Miller listened. She heard someone talking not far away, back a ways and to the left. Those muffled voices from before? She decided that anyone who could still maintain a conversation was probably going to be breathing and thus on her side. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and regained her composure. Gripping the empty 9mm in her right hand, she followed the sound.
She heard someone’s muffled laugh. Miller walked toward the noises. She opened a door, went into a cluttered closet. She backed up and found another way to follow the noise, this time through a medical office. The overhead light had been shot out. Someone or something was inside. Miller’s heart kicked like a terrified mule. She squinted. Someone was seated there, as if waiting for her entrance. Someone who didn’t move. Miller steadied herself. She waited for a time. Her eyes adjusted.
A white-haired, bearded scientist sat behind a metal desk, minus a face. He had his own Glock clutched in his right hand. He’d blown his brains out rather than be eaten. Good move, Doc. Miller searched for his magazine. His gun was empty as well. Someone had come through here and taken the ammunition, probably to make his or her own last stand a few moments later. This place had unleashed hell on earth.
Miller kept walking and entered another corridor. She walked on, heading toward the voices. One last hall, almost there. She sighed, came around the corner into another large laboratory, and found the other humans. What she discovered shocked her more than anything back in that dissection room.
“Uh-huh… huh-uh!”
Ripper, Brubeck, and Psycho were loading a live zombie onto the pallet truck. It was a body strapped to a stretcher, Hannibal the Cannibal in a leather bite mask and long restraints. Miller took it all in at once. Also on the small electric vehicle were more of the heads in jars, and some huge boxes marked “biohazard.” The three men were efficient and cheerfully indifferent to the horror before them. They were laughing and joking as they worked. At least, they were until Psycho looked up and spotted Miller.
“The fuck?”
They all turned in her direction.
Ripper actually looked disappointed. “Aw, Sheriff. Now why’d you have to go ahead and wander off the reservation?”
“What the hell are you men doing in here?”
“I was just about to ask you the same question.”
Miller raised the empty 9mm. She gripped it properly. “Stop what you are doing and put down your weapons. You’re under arrest.”
Brubeck blinked. “Under arrest?”
“Hell, you ain’t gonna shoot us, Sheriff,” said Ripper. But he kept his hands in plain sight anyway. She had their attention.
“You just keep telling yourself that, Ripper,” Miller said. “Psycho, handcuff Ripper and Brubeck. Do it slowly.” Miller kept the pistol trained steadily on Ripper’s head.
Psycho reached behind him with an exaggerated slowness. He retrieved his handcuffs, and brought them to where Miller could see them. He let them dangle mockingly for a few seconds, and he grinned.
Then he threw them in her face.
Miller had the good sense and reflexes to duck. If she hadn’t, her head would have been so much red and gray goo, because Ripper brought his pistol up and fired one shot where she had been standing just a millisecond before.
Her own gun was empty, so Miller ran for her life. She headed back into the laboratory, hoping to God that she would be able to find her way out the other side. She could hear the three mercenaries following clumsily behind her. She knew the ground, they didn’t. Miller did her best to make this as difficult as possible for them. She ran zigzag, busily knocking over shelves and jars with heads as she passed. Body parts, heads, torsos, fluids, glass, everything crashed to the floor to block their way. Finally Miller paused to catch her breath. Two shots rang out, and holes appeared in the wall near her head. She kept running, ducking, bobbing and weaving.
Miller burst through a door and locked it behind her. She kept moving. A moment later, she found herself in a familiar corridor. If she remembered correctly, Sheppard’s old lab was to the right and down two doors. She ran as hard as she could, and dodged into the lab before she could accidentally give her pursuers a clean shot.
“Nice of you to join us, Sheriff,” said Rat. Hanratty was standing by a rack of computers, her left hand on that shapely hip. In her right hand she held a small automatic weapon, a mini-Uzi, cut down and wickedly efficient. It was held at low ready, pointed loosely in her direction.
“Major, your boys are trying to kill me!”
“What?” Lovell almost laughed.
Brubeck came into the lab first, weapon raised. He had murder on his face. Ripper and Psycho were right behind. They fanned out from force of habit but came to a full stop when they saw Hanratty.
