The Hungry 5: All Hell Breaks Loose (The Sheriff Penny Miller Series) (18 page)

Miller thought about that for a long time. She knew that Charlie could be an excellent resource for them. He was a great shot, knew the area well, and had managed to survive all this time with just Shirley for backup. But clearly, despite some steamy dating, there was a lot she still didn’t know about Charlie regarding his overall sexual appetite, as well as his surprising interest in men. It wasn’t his sexual orientation that bothered her—well, it did, but mainly because he had been keeping those key things a secret from her. It suggested he was capable of deception in intimate relationships.

She had spent so much time worrying about whether she could trust Brandon and Vanessa. She should really be wondering about Charlie and Shirley. They were
not
on board with her team or their goals.

The others waited. Finally, Miller made up her mind. “No firearms.”

Charlie blinked and his jaw dropped open. “What?”

“You got it,” Rat said.

Charlie’s face twisted into a mask of anger. Before he could further protest, Miller said, “That’s my decision, Charlie. No guns, at least not until we are very far away from here.”

“Just why the hell not, Penny?”

She studied him. Their confrontation was sobering her up, for which she was grateful. “Well, I aim to level the playing field, Charlie. You seem to be pretty comfortable here. You know where everything is and you know all the right places to hide. For example, if that’s all the food you have, how the hell do you expect to last another week here? You’re holding out on us, and that makes you untrustworthy. Sorry, but I have my people to look after. Once we’re back on the road, it’ll be in your best interest to keep my whole team alive. Right now, depending on what happens, maybe not so much. Let’s just say I want you to stay properly motivated and leave it at that.”

Charlie raised his hand as if in preparation for an argument, and Rat moved closer, ready to take him down. Miller waved her back. Charlie took a breath, but just as he formed the first words, the confrontation was interrupted.

“Hold on,” said Shirley from across the room. “We’re coming with you?”

Charlie looked at Miller as well. “Are we?”

“Unless you want to stay here while we head up to Idaho.”

“You’re really going to take us out of here?” cried Shirley. “Yeehaw!” she shouted, much too loud in the quite room. Much too loud for anyone’s comfort.

Rolf opened his eyes. “Walter says be quiet.”

“Shirley!” Charlie said in a hoarse whisper. “What the hell are you doing? You’re going to attract the albinos if you make a racket.”

Shirley quieted down. “Oops, sorry, I’m a little drunk.” Then the terrified expression on her face said it all. Scratch and Miller exchanged looks.

From the fireplace, Brandon said, “Coffee coming right up.”

It took Scratch a bit longer to catch on. When he did, he shook off the booze and got to his feet. “Hey, what did you just say, Charlie? What’s with this albino shit?”

Miller’s buzz was gone fast as a pig’s breakfast. She was glad she’d assembled the weapons and asked for some hot coffee. It appeared she’d been right about Charlie all along. “You want to fill us in?”

Charlie lifted a finger to his lips. He shushed them to listen. They all went quiet. Nothing happened at first, but then Miller felt her skin crawl. Dudley whined and growled low in his throat.

There came an odd tapping, scraping sound. They all heard it. It happened again. The cadaver dog got to his feet and growled.

Miller located the danger. The subtle, creepy noise was coming from the opposite side of the door that led out into the corridor. Miller and Rat exchanged concerned looks. Scratch got up and tiptoed closer to the weapons. Scratch tossed Miller one of the .30-06 rifles. He handed weapons out to the others and everyone took their assigned positions. Shirley wilted, hugged her guitar and began to cry. Rolf quieted the dog as Dudley began to growl and showed his teeth.

Miller listened intently, and soon she heard another noise, one that was even more ominous, something eerie that sounded kind of like bare feet shuffling along thick carpet. The approaching footsteps stopped outside the door to their suite.

And then that soft tapping came again. Not one or two fingers. Lots.

Miller felt her stomach flip over. “Charlie Robinson, you are a bastard.”

Charlie hefted one of the fire axes. “Sorry Penny, there’s no time to explain everything right now. Things are about to get very, very interesting.”

