The Hungry 4: Rise of the Triad (The Sheriff Penny Miller Series)

VENICE BEACH, CALIFORNIA

The sun was still low in the morning sky, its bright face hidden by thick clouds, as Alex Dragan emerged from the rolling surf of the Santa Monica Bay, carrying his long board. He paused to study a huge pelican as it glided over the sea, catching updrafts off the tall blue breakers. Greedy seagulls screeched overhead, a few boldly swooping down for scraps of trash. Alex had been surfing since first light, studiously working out muscle kinks from the sexual acrobatics that he and a girl whose name he couldn’t quite recall had engaged in the previous evening. It was a glorious morning. And his high was just bodacious.

The combination of the cold water slapping his groin and the memory the mystery brunette’s curvaceous body and experimental willingness got Alex hard again. The woody was a little uncomfortable in the tight black wetsuit. Alex unzipped to the waist and peeled himself out of the confining neoprene, exposing an athletic upper body, hairless and sparsely tattooed. The beach was not crowded, but his good looks drew surreptitious glances from several women in bikinis and wetsuits, and outright stares from a couple of sculpted men.

Alex smiled at the cloud-freckled sky. He was feeling particularly good this fine morning. The thumb-sized blunt he had smoked before heading out into the waves was still busy working magic in his system, the crossbred effect leaving him relaxed, energized and hungry. Alex shaded his eyes with his right hand.

The early morning catering truck was parked just a short jog up the steadily warming Malibu sand. Good food, low prices. Nat’s was already populated with National Guardsmen on duty for crowd control and two red-vested retail workers from a nearby discount store. Any catering truck or fast food place would have been okay, but this particular truck was one of Alex’s favorites. The hot sauce was demon strength and ruthless when poured on a breakfast burrito, a combination Alex figured would hit the spot right about then.

As Alex strode closer to the truck, he watched the four sleepy young Guardsmen milling, grumbling, yawning, clumsily negotiating hot cups and paper plates, around the M-4 rifles dangling from their necks. Alex didn’t envy them. He knew from experience that BDUs were reasonably comfortable at night, but this was already turning into a hot day on the beach, with spring just a few weeks away. The four soldiers would have to stand their shift in the bright sunlight wearing full battle rattle, looking for evildoers. Some conspiracy theorists on the Net said they were out there looking for bona fide zombies. They were stuck here until relieved, even though nothing much ever happened. The weekend warriors had taken to rousting sunbathing gang members and stoners just to stay busy.

Zombies my ass
, Alex thought.
Some people will believe anything. The only zombies out here are the homeless people with enough handouts to buy a quart of cheap wine.

Whatever was going on, the U.S. government was thorough about covering it up. The troops were everywhere, had been for weeks, so there must have been a good reason. Perhaps a new round of terrorist threats? Whenever something unusual did pop up, the Guardsmen had made an art of whisking the bad guys away before the civilians ever knew what happened. No videos ever got uploaded to the web, no cameras or cell phones remained uncollected by the troops. Sure, the Internet was abuzz with rumors, about terrorists, about space aliens, about EMP attacks, and especially about these zombies, but with all the routers down in the mountain states, there was a great big gaping hole in the information flow. Alex had his own theories. He figured the powerful were finally throwing out the First Amendment, and the Internet was the first casualty.
Our government in action,
Alex thought. Suppressing the truth wasn’t supposed to be the American way, but lately everyone knew that it was being widely practiced in the name of public safety.

By the time Alex reached the catering truck, the Guardsmen had inhaled breakfast and were heading away from the area. One—actually a stocky woman with short hair—spotted his service tats. She muttered a half-assed “Semper Fi” as she walked over to her post. Alex smiled and waved with respect. The National Guard is second string after the regulars, after all, and these four had likely seen some heavy shit in a desert somewhere. Alex had served in the ‘Stan. The thought of that long tour cost Alex a bit of his buzz. He turned back to the business at hand.

