The Hungry 5: All Hell Breaks Loose (The Sheriff Penny Miller Series) (21 page)

Charlie’s body stiffened and trembled in Rolf’s grip. He jerked like a man having a seizure.

“Rolf, drop Charlie,” Miller shouted. “He’s starting to turn.”

Instantly, Rolf let go. Charlie Robinson crumpled to the ground. His head hit the cement with a thump. Rolf backed away rapidly, Dudley at his side. The closest elf fell on Charlie, and took a healthy bite out of his face. Charlie screamed one last time and kicked out with his good leg and finally went still. The elf bit down on his neck. Meanwhile, Rolf ran back to the group as the rest of the zombies fell on what remained.

Shirley screamed. “You
bitch!
You just let him die.”

Miller brought up Charlie’s rifle and checked it. It was almost completely full. She aimed. BAM. BAM. BAM. BAM. BAM. Miller shot each of the little elves through the head, including the ones that had begun to feast on Charlie. She lowered the rifle. She’d screwed up. That outburst had taken all her ammunition. Now Charlie and the dead Santa were the only ones left.

Charlie’s leg twitched again. He sat up. Little elf bodies fell off him. Most of his face and leg were gone. Charlie was gone. His body had reanimated. Zombie Charlie sat up slowly and began to struggle to get to his feet to attack and feast on his former friends. Santa waited, as if entitled to reinforcements.

“Go,” called Miller to the others. “Get in the van.”

All seven of them went for the van. Shirley was the first to board, and went straight to the back of the van. She sat heavily on one of the benches and dropped her face into her hands.

Sheppard slammed the sliding door to lock them all safely inside.

“Keys are in it, just like Charlie said,” reported Scratch. He fired up the engine. Everyone buckled in. Rat sat staring down at her lap, trying to clear something from her weapon. Rolf and Dudley sat together, and this time both were panting. Rolf was talking to himself again, muttering something about New Year’s Eve.

Miller had an uneasy feeling it wasn’t over yet. She felt terrible about Charlie and especially bad that she had not saved a bullet for him. Things had gone south so quickly. She supposed in the end that it was just his bad karma, but that didn’t make her feel any better. She was sick about leaving him behind. Still, they’d had no other choice.

“Come on,” Miller said. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Where’s that sound coming from?” asked Sheppard. “Is it Charlie?”

Scratch shrugged. “More likely Bad Santa, my man. Old Charlie doesn’t have a voice box anymore.”

And just then Shirley screamed.

Miller spun around in her seat. Mrs. Claus had been hiding in the back of the van. The costumed woman appeared suddenly and wrapped her arms around Shirley. She chomped down on the carotid artery, looking a lot more like a chubby vampire than a zombie. Miller swore under her breath. Then, as they all watched, Mrs. Claus brought her head up and smiled, the gore and blood dripping down from her open mouth. Her white wig was askew. Shirley gurgled and died.

Brandon brought up Charlie’s .357. He shot twice—once into Mrs. Claus’s head, and after a brief hesitation once into Shirley’s. He turned to Scratch with a sad face. “Better release the back doors.”

Scratch fumbled with the controls and finally found the one he wanted. The rear doors opened. Brandon went to the wheelchair lift and pushed both Mrs. Claus and Shirley out of the van. He kicked their bodies off the ramp and down into the garage. They hit the floor with a loud thump and a disgusting splat. Brandon stepped back and Scratch closed the doors from the dashboard.

“And now we are six,” Brandon said, with his face impassive. Miller almost smiled at his gallows humor. He was becoming one of the team.

Scratch gunned the van. They rolled forward.

“Wait.” Miller raised her hand.

Seconds later, just as Miller had expected, first Charlie and then Santa stumbled out into the glare from the bright headlights. They stared at the front windshield, drooling with hunger. Zombie Charlie’s eyes were empty and his face just a scrambled mess. Santa was biting mindlessly at the air. Scratch looked at Miller for approval and she nodded. He slapped the van into gear and the tires screeched. Santa was knocked to the side. The van headed straight for Charlie. They hit the zombie straight on and when the big corpse rolled under the wheels they all felt the skull pop.

Scratch wheeled for the exit and raced up the ramp that led out of the parking garage. They sped up towards the surface without saying another word.

