The Hungry (Book 2): The Wrath of God (22 page)

They roared along, the highway ahead unreeling like a black ink ribbon, the long dark shape broken only by a rapid blur of white dashes. The afternoon sky looked crisp and clear as it appeared beyond the beat-up dashboard, the small white clouds floating balls of cotton. The sun was drifting down into the mountains, the desert floor cooling. They were running out of clock. Everyone kept checking the time. Miller felt they were driving rapidly into the mouth of some giant beast. The others were still confused and uncertain. Miller wasn't. She'd willed herself to disguise her own anxiety. This would work. Hell, this simply
had
to work.

"You sure we got time for a fucking rest stop?"

The tension was starting to get the best of Scratch. For all his macho posturing, his pacing and muttering had made it abundantly clear that he had "absolutely no fucking desire to become a burned up, mutated, radioactive, freaky-assed meat puppet," as he so eloquently put it. Even under these panicked circumstances, part of Miller had admired that crisp turn of phrase.

"It'll only take a couple of minutes," Miller said. She turned to Lovell, who sat rigidly at the wheel, his right foot flooring the gas. "Turn off on Mountain City Highway. It's just on the other side of the airport. Careful you don't tip us over."

The sun was drooping low in the sky behind them, the rich colors spreading slowly across the hardpan. It was closing in on sunset as they turned off the main highway into Elko. As they suspected, the medium-sized town was trashed and deserted. The now customary wrecked cars, punctuated with white skeletons that had been nearly picked clean by fat vultures and clever varmints. Trash dotted the landscape. The zombies had hit Elko first, back when Sheppard's old partner had infected half the shoppers at the local outlet mall. According to the reports that Miller had read in Vegas later on, Elko had been wiped out within a few hours. No one had seen it coming or reacted quickly enough to stop it from spreading. Miller wasn't disturbed. She didn't have to wonder what it must have been like when the zombies consumed this town. She had lived it for herself back at the jailhouse in Flat Rock.

"How do you know about this place, again, Penny?" asked Terrill Lee. He was looking kind of suspicious, his head moving back and forth between Miller and Sheppard. Terrill Lee knew his ex-wife well enough to know when something was up.

Miller sighed. "I dated the Elko County sheriff on and off for a spell. Old Charlie, he showed me around the headquarters a couple of times."

"And you're sure we're going to find what we need there?" Rat asked.

"As sure as I can be," Miller said.

Terrill Lee's head stopped moving. His eyes widened. "Hold on, Penny. When the hell were you dating this here sheriff, exactly?"

Miller scowled. "Don't you dare take the high road with me, Terrill Lee. We were separated for the second time back then, remember? You know perfectly well that I
caught
you red-handed and red-dicked while you were banging that sleazy bitch Marilyn. And you were
in our bed.
So what if I wanted to head over to Elko when I was off shift and spend me some quality time with a gentleman. Charlie Robinson was my business then and he still is now. Mine, not yours."

Terrill Lee was flashing his teeth. He was a dog with a fresh bone. "How come this didn't come up at the divorce hearing?"

"Shit on a stick, T. L., just give it a rest. She ain't yours no more, partner. Get over it." Scratch smirked confidently. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but she's mine."

Miller blanched. "Excuse me?"

Lovell interrupted with relish. "There's the jail, Penny."

The Winnebago roared down Mountain City Highway and screeched to a halt. Trash and dirt sprayed up the sides of the Winnebago and clouded their view for a moment. Miller broke eye contact with Terrill Lee and Scratch to focus on what lay right outside, past the dirt-streaked tinted windows of the Winnebago. The engine ticked and a vulture flapped noisy wings as it left the carcass of a dead hound.

From outside, the Elko sheriff's headquarters and jail seemed mostly intact. There was some fire damage on the east side of the building, and a few of the windows were broken, but overall the place looked to be in fair condition. More importantly to Miller, there were no piles of headless zombies strewn around right outside the windows and doors. Old Charlie and his deputies were dead by now, she was sure of that, but this hadn't been their last stand. Wherever the fighting had happened, it had been elsewhere.

