The Hungry (Book 2): The Wrath of God (4 page)

"Do we get to wear uniforms?" Terrill Lee grinned. The question came out with a burst of boyish enthusiasm. His words hung around like a bad odor in an old fridge.

Ripper and Lovell looked at each other for a brief moment. They turned in tandem to give Terrill Lee a withering stare. He immediately reddened. He looked down and away. The two soldiers continued hauling equipment to the waiting helicopter. Miller felt bad for Terrill Lee, but he'd dug his own damned grave.

"If you want to play dress up, T. L.," said Scratch, slapping him on the back, "I know where you can get yourself a slightly used wedding gown."

Miller shook her head wearily. "Very fucking funny."

Scratch broke into a huge grin. He winked at Sheppard. Mortified, Terrill Lee found something interesting to examine on the knee of his jeans. Miller shook her head at all three of them.
Men.

"You are just too bad, Scratch," Sheppard said. He held out his fist to bump, and Scratch complied. Sheppard turned to Terrill Lee. "You want some Bactine for that burn?"

"What do you boys think this is, some kind of trip to Disney World?" Miller snapped. Despite her resolution to stay behind, she'd followed the others down to the parking lot where the enormous helicopter waited. She'd been fighting to change their minds, but to no effect. "If you take today lightly, all three of you are going to end up zombie burgers."

"Lighten up, Penny," said Terrill Lee. She could see he'd regained some of his equilibrium. "Nothing bad is going to happen. We've got a small army along for the ride. Besides, I thought you'd be glad to get rid of us for a bit. We've worn out our welcome."

"I never said that," Miller protested. "Sure, I wouldn't mind if y'all got off your hairy asses and got me out of the penthouse once in a while. A girl wants to see the sights now and again. But I never meant that you should go off on some damn-fool mission just to charge right the hell back into the heart of the dead zone."

"Look at her," Scratch said. "She's worried. She loves us, she really loves us."

"Oh, fuck off. I just don't want to see you get killed."

"Please don't worry so much, Sheriff," said Sheppard. "Really, we're in good hands with these guys." He nodded at the efficient Special Ops team Miller had mentally begun to refer to as the Magnificent Seven. "Look how smoothly they operate together. They're a pro-football team. We'll all be fine." And then he made that
I've got a secret
face again. Miller ignored him.

"How do you know that? You don't know these jar-heads from Adam." Miller realized she'd spoken too loudly.

Major Hanratty's head turned slowly around. Her dark eyes blazed. She strode over toward Miller with a strong sense of purpose. Tension flooded the air and the men grew uneasy. Miller geared up for a knock down, drag out. Rat came close, almost nose to nose. The two women locked on like heat seekers. Miller thought,
Well howdy bitch…
Behind them, Scratch blew the mood by making little hissing kitty cat sounds.

"Actually," said Rat softly, right into Miller's face, "the only jar-head here is Lovell. He's got fifteen years in the Corps, and he's damned proud of it."

Lovell gave a quick "Hoo-ah" as he strolled by carrying a crate of M-4s.

"Ripper over there," said Rat, "was a Navy SEAL for eight years. Cochrane and Dale are both Air Force. Psycho was an MP at Abu Gharib. He and I hail from the US freaking Army. And old Brubeck?" Rat whispered conspiratorially. "Personally, I think he's with the CIA, but he won't talk about that. So I'd suggest you don't ask."

"Oh, I get it," Miller said with an innocent smile. "You rent-a-GI clowns think you're the fucking A-Team."

Ripper was standing nearby. He jammed a wet cigar butt in his mouth. "Ah just love it when a plan comes together."

Everyone except Miller and Rat burst into laughter. The ladies held their stare. Miller scowled. Then Rat smiled.

"Let me put it this way," Rat said. "We are the ones they call when things have gone wrong." Rat put her arms out and turned, indicating everywhere all at once. "Look around you, Sheriff. We're in the middle of the Las Vegas Strip, and there isn't a soul in sight. Your home state of Nevada has been quarantined, and most of its population is either dead or undead. So I think it's safe to say that things have most definitely gone very wrong."

Miller shook her head. "Look, we got off on the wrong foot. No offense, Major, but you don't have a fucking clue what you're in for out there."

