The Hungry (Book 2): The Wrath of God (19 page)

It was cold as a cast iron toilet seat. Bugs scuttled through the rocks and overhead a bat fluttered by on wings as dry as sandpaper. Miller's eyes had adjusted to the darkness but there wasn't much to see. She wrinkled her nose. The black cavern they occupied smelled like shit. Apparently someone—Miller didn't bother wondering who—had crapped themselves. Her own bladder was ready to burst, but she hoped that someone would come to move them, feed and water or even kill them before she suffered that final indignity. Enough was enough.

Miller's stomach was in knots, and it wasn't from fear. Though she had no idea what hour it was, she knew the clock was ticking down to zero. The entire area was going to be a ball of fire. She also had had plenty of time to recall her last meal, which seemed tantalizing and delicious. It had been one of those God-awful food bars that Cochrane had brought with them to Crystal Palace, and it had been about midnight when she'd eaten it. Miller wanted it back. She'd had only a few handfuls of peanuts since. And with her accelerated, barely-controlled semi-zombie metabolism, her body was already literally eating itself alive. Her heart had sped up and her muscles felt engorged and throbbed mercilessly. She felt off balance and always on the edge of rage. It was not a fun experience. And the worst part was, even if she somehow did manage to die from starvation, Sheppard had warned her of the possibility that she could rise again as a zombie, and then, of course, she would
still
be fucking hungry, and in the worst possible way.

What a rip-off.

Miller shifted position. Her wrists ached because her circulation was impaired by the ropes that bound her. The pain in her bladder steadily increased. She was more worried, however, about her surviving friends. Not so much Rat and Lovell—hell, when it came down to it, they were kind of part of the damned problem—but Scratch, Sheppard, and especially Elizabeth. Miller knew she had a duty to protect them all, and she'd let them all down. She'd lost poor Terrill Lee… even Psycho.

Miller scowled in the darkness. If she could have moved, she would have kicked herself in the ass for ever trusting that sick fuck Abraham. She had no excuse but exhaustion and the pressures of their situation. All in all, Miller realized she'd have been better off shooting the old man and commandeering his vehicle.
That's what you get for being soft hearted…

She'd lost her bearings, been puzzled and shocked to see the motley band of survivors. It hadn't helped that Vanessa had been with them—they weren't exactly the best of friends, but Miller always liked the girl well enough and considered Vanessa to have a good head on her shoulders. Back then, anyway.

Miller chewed at her gag and struggled to loosen her bonds. She had to do something and soon. If any of them died, or were somehow further violated by these people for that matter, Miller didn't think she would be able to forgive herself. But at the moment there was nothing she could do, one way or another. Her heart continued to pound as her metabolism shifted. The remnants of the zombie virus continued to express itself inside her system. She was helpless and ready to explode.

Something clattered in another part of the cavern, perhaps a loose rock sliding down the wall? Miller listened intently. Eventually, she dismissed the noise as one of her friends shifting around. But then the sound came again. It gradually found a slow rhythm, echoed, and resolved itself into footsteps. Someone was coming. Penny Miller tensed up. She couldn't decide whether to be relieved or even more deeply concerned. She opted for both and just felt even more crazy.

Miller studied the darkness and listened to the footsteps as they moved closer and closer. Eventually something shifted on the wall and a long shadow appeared, outlined by yellow. There was a flicker of light, and now she could hear some soft whispering. Miller could see two figures enter the room, but she couldn't identify them. It was just a man and a woman carrying a torch. The male wasn't Abraham, that was for sure. Since Miller was gagged, she couldn't ask who was coming or cuss them out. She couldn't do anything but wait. She didn't appreciate feeling helpless, not one damn bit. But since she had no choice, Miller watched and waited. At least her bladder had stopped bothering her. She had far more to worry about than taking a nice long pee.

