The Hungry (Book 3): At the End of the World (18 page)

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Authors: Steven Booth,Harry Shannon

BOOK: The Hungry (Book 3): At the End of the World
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Miller stepped up to Sheppard, and spoke softly. “What’s her problem?”
“Other than the sneezing?” Sheppard looked up. “High fever, clammy skin, and her eyes are dilated. Looks like some kind of flu virus. Other than that, we won’t know until we can talk to her and get some answers.” He pulled up Michelle’s right eyelid. “Right now, she’s out cold as the old man.”
“Is she a threat?”
“She wasn’t bitten, was she?”
Miller shook her head. “There was no time. I shot Greta well before she could bite anyone. Karl, is she a threat to the others?”
Sheppard considered for a moment. “No.”
Miller turned to Terrill Lee. She addressed him and Sheppard together. “Okay, you two stay here and watch over our two patients. Keep an eye on that wall. I’m pretty sure we’re safe, but if anything changes shout a heads up. Meanwhile, I’m going to go find the others and figure out where the hell we are.”
Miller clutched the machine gun against her chest. She headed toward the cross-corridor, and turned left.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The old man’s name was Air Force Technical Sergeant Gunter H. Vollman. Scratch and Sheppard also learned his serial number—as if they gave a rat’s ass—but that was all Gunter was willing to say. And he said that over and over again. Sheppard tried repeatedly to explain to the strange old man that he wasn’t a prisoner of war and that they didn’t mean him any harm. However, when they explained that they weren’t prepared to allow him to move around his own turf, especially where any number of deadly weapons might be hidden on site, Gunter H. Vollman had clammed up.
Sheppard and Scratch gave in. They tied him to a chair with a pillowcase. Miller joined them, got filled in, and tried to get him to answer one simple but vital question.
“Gunter, is there another way out of here?”
“Under the Geneva Convention, I am not required to…”
“Okay, okay, we get it. You’re not going to answer our questions. This is a boring conversation anyway.” Miller turned to Sheppard. “Are you sure Crosby didn’t scramble his brains with that bottle?”
“I told you, Penny, apart from the cut and a mild concussion, he’s fine. I can’t speak to his sanity, but he’s pretty much as good as he was before he tried to kill us.”
“That’s all very comforting.” She turned to look through a doorway. She lowered her voice. “And what about her? Any news?”
“I still don’t know. She’s definitely got a flu virus of some kind. Whatever it is, it’s really kicking her ass.”
“Should Terrill Lee even be in there with her?”
“Penny, we checked her for bites and infections, and we didn’t see anything. This must be something else.”
“Can you help her? Can you protect the rest of us?”
“If we had some medical supplies that hadn’t expired in 1970, we might be able to do something. As it is…” Sheppard shrugged. “I’m afraid there’s not much we can do but wash our hands a lot and keep her comfortable.”
“How’s Terrill Lee holding up?”
Sheppard lowered his voice. “Not good. He still won’t leave her side and that isn’t good. Penny, whatever she’s got is likely contagious at this point, and if Terrill Lee hangs around he’s bound to pick it up eventually. He’s playing at being their hero now, and you of all people understand how he can be when he gets like this.”
“I can hear you, you know,” said Terrill Lee without looking up. He was seated quietly at Michelle’s bedside.
Miller walked to the doorway. She felt reluctant to enter the room. She knew perfectly well what a rogue virus could do to a body, and the last thing she wanted was another one to add to her already expansive collection. The zombie virus and Sheppard’s cure were both still in her system, in remission for a time. She didn’t need to risk destroying that delicate balance.
Miller cleared her throat. “Come on out here and talk to us, Terrill Lee. She’ll be fine for a couple of minutes.”
“I really think I should stay with her.”
Michelle was now lying sideways on the cot, holding her stomach and moaning.
“Can’t you do
anything
else for her?” Miller asked Sheppard from the doorway.
“No. Not unless one of these tunnels leads to a fully-staffed research hospital. I’d like to get her on fluids at minimum but we don’t have the supplies.”
“She’s going to be fine,” insisted Terrill Lee. He patted her forehead. “Michelle, do you hear me, you’re going to be fine.”
Michelle opened her eyes for a moment. “I feel so bad. I’m going to die, aren’t I?”
“Not if I can help it,” Terrill Lee said.
“You’re a terrible liar, Terrill Lee. Thank you.” She smiled and reached out to him. He took her hand and knelt next to her. In the small room, Michelle began moaning again.
“Ow. Ohhhh.”
Terrill Lee wiped her forehead with a small cloth. He pulled it back to reveal her pale skin. The cloth had left an actual impression on the fevered flesh.
“Uhh,” Michelle moaned. “
Uh-hunnnhh!

“Oh, shit!” Sheppard stiffened at the sound. He fumbled for his pistol. “Penny! Look at her eyes!”
