The Hungry 4: Rise of the Triad (The Sheriff Penny Miller Series) (8 page)

MALIBU SERENITY CENTER, HOSPITAL WARD

“Hey, she’s awake!”

Miller had a nasty headache. She slowly opened her eyes. She was looking up at a golden-colored faux ceiling. The air reeked of a strong, pine-scented cleanser. She could hear something beeping softly up behind her head.

Miller groaned. She felt pretty beat up. Every part of her hurt, some in surprising new ways. Her head was in a vise. Her back felt like a truck had hit her low and from behind. Her elbows and hands prickled with some kind of odd heat. Her ears hurt with every little sound. And even her groin complained, feeling like she had been violated in some way. She tried to shift her position, but she was stuck in place like an insect on flypaper.

Something came into her vision. A blur that slowly became a person. A Black woman in nurses’ scrubs looked down at her with a soft, neutral smile. “Hello, Penny. You’ve been out a long time. Can you speak?”

“Yes,” Miller managed. Her tongue and throat felt like a Nevada sidewalk in August.

“Would you like some water?”

Miller nodded, but immediately wished she hadn’t. Her head throbbed again. Despite the fresh pain, she slowly turned her head so that she could see the rest of her body. She was connected to IV tubes at her hands and inner elbows on both sides of her body. That seemed strange, though her mind couldn’t quite process why. There was another tube hanging at her side. It was connected to a urine bag. That told her that she must have been catheterized while she was out.

A strange man appeared. He stared down at her. Miller flinched back. He was vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him. The man looked like some corporate executive who had been left out in the sun way too long. His presence frightened her. Miller wanted to close her eyes again, but the man’s gaze was too intense. He seemed to be trying to communicate something.

“Hey, darlin’,” the man said, finally.

Miller squinted. “Scratch?”

“Hi there.”

Miller swallowed. She croaked out a sentence. “Scratch, what the hell happened to your hair?”

“Oh, this?” Scratch ran his hand across light-brown, newly close-cropped hair. “I got it cut. Do you like it?”

Miller was too drugged up to lie. “No.”

His face fell.

“You look like some crooked old city politician eyeballing babes at a church fundraiser.”

Scratch was hurt. “Thanks.”

Dazed, Miller looked around. A shaded window overlooked the ocean. She could tell that it was late afternoon, because an intense pallet of sunset made the far wall look like it was on fire. A pair of seagulls swooped past the window outside. Miller surveyed the hospital room. An x-ray was clipped onto a machine attached to the opposite wall, but the light was off so she couldn’t quite make out what it looked like. Above her head was a vital signs monitor, though she couldn’t read it either from that angle. She struggled to make sense of her situation. She had only vague memories of the previous night, having trouble falling asleep, having a terrible dream. She’d gone for a long walk and somehow ended up getting into trouble. Everything was a blur.

Scratch had stepped back from the bedside. He looked a tad upset. Miller felt bad about that, but her concern about his feelings lasted about as long as a goose fart in a snowstorm. She needed to remember why she was here, but somehow couldn’t.

The nurse came back with a tiny cup of water. She slipped the straw between Miller’s lips. Miller drank greedily. Her throat was parched, and soon she was slurping the bottom of the cup like a kid with a milkshake.

“More.”

“No, that’s enough. Wait until your stomach gets better. How do you feel?”

“Like a slice of ass pie. What the hell happened to me?”

Scratch answered before the nurse could respond. “You went swimming in the ocean on your own, and they say you had a seizure. One of the guards saw you struggling and pulled you out just in time. You were lucky to be rescued.”

“Swimming?” Miller searched her memory again. She remembered slipping out of bed, looking for something to eat, walking down the stairs. She remembered some men… soldiers? That was all she could recall. The slate had been wiped clean. All she knew is that she felt awful.

The nurse quickly examined her and the equipment leading to the monitors, checking this and adjusting that. “Well, it seems you’re going to be okay, Penny, despite everything that happened. The doctor will be here shortly. In the meantime, please try to relax.”

