The Hungry (Book 2): The Wrath of God

by Booth, Steven

“There’s a grocery store across the street.” Miller shook herself back into action. “Maybe we can find some canned goods and bottled water.”

  Rat nodded. “My team will take care of that.”

  Terrill Lee raised his hand again. “I thought we weren’t supposed to split up the party.”

  Miller hesitated, then made up her mind. “Take the shotguns,” Miller said. She didn’t want another argument about who was in charge of what. Or any more losses, either. Rat, Lovell, and Psycho stood up and left, efficiently and with no wasted motion.

  Miller said, “Scratch, let’s go find Father Harmless.”

  “What about me?” asked Terrill Lee.

  “You should stay here with Sheppard,” Miller said. “I want him able bodied two hours ago. Besides, someone has to be here to guard the Winnebago.”

  “All right.” Terrill Lee was clearly disappointed.

  Penny turned to go. Scratch stood up and followed Miller outside. The morning sunshine was white hot and bright in their eyes, running quicksilver up and down the length of Clark Avenue. The sky was a shade of blue that almost matched Miller’s eyes, at least back when she’d had enough sleep. The heat felt good on her skin. It wasn’t quite warm enough to get rid of her Sheriff’s jacket, but it would be soon. Until then, Miller was happy to have part of her uniform on. And at least I’m not stuck in a fucking wedding dress. The thought of her last trip through Flat Rock made her shiver. She’d been a prisoner, and ended up trapped in that stinking white rag for several days. Miller shook off the memory. She handed Scratch the .30-06 rifle, and rested her hand on the .357 at her hip.

  The door to the Silver Dollar was open, the interior dark and dusty. No lighting or power. The electrical grid in this part of Nevada had been shut down as part of the quarantine. The Feds had done the same with natural gas and water. They entered the coffee shop. Some light crept in through broken windows and the torn curtains cast patterned shadows on the dusty floor. Miller glanced at the wall. Just like back at the base, someone had spray-painted: The WrATh of GoD! Judging by what she’d seen in Abraham’s Winnebago, he’d had something to do with it. Miller wondered if his followers were imaginary. Hell, it certainly looked that way.

  Miller looked around. It was a ghost town café. The restaurant brought back memories of happier times, cigarette smoke and laughter, the scent of fresh coffee and the sizzle of bacon frying in the kitchen. Now it was just silence everywhere. Outside a crow cawed as if mocking her nostalgia. The place had six booths covered with red plastic and most had been patched with duct tape in spots. There were also ten freestanding tables. The chipped linoleum counter had seven stools, and stood right in front of the kitchen window, with doors leading back on either side of the cluttered, yellowing surface. Ants had gotten into the sugar jar and flies buzzed in darkened corners. Fat and happy flies.

  Miller looked down. Father Abraham’s tracks could be seen clearly in the light gray dust. They led back to the kitchen through the half-open door on the right side of the long customer counter—boot prints, and the first in many a day.

  Miller and Scratch exchanged glances. Miller didn’t care for this at all. The hair on her neck stood out.

  “Father Abraham?” Miller loosened the strap that secured her revolver in its holster, wrapped her fingers around the grip. No sense in taking it out if there’s nothing wrong, she thought. On the other hand, feels like the start of a campfire ghost story in here…

  Outside, the crow cawed again and then left with a clattering flutter.

  “Hello?”

  Father Abraham did not respond to her call. Nevertheless, Miller listened intently and thought she could hear him moving around. Is the old fart talking to someone in the back? Talking to who? Or to what? Miller motioned for Scratch to take the left side of the counter. He quietly checked to make sure that the rifle he carried was loaded. Scratch smiled softly, so Miller figured he was ready. She moved to the left as he slid to the right. A floorboard creaked quietly under her right shoe. Miller paused then moved again. Other than that one squeak, neither one of them made a sound.

  “Father Abraham?” Miller approached the doorway. Scratch kept watch, covering her.

  Miller un-holstered her pistol, gripped it tightly in both hands, aimed down at the floor. Scratch was in a good position, and Miller figured no one needed to know he was there in the room. Scratch was her backup in case this thing went south in a hurry. She’d be doing the talking for now.

