"Killed your family? When was this?" Miller was calculating furiously. Scratch had been with her almost every minute for weeks. Since…
"About a week before the zombies came."
"A week… My God," cried Miller. "You're Elizabeth Cassini, aren't you?"
"Uh huh."
"Hold on," said Sheppard, "you know her?"
"We don't get a lot of multiple murders in Flat Rock," said Miller. "I'm the Sheriff. I did the initial investigation. I saw the bodies. Elizabeth and I met once, briefly, in Judge Peterson's chambers." She turned back to the child. "I thought you were safe, that the social worker had sent you to live with your aunt, or something."
"We came back here the day the zombies came to see the Judge." She began crying again, and Miller put her arms around her and let her cry. Miller felt like doing the same. One more horrible mess to figure out.
When Elizabeth had calmed down a little, Miller lifted her up into the passenger seat in front. Her head was swimming. Terrill Lee was gone, and now this accusation against Scratch? That he was guilty of the murder of an entire family? It had to have been his gang. Perhaps Scratch had been there, but he could never have… No.
"What makes you think that man is the one who did it?"
"I saw him," she said, this time without any tears.
"Did you tell anyone about it?"
"Yes. You."
"That's right," Miller said softly. "You did. But you then said you couldn't remember what he looked like."
"I remember now."
They were all silent for a long time. Miller had no idea what to do about all of this, especially now. The mounting responsibilities were overwhelming. She felt her mind bobbing and weaving to avoid too many signals, too many options. Terrill Lee was almost surely dead or even undead by now. Scratch was her friend and one of her most valuable assets as a commander in combat, she couldn't exactly arrest him… but she couldn't ignore or abandon the child either. Another damned train wreck.
"So what do we do?" asked Lovell, finally.
Miller stood up. She sighed and stared at Lovell for a moment. "You watch her. I need to talk to Scratch."
Miller went to the Winnebago's door. She knocked on the inside. "I'm coming out," she called. No one answered, but at least no one would discharge a weapon in surprise.
Miller closed her eyes to compose herself. She opened the door, and stepped down into the warm morning light. The sun was still low on the horizon, but the sky was clear and blue. The surrounding desert was beautiful and the Ruby Mountains in the distance were lush and green. The world just kept on turning, no matter who got torn to pieces or murdered or died of natural causes. It could do without man easily enough. In fact, the world didn't care much one way or another. It was as beautiful but cold as an Eskimo's johnson.
Rat and Psycho were standing guard just outside the door, to the left and the right. Psycho was chewing on a toothpick. Rat studied Miller's face, her own features blank as a wiped-down chalkboard. She understood command pressure. Miller figured she was probably weighing whether or not to step in and take over.
"Where's Scratch?" asked Miller.
"Smoking," they both said, pointing toward the rear of the vehicle.
Miller hesitated. There was really no good way to do this. She took a deep breath, walked a few long strides, and stepped around the corner of the Winnebago. Scratch was leaning against the back of the vehicle, his weapon low at his side. Miller went to stand next to him. They waited in silence with the tension building, both facing the desert, which was dotted with sage and the skulls of dead animals. Finally Scratch took a deep drag on his cigarette and blew a long stream of blue smoke, his lips tilted away from Miller.
"I'm real sorry about Terrill Lee, Penny," Scratch said. He seemed sincere. "We found some drag marks that headed off into an intersection but lost the trail after that. There were just too many bodies, too much debris lying around everywhere. I saw footprints all over the place. They took him somewhere, three of them, like they'd worked together as a team. That's crazy, I know it's crazy, but same as back at the base, that's how it seemed to play out. Them things working together? The very idea scares the shit out of me."
"It scares the shit out of me, too."
"Penny, I'm sorry. He's gone. Terrill Lee has to be dead by now. Has to be."
Inside the Winnebago, the little girl said something quietly. Lovell said something back in a low voice. Scratch and Penny faced each other with full eye contact. Chastened, Scratch swallowed dryly.
"Talk to me," Miller said.
"I didn't do anything to that kid, Penny, I swear." Scratch took another long drag on the cigarette. He dropped it onto the asphalt, stubbed it out with the toe of his right boot. "I don't know why she freaked out on you that way."
Miller stared into his eyes. She took her time. Something felt off.
"What?" Scratch demanded. He stared back.
"We may have us a brand new problem," Miller said. "There was a murder a few days before I arrested you and Needles."
"So?" Then something uncomfortable spread across his face. "You've got to be kidding me! That kid told you I did it?"
"Did you?"
"Are you actually accusing me of killing that little girl's parents and sister?" His eyes were wide, incredulous.
Miller's heart sank down into her stomach. She eyed his weapon and then gripped hers. "I never said exactly who was killed, Scratch. I just said it was her family. So do you want to explain how you knew that it was her parents and sister?"
Scratch began to pace. "Look, I didn't have anything to do with it. I may be a bad ass, but underneath this gorgeous, tough exterior, I ain't a murderer."
Miller looked at her feet. She studied her dusty jeans. She took a deep breath and met Scratch's eyes again. The sun beat down above them and the warmth felt good. "I saw you kill my deputy in cold blood. I know you're capable of it. So I'll ask you one more time. Did you kill her family?"