"Pull up closer, park right in front," said Miller. Lovell started the engine again and rolled forward. When the Winnebago came to a final stop, Miller stood up and grabbed a crowbar. She moved over to the door and the metal steps. "Come on cowboys and cowgirls. We haven't got much time."

Miller opened the door and walked down the steps, her eyes searching constantly down alleys and in shadowy doorways. She wasn't about to take any extra chances, not with their asses on the line and such a short time to pull this thing off. Satisfied, she looked back over her shoulder and gave a nod.

Rat moved to join her, quickly and without a word. She picked up the trusty shotgun, checked it for the forty-seventh time and followed Miller outside and down the steps. They were all business.

Scratch followed after Rat. Miller watched him gather himself for the mission. His grizzled grin appeared. His shoulders went back. He snapped the chamber of his Colt open, and counted the same six bullets one last time. Scratch bolted for the open door and was on the ground in one step.

Miller paused. "Lovell, if you run into any trouble honk that horn one long time. We should be able to hear you. Not
too
long, you don't want to attract anything rotten. If you need us, we'll come right back."

"Got you."

"And don't take any unnecessary risks," Miller said. "We need the wheels. If you have to circle the block to be safe, do it."

"Yeah, but don't take too long," said Sheppard. "You be careful, Penny. We still have a lot to do today."

"Fifteen minutes tops," Miller said. A crash caught her attention and she whirled around with the crowbar raised high. Scratch cocked his gun and aimed at the alley. Rat hunkered down a bit, the shotgun raised. The sound did not come again. A low, moaning wind stroked Miller's face as she watched and listened. She decided it had been one of the carrion birds, or perhaps a cat that had somehow managed to stay alive.

"Let's do this."

Miller went up to the entrance to the main building. The sun-weathered tan structure squatted in place, a sullen giant. She waved quickly and led Rat and Scratch closer, over to the entrance. Miller was ready with the crowbar just in case it was still locked. No lights, noises, or movement, which was as it should be, of course.

The front door was open a crack. Miller shoved gently with the crowbar. The door opened easily and they entered. The interior was only half lit by waning sunlight, messy, and incredibly dusty. Perhaps the staff had simply rushed out without closing up. It appeared the wind had blown dirt, trash, and other detritus inside for a long time, uninterrupted. Miller studied the floor. There were no obvious footprints. No one had been inside for at least a couple of weeks.

Miller and Scratch exchanged glances. Scratch wiped his sweaty forehead, clearly relieved. Rat and Miller nodded and moved away from one another for safety. Miller felt relieved too. She really didn't want to run into anyone, living or dead. They simply didn't have time to deal with stragglers or fight another nasty battle.

"Over this way," Miller said. "Charlie's office and the station are over on the left, the jail cells are on the right. Everything we need is in the back of the station."

They approached the door to the sheriff's office. This one was open too. The interior was dark, lit only by an open window. A few hungry flies buzzed over some decayed dog droppings. Shadows stroked the walls. The place seemed fairly orderly, just rapidly abandoned. Miller guessed that when the zombies arrived, everyone had rushed out to confront the threat, and in the end no one ever made it back. There was a glassed-in reception area just inside the door, open at the top, and beyond that, the operational part of the station. No bodies or zombies to be seen.

"Let's get this door open, and we should be in pretty good shape." Miller stuck the crowbar in the door jam and pulled. Nothing much happened beyond the squeal of thick wood and dense metal.

"Here, Penny," Scratch said, "let me give you a hand." Instead of coming up beside Penny and standing next to her, he wrapped his arms around her. He held on for a second like she was some big-titted barroom bimbo he was going to show how to shoot pool. Miller half expected to hear a jukebox playing.

Miller sidestepped him neatly and efficiently. She cut him down with a look. Rat pretended to study the hallway. Miller shook her head at Scratch and handed him the crowbar. "Why don't you just do it?"

"All right," said Scratch. He flexed his shoulders, inserted the crowbar and pulled. Just got a loud noise. Nothing else happened. He pulled again. "Just give me a second, this bitch is tight."