  “Father Abraham, answer me. Say you’re still breathing, or I’m going to have to come in there locked and loaded.”

  Something in the kitchen clattered to the ground. Something that sounded metallic, a pie tin or a plate maybe, went rolling noisily on the floor. Miller jerked back. Scratch frowned. Then they heard someone very clearly, speaking in a small, high voice. “No!”

  A loud crash followed.

  “Go,” Miller whispered. Scratch moved low and fast to the other side. Miller swallowed dryly. She charged toward the door to the kitchen. It swung wildly her way. Something or someone was coming out of the door at the same time, and almost knocked Miller on her ass. Whoever it was passed her low and to the side, moving way too quickly to be one of the undead, but Miller wanted to be sure. She reached out to the small, dirty form, and snagged its arm and swung it around to one of the booths. She raised her pistol. The little face was animated, wide-eyed. Alive.

  A child?

  “Hold on there!” Miller shouted, struggling to control the kid. “It’s all right. We’re the good guys!”

  In response, the child bit her on the arm. Bit down hard.

  “Sonofabitch!” Miller let go.

  The child ran at full speed out the front door and around the corner. Little footsteps on the cement fading away. In a heartbeat, the kid was out of sight.

  “You okay?” Scratch spoke from across the room. His rifle was pointed at the wall just above Miller’s head.

  “I’m fine,” Miller said. “Find Abraham, I’ll handle this.” She headed out of the cafe and after the child.

  The bright sunlight was a shock after the cool, dank darkness of the café. A light wind tickled her hair. Miller was outside just in time to see the kid entering a storefront a few doors down. Penny Miller didn’t think. She followed at a dead run.

  Seconds behind, Miller paused. Common sense made her pull up for a moment. She reached out. The door to the storefront that the child had entered was closed but unlocked. Miller listened at the door. Charging on inside, she knew perfectly well, was a good way to get her ass killed. On the other hand, the kid must be feeling alone and absolutely terrified. Hell, who wasn’t these days?

  “This is Sheriff Miller.” She was speaking through the half-open door into the shadows. “I’m coming in. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Miller paused to let that message sink in. She moved the door ahead until it was wide open. And then she went inside, letting the door close behind her. The interior of the store was dark of course, but enough light came in through the glass door to show Miller which store she’d entered.

  It was Rosette’s Bridal Shop, where she’d bought her dress years before. That fact alone was almost enough to make her stop and turn around.

  “Damn.”

  Rows of white gowns on shapely dummies, just like in real life, Miller thought bitterly and grimaced. She had a duty to protect the citizens of Flat Rock, even ones who weren’t that excited to be protected, and especially terrified kids. She thanked God that Terrill Lee and Scratch weren’t there to give her any shit about the wedding dresses. Sighing, Miller raised her .357 and took another step inside.

  “Hey,” Miller said in a conversational tone. “I know you’re probably scared, kid. A lot of really bad things have happened around here recently. But you’re safe now.” She scanned the dusty carpet for the child’s footprints, but caught nothing specific. She blinked, waiting a moment for her eyes to get used to the darkness. The gloom closed in but her pupils adjusted
. Miller ventured farther inside.

  “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  Miller thought she could hear rustling in the back of the store, but she couldn’t be certain. Crows cawed outside again and this time their odd laughter disturbed her. Was this a trap of some kind? No way to be certain it wasn’t…

  “You know, hiding from me doesn’t help. I don’t know who else might be in here with us, maybe one or two of the bad guys.” Miller pushed aside a rack of white wedding dresses, peeked behind them. “If you hide, I have to keep my gun out in case I have to protect us. I’ll make you a deal, though. If you let me know that you’re all right, I’ll put my gun away. I promise.”

  Silence. The mannequins seemed to stare back at her, their faces blank, some headless and missing arms—rows of plastic zombies waiting in the shadows. Upstairs the wind moved through a cracked window and tugged at something in the attic. The old building issued a faint moan.