“Have they ever figured out how to get in here?” whispered Miller. She loaded the .30-06 efficiently as she spoke. Scratch had already armed the others, except for Charlie, who still held the fire axe. Miller figured Shirley was planning on trying to beat zombies to death with her six string, because she didn’t reach for a weapon.

“Yeah,” Charlie said with his eyes elsewhere, sort of like a guilty child. “A couple of times. They must smell something good in here. There’s never been this many.”

“Charlie, you self-centered prick.” Miller scowled, but kept her voice down. “You thought they’d give you an edge. When this is all over, remind me to shoot you right in the pecker for holding out on us.”

“You already tried that once today, darlin’.” Charlie moved and took a position by the right side of the front door. “What the hell makes you think your aim would be any better next time?”

Miller stepped forward. She had a visceral urge to aim the rifle and dispatch Charlie right then and there for putting her people in mortal danger, but knew she’d need both the ammo and his experienced backup for what was to come. Of course he’d known far more than he’d been letting on. She couldn’t help but spit out
sotto voce
string of invective. “You arrogant, two-timing, goat fucking, lying little scrotum sack of rat droppings…”

Before Miller could find another appropriate insult, Scratch took her by the shoulders and steered her away. “All right, everybody. We got us a situation here, and now is not the time for a pissing contest. Penny, focus those pretty eyes.
Zombies. Are. Outside!
Now, what’s next?”

Miller hung the rifle over the crook of her arm. “Ask Sheriff Robinson, why don’t you? This is his turf. He’s been hiding here for months.”

Scratch glowered at Charlie. “Yeah, this asshole was setting us all up, getting us all buzzed and sleepy. He probably planned to slip away once things hit the fan.”

“There it is,” Miller said. “With our weapons, of course.”

“I’m shocked and hurt that you would think of me that way,” he feigned.

Rat racked a round. “Well, now he’s trapped in here with us. If there’s another way out he’s going to have to let us all in on it. So I say let’s make him figure out our next move.”

The doorknob rattled and shook.

Miller could smell them now. The intruders carried the foul reek of unburied flesh. She could also sense that these new zombies weren’t quite like anything she’d run into before, though she couldn’t have said why. There were several out in the hallway now. Her overactive imagination pictured them scratching feverishly at the wood panels with filthy, broken nails; shoving against each other out of blind, rapacious hunger and with that dark and mindless rage. She could feel their frustration building. The virus had tuned her to their frequency.

Charlie took a safer position behind the big sofa. As if taking their cue from Charlie, the others all gathered around him, settled in, and got ready to fire at the door.

Miller shook her head. She was still furious. “I thought you cleared the building, Charlie. How could you not clear the building?”

“We did clear the building, Penny. Best we can figure, the albinos were living down in the storm drains and sewers. They only come out at night to look around for food. Like I said, we figure they don’t like the sunlight much.”

“What else aren’t you telling us?” Scratch asked.

“That’s all I know, damn it. Look, it’s not like I keep them locked in a ballroom and let them out for entertainment on the nights we have guests.”

Some of the creatures slammed their bodies into the door outside. Others banged into the walls. Dudley growled even louder now and barked and Rolf had to calm him. There were a lot of zombies outside and they were all snorting and growling and pushing and shoving each other like it was Black Friday at Macy’s. The stench was overpowering. Shirley retched in the corner. She was as useless as tits on a nun.

Miller scowled. “And during all this time, it never occurred to you to just fucking block up the storm drains?”

Rat tipped over the tables to add to their cover. Brandon and Sheppard stood side by side, with weapons ready and ammo in a pile between them. Rolf and Dudley squatted down together behind their line. Rolf was whispering to his invisible friend Walter. Miller found herself hoping a real Walter would show up because they were likely to need the extra help once that door gave way. A pair of extra hands would be nice.

“Penny, we don’t have time to argue,” Charlie said. “When they get in, just aim for the throat. It’s the only thing that will stop them.”

Miller, Scratch, Sheppard, Brandon, and Rat all exchanged startled glances. Rolf and Dudley cocked their heads like twins.
What the hell did he just say?

Miller said, “The throat?”

Rat got there before Miller could. “You mean the head, right?”

