The Hungry (Book 2): The Wrath of God (14 page)

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 light-headed, 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.

Penny Miller twisted the top of the jar of peanuts and went over to the little girl whose name she still hadn't learned. "Put out your hands," she said. The girl reluctantly stuck out one hand. Miller poured some peanuts into it. The girl ate them greedily. Then Miller poured some into her own hand and did the same. Her body shuddered with gratitude.

"So where is Abraham? Don't tell me he got dragged off too."

"He's in the bedroom resting," said Lovell. "Our little friend knocked him down and startled him something awful." Lovell moved back through the vehicle toward the beaded curtain. "Want I should wake him up?"

"No, let him sleep." Miller lowered her voice. "The last thing we need right now is his very special outlook on life interfering with our plans." Miller filled her hand with peanuts again, inhaled them in one mouthful and chewed like a starving squirrel. Rat handed her a gallon bottle of water, and she washed the peanuts down. Her blood sugar began to balance out and her heartbeat steadied.

Miller felt a quiet rage take possession of her soul. She vowed again, Terrill Lee would
not
become one of them things. No way.

The group stiffened. Outside, they could hear voices. Rat moved to the window and peered out, her shotgun at the ready. "Okay, it's them, they're back."

"Is Terrill Lee with them?" Miller asked hopefully, though she already knew the answer.

"No."

Miller deflated. The thought made her sick, but she found herself praying they'd found Terrill Lee and shot him through the head. Otherwise, she'd have to do it herself before they moved on. She would have to do that for his sake. None of them deserved to wander around starving and insane. No one did.

There was a knock. They stared at the Winnebago's door.

"Open up," Scratch called. Lovell stood to let Scratch and Psycho in. Scratch came up the stairwell carrying the .30-06. His face was sweaty. A frustrated look was deeply etched into his gruff features.

"Well, there was no sign of him."

The little girl took one look at Scratch. She gave a demon shriek. She leaped off the worn sofa and hid behind Miller and Rat. The women looked down with puzzled expressions. The little girl clung to Miller's waist, and trembled like a tent in a windstorm. Scratch had raised his weapon. He lowered it again.

"What the fuck was that?" Scratch said. "The kid about scared the shit out of me."

Miller turned to the child, ignoring Scratch's question. She and Rat tried to calm her down. The kid couldn't be consoled.

"Shh," Miller cooed. "It's all right. He's a friend." She stroked the girl's hair, but it did nothing to calm the child. She began crying silently, and a dark stain spread from her crotch. Rat stepped back, puzzled and a bit disgusted.

"Scratch," said Miller. "You're scaring her. Go stand guard outside or something until we get this figured out." Her tone made it more than a request.

"I didn't do anything, Penny."

"Rat," said Miller, turning back to the child, "please take him outside."

Rat got it. She moved with a purpose. She picked up a shotgun and motioned with it. "You heard the lady. Let's go."

"Whatever." Scratch stomped down the stairwell, a bullied teen.

"Psycho, you're with us," said Rat. Holding the other shotgun, Psycho stood without hesitation and followed Rat outside. Miller figured he didn't want to think for himself, and preferred action.

Penny stroked the little girl's hair. The child cried.

"He's gone, sweetie. You're safe. We have to get you out of those clothes, though." Miller turned, glanced at Lovell and Sheppard. "Lovell, go track down one of Abraham's shirts or something that she can change into. Try not to wake the crazy old bastard, okay?"

Lovell stood and went to the beaded curtain. He didn't disturb Abraham. Instead, he opened a cabinet just outside the curtain and rummaged through it. "This will have to do," he said, holding up a loud shirt that would have embarrassed Jimmy Buffett. It was bright red with yellow flowers in full bloom and tiny maps of the Hawaiian Islands. "On her it will be a long dress."

"Hand it here," said Miller. The girl had stopped crying, but she still shook like a spider web in the breeze. "Turn your heads," Miller ordered. The men looked away. Miller made sure of that. She knelt down on the carpet, careful to avoid the puddle of urine. "Let's get you dry," she said.

The girl shook her head. Her arms were crossed across her chest, and her skin had become paler than before. She instinctively resisted being naked, even for a second. That wasn't hard to understand. She'd been all alone in zombie country. Miller thought of Terrill Lee alone out there and her eyes filled. She looked away so as to not further upset the child. She composed her expression and looked back. The little girl eyes were defiant.

"You can't stay wet," said Miller, "and we need to clean up this mess." She began unbuttoning the girl's soaked pants. "I need you to help me."

The girl reluctantly uncrossed her arms. She helped Miller take her pants down. Miller stripped off her tiny shirt, which was damp at the bottom, and used the untouched parts to dry the girl's skin. Then Miller put Abraham's shirt around her shoulders and buttoned it from bottom to top. It came down to below the girl's knees. She was practically lost in the sleeves.

"You can look."

Lovell went to the window and stared out, on guard. Sheppard just lay back with his eyes closed. He seemed to be regaining strength, but clearly had a ways to go. Penny Miller used the child's shirt to mop up the puddle on the floor. She threw the shirt in an overflowing trash can. Then she met the little girl's eyes.

"Now, why don't you tell us what that was all about?"

"That's him," the child said enigmatically.

"Who's him? I don't understand."

"That man. That's him. He killed my family." The little girl shook, doubled over, and began to sob again.

"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.