The Hungry (Book 2): The Wrath of God

by Booth, Steven

  “Tools would be nice,” Lovell said.

  “Father Abraham? You have any tools?”

  “In the baggage compartment there are some tools,” the old man replied. “I don’t know how many, or if they are the right kind for this sort of work.”

  “All right, Lovell,” Miller said. “Get a move on and do what you can. If you gotta have some thingamagig, there’s an auto parts store two blocks over on Liberty. I’d prefer not to stray that far from home, but if we need to, do it. Because, as you all know, we’re kind of in a hurry.”

  Scratch gave a barking laugh. “Yeah, no shit.”

  Miller took a long look outside, searching for any kind of movement. The sun beat down with cruelty. The heat was rising. Everyone waited. When Miller was satisfied that nothing undead lurked around any shadowy corners, she said, “All right. Let’s get this done. Hit it.”

  Rat, Lovell, and Psycho exited the Winnebago like Rangers on a night drop, fanning out with their weapons at the ready. Miller watched them go, the Magnificent Seven having been reduced to the Magnificent Three. O, how the mighty have fallen, she reflected. Nevertheless, at the moment she was happy to have them around. They certainly knew their shit. Hand signals, eye moves, no battle rattle at all. A good team.

  Scratch sauntered around outside, a stark contrast to the mercenaries’ cool efficiency. He carried his rifle loosely, but Miller knew he was far sharper than he appeared. He followed the mercenaries into the open.

  Now only Miller, Sheppard, Father Abraham, and Elizabeth were still in the beat-up Winnebago. Miller turned her attention to the little girl. She was still dirty and smelly, with an unhealthy pallor to her skin—particularly around her face—that made Miller wonder when she’d last eaten decent food. Miller’s stomach grumbled as well. She could barely remember her last real meal, so she could empathize.

  She picked up the jar of peanuts. Miller poured out some more nuts for herself, and then approached the girl. “You’re still hungry, aren’t you?”

  The girl never took her eyes off the jar.

  Miller poured a few more peanuts into the girl’s waiting hand. Just a few—she didn’t want the girl making herself sick. But it was good protein. Miller had some more too, calculating a new way to start the conversation up again.

  As the girl munched the peanuts, Miller said, “I need to talk to you, Elizabeth.”

  The little girl swallowed loudly. She drew her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her knees. Elizabeth had clearly had experience with adults who wanted to talk and knew the results were often problematic.

  “I want you to know that I believe you when you say that Scratch did what he did.”

  “What did he do?” asked Father Abraham.

  Miller looked up sharply, but just managed to hold her tongue. They needed this strange civilian. She stopped before she said something she would later regret. “I’ll explain everything later, Father Abraham. Perhaps you could step outside for a stretch. Please let us talk.”

  Abraham busied himself. Miller turned back to Elizabeth. This time she whispered. “I told you back in the dress shop that my job was to protect the good guys and punish the bad guys. Which of those two jobs do you think is more important?”

  Elizabeth’s face contorted into a look of pure hate. “Punish the bad guys!”

  Miller sighed. “Well, no. Right now, with everything that is going on, my most important job is to protect the lives of every living person here. I know Scratch has done some bad things, but as long as he’s alive, I have to do whatever it takes to keep him—and you—safe and still willing to help one another. We need each other. There are just a few of us, right, and lots and lots of zombies out there. We can’t get out unless we work together. Can you understand that?”

  The little girl did not respond, but she was clearly thinking it over.

  Miller continued. “Elizabeth, the thing is, I need you to be patient. If all goes well, we’re going to be where there are no zombies really soon, we hope before six o’clock tonight. And then, when everyone is safe, we’ll talk this out and try to find out what really happened. I promise you, we’ll find a way to punish those who were responsible.”

  “But… I just told you what really happened.” Elizabeth said it without crying. Miller was grateful. She’d seen enough tears.