Charlie shook his head. “The only surefire way to stop an albino zombie is to destroy the brainstem, so we aim for the throat because that’s the best way to wipe it out. Come on, don’t you fools know anything?”

Brandon cleared his throat. He sounded scared. “Is there any reason we’re not barricading the door?”

“Sweetcakes, you’re very welcome to trot on over there and take care of that all by your lonesome, if it suits you,” said Charlie. He focused his attention on the door to the suite. “They may break in first and gobble you up, of course.”

Brandon whispered, “Prick.”

Whatever was on the other side kept on pounding and pushing and the entrance began to give way. The wallpaper bulged and spider-webbed apart and finally tore open. Drywall cracked. Dust floated down from the door hinges. The humans waited for the battle to begin. They watched the entrance with a growing sense of helplessness, faces pale in the lantern light and the flickering flames from the fire. Miller set herself and slowed her breathing.

Without warning, the wooden frame shifted and the door started to open.

“Showtime!” said Charlie just as the first zombie appeared.

Dudley started barking and snapping at the air and generally going crazy. Rolf could barely hold the leash. Miller couldn’t blame the mutt. She would have done the same thing if she were in his shoes. At least he had some balls.

The first albino zombie stumbled into the suite.

The horrid thing had pale, waxen skin and white, egg-like eyes. It was dressed in a military flight suit, like it was a dead fighter pilot. The zombie had broken bones. It was hunched over, decrepit, moving like an old man without a cane. The stench was stifling now. The creature stumbled forward. More followed.

The doorway was soon packed with them, all scrambling to attack, arms outstretched and mouths wide open and snarling. As Miller watched, another came through, this one a female wearing a hard hat and a bright orange t-shirt, like a construction worker. Behind that one was a smaller zombie, most likely it had once been a young boy, but now it was hard to tell because of the extreme state of decay. Miller watched as an ear fell off. There were several others crowding in behind the boy, all of them pallid and dead-eyed.

These zombies operated differently somehow. They came through in an orderly fashion, almost in single file. They came into the room without a frontal assault. They had some kind of strategy, or so it appeared, but it was something new and different.

“Wait,” Miller said. “Hold your fire.”

Miller studied the zombies. She’d expected them to flank the humans on both sides, like a triad would. These zombies didn’t seem to be doing that maneuver at all, though she wouldn’t have wanted to stake her life on that. Well, her life
was
staked on this, one way or another. Miller could tell a group mind was at work. She wanted to see if she could get ahead of their plans before the battle descended into chaos.

“Hold your fire,” she said again. “Wait for my command.”

Scratch whispered in her ear, “What the fuck are we waiting for, Penny? Are you losing your nerve again?”

“Shut up,” she replied.

She studied this odd new breed of zombie. The most striking thing about them, for Miller, was their pasty white color. Most zombies were green, brown, or black with decay. These looked like the Pillsbury doughboy, but only if he had been left out of the refrigerator for far too long. The zombies settled into position in a kind of curved line, apparently intending to attack from all sides. It wasn’t a triad move but close enough for country music. It would be a full frontal assault.

They were about to attack. Everyone could sense it.

“I want even fields of fire,” Miller said. “Divide the room into specific areas, two or three wide, and then stick to your spot. Try to keep mowing them down. Trust your teammates to have your flanks.”

“Got it,” Rat said.

Scratch said, “How soon, do you figure?”

“Now,” Miller said. “It’s going to be on any damn second.”

“When you do shoot,” said Charlie, almost as afterthought, “Make sure it’s in the throat. I shit you not.”

“And you are sure about that?” Sheppard asked. “A head shot always does it.” He took aim, and fired the first shot, putting right into the pilot zombie’s forehead. It dropped like a bag of wet toilet paper, limbs akimbo. Shirley screamed at the noise and covered her ears. Dudley barked some more. They all studied the fallen zombie leader. It sure seemed down. But then Miller saw its leg twitch. She had a feeling like wanting to throw up. It trembled and twitched and rolled over onto one side. Half of its brain spilled out onto the thick carpet. It started to rise. The pilot zombie opened its mouth.