  She cursed under her breath. She stepped around another rack of wedding dresses and looked behind some hanging tuxedos. She heard nothing. Just the crows outside and the faint breeze. She had no choice but to keep the chatter up. This was a kid. She didn’t want to shoot a kid by accident.

  “Why don’t you tell me your name?” Silence. “My name’s Penny. Penny Miller. I’m Sheriff of Flat Rock. Maybe we’ve met. Are you from around here too?” Nothing. “I know a lot of the kids in Flat Rock. I just visited the elementary school a few weeks before… ” she trailed off. “Before all the bad stuff happened. Were you there that day? I’ll bet you were. So you know what sheriffs do, right? We protect the good guys and punish the bad guys. We keep the streets safe for kids like you.”

  “Penny?” It was Scratch from outside the shop. “You okay in there?”

  “Yeah. Stay outside, Scratch.”

  “Need some help?” He pushed at the door behind her, opened it about halfway.

  “I’m fine. I just need you to stay outside for a little while.”

  Scratch peeked inside. He saw it was a bridal shop and chuckled dryly. Miller cringed and sighed. Ah, shit here we go…

  “Hey, Penny, are you in here picking out a new wedding dress for when we tie the knot? You still got one of them back at the penthouse, you know.”

  “Scratch, this is not the time. Not for this conversation or any other. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “But…”

  Miller shot him a look as cold as a frozen rope. His eyes widened.

  “Okay, okay,” Scratch said. His upper lip twitched. He closed the door most of the way but stayed close outside. Miller was glad he waited. It could still be a trap.

  “You see that?” Miller walked around the room. “My friends are worried about me. And they’re worried about you too. They want to make sure everybody is safe. Why don’t we go outside in the sunshine and let my friends know that everything is fine?”

  Something rustled to her right and low down on one of the racks.

  Miller squinted. She thought she saw one of the dresses moving, though that could have been caused by the breeze from the partly opened door. She turned toward the rack and then took another step closer. The dress shivered again as if alive and trembling.

  “We have food if you’re hungry and a doctor if you’re hurt. No one wants to do you any harm.” Miller slipped her pistol back into its holster. She reached out to push the wedding dress slightly to one side. She saw little feet in dirty tennis shoes. The kid was there. Miller could hear fast breathing and smell the dirt and rancid sweat. She moved the dress completely out of her way.

  There, sitting in a ball on the floor, was a little girl. Miller took her for about nine years old. The poor child was filthy, wide-eyed, and panic stricken. Her mouth was open and she was breathing in tight gasps. She saw Miller’s face and started to scramble away.

  “Hold on there, honey,” Miller said soothingly. “Everything is going to be all right.” She reached out, snagged the little girl’s dirty shirt. The girl squealed, but this time she didn’t try to bite. Miller stood her up, checked her over, looking for injuries and signs of the zombie virus. The kid’s bite hadn’t been deep, but there was no sense in taking any risks. The little girl seemed healthy enough, just understandably terrified and undernourished. She clearly hadn’t had a bath or a change of clothes since the zombies arrived. Miller brushed her hair away from her dirty forehead.

  “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  The child looked at the floor, said nothing. She continued to pull at Miller’s grasp, as if ready to bolt at any moment. Miller gripped her tightly.

  “Look…”

  The sound of shouting and gunshots startled both of them. Boots struck cement as Scratch ran away. Panicked, the girl pulled hard, almost tearing herself from Miller’s grasp, but Miller held on.

  “Scratch?” Miller called. “What’s going on?”

  Scratch didn’t answer. Miller looked down at the girl, whose eyes were wide with fear. She whimpered again.

  Miller felt conflicted. She had to keep this child out of danger, but she also had a duty to her friends. For the first time in a long time, she felt torn between two courses of action. The decision came quickly. Her friends were armed, the child was not. She stayed.

  A moment later, Scratch burst back into the bridal shop. He was panting and his eyes were darting around the room. Miller had rarely seen him so upset.

  “Penny, we need you out here now!”

  “What’s going on?”

