finger. One of the guards, not the one in charge, but the second one from the left, took a step forward. The guy in the middle brought his momentum to a halt. This move came as a surprise to Scratch, but he didn’t let it show on his face. So maybe they weren’t going to get the shit kicked out of them after all. Could be he’d read things wrong. Scratch looked around the room again.
McDivitt seemed like he was about to say something. Scratch figured that something was likely going to be stupid military bullshit or an empty threat that would just make things worse. So Scratch jumped in ahead of him. He spread his hands, palms empty, and widened his disrespectful smile to politician level.
“Wow. You girls are the ugliest strippers I’ve ever seen, but it’s been a slow night. I’ll take a lap dance from that one for fifty bucks, but I got to be able to watch him get it on with boss-man over there first.” Scratch pointed at the soldier who had flinched and then the one who’d moved to attack him just a moment before. He grabbed his crotch.
“Shut your Goddamned hole,” said the lap dance guy, “or I’ll Tase you and then shove this club all the way up your ass. Are we understanding each other?”
Got you, bitch… “You can try doin’ that, darlin’,” said Scratch, still grinning, and he winked lewdly. He shifted lightly on his feet, getting ready for the fight, not hiding his action at all. “I think you’d be better off starting that lap dance. Something tells me you’d make a better stripper than you ever did a soldier.”
“I said shut up, you low life.”
The air grew thick and time slowed down as Scratch blocked the fight in his mind, where he’d move first to avoid the weapons and how he’d kill at least two of their captors. He decided t
o do the Boss-Man with a blow to the throat, then finish Lap Dance with a broken neck. He hoped McDivitt, Scobee, and Rolf could handle the other three before they started shooting at him in such a confined space. And if they did, so be it.
Something touched Scratch’s arm. He barely managed not to jump. He turned his head ever so slightly to check out who it was. Rolf stood next to him, one hand on Scratch’s elbow. It was pretty clear that Rolf wanted him to shut up and back down. It was hard to cool his blood at such a moment, but maybe Rolf was right. Scratch took a deep breath. Something told him that despite his anger, patience was his best course of action. The grin left his face and his shoulders sagged a bit. The adrenaline subsided. He stepped back as originally requested. The tension abated and someone took a breath.
“All right, gentlemen,” said Rolf. “You have the floor. What do you want?”
The starting center took a step forward. “Like we said, back against that wall, all of you.”
Rolf tugged at Scratch’s arm again, and they stepped back together.
“What’s going on…” Scratch didn’t have the chance to finish the thought. Rolf squeezed his elbow again, almost painfully this time. He’d wanted to ask about Miller but of course they’d never answer. Rolf was right. So Scratch kept the question, and his rage, to himself. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
“Turn around,” the commander growled. “We won’t ask you again.”
Scratch didn’t like this at all. He turned to look at Rolf, who only nodded. You better be right, you crazy old fuck. Scratch faced the wall. The cold concrete rubbed his nose. He studied a short crack shaped like an L.
The offensive linemen came up behind them, and one wrenched Scratch’s arm painfully behind his back. Handcuffs snapped around his wrist. Then he felt a repeat on the other side. The handcuffs were secure, but not painfully tight. Maybe lap dance guy wasn’t a total dick after all.
“All right, Ma’am,” said the one in charge. “We’re secure.”
Still against the wall, Scratch craned his neck to look back. That same woman came in to their cell. Dr. Williams with those empty, lifeless eyes. She looked like the Laramie County Prosecutor that Scratch had had a couple of run-ins with way back when he’d lived in Colorado. That woman was more of a sociopath than half the poor bastards she’d sent to prison. She was a stone cold bitch from hell. In a split second, Scratch decided that this woman Williams made that County Prosecutor look like a kindergarten teacher.
“Well, well. If it isn’t Lt. Colonel Rolf Nyberg and his old sidekick, Walter McDivitt. They tell me you went off the deep end for a time, Nyberg. Are the bats back in their belfry tonight?”
“The Chosen One cannot be defeated,” Rolf said solemnly. He turned without permission to face the woman, as Scratch watched from the corner of his eye. Rolf held his head up. “Opposing her will lead to your utter destruction, Dr. Williams.”
Williams watched him, now with a small smile on her face. “I see the answer is no. What have you got left, Walter?”
As Scratch watched, Major McDivitt turned to face her. He grimaced and took a step forward. The security guards moved to stop him, though he was still handcuffed, but Dr. Williams waved them off.
“Rolf is right,” McDivitt said. “Charlotte, don’t do this. This is a fight you should not being taking on. Walk away. What the Select Committee has done is repugnant and morally reprehensible and ultimately doomed to fail. It cannot possibly win.”
“You keep saying that, Walter, but I still don’t see how you can do anything to me in your current state.”
“The Chosen One will devour your soul,” spouted Rolf. “You are all doomed.” He bent forward at the waist, but didn’t move his feet. He looked like he was getting ready to vomit. Instead, he hawked up a lugie the size and color of a bran muffin and spat it on Williams’ expensive shoes. Watching, Scratch felt a surge of respect for the crazy guy. Rolf had a super-sized nut sack for sure, and maybe a pair of bowling balls inside it. He was also about to suffer one hell of a beat down.
Much to Scratch’s surprise Williams didn’t shrink back, or even look down at the mess. He supposed she’d just order a truck full of new shoes. “If by Chosen One you meant Sheriff Miller, Colonel, I think you’re in for a considerable disappointment.”