Miller raised her machine gun to fire, but quick like a cat, Michelle pulled Terrill Lee’s bare arm to her mouth. She bit down hard.
“Mother
fucker!
” Terrill Lee cried, pulling back.
Michelle didn’t let go of his bloody arm. Her facial expression was as dull and dead as a shark’s. She sank her teeth deep into his flesh.
Her eyes were rolled back and completely white.
Miller was still holding the Stoner. She stepped forward, put the barrel up to Michelle’s forehead, and fired a three-shot burst. It was intensely loud in the small room. The zombie’s head ceased to exist. Brains became fog and a cloud of cordite. Michelle’s corpse collapsed onto the bed with one leg twitching.
Miller turned to Sheppard. She was furious. “Jesus, I thought you said it wasn’t the zombie virus!”
Sheppard ignored Miller. He practically knocked her over running out of the room. There was the sound of breaking glass. He reappeared with a fire axe.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Terrill Lee shrank from the sight of the axe.
Sheppard shouted, “No time to argue. Penny, hold his arm!”
Miller was sickened, but she dropped the big machine gun and pulled Terrill Lee’s arm away from his side.
“Against the wall,” ordered Sheppard.
Miller shoved Terrill Lee against the wall. His eyes grew wide.
“No, wait!” he protested.
But Sheppard was already swinging the axe. There was a sickening crunch, and Miller fell backwards, loose but still holding Terrill Lee’s severed forearm. She landed on the floor, winded.
Terrill Lee didn’t cry out. He just stared down at the bleeding stump. “It’s already gone numb.”
“Oh, shit,” said Sheppard softly.
“It didn’t work?” Miller asked.
Sheppard and Terrill Lee locked eyes.
Terrill Lee looked away first. “I think I’m fucked,”
“Don’t say things like that,” said Miller. Her mind was racing in circles. Was this really happening?
Sheppard wrapped a bandage around Terrill Lee’s stump. He looked at her, held her eyes for a long moment. He then looked at the floor. He was on the verge of tears. “Terrill Lee, Penny, I’m… I’m so sorry.”
Miller was beside herself. “How could this happen?”
“I don’t know.”
Terrill Lee put his right hand on Sheppard’s shoulder. He was calm—much calmer than Miller would have expected. “Karl, I’d appreciate it if you would let me talk to Penny for a minute.”
Sheppard stared at him for a long time. Then he tied the bandage around the stump and walked out of the room. Miller thought she heard him sob.
Terrill Lee stood in the corner. He swayed but didn’t look her way. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”
“For what?” Miller said softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“For
everything.
I’m sorry for betraying you way back when and breaking your poor little heart. I apologize for being such a self-absorbed jerk all these years.” Terrill Lee held up what was left of his arm. “And I’m especially sorry for fucking up like this. I knew better than to take Michelle’s illness lightly, no matter what Karl said. I wasn’t using my head. This is my fault.”
“Oh, Terrill Lee.” The tears rolled down Miller’s cheeks, but her voice never quavered. “You are a good man.” She pulled the revolver from the holster on her hip. “I’m so sorry, but…”
Terrill Lee stared at the big, silver-plated revolver. Courage and resolve settled on his face. “No. I’ll do it,” he said. “I don’t want you last memory of me to be putting a bullet in my brain. I want you to remember the good times, not… this.” He waved the dripping stump at her. Then he held out his remaining hand for the revolver. Reluctantly, Miller gave it to him. She reached down and picked up the Stoner.
“Promise me something.” Terrill Lee looked deep into her eyes. “I need you to make it out of here, Penny. No matter what else happens. Make it out of here. I need to know that you are going to survive.”
She swallowed. “I know that feeling.” She looked at him back, holding his gaze. “Terrill Lee, you already know I loved you, don’t you?”
“Always have, always will.” He smiled weakly. “You should go now, before I change.”
“Goodbye.”
“I love you, Penny. Say goodbye to the fellas for me. Lock the door behind you.”
Somehow Miller found the strength to turn and walk through the doorway. She stood with her back to the room. The others waited outside, watching her, waiting for her to tell them what to do next.
“Don’t look back,” Terrill Lee said from the room behind her. “Don’t watch. Remember me the way I was, honey.”
Miller closed the door behind her.
Sheppard stood before her, shoulders hunched. He looked beaten. “I’m so damn sorry, Penny.”
“It doesn’t matter now. Not anymore.”
Miller tried not to think about Terrill Lee or Michelle, or Sheppard’s apologies. Instead, she focused on the present situation, and the one person who stood between them and escape. She turned to face old Gunter.