“What’s going on here, gentlemen?” Miller read Rat’s confusion as genuine and was immediately relieved.
Ripper stepped up. He waived his hands, palm down, ordering Brubeck and Psycho to lower their weapons. They did, but only by a few inches. Brubeck continued to keep his blazing eyes on Miller. He wasn’t planning to give her a kindly hug.
“Just following orders, Rat.”
“Who’s orders, Ripper? We’re supposed to protect these people, not execute them.”
“You don’t need to know,” Ripper said. “I’m truly sorry to have to do this to y’all, but I need y’all to hand over your weapons.” And then Ripper brought up his M-4. Brubeck and Psycho did the same.
Rat saw the look in Brubeck’s face. She hesitated, studied Miller and her men and came to a decision. She ejected the clip and the round in the chamber, and placed the weapon on the table next to her.
“This is mutiny,” Rat said. “Your career will be toast. Think carefully.”
Lovell disarmed himself. Sheppard rapidly did the same. Miller, knowing the thing was empty, placed her own useless 9mm on the floor. She scooted it away from her with her foot. It clattered as it skittered across the floor and under a bookshelf. Terrill Lee and Scratch just stood there, trying to look inconspicuous. Miller knew Scratch was thinking hard. She could see it his studied nonchalance. He was down-shifting into his reckless mode.
“It ain’t mutiny, Rat,” Ripper said. “See, you was never really in charge. From back at base on, this was always my mission. Unfortunately, you’re about to become collateral damage. Come on, it’s time to go.”
Psycho and Brubeck came forward and collected their weapons. Psycho whispered, “Bitch, you should never have been in command in the first place.”
Miller saw Scratch consider taking Brubeck down, but shook her head. The angles were wrong. Scratch understood. He relaxed again. Terrill Lee had come out of his shock and was scowling, probably working on something of his own. Miller studied Rat, who seemed genuinely confused.
“Indulge me,” Rat said. “What’s this all about, Ripper? Who issued those orders?”
“Nice try, Rat. Come on boys, let’s get them secured.”
Ripper, Psycho, and Brubeck acted in unison. They led Rat, Lovell, Miller, Sheppard, Scratch, and Terrill Lee down the corridor at gunpoint, past the disgusting room with the jars of heads, and then into what appeared to have been a conference room. Three dead soldiers and a few headless zombies were stacked in one corner like cordwood. They had been doused with something, perhaps lime, so the odor was mitigated. A dead giant screen TV stared at them.
“Now, y’all just have a seat here,” said Ripper.
They did as they were told. Miller sat between Scratch and Terrill Lee. Sheppard sat next to Scratch and Rat two chairs away from Terrill Lee, who saw her sitting there and unconsciously puffed out his chest.
Men.
“You’re in luck,” Ripper said. “We got you front-row seats for the fireworks tomorrow. You won’t miss a single minute. It’s going to be a while, though, so you might as well make yourselves comfortable.”
Rat, who had been mostly cool up to this point, suddenly went pale. “Jesus, you’re going to just leave us
here, aren’t you?”
“That’s the plan,” replied Ripper. “Always has been.”
“That’s cold-blooded murder,” said Lovell, clearly shaken. “We’ve served together for two years, you asshole.”
“What’s your point?” Ripper said, innocently. He waited at the door with Brubeck and Psycho. He kept his weapon trained on Rat. Miller and Scratch exchanged signals, but Ripper sensed something and he moved the muzzle back and forth between them. They sat back in their chairs.
“You dumb assholes,” said Miller. “Anyone who’d do this will screw you too. If brains were leather you wouldn’t have enough to saddle a June bug.”
“You can’t do this,” sputtered Terrill Lee.
“It’s already done,” said Ripper. “Psycho, lock this door. You wait for us to get loaded. Before that, you shoot anyone who tries to come out. Brubeck, you come with me.”
With that, Psycho closed the door behind them. The lock clicked. They looked at each other with wide eyes.
They were trapped.