Just as Alex arrived at the food truck, a black-haired woman dressed in a dark blue skirt and white blouse stepped right in front of him. He scowled down at her as the woman brazenly began to order. Alex studied the back of her neck. She had skin like porcelain, and Alex guessed she hadn’t spent more than ten minutes in direct sunlight all week. Evidently she sensed his upset, because she turned to look at him. Alex caught the nameplate on her left breast—
Leslie, Branch Manager
. She looked up at him like a clever child manipulating the babysitter. Alex was mildly annoyed that he would have to wait a little longer to get his food, but couldn’t help but admire the breast to which the nameplate was attached. Whoever this Leslie Branch Manager was, she had a nicely appointed bod, only partially hidden beneath her professional-looking clothes and long, shiny hair. Leslie looked like a bank executive. Alex could smell her perfume from three feet away, as the flowered scent mixed with the ocean scents of salt water and dried algae. The woman turned away. The dope kicked in again and made Alex think of what the back of her head would look like as he nailed her from behind.

Food, sex and THC. Life is good
.

Leslie Branch Manager ordered and walked away to wait. Alex went up to the window.

“Carlos, my man!
Que paso
?”

“Dude!” Carlos spoke with great enthusiasm, but without even a trace of an accent. Alex knew the grey-haired, dapper man had actually grown up in a wealthy neighborhood in Orange County. He spoke better French than Spanish. It was just that he loved to be treated like a homeboy. He somehow took that as compliment to his cooking. “How are the waves today?”

Alex shrugged. “Nothing exciting around here today,
ese
. I’m going to head up to Santa Cruz over the weekend to take advantage of the storm they’re predicting.”

“Too bad, man. It’s such a nice morning.”

Alex was wildly hungry, but he knew that he had to get through the social niceties first. If he felt any disrespect, Carlos would try to gyp him on the spicier, more expensive ingredients stuffed into the fat body of the burrito. Alex squinted in the sunshine. “So how’s business?”

“Getting worse all the time! That new economic austerity thing the government started last fall? That shit is hitting everyone in the pocketbook. I got half the business I used to have. The beach is empty most days. No one’s got the money to eat out anymore.”

“I hear you,” said Alex. He swallowed the saliva that was flooding his mouth. The inside of the catering truck smelled like nirvana. “No money means no tourists, and without them Venice Beach looks like a wasteland.”

“The only people who got cash right now are the cops and guards
, bro
. Kind of makes me want to join up. Almost.”

“I hear they just raised the maximum age again, way up to 47 this time.”

“Forty seven, huh? You serious?”

“Yeah. Still, I don’t think you’d qualify, do you?” Alex smiled kindly. He licked his lips. Hunger was burning a hole in his stomach.

“Hell yes, just barely!” Carlos showed far more enthusiasm than Alex expected. “Man, my birthday isn’t till next month. Maybe I should call a recruiter. A job is a job,
ese
. Maybe I could find out if all the rumors are true.”

They both laughed.

“If you do that, watch your ass,” Alex said. “I’d miss you,
amigo!
In the meantime, do you think I can order now?”

Carlos didn’t answer. His attention was fixed on something that was happening out on Ocean Front Walk, maybe thirty feet away. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

Alex and Leslie Branch Manager read his face. They both turned to look.

A seagull shrieked overhead as if to issue a dire warning. A heavyset woman in grey jogging shorts and a red tank top stumbled out of the low dunes. She headed their direction. From the way she was moving, Alex guessed she was drunk off her ass and maybe even about to heave. As she moved, she leaned forward and to one side. Her hair was a mess, and she was drooling saliva. Something was wrong. Alex felt his skin ripple with an atavistic dread. It felt kind of like he was stuck in truck, back in the ‘Stan, praying they would pass any IEDs by unharmed.

As the woman got closer the beach the wind shifted. Alex could smell rotting seaweed and dead fish, and something else, something far more foul. The woman was mumbling. He couldn’t quite hear what. Her tank top and shorts were stained with what looked a hell of a lot like fresh blood. Had she fallen out of a boat or something?

“Hey,” Carlos called. “Hey, lady!” He came down out of the catering truck and walked towards the woman. Uneasy, Alex reached out to stop him. He just missed the man’s sleeve. “Don’t come into my establishment all messed up like that!” he shouted.

The woman slowed to a stop less than ten feet away. She had shark eyes, flat as marbles. Alex felt the hairs on his neck flutter and come to attention. His instincts were on high alert. Something was very wrong here. Alex’s mind went to those Internet rumors.
It couldn’t be, could it?
And that’s when everything went crazy.