“Now, dickhead, you’re going to answer the question or get castrated with a dull putty knife. Is there another way out of here or not?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Damn you fucking people! I can’t believe it took you less than thirty minutes to completely contaminate my bunker. I’ve been secure since Jack Kennedy got his last blowjob, and I’ve been doing
just fine
all that time. I’ve got everything I need right down here: Got me lots of guns, loads of ammunition, a lifetime supply of vitamin C crystals, and as much wild boar and deer as I can hunt whenever I choose to go out.”
Scratch said, “So you’re always down here all by yourself?”
“Only one other person in the world knew I was down here, and old Greta kept my secret for near fifty years. She was as trustworthy as the day is long, and the nights—well, I’m gonna miss them too, you know what I mean? The old girl could party.”
“You had the life,” Sheppard said dryly.
“Damn straight. And you know what I’ve got more than anything? Solitude! As much as I want. Or wanted. Dang, I should have blown you all away when I saw you in the wine cellar. That’ll teach me to have a soft heart.” Gunter seemed profoundly disappointed in himself for failing to kill them all. He hadn’t lived up to his own fantasies.
“Back up,” said Scratch, also stopping the procession to the back door. “What was that about guns and ammo?”
“I… I didn’t say anything about guns and ammo.”
“Gunter, you’re about as good a liar as you are a people person,” Miller observed. She prodded him with the barrel of the Stoner. “Hand them over.”
“You’re out of your goddamned minds if you think I’m going to arm you.”
Scratch closed the distance. He drew his .45 Springfield and placed it firmly against the side of Gunter’s head. “Our friend Terrill Lee gave
us
orders to survive, jackass. He didn’t mention a thing about
you
.”
“You fucking people are crazy!”

We’re
crazy?” asked Scratch. “We haven’t been living in a cave for fifty years, so don’t talk to us about crazy. So, if you want to live to take another dose of vitamin C and have a ringside seat to the zombie apocalypse, you’ll hand over those weapons
right… fucking… now!
” To further make his point, Scratch pulled the hammer back on the .45 and pressed it farther into the old man’s wrinkled flesh.
Gunter set his jaw and squeezed his eyes tight. “Screw you, pissant!”
Michelle’s family—what was left of them—was staring back at Scratch from further down the long tunnel. He turned to catch the eyes of Crosby, Miller, and Sheppard, who watched him silently.
After an eternity, Miller made up her mind. “Stand down, Scratch. He’s right. We’re not going to kill him. We’re not like the assholes upstairs.”
Scratch deflated. The old man had called his bluff and he had lost. He averted his eyes from the others.
Miller thought for a moment. “In a few minutes, we’re going to feed him to Terrill Lee.”
Gunter went pale.
“He’s my ex-husband, Gunter. A good friend. And he is going to be hungry pretty damned soon, if he isn’t already.” Miller swallowed hard. “So I guess the least we can do before we leave him to die is provide the boy with a good last meal.”
Scratch watched. Miller nudged the gun out of the way. She took Gunter by the arm and forced him to his feet. She turned him back toward the bedroom. “This place can’t be that big, so we’re bound to find the back door on our own sooner or later.” She pushed Gunter with the machine gun.
“Dinnertime, Terrill Lee,” Scratch called.
“You won’t do it,” Gunter whimpered.
“All we need do is shove you inside and lock the door. Terrill Lee will do the rest. And yes, you can take this much to the bank. I’m going to let him punch your ticket and get a bit of raw pleasure before he starves to death in there. It was nice meeting you, Gunter.”
“No!”
Miller pushed hard, propelling him forward.
“You got kids with you,” the old man wailed. “Is this the lesson you want to teach them?”
Crosby answered this time. “Sure. You ought to know that survival is a pretty good skill to learn these days.”
Miller looked at Crosby. She began to wonder if he really had gone off the deep end.
“All right,” said Gunter, “you goddamned homicidal maniacs.”
Miller stepped back. She breathed a silent sigh of relief that she didn’t have to go through with the threat. Her stomach was churning. She watched as Gunter led the others down the second arm of the T to a hidden panel behind a false wall. They untied his hands. Gunter sighed. He dialed the combination, and put his hand on the handle.
“Wait!” Scratch put the gun to Gunter’s head again. “That better not be booby-trapped.”
“Give it a rest, hippie,” Gunter said boldly. “I know you haven’t got the guts.”
“If it’s you or us, I choose us.”
Despite the pistol, Gunter turned to him. “Relax, it isn’t booby-trapped.”
The old soldier opened the door and turned on the light. Scratch grunted with surprise. To a group desperate for supplies, the room was flat amazing. It was like the entrance to some kind of paranoid Valhalla. There were enough weapons to arm a pissed off platoon of Marines. They saw guns, racks and racks of them. They saw dozens of boxes of ammunition. In the center of the room was a large table, saw horse, and chair, and what appeared to be a serious gun cleaning operation.
