The Hungry (20 page)

What a wild ride. It occurred to Miller that she could use a really good lay, but she couldn't picture herself with any of the jokers along for the trip. Terrill Lee? Been there, done that. Scratch? Maybe, but only if he had ten hot showers, two stiff drinks and an attitude adjustment. Macumber? That thought just made her laugh. Wells? She still pictured him as a little kid. Sheppard? Hmmm… Now there was an idea. But no, not until she knew she could trust the bastard. Certainly not like this. He wasn't getting inside her pants tonight. Sighing, Miller guessed she was on her own, as usual.

An idea appeared. A hot bath was in order. Well, that and a decent meal. She hadn't eaten anything except for the soup and some candy and crap all day. She wondered how Sheppard's cousins were set for food. They'd have to stock up, with or without permission.

Someone entered the barn. Then someone else. The rest of the men filed in and collapsed on the floor. Then the wooden doors closed for good. Miller undid her seatbelt. The driver's side door of the dead Hummer opened. Sheppard shined a flashlight down to show her where to put her feet. She hopped out into a pile of dirty straw, careful to keep the dress down over her legs.

"Where the hell are we, anyway?" Miller said. "This place looks deader than Hitler's package."

"I told you, my cousin's farm."

"What does he farm, dirt and pebbles? The place looks totally deserted."

"That's the point. Relax. We'll be safe enough here for the moment."

They heard a distant rumbling sound. Miller shivered. The sound grew louder as the searching choppers approached, right on schedule. The
whump whump whump
of helicopter blades passed almost directly overhead, but then were gone just as quickly. The small group sat frozen in the oppressive shadows of the barn, swatting away flies and dust. Just waiting.

"That was close," said Scratch, finally. "Are you sure they ain't coming back?"

"No," replied Sheppard.

"No?" This from Terrill Lee.

"As a matter of fact, I can pretty much guarantee they
will
be back." Sheppard shined the light on his own face, distorting his features. He looked like a kid at camp getting ready to tell a spooky story. "We aren't staying here for long, people. My cousin Bud is a deacon at the local church, and also happens to own the church bus. It's parked out back. So we're going to borrow that and hit the road again. This shitty night ain't over yet."

Miller touched Sheppard on the shoulder. He lowered the flashlight. "What exactly is the bigger plan, Sergeant?"

"The bigger plan? Get some supplies out of the kitchen, hop on the bus, and high tail it to Carson City."

Scratch found his feet and stepped forward in the gloom. Miller sensed his irritation. "And just what the fuck is in Carson City?"

They all heard it. The sound of helicopters returned, this time from some distance away. They were circling back around, looking for whatever they'd missed. Miller sought out Terrill Lee, now that her eyes had adjusted. He shrugged as if to say they had no choice. Sheppard was their only ticket out. They'd have to continue to go along, at least for the time being.

"I promise," said Sheppard, "that I will explain everything on the way to Carson City. Right now, we have other problems." He flicked the flashlight in the direction of the approaching helicopters. "We have to get the hell out of here. Right now."

"All right, Sergeant," said Miller. She was getting tired of standing around. She felt wound up, tense. Hungry. "We'll follow your lead. Let's go find your cousin."

Sheppard nodded. He led them to the door, and turned off his flashlight. Outside, the last rays of light faded from the hills across the desert. The swarm of frustrated helicopters could still be heard in the distance. Across the yard, the splintering house stood, listing to port. The inside lights were on.

"Somebody's home," said Wells, to no one in particular.

"What's your cousin's name again?" asked Miller.

Without looking at her, Sheppard said, "Jeff, but everyone calls him Bud. Wife's Wanda. They've got a kid called Jeannie. Let's move."

Sheppard opened the barn doors. He looked around and then sprinted across the yard, followed closely by the others. They approached the front door to the old house. Sheppard put his hand on the knob, but Miller stopped him. Something felt wrong. He sensed her mood.

"They usually leave the door open like that?" Miller whispered, "Way out here? And with all that's going on?"

Sheppard stepped back. "No, you're right."