"You're out of your fucking mind," Scratch said. He took a step away, flexed his hands. "Look, I done some things I'm not proud of. I admit that. And yeah, I blew that asshole Wells away. He deserved it and you know it. But I didn't do that, not what you you're accusing me of. Think about it. After all we've been through, why would I lie about this? You gotta believe me."
"It's not my job to believe you," Miller said, sadly. "I'm not a jury."
A coughing sound came from the front of the Winnebago, then a whine. Was someone struggling to start the engine? Did they have yet another problem? Scratch and Miller were too engrossed to change the topic.
Scratch stood defiantly before Miller, and she glared at him.
"I want to believe you, but I'm not sure I can."
"So what are you going to do then, arrest me again, Sheriff Miller? Shoot me?"
Miller looked at him for a long time. "No. I still have a duty to protect you, no matter what you're accused of doing. And I can't arrest you right now because we need every gun we can get. If we don't get out of here in time, we're all going to go up in a ball of fire. But I need to at least know the truth. You owe me that."
"I told you the truth just now." As Scratch spoke, the engine made another odd noise. Someone, perhaps Lovell, mumbled something.
"We've lost Terrill Lee," Miller sighed. "Now we've got a little girl to protect. But you know what is worst of all, Scratch? She's terrified of you. One more time, you've handed me one hell of a mess."
"Oh, give me a fucking break." Scratch took a step away from her. "I've saved your bacon more than a few times, lady."
"Right now," Miller said, "my biggest problem is figuring out how to get us to safety without you causing that little girl to piss herself again."
"What do you want me to do? Ride on the roof?"
"I haven't ruled that out," Miller replied. She considered smiling at the thought, but decided against it. So, evidently, did Scratch. Right then would have been a really bad time to start clowning around and flirting
. Jesus Christ. Miller figured the world would never be the same. The law didn't apply. She'd just have to go with her own gut for now, and make it all up on the fly.
Poor Terrill Lee…
The mechanical noise came again from the front of their Winnebago, that grinding whine. Sounded something like a starter turning over, but the engine refusing to catch. Was that Lovell? Who was fixing to drive off, and why?
Scratch looked as confused as she felt. "What the fuck is that?"
"Follow me." Miller turned and headed back to where Rat and Psycho were waiting. Scratch hesitated for a brief moment, as if considering going off on his own. He shrugged and then followed her lead.
When she came around the corner, Miller could see Rat and Psycho conferring with someone through the open cabin door. When they saw Miller appear from around the back of the Winnebago, Rat stepped up close.
"I was just about to come get you, Penny."
"Why?"
"We have another problem," Rat said.
"What now?" Miller sagged back against the door.
Rat shrugged and made a face. Behind her Psycho belched, his alert eyes searching for zombies, that omnipresent toothpick circling his thick lips. The morning sun beat down. That whining sound came again, but a tad weaker this time. Miller wasn't sure she really wanted to hear this. She waited.
Finally Rat sighed. "We can't get the damned engine going."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
7:08am – 10 hours 52 minutes remaining
The grinding noise continued. No one spoke. Eventually Lovell said, "Easy, don't flood the sucker."
"Abraham," Miller said, "this is your vehicle. Why won't it start?" She stated the question much more calmly than she felt. Her gut was in a knot. The entire enterprise was rapidly spinning out of control. They were behind enemy lines, Terrill Lee was gone, Scratch was hiding something, Abraham was a senile maniac, a nuclear bomb was ticking their lives away, and now she had a traumatized child to worry about. Penny Miller had never felt so alone in her entire life.
Abraham mopped his sweaty brow with his sleeve. His filthy beard sagged down. He was like a fat goat ready for shearing. "I can't explain it, my child." He turned the key in the ignition again. The old starter turned, but the engine still didn't catch. "Personally, I suspect that the Evil One had his filthy hand in this."
Miller turned to the others. "All right, folks. Things just got a little more entertaining. As of right now, we put any personal disagreements aside. We have one job and one job only. Get this thing running and get the hell out of here. We take it all one step at a time. Lovell, you did okay with those generators last night. Know anything about Winnebagos?"
Lovell stood with a confident smile on his face. "I know a thing or two."
"Okay," said Miller. "You're up. Now, who wants to stand sentinel while Lovell is working outside with his ass end turned to the world?"
Rat cleared her throat quietly. "They sent us on this mission to provide security. I think Psycho and I can handle that."
Miller thought for a second. "Done, and Rat," she said, lowering her voice, "do me a favor and take Scratch with you."
Rat grunted assent. She armed up and headed for the door.
Miller put up her hand. "I want to make something clear, though. Unlike Crystal Palace, this is not a free-fire zone. We found this little girl, so there may be at least some uninfected citizens hiding out there who are still in need of our help. Please stay smart. Hold your fire until you know there's a threat. On the other hand, if it is undead or unresponsive to verbal commands, take it out without hesitation. Aim for the brain. Let's all try to conserve ammo."
The others mumbled acquiescence as if glad to have something new to do. They got to work, gathering up weapons and ammo and whispering their plans to one another. For her part, Miller was dropping back into her rhythm, problem solving, thinking on the fly. She turned to Lovell. "What else do you need?"
"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."
The Hungry 2: The Wrath of God Page 14