The Hungry 5: All Hell Breaks Loose (The Sheriff Penny Miller Series) (17 page)

Miller could see that Charlie’s role as Miller’s ex-boyfriend had stuck in Scratch’s craw in a way that Terrill Lee’s presence never did.

One way or another, this was going to be an interesting night.

Shirley sat primly on a plush easy chair, outlined by the sunset that came streaming through the penthouse window. The light gave her features a rosy glow. She tuned and strummed the Martin D-28 guitar expertly, went somewhere behind her eyes and started picking. In a clear alto, she sang a country classic called
Small Two Bedroom Starter
, a melancholy Reba McIntire tune that somehow managed to put Miller in a good mood. The girl had talent. The kerosene lantern parked on the coffee table acted like a small spotlight, making her the automatic center of attention, not that she needed any help. Her singing really was nice, and as far as Miller could see, Shirley had the small audience captivated. Miller had really missed a simple pleasure like listening to music. It had been too long.

They were locked safely in and had their assigned slots for guard duty. Miller figured a little noise was okay as long as they kept it down. The suite seemed safe enough, and Charlie and Shirley had survived.

Rolf and Dudley were outside on the balcony looking for unusual movement or sounds or specific signs of approaching danger. Miller mostly wanted to get the crazy old son of a bitch away from her for a while. He rarely left her side unless ordered. He’d be back in shortly.

Sheppard was on guard duty, so he was watching the show from a chair near the front door. Miller, Scratch, Charlie, and Brandon played the role of audience. Shirley entertained them well, like someone born to the task. They all knew every bit of the set was rehearsed, but everything in it flowed like water. Charlie stuffed tinder and newspaper into the fireplace with some logs and set them ablaze. The fire replaced most of the light in the room. The sun finally sank beyond the horizon and darkness flowed in to stay, sliding across the desert floor like a falling curtain made of black velvet. The sky outside turned bright with stars. Shirley finished the song with a flourish.

Everyone applauded, albeit very softly. No one cheered. The night held dangers.

Shirley switched to an old George Jones song,
He Stopped Loving Her Today
. Watching, Miller choked up a little, since it had been one of Terrill Lee’s favorites. She fought down her grief.

Charlie finished with the fireplace as Shirley completed the next song. He stood up, cracked his neck and crossed the room. He closed the curtains, and Miller heard him mumbling something about not giving away their position. She assumed he was just being careful. Miller was already focused on the next song, one she didn’t recognize. Charlie may have been a two-timing sleaze, and she was going to have a word with him about all that at some point, but he certainly wasn’t stupid. He knew their surroundings and surely would try to look out for their security. He knew the suite better than she did, so she left it up to him to take care of simple things like the fireplace and the curtains.

Of course Miller wasn’t stupid either. Rat had been taking an inventory of Charlie and Shirley’s stockpiled weapons and ammo. Rolf came back inside and joined her. Rat snapped her fingers for more help. Miller nodded and Sheppard left the door for a minute to assist her. The three of them were half in shadow, working fast. Miller raised an eyebrow. Rat returned her gaze and nodded. They were almost done.

Miller looked down. Dudley sat at her feet, licking from the bowl of tuna she’d eaten for dinner. There wasn’t much left, but the cadaver dog was a survivor, and doing pretty well for himself overall. He had plenty of meat on his bones. He’d cleaned up after all the others before stopping at Miller. He’d already had an eight course meal. He was bound to growl if any trouble showed up.

Like the others, Miller sipped wine from a glass tumbler. It was a red, it tasted nice, it made her feel all warm inside, and that’s about all she knew about wine. Hell, that was all she needed to know. Now, good old Terrill Lee could have told her nearly everything about the wine, including where it was grown and the type of oak they used to make the damn barrels. She smiled at the thought of her ex-husband and all his eccentricities. He had been a good man at heart, and even after all the shit he’d put her through, she still missed him. Miller supposed she always would. She hoped that wherever he was that made him happy. She took another sip to honor his memory, and went back to listening to the soft music.