“Okay, everyone arm up!” Miller pulled Gunter out of the room. She kept him covered while the others went shopping. Without being asked, Sheppard handed Miller several more magazines for the Stoner, along with a messenger bag to hold them. He also replaced her .357 Smith.
Miller watched Jimmy as he evaluated the choices of weapons. She watched as he ran his fingers across each of the machine guns, almost caressing them. He didn’t seem excited by the prospect of choosing a weapon. Miller caught a glimpse of his face. It was wet, though his expression never changed.
Scratch stepped up to him, and gently put another Stoner in his hands. They locked eyes for just an instant. Surprisingly, Scratch was the one to look away. Jimmy stared at the machine gun like it was someone else’s. He didn’t seem to know what to do with it. Scratch gestured for him to follow, and they filled a messenger bag with more magazines. They spoke in soft tones. Miller could guess it was about Michelle, but she couldn’t be sure.
While she watched Scratch and his son, the others also chose weapons. Miller made a note that Lynn and Brandy seemed to know which end of the guns to hold. Sheppard and Crosby immediately went to their weapons of choice and began arming up.
Miller kept an eye on Lex, who stood next to Brandy, clinging to her side. Either he didn’t know what was going on, or he was in shock. Miller guessed the latter. He had a glassy look in his eyes, and he was quiet and still, not antsy like usual. Poor kid.
Miller began to plan their escape, step by step, though she didn’t yet know the route. They’d have to make old man Gunter take point all the way. If he double-crossed them, he’d go first.
Scratch picked up an M60. He wrapped two belts of red-tipped tracer ammunition around his body like bandoliers. Miller thought he did a decent imitation of a young Sylvester Stallone playing Rambo.
Crosby stepped close to Miller. “Sheriff,” said Crosby, just loud enough for Sheppard to hear. “May I talk to you two privately?” he asked, including Sheppard.
Miller signaled for Scratch to watch Gunter, and she stepped away from the others.
Crosby didn’t waste time. “I’ve got a problem.”
“What’s that?” asked Miller. She glanced at Sheppard, who rolled his eyes, just enough to be noticed.
“I was there with you at the store when Greta was killed, same as you and Jim. Same as Michelle.”
“So?”
Crosby’s tone became low, urgent. “Michelle and I both got splattered when you shot Greta back in the general store. Michelle got sick and turned into one of them. I’m scared, Sheriff. The only place she could have possibly picked up the virus was at the store when Greta died. How do we know that I didn’t get it too?”
Miller stared at Sheppard. She wanted to say,
that’s a really good question.
She couldn’t find a way to do that without sounding as accusatory as she felt.
Sheppard finally collected himself. He said, “Are you feeling any symptoms?”
“I’m not sneezing, if that’s what you mean.”
“No, I meant, are you feeling hungry, excitable, racing thoughts, unable to sit or stand still, fever, pain, aggression, accelerated reflexes, anything like that?”
“Maybe a little hungry,” Crosby offered, putting his hand on his belly. “Is that serious?”
“We’re all hungry, Crosby. It’s dinner time.” Miller spoke reassuringly to Crosby. “I wouldn’t panic if you have no other symptoms.”
“Sheriff, Michelle was sneezing the whole time, on you and me and everyone else. Karl, earlier you said that the zombie virus can be transmitted through bodily fluids, not just through blood but saliva too.”
“True.”
Miller stood straighter, shoulders squarely facing Crosby. “Listen to me. We can’t afford to panic. You have to stay calm. You’re fine.”
“You don’t know that, do you?”
Before Miller could answer, Sheppard replied, “No, I suppose we don’t.” His own face darkened.
Miller darkened too. What the hell was wrong with Sheppard? She presumed that Sheppard was feeling guilty over Michelle and Terrill Lee.
Perhaps he should,
she thought. And then, without meaning to, she let the thought slip through her defenses.
Perhaps he should feel guilty about all of it. They’re dead because he missed the signs. Because of his poor judgment in starting this whole damn mess.
Miller shook that anger away. She had finally learned not to think of Sheppard as the cause of all their troubles, and she didn’t want to start thinking that way again. And the last thing she needed was Crosby to go completely off the deep end.
“Gentlemen, let’s stick to what we know. Until Constable Crosby here actually gets sick, we’re going to operate as if he’s fine.” She turned her back on Crosby and Sheppard and looked at the others. She raised her voice. “All right, is everyone ready to get the hell out of here?”
Scratch spoke for the rest of them. “Ready to rock, Penny.”
Miller glanced back at Sheppard and Crosby. They were conferring quietly. When Sheppard noticed Miller looking at him, he shushed Crosby and came to something like attention. Miller didn’t spend the time to wonder what that was about. She turned to Gunter. “All right, let’s go. Lead the hell on, MacDuff.”
Gunter rolled his eyes. He knew when he was beaten.
He led.

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