“Uh, okay…”

The nurse walked out of the room without closing the door. Another nurse hurried by carrying a clipboard. A voice spoke from a loudspeaker down the hall, but the words were muffled. Someone rolled a tray past the door, but by then Miller was looking at Scratch and his new haircut. She didn’t know what to make of it.

Scratch slipped his hand into Miller’s. He squeezed. The IV needle made her hand sting. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. Miller tried to pull her hand away from his, but she couldn’t get it to move—or anything else, for that matter.

“I’m in restraints?”

“You’ve had a couple more seizures since they brought you here. The restraints are to keep you from ripping out the IVs and hurting yourself again.”

“Take them off.”

“I can’t.” Scratch straightened up. “I’m worried about you, sweetness. I saw you have one of those seizures earlier this morning. It scared the living crap out of me. There’s something seriously wrong with you.”

“No, it’s this place that’s wrong, Scratch,” insisted Miller. Her mind began to clear, though the details remained hazy. “I don’t think I went swimming. I couldn’t sleep, so I just went for a walk around the building.”

Scratch frowned. Miller moved her eyes, asking him to lean closer so she could whisper. Scratch brought his ear close to her lips.

“I remember what happened now. I stumbled across a prison ward. Hospital beds with people strapped down, sort of like I am right now. I spoke to a stranger who asked me for help. It was a horror show, Scratch. They’re doing experiments here, I’m telling you. Rubenstein is lying to us. We need to get the hell out while we still can.”

Scratch shook his head. He had a look of sadness on his craggy face. Without the beard and long hair, he looked younger. How old was he, anyway? She had never asked. “They said you would be paranoid when you woke up.”

“I’m not being paranoid.”

Scratch sat back and patted her hand condescendingly, but Miller could tell he was torn. They knew each other far too well. He studied her face.

“Please,” Miller said. “You have to get me out of this bed.” She pulled on one of the restraints, but it held her fast. “Scratch, believe me. I’m fine.”

Before he could answer her, Scratch turned his head. His expression alone told Miller that someone else had entered the room.

“Well, how’s my patient?” Dr. Rubenstein asked cheerfully. He approached the bed, an unctuous look of concern on his pudgy face.

Miller stared up at him. He held all the cards. She wasn’t sure if she should just continue to play dumb or unload. Caution won out. She was tied down, and Scratch was unarmed. She decided to give Scratch some time to process what she’d said.

“She’s about as good as you could expect,” said Scratch.

Miller momentarily felt relieved. Maybe Scratch had believed her. At least he hadn’t thrown her under the bus. Rubenstein picked up her medical chart. He perused it, nodding thoughtfully. He made a few notes with a pen.

Scratch stood up and planted his feet. “What’s the story on these seizures, Doc? Penny never had them before.”

“Understandable, actually.” Rubenstein looked up from the chart. “A condition like Penny’s doesn’t always present itself right away.”

“And what condition is that?” asked Miller. She wanted more water but was too proud to ask Rubenstein for anything.

Rubenstein put the chart back on the metal table near the bed. His expression shifted to become stern and professorial. “It’s the virus.”

Miller felt her stomach do a back flip. “Wait, the virus?”

“The zombie virus you were exposed to so unfortunately months ago has managed to mutate again. You have something brand new inside you, Penny. Something we’ve never quite seen before.”

“Jesus on a jet ski,” Scratch whispered. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Let me see if I can explain this in lay terms,” Rubenstein said. “In the same way it helped you heal from the gunshot wound to your shoulder back at the beginning of the troubles, the zombie virus has now recklessly accelerated some precancerous cells that were buried in your brain.”

“Just what does that mean?”

He sighed. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Penny, but you now have a large tumor in your brain. And it’s growing bigger by the day. That’s why you’ve been feeling so off, hearing and seeing things, not sleeping, perhaps even hallucinating”

“I don’t believe you,” Miller whispered. “
You
did this to me somehow.”

Rubenstein shrugged. He glanced at Scratch with a sad expression. He walked over to the x-ray light box and turned it on. The picture there showed a skull and a brain with a large white blob on the right side. It was the size of a golf ball. Miller’s insides turned to ice and fire. Her entire system reacted with a burst of adrenaline that erased all the aches and pains. This couldn’t be true, could it? Had she been slowly going crazy?