The girl sang an Eddy Arnold classic called
Cowboy,
and nailed the gentle yodel in the chorus section perfectly. The mood in the room stayed sad and pensive but in a good way. Miller reckoned the kid had a gift. When Shirley came to the end of her song, her rapt audience whispered appreciation and clapped, though still very quietly. Miller joined them.

“I can see why they hired you here, Shirley,” said Scratch in a whisper. “That was downright incredible.”

“Yes,” Miller said. “You’re damn good.”

Shirley managed to look modest. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ve been playing this here Martin since I was eight years old, and it’s never let me down. It was my daddy’s guitar.”

Scratch slid closer. “How did you end up here?”

“I’d been writing my own songs of late and got some real interest in my demo. A label offered me a deal. You know, I actually had a plane ticket to Nashville right in my hand. But then that was the night the zombies came.”

Shirley was overcome by tears and she hunched over and turned away from the harsh light of the lantern.

“You would have taken Nashville by storm, I’ll tell you that,” said Scratch. He shifted his big frame. He turned away from Miller toward Shirley. He scooted even closer to the singer and cut loose with the charm. “Play us an encore, pretty lady.”

Miller felt a twinge of jealousy, but said nothing. She had already pretty much made up her mind that they were no longer together, so complaining would only send mixed messages.

“Okay, if you insist.” Shirley plucked the strings lightly, tuning them back up, and said, “I wrote this one myself.”

The song was simple, a standard chord progression like most country songs, but composed with neat little twists and turns. The lyric compared life to a long ride on a train, and hinted that the last stop would reunite everyone you’d lost touch with on the journey. Miller enjoyed it. Scratch was right that the kid could have had a bright future.

Again, they all applauded softly when Shirley was done.

“Let’s stop there,” Miller said. Charlie was looking stressed. She made a mental note to ask him why.

Shirley put her guitar away. The audience was happy. Even Rolf and Dudley seemed enchanted. Warmed by the alcohol, Miller watched distantly as Scratch worked his way closer to Shirley. She glanced over at Charlie. Miller would have thought that he would be more protective of the young country singer—a mite jealous, even, depending on their recent circumstances. But Charlie didn’t seem threatened by Scratch. Maybe it was the wine working. Miller had expected to be feeling more jealous too, regarding Scratch, but the resentment was just fading away. Miller pondered the state of the world. In her slightly buzzed mind, she was now able to observe their situation from a distance. Their relationship was poison, literally. The virus was stable in Miller’s system, but they hadn’t scientifically studied what was going on inside Scratch. If there was even a possibility that being physical with Scratch would endanger him further, she had to back off.

Scratch loved her. Miller knew that. She didn’t think he was so shallow that he just wanted to get laid, and that Miller had been the most convenient supplier of that service. What they’d had meant something. When they were in the burning lodge back in Colorado, Scratch had made it clear that he cared, and that he was quite willing to die for her. There was a deep bond between them. The conviction felt bittersweet. They belonged together.

And that’s why she had to let him go.

If Miller allowed him to think there was hope, Scratch would likely to do something heroic, like die for her. She didn’t want anyone to sacrifice themselves or any part of their lives. There had been enough death and loss already. They should protect each other, yes. Fight for each other, yes. But
die
for her, or give up what happiness he could find in this barren world? No, not if she could help it.

So Miller said nothing as Scratch talked quietly with+ Shirley. His hand drifted to land around Shirley’s shoulders. Miller closed her eyes. She told herself to let Scratch go, move on, have the life he so richly deserved. She sighed.

That’s when she found Charlie’s hand on her right knee. Stunned, she opened her eyes and turned to face him. He had manufactured the classic puppy dog eyes she remembered so well. He was working her again, just like back in the old days.

“Penny, I just wanted to let you know there are no hard feelings,” Charlie said. “It’s not often that an ex-girlfriend tries to kill me, but I suppose it was bound to happen someday. Especially the way I behave.”