The torch moved closer and the cavern came into view. Miller could now see just well enough to realize that they had placed Scratch, Sheppard, and Lovell off to her left side. Rat and Elizabeth lay on the right, the girl closest to Miller. Perhaps the child had soiled herself. The woman who approached knelt down while the man held the torch. The female inspected the men, who stared back. Even in the dim light, Miller could see the fierce hatred in Scratch's eyes. He mumbled something behind his own gag. If Miller was righteously pissed and humiliated by her situation, it was also sure as sunset that Scratch's head was about to explode. He'd be snake fanged with the desire to beat the shit out of these two newcomers. Scratch abruptly shifted back and forth, but they had tied him up good, just as they had done to Miller herself, and he wasn't going anywhere in the near future.

The man stepped back with the torch and Scratch, Lovell, and Sheppard dropped back into shadow. The woman got to her feet and the two whispered something. Miller felt her pulse shift yet again. She stopped struggling against her bonds and lay still.
Just give me one chance and I'll tear your throats out…

The two visitors made their way across the cave floor and over to where Miller, Elizabeth, and Rat lay still. Their footsteps echoed faintly. Tiny creatures scuttled away. The light hurt her eyes but now Miller could see the woman's face. She seemed to be relatively young, a little younger than Miller though older than Rat. The woman wore her black hair back in a tight ponytail. She had large eyes, lazy with arrogance. Back in Flat Rock, she would have been a store clerk or a stay-at-home trailer park mom. God only knew what the zombie outbreak and Abraham's rash megalomania had turned her into now. She looked at Miller and Rat with the same consideration she might give a cantaloupe or a steak at the market back before the collapse.

The man stood nearby, as if waiting for the woman to say something. He looked like a farmer, blond-haired and freckled, with nervous blue eyes. He wore blue jeans and a worn, torn work shirt with a string tie. Miller read his face. Far less cocky than the female, his features were a study in conflict. He clearly didn't approve of what they were doing.

Finally, the woman spoke. "Leave the soldier," she said in a clear, high voice. "Abraham wants the redhead."

The man nodded. He produced a large Bowie knife. The woman held a pistol in her hand. She aimed it right at Miller's stomach with a cruel expression. Miller froze. The vengeance she'd had in mind would just have to wait.

The man stuck the torch in a crevice on the rock wall. The flame flickered and rolled black shadow ribbons out behind him. He bent down and cut the tie that bound her ankles. Miller's pulse was thumping. She could feel the blood rush back into her feet, a cold sensation followed by a painful prickliness. She played weak and helpless. The man dragged her into a sitting position, and Miller realized she actually was lightheaded. She cursed the combination of the pain in her bladder and her gnawing, growing hunger. The man tugged. Miller resisted standing up. She didn't know if she would maintain consciousness. Responding, the man took her under the armpits and hauled Miller to her feet. Miller acted woozier than she was. She studied his face. His touch was firm but gentle, and as his eyes roved over her they broke contact. He was ashamed.

Miller started to say something through the gag. Nothing came out. The woman immediately responded.

"Shut up, bitch."

The woman jammed the pistol into her stomach. Miller stared down at it, a .38 special. She stayed quiet. Miller didn't want to know if the woman was willing to waste precious ammunition on her. Her expression seemed to say that "dead or alive" were of equal value, at least as far as she was concerned.

Scratch kicked at some dirt with his boot heel, perhaps in protest. Sheppard was unconscious or pretending to be out. Lovell studied the scene sullenly. Elizabeth stared up with wide, panicked eyes. Rat had a flat expression but her eyes were memorizing everything around her while she still had some light.

Miller rolled her shoulders. Now that she was standing and not lying on her hands, the sensation began to return to them as well, and with that feeling came more pain. Numb and exhausted, Miller wondered if that's what zombies felt all the time, this strange mix of pain and hunger and total despair. That seemed likely all of a sudden. And now she really didn't want to find out. She'd have to convince Abraham to feed her something and soon, before her body failed and she turned undead for good.

"Let's go," the woman said.

The man took Miller by the elbow. She allowed herself to be led. As they reached the opening, she looked back as her friends returned helplessly to their awful darkness.

