The Hungry 4: Rise of the Triad (The Sheriff Penny Miller Series) (2 page)

SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA

Sheriff Penny Miller killed the engine of the Harley ElectraGlide. As she walked it into the parking spot, she looked around the public garage off Fourth Street in Santa Monica. The wide concrete shell and its long, dark shadows seemed to press down on her. Miller sniffed the air and searched the premises with her eyes. Not a zombie in sight. She still hadn’t been able to get used to things being so…
normal.
She took off her helmet and shook out her red hair. It was now longer than regulation length, much longer than she was comfortable with, but she hadn’t had a chance to get it cut since they’d left Las Vegas. She couldn’t afford any luxuries right now. A haircut wasn’t gas, food or extra ammunition. So once again Miller just settled for untangling her hair with a highly questionable brush she’d discovered on the sink at a rest stop just outside of Flagstaff.

Her lover Scratch, sitting on the seat behind her, reached up to remove his own helmet. He grunted low and deep as he moved his torso. After being shot in the shoulder by a high-powered rifle several weeks back, the ex-biker was a bit stiff but healing rapidly. He could already raise his left arm above the shoulder. They were lucky the bullet had been a through-and-through, but with the state of the world and their finances, some decent physical therapy was out of the question. They had been on the run for weeks… or was it months now? Neither of them knew Southern California very well, though Miller had once visited. They’d been stunned to discover that the zombie plague was considered an urban legend this far west. It had taken them a while to adjust, but they’d learned never to raise the subject. People just assumed they were strung out on meth and imagining things.

Miller let Scratch struggle with the helmet on his own. Her big, busily tattooed friend was a proud specimen. As much as he loved Miller, and she knew in her bones that he did, Scratch wasn’t the kind of man who would accept help from her, at least not with something as simple as removing his cover. She let her eyes continue to search the garage and the hulking parked cars. No danger in sight. Nothing bad had happened lately, but her body still remained on high alert, searching for any sign of the living dead.

Miller studied the far corner of the parking garage. A cat moved, weaving around the vehicles, tail raised high in greeting.

Miller dismounted the bike and removed the key from the ignition. She looked around at all the multi-colored cars packed into the parking garage on a Saturday morning. Many were freshly washed, some brand new. California was a different world. How could something undead and slobbering be about to ambush them from behind a clean SUV with a family sticker on the back window? Nonetheless, Miller stiffened and her hands trembled as if seeking a weapon. Miller shook off the sensation of dread. Hell, they hadn’t seen a genuine zombie since Albuquerque, although that didn’t mean that she was about to stop looking for them anytime soon. Miller wasn’t a coward, not by a country mile. She knew her duty was to protect others. But it was difficult to know what to do next, since nothing violent had happened for so damned long. She found herself tensed up, irritable, and just…
waiting.

Scratch managed to remove his helmet. He got off the bike and secured his and Miller’s helmets to the back of the Harley. He took off his sunglasses and smiled down at Miller. Miller loved his craggy face, his stubble and long hair. She winked back. His smile sagged when she slipped the Springfield XD compact .45 into her waistband and covered it with her jacket.

“I thought we talked about that, Penny,” Scratch said, pointing to the bulge at her back. “You’re not sheriff here. They don’t realize what happened in Nevada. If you get caught with that thing, we’re both butt-fucked.”

“Then let’s not get ourselves caught.” Miller smiled back, but her eyes showed exhaustion. “You know, I find it weirdly amusing that you’re suddenly the one advocating following the law, Scratch.”

“The law’s got some uses.”

“Wow, even for you?”

They started walking, headed toward a patch of daylight streaming through the concrete walls. Scratch snorted. “It makes law-abiding folks predictable, and then that makes it safer for us criminal types to break the law. Besides, we don’t need any trouble, not if we’re going to stay off the Army’s radar. This ain’t a war zone. Right now, the authorities are a bigger threat than the zombies. I’ll tell you what, if you start waving that pistol around, things will get very unpredictable very fast. Remember what went down back in Phoenix?”

Miller darkened. “Yes.” She paused and considered her next words carefully. “That guy could have been a zombie.”