CHAPTER SEVEN
9:50pm – 20 hours 10 minutes remaining
“I thought this was your operation, Hanratty.” Miller’s eyes flared with frustration and anger. “I thought you were supposed to have all this under control.”
“How many times are we going to go over this?” asked Hanratty through gritted teeth. “I don’t know whose orders Ripper and the others are working under, but they sure as hell aren’t mine. And yes, I was supposed to be in command. As it turns out, I’m as much in the dark as you are.”
“Yeah, well it also turns out you’re also about as useful as a trap door in a canoe.”
“It’s Gifford,” said Sheppard, wearily. He was leaning back with his eyes closed. He’d clearly been working things out. “This is about money.”
“What?”
“Has to be. Someone out there sees a chance to make billions from this virus by selling the lost cure back to the government.”
“So they need all of us dead, anyone who knows anything about how it all started,” Miller said to Sheppard. “You most of all.”
“I guess both of us most of all, Penny. I’m sorry.”
“That son-of-a-bitch Gifford ratfucked us?” Lovell said. The room went silent. Hanratty glared. Lovell grimaced. “Sorry, Rat. Didn’t mean nothing personal by that term. But why us? Why didn’t he at least try to cut us in on the scam?”
Rat sighed. “Because he knew we wouldn’t go for it.”
Terrill Lee sat at one end of the long conference table, staring down at his watch. “Twenty hours and eight minutes before the bomb destroys the base.” He said it almost calmly, but Terrill Lee was close to losing it. He had been counting down the minutes out loud since Psycho had locked them in. One bead of sweat ran down his left cheek and lodged in some salt and pepper whiskers. At least he wasn’t staring at Rat’s boobs again.
“Give it a rest, T. L.,” said Scratch. He stood on a chair and fiddled with the ceiling tiles, none of which were yielding to his attacks. “A lot can happen in twenty hours. I’d suggest we just focus on getting the fuck out of here.”
Terrill Lee looked up at him. “Hey, I agree! Unless they reset the timer on account of a sudden attack of Eagle Scout goodness, we all have just about one day to live. Let me see if I can make this perfectly clear. If we don’t find a way out of here, and fucking soon, we’re going to become nothing more than a cloud of carbon vapor and plasma.”
Scratch strained to move the tiles. Sheppard got up and stood below Scratch, eye level with his substantial package. Miller noted that. Scratch did too, and he jerked back with a defensive glare. In fact, he almost fell off the damned chair.
“Scratch,” Sheppard said, “you aren’t going to get anywhere with those ceiling tiles. This isn’t the evil lair of some James Bond villain. There are no convenient man-sized air ducts or giant secret passages out of here. I wish there were.”
“There’s got to be a way out,” Scratch mumbled.
“There is,” said Hanratty. “Right through the front entrance.” She went over to the locked double doors. “Psycho? I know you can hear me. We go back a lot of years. We were part of a team. You got to at least let me out of here so I have a damned chance to survive. You can’t just leave me here to fry with the rest of them.”
Miller thought, thanks bitch. That’s teamwork for you.
Nothing.
“Come on, Psycho. You know this isn’t right.”
Zip, nada.
“Goddamn it, Psycho,” Rat called, rattling the doors. “Talk to me!”
“You sure he’s even still out there?” asked Miller.
“Ain’t gonna happen, Rat,” said Psycho. His voice was so close it made them all jump. Scratch hopped down from his chair. Psycho cleared his throat. He seemed to be standing right outside, just beyond the locked double doors.
“Psycho. Please?”
“Told you, Rat. Tried to warn you. Women got no place in combat.” There was a tiny trace of empathy in his voice, but far more cold efficiency.
Rat lowered her voice, just enough to penetrate the door. “How many times have I saved your sorry ass in a firefight? Remember when you caught that shrapnel in your leg, and Lovell and I risked our lives to pull you out of there? And what about that time I went to bat for you with the Review Board? I got you out of some serious hot water. Think about it, Psycho. What has Ripper ever done for you?”
There was a long silence. This time, Rat let him think. Finally, they heard Psycho say, “He offered me a shitload of money.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah, and that’s more than enough.”
Miller shook her head. Rat wasn’t getting anywhere. She stepped forward.