“Take 225 North, Scratch,” Miller said. She pointed to the turn up ahead.

Scratch smiled. “Aye, north it is, Cap’n!” He threw in a gratuitous, “Arr,” presumably because he thought someone might have missed the pirate reference. No one did, but no one cared, either. Scratch was doing his Terrill Lee thing again. He’d been trying to lighten the mood. They were all feeling sad and being too quiet. The van rocked to the right. Scratch took the turn a tad too fast and the metal frame complained. Miller searched herself for emotion but in the end she just felt numb. She didn’t want to think about Charlie, much less all the others she’d lost over the last several months. Hell, she didn’t want to think at all. She wished they’d taken a bottle of wine.

Up front, Scratch found some old CDs and quietly played some ‘90s rock.

Miller got up, held on to the ceiling with one hand, crossed the van and sat down next to Sheppard. “Brandon, would you excuse us?”

“Sure, Sheriff.” Brandon stood and went two seats farther into the back of the van. He sat down next to Rolf, who was mumbling, and brave little Dudley. He then made a big show of looking around the back of the van and up on the luggage racks. He was whistling tunelessly. Miller knew perfectly well that he would be able to hear some of their conversation, but she needed to confer with her people. Brandon wasn’t quite one of her people, at least not yet, and neither was Rolf. With luck they’d be in Idaho soon, and then in Mountain Home within a few hours. Then it wouldn’t matter if Brandon and Rolf remained with their team or not. Miller rubbed her temples. She dropped her voice close to a whisper and leaned in to speak with Sheppard.

Miller looked up at Scratch and said, “Hey, Scratch. Can you turn down that music? I need you to hear this.”

Scratch reduced the volume, but didn’t turn the music completely off. Sheppard signaled for Rat to come over and join them. Rat moved closer and sat on the bench seat next to Sheppard. They all huddled together.

“Okay,” said Miller, “this road will take us over the state line into Idaho, and then it leads directly up to Mountain Home. That’s the next real city on this route, but it’s about two hundred miles away. In case you were wondering, the rest of this stretch is pretty empty as far as I know.”

Sheppard frowned. “We don’t know exactly what we’re getting into, no matter how you look at it. We’d better slow down once we’re out in the open.”

Rat nodded in agreement. “Look, I can tell you that the road through to Idaho should be open and pretty much intact. Back at the base, I heard some talk about blowing up Idaho State Highway 51—same road as this one higher up—but that last I heard that plan got scuttled. The brass thought they might need it for tanks and fuel trucks.”

“I concur,” said Sheppard. “I heard the same rumor. Crystal Palace was often supplied by convoys moving up and down this road, and the government wanted it left open. Not everything can be flown in.”

“It’s bound to be guarded, at least on the other side,” Miller said.

Rat and Sheppard nodded. Rat said, “Yeah, but we’ll just have to face that once we get there.”

Behind them, Brandon opened something he’d discovered up on the luggage rack. He explored the contents.

Sheppard and Rat waited. Miller looked at each of them in turn. “So it looks like we have us a plan, such as it is. We stay on this road all the way up to Mountain Home.” She turned to Rat. “I need to clear up something that’s been on my mind of late. Francine, what are your intentions once we get back to civilization?”

Rat seemed amused by hearing her first name. “Penelope Jean, Mountain Home was General Gifford’s home base, may he rot in hell. So that’s my only connection to what is left of our civilization. And civilization means access to my overseas bank accounts. As much as I’ve enjoyed wading hip deep in zombie shit with you folks at my side, that’s where I expect to get off this train.”

Miller just shrugged. “Actually, I figured as much. Just don’t start counting your money yet. God knows what state the banking system is in, or how far the plague has spread by now.”

“You can count on one thing,” Rat said. She sat back against the wall of the van. “The rich will be safe and sound.”

“Most likely,” Miller grinned. “You got me there.”

They rode in silence for a while. Miller felt a flash of envy, yet she was happy for Rat, who seemed determined to get far away from the plague and live a luxurious lifestyle. Despite their differences, Miller had come to care for her. They all had. Rat was courageous and witty and competent. She’d most surely be missed.