  “I know,” Miller said. “And as I said, I believe you. But you need to believe me. It has to wait until we get out of this mess. In the meantime, stick with me. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I promise.”

  “He’s your friend, isn’t he?”

  Miller said, “It’s… complicated.”

  Elizabeth shook her head slowly. “You aren’t going to do anything, are you?”

  Before Miller could respond, the girl got up and smashed through the beaded curtains. They rustled and one string broke, dropped tiny beads in a rattle all over the worn linoleum flooring. The little girl ran into the bedroom in the back, vanishing into the messy shadows of Abraham’s den.

  Up front, Father Abraham went pale. “Wait, she’s not allowed in there.”

  “She’ll be fine. Elizabeth just needs a minute.”

  “No, I mean, she’s not allowed in there at all!” Abraham got up from the driver’s seat. He lumbered back toward her and then started toward the beaded curtain. Miller caught his arm. She had to plant her feet and tug, he was far stronger than he’d first appeared, but she managed to stop him.

  “Come back out here, child!”

  “Father Abraham?” Miller shouted, just loud enough to startle him. Then she lowered her tone. “Look, she’s nine years old, her entire family is dead, and she’s afraid of Scratch. I think she can use a little alone time.”

  “She can’t be back there,” Father Abraham’s tone was sharp, angry, commanding. He snatched his arm from Miller’s grasp. “Hear me! The child cannot go in there. Get her out now, I command thee!”

  Miller considered this odd old man. They had been with him for about an hour. What did they really know about him? Not enough to do more than guess about why he was so upset about Elizabeth being in his bedroom. Maybe he has some whacked out pornography? A sex doll and some lube? What?

  “All right,” Miller said, finally, “I’ll go get her. I’ll bring her out.”

  “You’re not allowed in there either, woman,” Abraham barked. “No one is.”

  “But…”

  Abraham stepped toward the beaded curtain yet again. This time his big arms were spread wide. A pissed off polar bear in a flowered shirt.

  Miller opened her mouth to protest, but a sound from right outside stopped her.

  “Hey, kid,” called Rat. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Miller shouted. “What’s happening, Rat?”

  “The kid’s trying to climb out the back window.”

  “Shit!” Miller flew out the front door, down the steps, and around to the back of the Winnebago. She came around the corner just in time to see Elizabeth dangling from the small rear windowsill. Miller rushed up beneath her and grabbed her around the waist. She lowered the child to the ground and held on tight. “What are you doing?”

  “He’s going to kill me the way he killed my family, and you’re going to let him!” Elizabeth kicked and thrashed.

  Miller held the struggling girl at arm’s length, trying to avoid her feet. “I’m not going to let anyone kill you, Elizabeth!”

  BAM! A gunshot rang out. It came from the far end of the Winnebago, toward the front bumper where Lovell was working. Elizabeth screamed and elbowed Miller hard in the solar plexus. All of Miller’s breath rushed out in an instant. She dropped the girl to the ground. Miller sank to her knees, gasping for air. Meanwhile, Elizabeth scampered away around the other side of the Winnebago. A moment later, the child screamed again.

  “Hey, calm down!” Miller heard Scratch shout. Elizabeth just kept right on screaming. Things were rapidly going from worse to shit storm. All this noise was bound to attract
more trouble. Miller wondered if Rat might try to take command again, which at that moment would have suited Miller just fine. She felt like curling up in a ball and humming old Dixie Chicks tunes till the cows came home.

  The kid cried and Scratch swore.

  When Miller was able to stand and walk, she made her way around the corner of the vehicle. Rat was suddenly right behind her. There she found Scratch holding the rifle in one hand and Elizabeth in the other. The girl was shrieking at the top of her lungs but her voice had gone hoarse. The sound was feeble and thus all the more heart rending.

  “What’s your problem, anyway?” Scratch said. “Easy kid, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Rat,” croaked Miller, “take her inside.” Miller sucked in a couple of extra deep breaths. “What the hell were you thinking?” she demanded.