“He was a fucking street mime. And not even a very good one.”

Miller relaxed enough to turn up the corners of her mouth. “Are there any good ones?”

Scratch grinned. “Beats me. Now hear this. We have reentered the world. The war is over, Penny. Hell,
these folks don’t even know it ever happened
. They think there was some kind of reactor accident in Nevada and that everything else that folks say is mass hysteria and liberal propaganda. We have to be careful as a virgin with a vibrator. We’re not in Flat Rock anymore.”

They reached the stairs leading up to the sidewalk. Someone went by on a skateboard and Miller froze. She jumped at the noise, her stomach tightening, and almost reached for the pistol. She fought to keep the fear off her face. “So?”

“So not everyone who walks around looking weird and spaced out is one of the undead, you know. Not here in tinsel town, anyway. Could just be somebody’s agent. Shit fire, girl, I just thank my lucky stars this ain’t Halloween weekend. Let’s leave the weapons locked up for now.”

“I don’t want to talk about this, Scratch. I’m keeping the pistol. Got that?”

He put up his palms and sighed deeply. She could see she had won this round. “You’re the boss, Sheriff.” Scratch looked in his pockets and pulled out a handful of change. “Okay, we have six dollars and thirty-five cents. That ain’t enough for a used latte that’s been run through a movie star, not around here, let alone lunch for the both of us. And if we want to sleep in a bed and not under another freeway, we’ll need at least a few hundred. Are you sure this friend of yours will come through?”

“Max is a good man,” Miller said. “If he says he’ll come through, I believe him.”

“I hope you’re right, ‘cuz you won’t let me steal, and if he drops the ball we’re going to have to get real jobs. Without a minimum wage in effect anymore and them unemployment riots in Texas, finding a job can be a hell of a lot harder than panhandling.”

“When we get to the point of panhandling, I promise we can renegotiate the stealing thing.”

“Fair enough.”

“Right now, let’s see what Max can come up with. Terrill Lee and him went way back. You know how that goes.”

“After you, Penny.”

Miller walked towards the stairwell. In a few seconds, she was already headed down the steps. Scratch had to jog to catch up with her. The steps curved and they arrived at ground level. A wire mesh covered one wall, with vines and plants climbing the side of the building. Outside a few people were strolling. Scratch passed Miller and beat her to the exit. He opened the stairwell door for her, like an old-style gentleman, and she brushed past him with her head held high.

They emerged into the hot sunlight and cool shadows of Santa Monica. Miller oriented herself. They were standing in an alleyway that led out to Arizona Avenue, about half a block east of Third Street Promenade. The sky was clear and the morning sun was high in the south, with a warm and comforting breeze to complete the triad.

When the word
triad
crossed her mind, Miller flinched. She shook off the memory of how the zombies had somehow started working together in threes. It was eerie that they were now able to cooperate with each other as a team. That radical shift had been horrifying to behold.

The zombies were a bigger and
… stranger
threat than anything Miller had ever experienced. And as long as they were in North America, the danger would be there. She and Scratch had come to California to refuel and rest while it was still mostly zombie free. They wanted to regain their strength and find some financial resources. Miller was starting with her ex-husband Terrill Lee’s old friend, the guy called Max. Miller didn’t know how she was going to do it, but she would get Scratch the hell out of California soon, maybe fly them both to Hawaii or even Guam. Miller wanted to go somewhere the zombies hadn’t yet reached, and where they could stay safe for a long time. She was sick of killing.

Miller let the sun stroke her face. Though it was still officially winter, this was perfect California weather.

Miller turned west towards the beach. Scratch walked next to her, arms swinging, chest puffed out like the bad-assed biker he was. He was obviously working to intimidate any men on the street who tried to check out his woman. She smiled at the conceit. It was silly, but it made her feel good. She liked how protective Scratch had become. For one thing, it meant that maybe, for a few moments, she didn’t have to be the one in charge. That was a relief.