“Psycho, it’s Sheriff Miller.” Rat shot her a look. She continued anyway. “Do you know what’s going on here? You saw the bodies. If you go through with this, hundreds of thousands of innocent people are going to die. And the chances are, you’re going to be one of them.”
“Huh?”
Miller said, “You may not give a shit about us, but do you want to end up undead and wandering around forever, a terrible, impossible hunger driving you to eat the living, until someone takes mercy on you and blows your fucking head off? Do you want to end up a radioactive hunk of zombie pus?”
She figured to let Psycho think on that, so Miller paused to see if he would respond. Nothing. “What about someone else you care about?” Miller said. “Hell, what if your mother ended up that way?”
Rat suddenly gestured at Miller, waiving her off as if she were a fighter plane about to crash into an aircraft carrier. Miller didn’t notice the signal.
Behind them, Lovell blanched. “Oh, shit.”
“You want to know about my mother?” shouted Psycho. “That big fat ugly-assed crack whore? She used to beat the shit out of me every day, and in the nighttime I’d be lucky if she wouldn’t sell my ass to some perverted fuck who wanted his little-boys young and tight. I can’t think of a better end for that bitch than ending up a mindless, hungry zombie freak. Shit, I should have popped her skull like a zit years ago. Being undead couldn’t happen to a nicer bitch. So don’t you even talk to me about my mother.”
Rat just stared at Miller. She whispered, “Thanks for that.”
Miller shrugged.
“Well, so much for the front door.” Lovell sighed. He held his head in his hand. “Psycho’s all pissed off again. What a shock. But you know, I do think that’s about the longest speech I’ve heard him give in years.”
“Got any more brilliant ideas, Sheriff?” Rat was fuming, but she had the good grace to do it quietly. She sat heavily in one of the conference room chairs. Scratch watched her shapely ass land like a cat following a jaybird pecking for seed. Miller felt her face redden with jealousy. Them damned zombie hormones again. Her stomach rumbled. She was hungry.
Miller considered apologizing to Rat, but there didn’t seem to be any point in that. They’d never se
e eye to eye. Miller felt the world tilting to one side. She was dangerously hungry, bitchy as hell, but not stupid enough to mouth off. Her crew was in trouble. Time was running out. She needed to make another attempt to make this right.
“Hey,” said Scratch, quietly. “I got me an idea.”
Everyone turned to him. He’d been busy in the corner of the room, fiddling with the widescreen TV. Scratch reached down behind a file cabinet, almost vanished. A moment later, he produced a power cable about eight feet long. He eyeballed the wall near the door, and smiled. “Quick. Anybody have a knife?”
There was a quiet snick. A five-inch long blade appeared in Lovell’s hand. Terrill Lee eyed it nervously.
Lovell asked, “What do you have in mind?”
Scratch lowered his voice and told them.
Lovell handed over the knife. “You understand that’s a hell of a long shot, right?” the Marine whispered with one bloodshot eye on those locked double doors.
“You got a better idea?” Scratch expertly cut one end off the cord, leaving the plug intact. He stripped the wires back with the expertise of a surgeon. They all watched him closely.
“Not bad,” said Miller. “Bet you hotwired a ton of cars in your wayward youth.”
Scratch deadpanned. “My father was an electrician.”
Miller raised an eyebrow.
“Hey, I had parents too, you know.”
“I’m sure they’d be very proud right now,” said Miller. She grinned.
“Don’t get too sappy, Sheriff. That guy Psycho had it good compared to me. My mother was butt ugly. Why, she was so mean…”
Sheppard shook his head wearily. “Please knock it off, you two.”
Scratch rejoined them. “Now we wait,” he said. He patted Terrill Lee on the left shoulder.
“Fuck that,” said Rat. She stood up and stomped over to the door. “Hey, Psycho!”
The voice on the other side of the door was cold, clipped. “Give it a rest, Rat.”
“We took a vote, and we’d rather be shot than vaporized. So you listen to me. I’ve been your superior officer for years. You’ve always wanted an opportunity to take a shot at me. Here’s your big chance.”
The Hungry (Book 2): The Wrath of God Page 8