“Bullshit,” Miller said. “You’re lying. How do I even know that’s really a picture of me?”

“Scratch, as you can plainly see, I was also right about the growing paranoia,” Rubenstein said. “She won’t trust anyone by the time this is over.”

“Easy, Penny.” Scratch stepped close to Miller. He held her hand again. “What are we going to do about this, Doc?”

“I’m not certain that there’s much we
can
do. The cancer has already invaded several important structures, including the hippocampus. I’ve consulted with some of the best oncologists in California. If we operate, the likelihood of survival is low, and if she did survive, Penny’s ability to form new memories would most likely be severely impaired. And because of the presence of the zombie virus in your system, Penny, we also would have no way of knowing that the cancer wouldn’t just as rapidly return. In short, all we can do for now is try and make you comfortable.”

“So you’re saying I’m going to die,” said Miller. The room was spinning.

“Everyone dies, Penny,” said Rubenstein. He seemed sincere. “What I’m saying is that your prognosis is… troubling. We are not sure it makes any sense to operate, because even if you survive the surgery, your quality of life will be diminished considerably after. So it really doesn’t look good either way.”

“Let me talk to Scratch.” Miller could feel frustration rising up inside of her. It wasn’t because of all this talk of cancer, but because Scratch appeared to be buying into it. His eyes were red and he looked heartbroken. Miller tried and failed to hold herself in check. She knew Rubenstein was lying, he just had to be, but he also had the advantage of his authority. Miller couldn’t remember everything. She was being labeled paranoid and tied down to a hospital bed.

“Of course,” Rubenstein said. “I’ll check on you later.” Miller thought she detected just the hint of a smile on his face. Or perhaps she was paranoid.
Who wouldn’t be, at this point?

Miller and Scratch watched him walk out of the door. She waited until it closed behind him. Then she waved her fingers, urging Scratch to come close again, and speak quietly into her ear. He crouched by the bed. She smelled his aftershave. He still looked like a stranger. Another wave of anxiety coursed through her.

“Scratch,” Miller whispered, “you don’t seriously believe him, do you?”

“It makes sense…”

Miller cut him off. “Of course it makes sense. The logic seems overwhelming. He has all the props. Me, I’m tied down and full of needles. But it’s utter bullshit. Scratch, I swear to you on Terrill Lee’s grave that I don’t have cancer. I’ve been set up. I have seen too much.”

“Penny, I know this is difficult to accept,” Scratch whispered, “but I think this is serious. That zombie juice fucked with your innards. You’re really sick.”

Miller thought furiously. She had to find some way to convince Scratch that this was all a ruse to keep them here. Maybe Rubenstein wanted to turn her into a vegetable, someone that they could do their experiments on with impunity. Hell, maybe the damned Army was in on this, and the center was just hiding behind the guise of a rehab facility. That, or something like it.

“Scratch, they are doing experiments here. I talked to one of their subjects before a pair of soldiers took me down. I think they’re juicing people with that same stuff that turned me into Super-Sheriff back in the day. I think they even juiced me again.”

“Penny,” Scratch whispered in a warning tone.

“You have to listen to me,” she hissed. “They’ve got corridor after corridor of people strapped to beds on the other side of the compound. I remember more now. I talked to a guy named Alex, and he said that they were injecting him with something that made him hungry, something that made his skin crawl. It has got to be the same kind of thing. Sheppard’s zombie juice or something very damned like it.”

Scratch got up. He walked over to the window, which was now darkening at the approach of night. He looked out at the ocean. Miller closed her eyes. Talking so much was making her headache worsen. She waited for him to come back to her bedside. She felt his presence, the breath entering her ear as he whispered again.

“Penny, I want to believe you. I do.”

“You’d better,” she said. “Our lives are at stake.”

Scratch stood up. He stopped whispering and spoke in his normal voice. “Penny, this is serious, and I need you to take it seriously. You have brain cancer. It’s killing you. I saw the x-ray. We need to deal with that, not some imaginary events that happened during a seizure. There are no prisoners here. No people being experimented on.”