Miller could smell the Jack Daniels on his breath. She knew he was a whisky man and that he’d always been able to hold his liquor well when she’d been around. No telling what the hell had gone on otherwise and with other folks, from the sound of it. That remark from Brandon had upset her more than she wanted to admit. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that Rolf and Dudley had both fallen asleep on the floor, the dog’s head on the master’s big thigh. Dudley’s tail thumped once, but he wasn’t alarmed by anything. Miller addressed her ex-boyfriend.

“Charlie, that whisky must be affecting your memory. I seem to recall you pointing the .357 at me first, not the other way round.”

“Fair enough, but you were threatening me and mine. It was just self-defense. If you had identified yourself, we could have avoided all that unpleasantness.”

Miller chuckled, but kept her voice low. “You just keep telling yourself that, Charlie. Anyway, you old bastard, it’s nice to see you.”

“I’ve missed you, Penelope.”

“Charlie?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Take your hand off my knee.”

He stroked her thigh for a brief moment, but then removed his hand. “I’m real glad you survived. How long have you been hiding out in Flat Rock?”

Before Miller could answer the question, someone tapped her on the shoulder. Miller looked up to see Sheppard standing behind her. He looked much too sober for the moment, as usual. He was always the responsible party. “Penny, I have a report on our defenses.”

“Oh, I need to hear this,” said Charlie.

Miller ignored him. She edged away. “Okay, what have you got?”

“It will be easier to show you.” Sheppard waved a hand at the back of the suite, where Rat and Rolf had been gathering up ammo and checking them for functionality. Everything was already organized on the couch and spread across the floor. “Follow me.”

Miller stood up. She had a little trouble keeping her balance. Charlie caught her from falling by putting his hand on the small of her back, but she shook him off. “Thanks anyway, cowboy. Brandon, can you maybe make some strong coffee?”

Miller walked with her arms a bit wide. She followed Sheppard. Charlie stayed right behind her. She could feel his eyes studying her backside. He hadn’t changed a bit.

They walked past the store of food rations, medical supplies, batteries, blankets, binoculars, a tire pump, warm socks, sturdy shoes, and small luxury items such as shampoo or skin cream for trade. They had already gone through all that. It was enough for the night, and maybe, just in case they didn’t find a vehicle they could trust, another couple of nights. She wondered how Charlie and Shirley had survived with so little food on hand. Clearly they were holding out on them.

Miller continued on and arrived at the stockpile of weapons. Sheppard and Rat both waited patiently in the light of a lantern. Charlie hung back a bit, standing half in shadow.

“Go,” said Miller.

“We found two scoped .30-06 rifles with about sixty rounds total,” Rat said. “As you can see, there’s a couple of M-4s here, and about twenty rounds for that. Three twenty gauge shotguns, but only one in working condition. It appears that the other two were used as clubs, and are no longer functional.”

Miller nodded as she looked over the weapons. “Handguns?”

Sheppard took over. “There’s Charlie’s .357, of course, with eighteen rounds, including five in the cylinder, three from his pocket, and ten in a box, just like Charlie reported. Found a Sig Sauer 9mm, but no ammo. On the other hand, there are four whole boxes of 10mm, but no pistol to go with it.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, I didn’t mention Rolf’s MP-5, which you knew about, of course. Unfortunately, he’s down to fifteen rounds.”

Miller looked to the left. She saw a variety of tools, axes mostly. “What about those?”

Rat picked up one of the axes. “Eight fire axes. A chainsaw with some fuel left—though we haven’t fired it up. Three full fire extinguishers, but we’re still debating if they will be any use for anything but putting out actual fires.”

“Never mind, figure it out anyway, never can tell when we might need one.” Miller picked up a crow bar. “How many of these?”

Sheppard answered. “Two. Both already had dried blood on them.”

“Charming.”

Charlie stepped up closer and moved well into the light of the lantern. “So what’s the plan?”

“I was hoping you’d have a few ideas, Charlie,” Miller said. “You know the terrain here better than us, and you’ve had months to scout the building.”

“Me? I thought I was still in captivity. Aren’t I?”

Rat shrugged, “Are you still a threat?”

“Hell, no. We’re all on the same team, right?” Charlie turned to face Miller. “Sheriff, I give you my parole. So are you gonna trust me?”