"Fuck this," Rat said. She slung the shotgun over her shoulder and climbed up on the counter in front of the reception area. Miller watched approvingly. Scratch reddened with embarrassment. Rat just slithered over the top of the barrier, turned her body smoothly and hopped down to the floor on the other side. Unlocking the door from the inside, she opened it and let them in.

"Thanks," said Miller. She moved quickly to the gray metal weapons locker. "I don't think we are going to find anything that useful left around here but sure it won't hurt to have a look. We always need more weapons and ammo. Scratch, do you think you can handle that part on your own?"

"I'm on it." Scratch stuck the pistol in his waistband, twirled the crowbar expertly in one hand, like he had been doing that kind of thing all his life, which may have been true. He grinned and began attacking the door to the locker.

"Come on, Rat," Miller said. "I can't bear to watch."

Miller led Rat back into Sheriff Robinson's office. His door was unlocked. She opened it just enough for Rat to get a peek inside, shotgun first.

"Clear," Rat said. She pushed the door open the rest of the way. This one squeaked a bit, a mouse in the claws of a kitten.

The office was surprisingly neat, and barely dusty, because it had been left tightly closed. Old Charlie was that way, an ex-Marine. There were only a few papers stacked carefully next to the out-of-date landline telephone. The funky old computer was shut down and dark as a politician's heart. One of the desk drawers was open a little as if Charlie had been surprised while doing some paperwork. Miller said a quiet prayer for Charlie. He'd been a good man and a decent kisser.

A stained wooden cabinet, some kind of a wardrobe, stood off to one side.

"In there," said Miller, pointing to the wood cabinet. "If it's here, then we should find it in there."

Rat walked up to it and opened the door. Inside was hung Charlie's ballistic vest and uniform jacket. Miller felt bad for him. There were also a few sliding drawers, a police radio, and then an even smaller door. Rat looked back at Miller. She reached down, opened the smallest door and peered inside.

Rat smiled. "Bingo."

"Get it spun up. I'm going to see if Scratch has made any progress."

Feeling calmer, Miller went back into the main part of the office. She damn near whistled as she sauntered over to where Scratch was still struggling with the weapons locker.

"You need some help?"

"If there's one thing I understand, Penny," Scratch said, "it's breaking and entering." He gave one final, mighty tug on the crowbar, and the locker door popped wide open. Scratch smiled triumphantly. "See?"

"Nice job." She patted him on the shoulder.

"What? No kiss?" Miller couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

"In your dreams." Miller said. "Stand guard for a minute."

Miller figured the men and women had left the station intending to come back for the rest of their supplies. No one had made it. She turned her back to inventory the new weapons. She found an M-4, a couple of high-powered rifles with scopes, and enough shotguns to go around. There also seemed to be enough ammunition left for their purposes.

"Hold out your arms," she ordered.

"Penny," said Scratch, a bit too seriously. "We need to talk."

Miller was taking the weapons down off the rack. She stacked them in Scratch's arms. "What is there to talk about?"

"What is there to talk about? Penny, did you hear what I said to you when you were back there at the fucking zombie Thunderdome?"

She pulled one of the shotguns off the rack, slung it over her shoulder. "I heard you."

"Have you forgotten about last night?"

"Jesus," said Miller. She scratched her chin. "Was that only last night?"

"So…?"

Miller picked up the last and biggest ammunition box. It was heavy, but not quite too heavy to lift. She grunted and moved it to the top of the counter. It thumped down, puffing up dust. "Scratch, don't you think we can have this conversation another time? I'm a little preoccupied with trying to keep us all alive."

"All the more reason to talk about this now," Scratch insisted. "It doesn't have to take long. I just want to know how you feel about me."

She looked into his eyes for the first time in a long while. Damn, they were nice eyes. Scratch had a sexy growth of beard and his lined, reddened eyes only made him look more interesting. She held them for a long moment then dropped her gaze. "Scratch, I'm still trying to work out what to do about Elizabeth's accusation."

"Elizabeth?" Scratch shifted uncomfortably. He was now carrying about forty or fifty pounds of weapons, and struggling to look bored, so he wasn't able to make any dismissive gestures. "Look, I'm sorry that little girl became zombie chow and all, but you can't really take what she said about me seriously, can you?"