Things seemed so normal. Miller was surprised how many people were walking along the Promenade, looking in shops and spending their money. They’d assumed people wouldn’t gather in crowds quite as often these days. Rumors of trouble in Nevada and Colorado had reached this far, though few believed in zombies. They were more likely to believe in terrorists than the undead. The government still hadn’t acknowledged any serious problem, probably to protect the economy from collapsing. Miller figured L.A. people generally had money and tended to spend it. She hoped some of that prosperity had trickled down to Terrill Lee’s college roommate, Max Crawford, their only hope for a temporary reprieve from running. Maybe he’d help them plan their next move. He’d immediately offered cash when she’d called. Max was no mastermind—he said he was working as a software developer now—but he had money, a place to sleep, and access to the Internet. Right now that was more than they could pull together on the road.

Of course, Miller hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell Max that Terrill Lee was dead, much less that she’d dispatched him because he’d turned zombie.
Too much information
. Hopefully Max would come through today, and not completely lose it when he learned the truth, assuming he ever did. Would he show up? There was only one way to find out.

Scratch stood behind her as Miller surveyed the scene. She remained where she was standing, frozen in place on the sidewalk. The shoppers seemed to decay right before her eyes, morphing into zombies. She couldn’t help picturing all of those fit, pretty people as new recruits of the walking dead—ambulatory corpses shambling through the pristine mall, still upright but slobbering. Miller closed her eyes to erase the images. Her anxiety rose to a fever pitch.

Scratch said softly, “You can do this.”

Miller jumped at the sound. He was right behind her. She started to reach for her weapon. “Jesus, don’t scare me like that!”

“Penny, we’re safe. We’re out of the war zone.”

Miller darkened. “We’re never out of the war zone, Scratch.”

“We are for now.”

Miller shook her head. She strode forward with a purpose. Scratch followed close behind. Too close. The charm of his protectiveness wore off and his attitude suddenly seemed too much like a guard dog’s for Miller’s taste. Her anger rose. She didn’t need a man to watch her ass every damn minute. She could handle herself just fine, thank you very much.

They emerged onto Third Street Promenade to survey the scene. The crowd of bystanders was huge by any contemporary standards, with hundreds of people lining either side of the mall. Hell, Miller thought, they were standing around in two deep rows, almost like they were waiting for a parade. That thought gave her a strange feeling, but it passed quickly.

Scratch pointed. “There’s the place.” His finger indicated a small storefront café named
The Bump and Grind
on the corner of Wilshire and Third Street. “Where are all the pole dancers, babe? Do they work this early?”

“You can ask about that when we get there.” Miller surveyed the patrons sitting on the patio. They kept looking back toward the street, again as if expecting something. She had another uneasy feeling. Worst of all, Max wasn’t there waiting. What if he didn’t show?

They walked briskly toward the café. The tall glass-faced entrance was maybe a block away, a structure sitting arrogant and proud smack dab on the corner of Wilshire Blvd. The two of them looked a bit out of place, but Los Angeles was full of oddities, so no one stared. For his part, Scratch seemed to be enjoying the sunshine and the sea breeze and the new normalcy of their surroundings. Meanwhile, Miller had her head on a swivel, looking for security—in particular the National Guard. The undead and the living both posed dangers of their own, but the Guard had access to government records. They certainly knew the zombie plague was real. They’d also be looking for her, their test case who’d escaped from Nevada. The guardsmen had automatic weapons and full legal authority. With their extra-judicial powers post emergency, and likely a warrant for her arrest, she knew they were by far the biggest threat.

Unless the zombies had somehow spread this far…

Miller’s eyes searched the area. She’d almost forgotten about Max and started looking for anyone who looked even remotely infected. The sun rose higher. The crowd remained packed onto both sides of the street, though people did cross over now and then. She was just beginning to wonder about that when she spotted a small unit of National Guard stationed down near a clothing store. Adrenaline flooded her system. One of the soldiers was eyeballing her. Miller kept her own eyes moving and ignored him. If she looked nervous at all, or even made eye contact, the soldiers could decide to approach, look for wants and warrants, even search them both. She was armed without a permit to carry, and being a retired sheriff from Nevada wouldn’t impress, and would probably raise about a hundred red flags. Miller wanted to avoid an arrest that at all costs.