The three of them walked down a long, rock-lined passage. They were in some sort of abandoned mine. A few places had boards nailed together to create support beams. Lanterns were hung on the walls, although most were not lit. They walked and walked and Miller grew stronger. The rank smell of the cavern behind them faded away. Miller squinted and rolled her shoulders, moved her wrists. Eventually she could see real light up ahead. The woman shoved her from behind and Miller stumbled. She slipped to her knees and sharp gravel dug into exposed flesh. The man helped her back to her feet.

The trio moved on, turning a corner. The light was bright in her face, so bright that she couldn't see, and she stumbled again. The man caught and supported her, helped her walk forward. Miller found her balance and stopped, still swaying slightly and staring into the direct sunlight.

The cave led into an opening in the mountain, a huge bowl with no cover overhead. The place was surreal. It reminded Miller of an arena or amphitheater. She figured it at about thirty feet across. Miller realized that there was one more entrance to the bowl area, way across from where she stood. Her captors led her over to that opening. No door or steps, just a tunnel back into the rock face.

Miller paused. Abruptly she was in darkness again, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. They forced her to move forward. Miller complied, even as she struggled to figure out what was going on. She spotted a low-hanging outcropping, and ducked just in time to miss cracking herself on the skull. Then, a moment later, Miller found herself in another cavern. This one was lined with lit torches and lanterns. Long benches stood along the walls, and there was a low dais at the back of the chamber, with a taller platform standing on it.

An altar, or perhaps more of a throne.

Father Abraham saw them as they entered. He smiled sweetly. Abraham was wearing a long brown robe. To Miller, with his beard and bald head, he looked more like Friar Tuck than the Pope. As a matter of fact, she thought the shapeless robe made him look like a human potato. How could he have become a leader of men? Miller suppressed a smile. Her rage returned. She wasn't really in the mood for this shit.

"Take her gag off," Abraham ordered.

The man fiddled with the knot at the back of Miller's head, and seconds later the stinky gag was removed. Relieved, Miller sucked in fresh air, though once she got a lung full she wrinkled her nose. The air reeked, it wasn't all that fresh. In point of fact, the place smelled of wood smoke and burnt flesh and farts.

"We have such big plans for you, my dear." Abraham clapped his hands together, a gleeful child at a birthday party.

"Do your plans include me peeing on your floor? Because I'm fixing to."

Abraham frowned. "Really?"

Miller said, "My friends and I have been tied up down there for hours. You people are not very responsible jailers."

"I see that I have been a bad host. If you can contain yourself for but a few moments, we shall conclude our business."

Miller spat at his feet. "And what business is that? Are you going to tell me that you're somehow doing people a favor by kidnapping and falsely imprisoning them?"

Abraham ignored her. Miller felt the woman poking her ribs with the .38 but she chose to ignore the provocation. She glared at Abraham, who eventually smiled again. The flames danced around him. He looked like a burnt wood carving of a torturer at the Inquisition.

"God has brought us together for a reason, my child. It is the Divine Will that you and your companions have come to us. You are a gift. You shall enrich us all immeasurably, and for that we are grateful."

"If you were any more grateful, Abraham, I'm not certain my friends and I could live through it." She glared at him, and tried not to hop up and down. Her bladder clenched. "Keeping us prisoner here won't inspire us to cooperate with you and your true believers."

The woman behind Miller hissed in her ear. "Shut up, bitch."

Father Abraham put up his hands. "Please, children, don't be this way. Sheriff Miller, we desire your presence, but frankly we don't need your cooperation."

Miller cocked her head. "Want to run that by me again?"

"Let me put it to you this way. You are to receive a great honor. And your companions will be similarly honored. They will become flesh of our flesh, and you, my child, will actually consort with the Holy Host."

Miller didn't care for the sound of that. Any number of possibilities occurred to her. None of them were pleasant.

"Abraham, I need to pee. I don't have time for your bullshit. Just come out and say what you're going to say."

His expression changed abruptly. His features tightened, screwing up into a fist, dancing with a rippling shadow of rage. "I am
Father
Abraham, child. And my 'true believers,' as you put it, are God's chosen people. I am offering you the opportunity to atone for your sins—for they are many—and to become one with us. Your defiance will do nothing but cause more suffering, and can only end in the untimely deaths of your companions."