  Scratch looked out into the street. He paused to search for the right words. He turned back to Miller. “Them undead rat bastards got him, honey.”

  “Got who?”

  “Penny, they just got Terrill Lee.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  6:42am – 11 hours 18 minutes remaining

  Miller paced inside the Winnebago, furious at herself and everyone else. “What the…” She resisted the urge to curse in front of the frightened child. “What happened?”

  “Terrill Lee was defending the Winnebago, just like you told him to,” said Sheppard. His pale face sagged. “They got him.”

  “What? I just said that because I wanted him out of the way.”

  Sheppard shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. He was still in pain and now emotionally drained as well. The child’s ripe body odor joined the other smells in the Winnebago. “Well, he took you very seriously. The zombies came out of that alley and stumbled right up to the door. I told him not to do anything. I told him that we were safe at least for a while. I told him that you would be back. But he opened it, with the intention of hitting them with a big frying pan, they way you did when we were back at base. There were too many of them. They grabbed him and pulled him outside. He hooked his foot in the door and it shut behind him, saving my life. Penny, I couldn’t do anything about it. I’m too weak.”

  “Shit.”

  “Penny, you didn’t leave us any weapons.” Sheppard’s eyes briefly accused her but then fell away. His reluctance to blame her made it all even worse.

  Dear God, no… A tear rolled down her cheek.

  “So where is he?” Terrill Lee’s words about not splitting up the party rang in her ears. Her stomach felt all hallowed out. Her eyes burned.

  “Scratch and Psycho are still looking.” Rat leaned back against the wall. She did not meet Miller’s eyes. She knew that feeling all too well.

  For his part, Lovell just shook his head. “I doubt they’re going to find much of anything. By the time we noticed what was going on, they had already dragged him off.”

  “What do you mean, dragged him off?” Miller said. “They didn’t bite? Didn’t just eat him right away?”

  “We don’t know,” said Lovell. “We couldn’t see.”

  Miller screamed at them. “So what you’re saying is you don’t know if he’s dead or alive; you don’t know where he is; actually you don’t know anything.”

  Rat shrugged. “Well, yes. And we won�
��t know anything more until Psycho and Scratch get back.”

  Miller flexed her hands. She was beyond angry. She didn’t appreciate the idea that one moment of carelessness had cost Terrill Lee his life. She had an overwhelming urge to apologize to Rat for not being more understanding. Miller hadn’t just lost one of her men this time, she’d lost her ex-husband, that loveable idiot. Damn it.

  “Penny,” said Sheppard, “You’re pale and shaking. You should eat something.”

  “He’s right,” Lovell said. They were all used to her ongoing zombie virus appetite by now. “We managed to find some water and food that hadn’t spoiled.” He moved to the pile of supplies that they had collected in the store. He rummaged around.

  “How can you think of food right now?” snapped Miller. The truth was she did feel hungry again. She always felt hungry. Always. Ever since those scientists had shot her up with that junk. Abruptly lightheaded, she nearly lost her balance and grabbed the wall of the Winnebago for support. She thought of the slogans painted on the walls about the “wrath of God.” Maybe it wasn’t one lone madman. Maybe it was true. Maybe God had returned after all, and was righteously pissed.

  “The first order of business is survival,” said Rat. She stood up. “You’re starting to lose it, Penny. Take a deep breath, eat something, and then we’ll figure out what to do.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Miller lied. Her stomach grumbled. She thought, I don’t deserve to eat. Not if those things are eating Terrill Lee…

  “Since when aren’t you hungry?” Sheppard asked. “We need you. Stop being a hero for five seconds and take care of yourself. You won’t be any use to us if you’re in the middle of a meltdown.”

  Miller opened her mouth to protest, but before she could get a word formed, Lovell handed her a jar of dry roasted peanuts. “Eat.”

  Miller felt woozy. There were things to tend to and she was on the edge of passing out. This fact brought Miller up short. She stared at the jar in her hand and realized that they were right. We’re going to at least find and bury you, Terrill Lee. I won’t let you become one of them, I promise. Not that she had much of a choice.