The Hungry (Book 2): The Wrath of God (13 page)

Miller turned away at that point. She was hardly squeamish, but she had seen enough pain and death in the last month, so much that she couldn't bear to watch Terrill Lee playing with Sheppard's leg. The two worked together and Sheppard barely cried out. They had things cleaned up and re-bandaged quickly.

Abraham sped up again, rocking from side to side, pushing the bucket of bolts as if he were a champion Nascar driver. They were making good time. The Ruby mountains appeared in the distance and the ground leveled off. Miller was beginning to recognize the terrain. At the speed they were going, they would be in Flat Rock in less than twenty minutes.

Empty cars began to dot the road, mostly on the shoulder, but occasionally there would be a pair of automobiles crashed into each other blocking one of the lanes. Father Abraham simply zipped around them like a kid at a carnival playing bumper cars, rarely taking his foot off the accelerator. He ran over skeletons with studied indifference. Miller chose not to be concerned about Abraham's driving. He may have been a bit eccentric but he certainly didn't appear suicidal.

"Father Abraham, we should be approaching my headquarters in a few minutes. I'd appreciate it if you could stop there. We can pick up some weapons and supplies. And a coat," Miller added, mostly to herself.

"I would be delighted to accommodate you, my dear," said Abraham.

Miller turned to see what the others were doing. Rat and Lovell were resting, as was Scratch. Miller ignored Terrill Lee and Sheppard discussing the anatomy of Sheppard's wound. She went back to staring out the front window. They hit the outskirts of Flat Rock. Miller tuned out the carnage.

"There it is."

The Sheriff's headquarters itself resembled a killing field. There were decaying bodies and vulture-picked skeletons strewn all around the street and the parking lot, some in stacks piled six or seven corpses high. Miller tried hard not to think about that first night, and once again failed miserably. She remembered all of the townspeople she'd had to shoot to protect her deputy and her two prisoners, which had been Scratch and a man named Needles. What was left of Deputy Wells was probably still lying there in the jailhouse, a rotten corpse. He had never been turned into a zombie. Scratch had killed him first, in cold blood. If the world hadn't turned upside down, Miller would have seen to it that Scratch was put away for life for that and other crimes.

As it was, she was seriously considering having sex with him instead.
Man, the world is fucked up,
Miller thought
.

Abraham pulled the Winnebago as close to the building as he could. They all looked out the filthy windows but saw nothing outside but dust, death, and decay. Miller moved to the door. She paused to look around carefully then reached down and opened it.

"Want me to come with, Penny?" asked Scratch.

"Uh, no. I think it would be best if you stayed." Miller stepped down onto the blacktop.

Scratch looked at her for a long moment. Evidently he wasn't in a mood to fight. He just said, "Okay."

"Rat, you want to give me a hand?" Miller asked. She started walking toward the building. She heard Rat come down the stairs behind her.

Rat caught up a moment later. Her dark hair was matted. She kept her eyes straight ahead. "Orders, Sheriff?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake! Don't give me that subordinate crap, Rat."

"What do you expect?" Rat said. "You usurped my command. Everyone else is taking orders from you. This is no time to stage a mutiny."

Miller reached the back entrance to the Sheriff's station. A light morning breeze moved a bit of paper trash. A long moment passed. Satisfied, Miller opened the door silently. She had a pretty good idea of what to expect. "I'm not trying to push your buttons, Rat. Until we're back in civilization, my experience trumps yours. That's all. Get over it. And by the way, my name is Penny."

Miller stepped into the dark interior. Rat followed. She went to the left and Rat moved right. The place seemed deserted. They came back together, spoke in low tones.

"Good enough, Penny. Now, just what the hell are we doing here?"

"I'm hoping that the weapon's locker is still full. And then there are some personal items I want to pick up."

"I'll go get the weapons. You go get your personal things. We'll meet in the middle."

"Okay. But watch out. You know the drill by now. Any one of these poor dead motherfuckers could get up and make lunch out of us at any moment."

"Right," Rat said. "Where am I headed?"

"Over there, in that closet. I'll be in my office."

Miller went to her office door. Her mind was flooded with memories of that first, terrible night of the zombie apocalypse. She tried to ignore the skeletons of Needles and the football player zombie who'd killed him.
Deputy Wells killed him
she heard Scratch's voice say
.
She shook that memory off. She didn't want to have that argument again. They had started on the wrong foot and had pretty much avoided the topic since.

Miller opened the door to her office and stepped inside. They had been redecorating the old jail. A paint cloth was still on the floor and most of the furniture remained intact. The radio on her desk was set in the
on
position, but the power was long dead. Miller walked around the messy desk. She leaned over and pulled open one of the top drawers. The locked gun case was still there. She opened it with a key from another drawer. Inside was her spare Smith & Wesson .357 magnum service revolver. It felt damned good back in her hand. She put it in the clip-on holster, and attached it to her waist.

For a second, Miller thought she heard screaming and gunshots and the ghastly rip of wet flesh. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and leaned over with her hand on the wall. She saw gas station owner Luther Grabowski as a zombie, reaching out for her with bloody drool running down his chin. Bodies piled up everywhere in a haze of gun smoke.
Get your shit together lady,
she thought.
Work to do.

Miller went back around the desk. She took up her uniform jacket with her badge attached and name embroidered on the front and the word SHERIFF emblazoned across the back. She put it on, and felt right for the first time in over a month. In the pocket was a pair of sunglasses, which she also donned. Miller took down the broad-brimmed hat that hung at the top of the coat rack and put it on her head. She took in a deep breath, let it out slowly. Maybe the world wasn't as fucked up as she'd thought.
Or maybe it is getting un-fucked at long last…

She came out of her office. Rat looked happy as well. She had found a pair of shotguns and a .30-06, and a large backpack full of ammunition.

"That's more like it," smiled Miller. She reached out for the .30-06, and felt the weight. "Well, I don't know about you, Rat, but I feel much better."

"You look better, Penny." She said it with a smile.

"Okay, let's get back aboard the Godmobile, and get us the fuck out of here."

"You're on."