Seeing the conversation had slowed, Brandon edged over. He appeared next to Miller’s shoulder. “Sheriff, can I have a second?”

“Brandon, we’re still having a pow-wow,” Miller said. “Is this important? Can it wait?”

“I think you’re going to want to see this.”

Miller turned fully to face him. “Go ahead then.”

Brandon went back to the luggage rack in the back of the van. He moved some gear around and opened a container. “Like I said, you might want to come and see this for yourself.”

“Just tell me it isn’t something dead that’s about to get up and boogie,” Miller groaned.

Brandon smiled faintly and shook his head. “No, I think you’ll like this.”

Miller stood up, and went to join him at the back of the van. She shined the lantern into the box he had just discovered. She whistled and grinned.

Inside the crate were four M-4 rifles, with three empty magazines for each of the weapons. They had also been properly cleaned and packed very carefully. A perfect re-supply for their broken and battered weapons. If they’d just had some ammo, it would have been a real Godsend after one long and shitty night.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Miller said. “Charlie, you miserable prick. Guys, that ornery son of a bitch kept on holding out on us, right to the very end.” She patted Brandon on the shoulder. “Good job, Brandon. Too bad you didn’t find us any ammunition for those beautiful babies.”

“Don’t worry about that, Sheriff. It turns out that Rolf’s been sitting on a gold mine.” Brandon turned to Rolf. “Show her.”

Rolf, who had been watching the exchange, stood and bowed. He had that little trinket he kept on a string around his neck in his mouth again. The thing he kept chewing. He patted his leg and Dudley went to his side. Rolf bowed again, his odd gaze focused on Miller. She ignored him, and stood there grinning, staring down at five pristine, unopened containers of ammunition for the new M-4s.

“Brandon, that’s damned fine work.” Miller turned to Sheppard and Rat. “It looks like Charlie left us a late Christmas present after all. Everybody grab a couple of magazines and an ammo box. We might as well pass the time loading and sighting these weapons. It sure beats hell out of staring out the window.”

Brandon, Rat, and Rolf each picked up two magazines. Rolf opened one of the ammunition boxes, and they shared the supplies between them. Miller knew the others felt as glad as she was to be both busy and heavily armed. The world didn’t seem quite as grim as it had just moments before. The music helped a bit, too, though Miller wished Scratch would switch to some solid gold country.

For some reason, Sheppard hadn’t started loading ammo. Miller looked at him. He was staring at Rolf. He had a concerned look on his face. Miller felt a flicker of alarm.

“What’s the matter?” she asked him.

He ignored her. He cleared his throat. “Rolf, what’s that you’re chewing on?”

Rolf smiled. He had that little white stick he wore around his neck clenched between his teeth like a cigar. “This is my relic, my balm, my salvation. It is mine and no one else’s but the one I took it from.”

Miller frowned. “You want to try that again in English?”

Brandon spoke without looking up. He slapped a magazine into his M-4. “That used to belong to his wife.”

“Oh,” Miller said. “Then what’s the big deal, Karl?”

“Sheriff,” Brandon said, “I don’t think you understand. That thing literally belonged to his wife, okay? It’s her index finger.”

They all stared at Rolf. He just chewed on the tiny bone.

Brandon didn’t notice. He continued without emotion. “Her named was Naomi. She was one of us. She disobeyed Father Abraham, so he decided to feed her to those zombies he’d conned us into worshipping. After she’d been bitten and turned, he ordered Rolf to put her down. He did it, but I guess that was more than he could bear. He hasn’t been the same since. Anyway, he keeps that finger around his neck as a remembrance.”

“Oh, my God,” Rat whispered. Miller was surprised. Nothing rattled Rat, except maybe Scratch on occasion. She was now studying Rolf with genuine sympathy.

Miller also kept her eyes on Rolf, who was definitely not tuned in to the content of their conversation. “So she was turned?”

Brandon looked up. “Yeah, because that was before we figured out that the zombies needed uninfected human meat in order to eat.”

Rolf chewed and sucked on the bone.

Sheppard watched Rolf. He licked his lips. “I’m not sure you want to put that thing in your mouth, Rolf.”

“
Ani l’dodi, v’dodi li,”
Rolf said. He stared at the rivets on the wall with blank eyes. “I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.”