Miller turned. She took the pistol from Macumber's belt. "Listen up," she whispered. "Do exactly as I say. Sheppard, Wells, Macumber. You're with me. Clear each room before going to the next. If it's undead, go for a headshot. You know the drill. Try not to shoot anyone who's alive."

Miller licked her lips. She turned to Terrill Lee and Scratch, pointed a finger at each of them. "You two? You wait here and stay out of trouble."

She took a couple of deep breaths. "Let's go."

Miller pushed the door open. She entered, pistol raised. She almost shouted "police" out of habit as she moved purposefully through the living room but managed to stay quiet. The gun searched carefully, a thing with a life of its own. The men spilled into the room behind her, fanning out checking closets and behind furniture. The house smelled of cooking and a gas stove, but reeked of something else, too. Something was wrong.

Miller paused in the center of the room. The house was a shambles. Overturned furniture, broken knick-knacks, and wide stains of what could only have been blood. Miller held up a hand for the men to hold their positions. Everyone waited for her to decide what to do. Miller scanned the room. They could all feel the presence of death. Nothing moved.

"Clear," she said, reluctantly.

She motioned for the Guardsmen to take the hallway to the right, and for Sheppard to follow her. Miller moved into the kitchen. It was more of the same. Broken dishes everywhere, refrigerator open, food spoiling, and some bloody drag marks leading toward the back of the house. A meal was set out on the table, some kind of stew and a vegetable. Someone whispered that another room was clear. Someone else followed.

Miller said, "Kitchen clear."

She glanced into the refrigerator. She could smell food rotting in the trapped heat. Whatever happened must have done so at least a few hours before.
Damn. So much for a decent meal.

Heart pounding, she headed toward the small back bedrooms, eyes following the gory drag marks. Sheppard followed her, his face pale and now contorted with grief and worry. Miller listened intently. Her wedding dress made loud whiffing noises as she passed through the door and into the back hallway. The drag marks terminated at a closed door, likely the master bedroom. Sheppard's eyes were glistening. This couldn't be good.

Miller noticed some movement to her right. She turned, aiming the pistol. Wells stood there with his hands raised. His mouth and eyes had both gone wide with fear. Miller lowered her pistol.

"Little girl's room is clear, Sheriff." He stared at the bedroom door. "We actually going in there?"

"Looks like it," said Miller. She moved to the door. Pounded on it. "This is Sheriff Miller of Flat Rock County. Drop your weapons and come out with your hands above your heads."

Not a sound from the other side of the door.

"If you make me come in there, I will shoot you."

Silence.

Miller turned the knob. She threw the door open. She entered, wedding dress flowing, gun searching shadows. The room reeked of death. Three bodies lay on the bed, a shirtless man in overalls, a woman in a nightgown wearing brightly colored hair curlers, and a little girl in pink pajamas. Each had been shot once in the head, the man and the girl through the center of their foreheads and the woman through the temple. A .357 was still clutched in the woman's left hand. Sheppard sobbed quietly.

The man looked like hell—he must have become a zombie before the woman shot him dead. He was clearly the source of the bloody drag marks. One foot was missing, as was a good part of his naked right abdomen. Apart from the wound to her head, the woman was untouched.

Miller turned to Sheppard. He was crying. She put her hand on his shoulder. "Look, I'm sorry."

Before Sheppard could respond, they heard a loud shout from the front of the old farmhouse. "Penny!" Terrill Lee. "Get your ass out here!"

Miller moved quickly. In half a heartbeat, she was at the front door, weapon raised, ready for more trouble. She peered outside into the night. All she found was Scratch and Terrill Lee under the porch light, both looking like they were ready to beat the living shit out of each other. No zombies, no Army, no new danger. And the clock was still ticking.

"What the fuck are you two doing?"

"Just what the hell happened between you and this biker turd back in your jail house?" demanded Terrill Lee. "I have a right to know."

"What?"

"Did you do this jackass on that first night of the zombie attack, or what?"

Miller stared at him. Eventually she moved her attention to Scratch.
Were these two for real?
Exasperated, she turned and almost ran directly into Sheppard and Wells, who stood blocking at the doorway. Sheppard had sagged into something like exhaustion, or possibly defeat. Not good, not now. They needed him in tiptop shape.