  “What was I thinking? What about her? She ran smack into me, damn near knocked me on my ass.”

  “What’s with the shooting?”

  Scratch looked relieved she was there. “That shot? It was Psycho. He saw a new zombie out there and put it out of its misery.”

  Miller’s face changed. Scratch saw her concern and hurried to respond. “Don’t worry, Penny. It wasn’t T. L.”

  Miller had almost put Terrill Lee out of her mind until that moment. Almost. “Scratch, that’s what’s next. We have to find him.”

  “What for?” Scratch seemed genuinely confused. “Use your head. It sucks, but he’s got to be a goner by now.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “Huh? You know something that I don’t?” He cradled the rifle in the crook of his arm. Scratch stepped closer to Miller and put his hand on her arm. “I’m sorry, Penny. I know you cared about him. We all did. But he got dragged off by the zoms. He’s just hamburger by now. It sucks but you got to accept that.”

  Miller resisted the urge to shrug off his touch. She needed his help, too. “I’m just so sick of losing people that I care about.”

  “You still got me,” he said.

  Miller backed up a step. “Scratch, until we get this thing with Elizabeth’s family worked out, I’d appreciate it if you would…”

  “What? You’d appreciate it if I’d what?”

  “Keep your distance,” Miller said, finally. She shaded her eyes against the sun, but also to hide what was in them.

  “Is that really what you want, Penny?” There was no mistaking it now. He was hurt. A crow soared over the Winnebago and offered a sarcastic laugh.

  “Until I know the truth, it’s got to go back to being ‘Sheriff’ to you.”

  Scratch sulked. His lower lip curled. “You know what, Sheriff?” He held out the rifle, thrust it into her hands. “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.” Unarmed, he strode off toward the front of the battered Winnebago.

  “Is now a bad time?”

  Miller spun around, barely resisting the urge to aim the rifle at the person behind her. When she realized it was Rat, she relaxed a little. Against all odds, Rat was becoming about the only friend she had left.

  “What is it?” Miller asked.

  “Lovell knows what’s wrong with the Winnebago.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “Fuel filter is clogged, and the tank is nearly empty. Not a good combination.”

  “Terrific,” said Miller. “What do we do about that?”

  “Lovell can explain. Come on.”

  Miller followed, grateful for the distraction. They walked to the front of the vehicle, where Lovell and Psycho waited. Psycho scratched at small bites on his reddened forearm. Lovell was covered with sweat and grease. The sun pounded at them as it crawled up into the morning sky. Crows cawed. Vultures circled the downtown area where the bodies were piled. Miller turned her head from side to side. Scratch was nowhere to be seen.

  “Lovell, how soon can we get back on the road?”

  Lovell handed her the fuel filter. It was filled with black sludge when it should have been close to white. Even Miller knew that much.

  “I’ve bypassed the filter for the moment, so we’re not stuck here. But even if we could trust that nothing will get into the engine without it, we don’t have enough fuel to get to out of danger. I recommend we take a walk to your auto parts store and get a new filter.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  “One more thing. Good news is, Psycho reports he saw a school bus a block away. It might have some diesel left in it.”

  “Good,” replied Miller. “Let’s get it done. After all, what choice do we have? All we can do here is die.”

  They closed the engine compartment and walked around to the side of the Winnebago where the door was located. Miller let Lovell, Psycho, and Rat step onboard before she entered. The interior was cooler and the odor didn’t bother her, not after what she’d just been through in the last few minutes. Inside felt safer, maybe because they were about to go outside again, and right into the danger zone.

  Sheppard still looked pale. He was in pain again. Father Abraham sat on the sofa next to him, and Elizabeth sat in the passenger seat up front. The group fell silent.

  “Where’s Scratch?” asked Sheppard.

  “He… took a walk.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Before Miller could respond, movement out the front window caught her eye. In the distance, she could hear Scratch’s voice. “Penny!”