Scratch’s heart leapt at the mention of Miller, but he kept his face blank. The last thing he wanted was for Williams to think that Miller was still a serious a threat. “Nah, not her. The Chosen One is just another voice in his head, lady. The old dude’s nuts, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Scratch turned around and took a tentative step forward. He couldn’t help himself now. “Is the Sheriff all right?”
Williams looked at Scratch for the first time. “Do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut, and perhaps I’ll let you keep all your teeth. Do you follow me?”
Scratch had done lousy things to a few women during his time as chief of the Blood Riders, but he had never beaten one to death, for whatever good karma that was worth in heaven. But right now he wanted to crush Dr. William’s smirking face under his boot, smear her brains across the floor, and given the chance he’d probably have laughed about doing that. The ugly fantasy was appealing, but in the end it was just fantasy. He was in no position to do anything of the sort, or even to resist whatever might happen next, not at the moment. He made a note to follow up on the impulse later on. He’d seek revenge after finding Miller. That would have to do. Scratch stayed quiet.
“I came here to make you a proposal, gentlemen,” Dr. Williams said. Her tone dripped with grandiosity. “This is a one-time offer, so listen closely if you want to survive.” She took a step to the side, and Scratch saw that part of Rolf’s spittle had slid slowly off her expensive shoe. “I could easily have you beaten, eaten, and turned into undead lab rats. But the truth is right now you have something I want, and I am willing to trade your lives for that. I’m giving you one last chance to keep breathing. Do I have your attention? If so, don’t speak, just nod.”
Scobee was the first to break down. He nodded profusely. Scratch looked at him with disgust. Seconds later Rolf and McDivitt nodded as well, though they appeared a bit less cowardly while doing so. Something was up, something that Scratch maybe didn’t quite follow yet, so he just went along with the crowd. He nodded too, figuring they may as well just wait and see.
Williams paced back and forth. “I want Captain Karl Sheppard turned over to me, alive, and with the technical data he stole from Crystal Palace. If you give me his whereabouts and he is recovered intact, I will release you and your female companions. It’s that simple. If you refuse to cooperate, or if the information you give us turns out to be misleading, or if Sheppard does not survive the attempt to capture him, I will feed you to the zombies. The women will go first, and promise that I will make you all watch as they are torn to pieces.”
Williams paused, probably for dramatic effect. She then smiled brightly, like a young woman at a beauty pageant. “Are there any takers?”
Scratch’s chest tightened. He couldn’t give up Sheppard. If he did, and Williams got hold of the metabolite data instead of the WHO… well, then what difference would it make if they got released? The entire civilized world was good as dead. Williams would just make soldiers by the thousands, and zombies by the millions, and the whole planet would suffer the consequences. Jesus, if Scratch caved in, Miller would kill him herself for having chickened out. Unfortunately, there was no way to know if one of these other clowns would slip and tell Williams where to find Sheppard. Scratch knew that he had to do something smart before one of the other men did something stupid. He formed a plan and opened his mouth.
But Scratch had waited too long.
“I’ll tell you where he is,” Scobee said. His voice cracked on the last word. He was shaking like a cornered rabbit.
“Shut up and be a man!” Scratch shouted. He felt his face redden.
Williams nodded to the security guards. Lap dance guy stepped up to Sc
ratch and hit him in the gut with his club. Scratch grunted and lost his breath. He doubled over in pain, but fought that off and came up a second later. He was trying to distract Williams and give Scobee time to come to his senses. Scratch eyed lap dance guy.
“Shit, sweetheart,” Scratch said clearly, though with a little more of a wheeze than he’d wanted. “My grandmother can hit harder than that.”
As expected, the guard grabbed Scratch by the throat and punched him twice in the face. Scratch brought his knee up into the guard’s crotch, but contacted something harder than junk. The bastard was wearing a cup. The guard slugged him in the kidney, and Scratch doubled over in pain. He was up again in another few seconds. Scratch gagged. He shook his head, groaned, and finally growled. “Do that again, motherfucker. I dare you.”
Lap dance guy hauled back to punch Scratch again, but this time Williams shouted, “Enough.” She looked directly at Scobee. “Where is Captain Sheppard?”
“Don’t do it, don’t tell her, man,” begged Scratch. This time it was his voice that cracked. He’d never felt so afraid.
“Go out to Highway 67 just west of the airport,” Scobee whimpered, like a bitch. “There’s a barn on the south side of the highway, out there, all by itself. It’s our safe house. He’s holed up in there.”
Scratch didn’t miss a beat. “You lousy fuck. How could you do that?” But inside, Scratch was elated that Scobee had lied. Seconds later he was worried about what Williams would do when she found out about the misdirection. She’d probably do exactly as threatened, and have them executed by zombie. They’d all bought a little time for Sheppard to get away, but nothing more. They still needed a plan to stay alive.
Williams stepped forward. She approached Scobee with her head tilted to the side. “That was very valiant of you, Sergeant Cooper.” She studied his eyes. She looked at the guard commander. “Take this lying sack of shit downstairs. Tell the staff to feed him the zombies.” She stood directly over Scobee as two of the guards knocked him to his knees and grabbed him by his arms. “Do you think I’m that stupid? We already checked there. We looked after we found the wreckage of your prison bus.”
The Hungry (Book 6): The Rule of Three (The Sheriff Penny Miller Zombie Series) Page 15