"Then please enlighten me," said Rat, evenly.

"There were only two things that saved our asses when we were hip deep in zombies," Miller said. "The first one was pure dumb luck. Truth is we all should have been zombie chow a hundred times over. I'm serious, Major. If we weren't luckier than a horseshoe-shaped four-leafed rabbit's foot, we'd all have been deader than Hitler's nut sack." She paused for dramatic effect.

Rat took the bait. "What's the other thing?"

"We had me," Miller said simply.

Rat waited for Miller to continue, and when she didn't, Rat said, "I see."

"No, I'm not sure you do." Miller frowned. She tried to form a brief and coherent explanation of their adventures together. She couldn't.

Rat nodded thoughtfully. "I read your file, Sheriff. I know you got infected by the zombie virus, which somehow made you a superhero for a time. I know Sheppard gave you a risky antidote that seems to be working for now, but left you unstable. You've got brass, I'll give you that."

"I'm not bragging," Miller said. "You're reading me wrong."

"Actually, I don't think I am." Major Francine Hanratty looked at Sheriff Penny Miller. "I just have one question. If you're so goddamned special, how come you're too afraid to come along with us?"

Miller stopped short. She looked at the others. Not one of them would meet her eyes. Did they really think she was just too afraid to go along? Damn. Her own men had deserted her, even Sheppard, who seemed to have his own agenda. The mercenary soldiers had almost completely loaded the helicopter. Miller sagged. They were going to do it. Trudge back into the contaminated zone. She'd lost.

Rat turned her back on Miller. "All right, listen up!" She instantly had everyone's attention, especially Sheppard, Scratch, and Terrill Lee. "We're on the clock here. Mission time is currently twenty-six hours and twenty-seven minutes. Get on board, get your gear stowed, and strap yourselves in. Ripper, tell the pilot to wind this bird up. Dale, show our guests where to sit. We're wheels up in five."

Everyone jumped into action. Dale escorted Scratch, Terrill Lee, and Sheppard up the rear loading ramp of the CH-53E. In a moment, they were gone. Miller thought she saw Sheppard turn his head and look back at her as if to say something. His eyes bulged with that
I've got a secret
look again. She almost called out, but in the blink of an eye, Rat yanked on his arm and he was inside the helicopter, out of sight.

The rest of the Magnificent Seven moved with a renewed sense of purpose. The remaining pieces of gear were quickly swallowed by the increasingly noisy, vibrating chopper, and soon it ate the soldiers themselves.

Penny Miller found herself standing alone in the corner of the parking lot, being pushed back by the steadily growing rotor wash. She felt mighty lonesome.
Well, ain't this a fine damned howdy do?

The loading ramp began to lift up and away.

Miller muttered to herself, "Shit."

She ran forward, stretched out her body and dove on board. Scratch grabbed her arms and pulled her into the chopper. The biker wasn't at all surprised. He'd saved the seat next to him. The others cheered and pumped their fists in the air. Miller felt pissed that they'd all read her mind so easily. Hanratty was the only one who seemed at all surprised.

"Nice of you to grace us with your presence, Sheriff," Rat shouted. "Now we're sure to succeed."

"Just keep me in the loop," Miller said.

Dale got up from his place on the long bench. He helped Miller strap in, handed her a pair of headphones. The noise quieted down a bit. Men mumbled and bursts of dry static crackled in her ears. The big bird thumped and rattled.

Sheppard was pleased to see Miller sit down across from him. "You going to be okay, Sheriff? You don't even have a coat."

Miller didn't look up. She adjusted her straps. "I took on an army of zombies wearing nothing but a bloody wedding dress and steel-toed boots. I think I'll be fine in the Nevada sunshine without a fucking coat."

"Hot," said one of the men. He whistled. Miller couldn't tell which one, or she might have boxed his ears.

Miller could feel the floor lift beneath her. The huge, rumbling helicopter began to ascend into the warm desert air. The ground fell away and soon the world turned to noise and sunshine and the stench of gun oil and sweat. Miller felt her body tense up. She brushed away her bad dreams and the image of Luther Grabowski as a zombie.