  Everyone turned to see Scratch. He was running toward the Winnebago at top speed. He threw the door open and jumped on board. He was pouring sweat and his eyes were unusually wide and wild. After all, he’d been out there unarmed.

  “Penny!”

  “What is it?” she demanded.

  “It’s not my fault.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “That,” Scratch panted. He pointed out the cracked and dusty front window.

  Small shapes. Not fully human. They could all tell by the shambling walk, the crooked fingers.

  At least twenty zombies were headed their way.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  7:33am – 10 hours 27 minutes remaining

  They gathered inside the Winnebago, checked the locks and windows, rapidly moved into defensive positions. It didn’t take long. The horde of macabre little zombies surrounded the Winnebago, banging on the frame, rocking and shaking the large vehicle from side to side. This time it was a high-pitched moan that floated over them, unnhhh huhhh… Miller studied the enemy. The sight was surreal. With one exception, they all looked identical. That one exception was a tall zombie, which could have once been either a man or a woman. It wore a school bus driver’s uniform. The other zombies were smaller and all wore other uniforms—white shirt, green vest, green skirt, green socks, and shoes. They were undead children with an unholy hunger.

  Rat shook her head. “Girl Scouts?”

  “Hope they don’t want to sell us any of those fucking cookies,” Scratch muttered. No one laughed.

  The joke was so lame Miller immediately thought of Terrill Lee, but she decided not to say anything. Instead she considered their options. There weren’t many. Elizabeth was freaked out and clinging to Sheppard, who was still weak and borderline useless.

  The noise continued. Little fists pounded on the vehicle, little mouths chewed the air in frustration.

  Uhnnn… huh…

  The Winnebago rocked back and forth. With bloody, disfigured faces and torn uniforms, they made a constant racket as they banged on the outside, and scratched at the screens and the metal siding. A little girl climbed up and did her best to chew through the windshield. She tried so hard that one of her front teeth broke off. Something dark leaked out and smeared the glass. Elizabeth screamed and hid her face.

  Miller checked the load in her Smith & Wesson. They were in trouble. The windows wouldn’t last forever. “Lovell, how far can we get without a fuel filter?”

  “Best guess?” He did the math. “A mile, maybe less. Considerably less if you ever want to use the Winnebago again.”

  �
�That should be more than enough.” Miller looked at the steering column, saw that the key was still in the ignition. “Lovell, you’re driving. Start it up and let’s go.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” replied Lovell. He saluted mockingly. He plopped himself down in the driver’s seat and turned the engine, which started smoothly this time. Lovell shifted into gear, and the vehicle began to roll forward. One of the girl scouts went under the left front wheel with a sickening crunch. No one cared.

  “Psycho, where’s that school bus of yours again?”

  Psycho never took his eyes off the zombies, as if he couldn’t believe the horrific sight, a horde of zombie children assaulting them from all sides. Two of the little girls were hanging on to the window frame, small bluish fingers on flecked blue paint. Psycho shivered like a dog fresh out of the bath. “Left at the next corner, maybe a block up.”

  “Perfect,” Miller said. “If you can get us that far, Lovell, you’ll have done your job. Go.”

  “We’re gone.”

  The Winnebago trembled but kept rolling forward. Miller checked the rear view mirror and saw that some of the children who’d been left behind were stumbling, trotting behind the Winnebago. They kept on coming, starving and filled with grim determination. Tucked under Sheppard’s shoulder, Elizabeth kept her face buried in her hands. Miller wanted to do the same thing but didn’t. She had her duty and people to protect.

  “All right,” Miller turned to face the others. “Listen up. As soon as we get to the school bus, everyone with a weapon take up a position right outside. There are only twenty or so of them precious little zombies, and we’ve got some damned good marksmen on our side. Don’t think about what you’re doing. Those aren’t people, not children, not any more. Take them out, aim for the brain. Once the zombies are neutralized, we’ll go back to the plan. We get a fuel filter, tank up on diesel, and roll on out of here for good.”