Carlos said, “Are you okay, lady?”

“Uh-huh.”

That woman, Leslie, chimed in. “Do you need medical attention?”

“Nuh-huhhh,” the woman slurred.

Carlos stepped closer to the stranger. Alex stayed where he was. Leslie Branch Manager started to move forward, Alex caught her by the arm and held on. He looked in her eyes and shook his head. The blood seemed to drain from her face. She stayed.

Carlos looked around. He waved at the guards who now stood fifty or sixty feet upwind. He caught their attention. One of them moved their way, then two. Carlos wanted the woman gone before she drove off any customers. “I’m going to get you some help, okay?”

“Carlos,” Alex called, “get back here.”

“Uhh-
hunnhh!
”

The woman moved like a heat-seeking missile. She closed the gap, lifted her bloody hands, reached out, and grabbed Carlos by the sides of his head. She leaned closer in, as if to kiss him on the lips. Alex felt queasy. It was on. He waved for the soldiers to hurry. Two of the guardsmen broke into trot. Another fumbled to free his M-4.

Alex and Leslie both watched in horror as the woman bit Carlos on the nose and lips. She shook her head like an animal. Alex watched as the woman swallowed his nose and upper lip. Carlos screamed, an unformed wail of pain. The woman held his head tightly and came at him again. This time she tore out his throat with her bare teeth. The chef never had a second chance to protest. He bled out in a gush. Leslie Branch Manager hollered her head off, her shriek high-pitched and unbelievably piercing. Alex had to cover his ears to keep his eardrums from bursting. The THC in his brain slowed him down and distorted his perspective. He heard a rifle fire and a lot of shouting. He wondered if he was having some kind of PTSD flashback, or if he’d actually just seen a murder committed.
Or a zombie attack!

The four-man unit of National Guardsmen arrived at a dead run. Another shot rang out and this time a stray round tore a hole in the wall of the food truck. Alex shook off his confusion. Nothing focuses the mind quite as perfectly as the crack of a combat weapon.

Alex expected the Guardsmen to take down the bloody woman straight away, but instead, the female Guard ran completely past the carnage and slammed her squat body into Alex. The unexpected move confused him. He was thrown off his feet and back into the side of the catering truck. His head slammed into the metal. The world spun in a circle, and when Alex could focus again he found himself face down with the woman’s knee in his back. She was zip-tying his wrists together. The move was so surprising and strange that he hadn’t even thought to defend himself.

“Hey! Get off me!” Alex turned his head to look up at her. Out of the corner of his eye he saw just a bit of the commotion now happening out on the sand; the bloody woman snarling, the troopers firing at her head.

The female soldier saw him staring. She pepper-sprayed Alex in the face.

“Motherfucker!”

Alex’s eyes and lungs were on fire. He couldn’t see anything now, just a smear of colors, the world as a bitter wet blur. It fucking
hurt.
Alex sobbed and sputtered as his captor forced him to his feet. He heard the roar of an engine nearby and then tires screeching to a halt. He tried to blink away the pepper spray. Through stinging tears, he could just make out the outlines of several large vehicles, military shapes that blocked out the morning sun. Alex was roughly shoved inside of one and forced down on a metal bench.

Apart from the road noises, the only sound was of a woman weeping, probably Leslie Branch Manager. Hell, at first Alex couldn’t be absolutely certain the sobbing wasn’t his own. Someone floored the vehicle. It rolled about like a military truck, thumping over the curb, lurching to the left and right, almost knocking him out of his seat. They were traveling freeway fast with a siren leading the way.

By the time Alex could breathe and focus again, the vehicle had stopped. He finally realized that they had put a hood over his head. Still, his eyes had adjusted, and a tiny bit of light came through the dark fabric. The door to the vehicle—which Alex now figured for an APC—swung open with a sliding growl and a crash. Someone grabbed his arm and stabbed a needle into it.
A sedative?
Alex waited for the shit to hit him, but he didn’t feel any different. The needle was withdrawn and a cotton ball taped to his skin. He was pulled to his feet. Someone dragged him outside. His bare feet hit hot concrete. The sun sizzled on his sunburnt shoulders. He was shoved forward. Someone near him was sobbing, likely the woman. Alex kept moving. When he dallied, someone shoved his shoulder from behind. They were on pavement.