They rode in silence for a few minutes. Miller concentrated on Hanratty, still trying to take her measure. She stared and waited for the Major to look her in the eye. Finally Rat felt her gaze and responded. Then Miller said, "So what's our plan, Major?"

Rat didn't miss a beat. "First stop, Nellis field. We have a few more pieces of equipment to pick up."

"No offense, Major…"

"Rat."

"Okay. No offense,
Rat
, but what the hell is all this equipment for in the first place? Are we going camping?"

Rat shrugged. "You of all people must know a girl has to have her secrets."

That earned chuckles from the males in Miller's headset. Miller could feel her face flush. She covered it with one hand.
What the hell is wrong with me?
This ain't my first do-si-do with an overconfident bitch. Why am I letting Hanratty turn me inside out?
She looked over to where her friends contorted their bodies to look out the dusty windows. Miller loved her boys, but they giggled and messed around too much, a passel of Cub Scouts on the way to a softball game.

Scratch and Terrill Lee sat next to each other. They stared down at the land below, pointing out this casino or that landmark, clearly excited to be going somewhere. Sheppard had struck up a conversation with the team medic, the one called Ripper. Whatever they were talking about must have been scientific, because Sheppard seemed happily engaged. Miller fumed to herself.
These idiots should know what they're about to be up against, yet here they are stepping back into the firing line at the first sight of a pair of tits, a pretty face, and a fist full of dollars. Men.

Fine,
Miller thought.
So exactly why am
I
doing this again?

Before she could answer that thought, one of Hanratty's team turned to her. The one called Lovell. "So, I understand that you and your boys were there at the very beginning."

"You could say that," Miller said. "Listen, Lovell, I want to…"

"Kurt," he said. He held out his hand and smiled. He had a very nice smile. A nicer smile than she'd expected.

"When I'm not being the Sheriff my name is Penny." She shook his hand. Lovell held her hand a bit longer than necessary. She broke contact, wiped her palm on her jeans. "Actually, since we're on a mission, why don't we just keep to 'Sheriff Miller'?"

"Not a problem. I wasn't going to ask you for your phone number or anything. I was more interested in getting a little serious intel on what the hell we're up against. You know, before the shit hits the proverbial fan."

"They didn't brief you in detail?"

Lovell shrugged. "It's always good to hear it from someone who was on the ground."

She shifted in her seat to face the Marine more fully. "We were there at the beginning, all right. See Sheppard over there?" she asked, nodding across the cargo bay to where the scientist sat chatting with Ripper. "He was…" She stopped short. How much should she say? Sure, Lovell was there to protect them, but did he really have to know that Sheppard had done seminal work on creating the zombie virus itself, or that his best friend had been 'patient zero'? Miller cleared her throat. She decided to edit out a lot. "Sheppard worked at Crystal Palace with the man who started it all, Colonel Sanchez."

Lovell frowned. "Crystal Palace?"

"That's what they called the secret base," she said. "It's where we're going." She hooked her thumb at Scratch sitting next to her. "Scratch over there was with me when the zombies arrived that first night. He helped me fight them off." Still editing, Miller left out that Scratch was her prisoner at the time, had killed her deputy in cold blood, had shot her without thinking, and had almost left her for dead. None of that seemed relevant, considering Scratch had also saved her life more than once and had turned out to be a halfway decent human being. Sometimes. Sort of.

"What about the other dude? Where did he come in?"

"Terrill Lee, well…" Miller couldn't think of anything to say. "He's my ex-husband. He's a veterinarian. I got shot and went to him for help."

"I see," said Lovell. He clearly didn't, but dropped the thread. "What about the zombies? Anything special we should know about them?"

"Aim for the brain, cowboy," she said. "It's how you put them down. Sheppard can explain this better than me, but their nervous system stays active after death, so if any part of them is attached to a working brain, they're a danger. Oh, and don't get bit by one. It would be
bad
." She made a gesture with both hands across her throat, crossed her eyes, stuck out her tongue, and made a guttural choking noise. "You'll turn into a monster faster than a teenage girl having her first PMS."

"That's what Rat said." He considered what she said. "So it's all true? Shoot 'em in the head and they're history? The way it is in the movies and shit? It can't be that simple."