"The changes are already taking effect," said Sheppard, as if that were the most natural thing in the world to say.

"Okay." That statement was more than Miller could take. "And just what the fuck are
you
talking about?"

"Sheriff, you were infected by a zombie," Sheppard said.

"Bullshit," Miller replied. "Do I look undead to you?"

"It's true. But instead of killing you, it's made you faster and stronger."

Miller shook her head. "You bozos have all lost your collective minds."

"I can prove it. Take off your bandage," said Sheppard. He tapped her shoulder. "Let me show you something."

Miller suddenly remembered the wound. She had been shot in the left shoulder. She'd rolled it around. There was no longer any pain. Carefully, she peeled the bandage away from her skin. The truth was clear, even in the porch light. Her jaw dropped.

"Let me see." Terrill Lee moved her body so that the light revealed her damaged shoulder. "Oh, my God."

Miller stared at her skin. Even in gloom the evidence was clear. There was the entry wound, right where she expected it to be. It had already healed completely, leaving nothing more than a round, pink scar behind.
And all this in less than a day. Which is flat out impossible. Right?

"What the hell is happening to me?" Miller said. "What am I, Wonder Woman?" She was surprised at her calm tone. She felt strong. There was no worry or fear in her voice. She was just hungry all the time.

"It's the serum," said Sheppard.

"Explain," she said. "And that is not a request."

"We have to keep moving, Sheriff," Sheppard said.

"Tell me."

"Okay, briefly for now. We don't have much time. I'll keep this simple. It's because of what we were working on out at the base. A formula. That's what caused the zombie outbreak."

The men stopped milling around. They had gathered close to see her miraculously healed injury. They were all stunned into silence by that statement. Finally, Miller found her tongue.

"This is
your
fault?" She had never been so angry in her life.

"No, it was Sanchez," Sheppard's eyes darted about. He was imagining a lynching party in his cousin's backyard. The others were pretty pissed off, and Miller looked totally ready to nail his dick to a burning building.

"But you
knew
," said Wells. "You worked on it."

"This wasn't supposed to happen," Sheppard whispered. "None of it. We were messing with DNA and genetic therapy techniques. Hell, in the end we were just trying to make better soldiers. To create braver men with faster reflexes, quick healing potential, a higher pain threshold and far more endurance. We added that DNA to the strain of a new virus. The results in rats and monkeys were nothing short of amazing. Sanchez got off the books approval to go deeper, and we injected some volunteers. Well, actually a few Death Row prisoners, to be honest. We lost several, but we were really gaining ground until… Something went wrong. Yesterday. See, that zombie thing? It was an accident. Our work was brilliant. Those creatures are just, you know, an unfortunate side effect."

"A side effect?" Miller took Sheppard by the arm. She dragged him rapidly through the door to the back of the house. She thought he felt light as a pillow. Miller covered ground as if she were on rails. She easily shoved Wells and Macumber out of the way. She pushed Sheppard through the door of the master bedroom, grabbed his hair and shoved his head down close to the stiffening bodies. Sheppard vomited on his own shoes. Miller shook him like a cat playing with a toy mouse. She screamed at him. "Does this look like a side effect to you?"

"Please…"

Coming to her senses, Miller released his arm. Still moving like a freight train she headed back out to the front of the house. The cowering men stepped back. Miller ignored Terrill Lee and Scratch as she passed them. She wanted to be alone. Miller was tough, everyone knew that, but this shit was just too much. She stormed outside into the night under an unforgiving moon. Miller picked up a rock and hurled it into the darkness. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to kill someone. But she knew that none of that would help.
And those choppers are still coming back.
Her shoulders sagged. The others were watching. She wanted to say something profound.

Miller stared out into the darkness. "Fuck a duck."

That wasn't much of a statement, but it would have to do.

FOURTEEN

"Uh, Sheriff?"

Sheppard stood a respectful distance away, kind of hugging himself against the cold. They all stayed away, worried men exchanging uneasy glances in the shadows. Penny Miller didn't even bother to turn around. She knew exactly where he was, how he was standing. Actually, Miller knew everything that was going on in the darkness around her. She felt the men, their moods and postures. She just
sensed
things somehow. Her new faculties now seemed limitless.