The Hungry 5: All Hell Breaks Loose (The Sheriff Penny Miller Series) (26 page)

“Let’s get inside,” Miller called. “Stay alert.”

There were two doors at the front of the building. One was human-sized. The other was a large, retractable loading door that took up most of the front. Miller directed her people to the smaller door. They fanned out, weapons at the ready. Miller went to the door and tested it carefully. It wasn’t locked.

“Assume ever corner has an enemy.” She almost said
suspect,
but corrected herself at the last moment. “Don’t stop moving or relax, not until I say it’s clear. Don’t worry about being quiet once we’re in there. Call out what you’re doing, room by room. Don’t forget to look up. Communicate at all times. Got it?”

“We got it,” said Scratch. “Come on, Penny, my poor balls are floating around in my shorts here.”

Lightning flickered. Another low rumble of thunder shook the building. Miller tried the door, but found it locked.

“We can kick it down, I suppose,” she said, mostly to herself.

“Want us to see if there’s another way in?” Rat asked.

Miller looked at her for a long moment. No, if we keep making the mistake of splitting up, we’re going to be zombie chow sooner rather than later.” She turned to Scratch. “Wanna help me kick this thing in?”

Scratch smiled. “My pleasure, Darlin’.”

Miller counted to three, and they both kicked at the door. The frame splintered and the door opened just enough for them to push their way in. Miller poked her head through. It was pitch dark inside. She signaled the others to enter. She watched Dudley as she waited for her eyes to adjust. He seemed interested and curious but not overly concerned. Good sign. Miller didn’t sense any zombies either, but it was nice to have a second opinion.

They all moved into the gloom and fanned out, weapons at the ready. They could hear the rain tap dancing busily on the roof.

“Hey,” said Scratch, from just inside the door. “I found a switch.”

From somewhere else, Rat said, “Careful, it might be for the big doors.”

“Try it, Scratch.” Miller gripped her pistol with both hands. “There might still be some electricity this close to Idaho.”

The switch snapped loudly, and several fluorescent lights came on. The room lit up beautifully. Miller eyed her people. They all looked pathetic, drenched to the bone, panting and worn out, but they were still alive. That part was beautiful beyond description. She looked around the premises, her weapon at the ready. It was a large building with what looked like machining tools and motor parts. The floor was a concrete slab. Chains hung from the ceiling. She could smell oil and gasoline and a few engines and mufflers were piled up here and there. It had rooms with furniture on the north side. This was some kind of a gigantic garage. What was it doing in the middle of nowhere?

Miller motioned for Brandon and Rat and Scratch to continue their search. She split off to check out a bathroom and office space and the other exits. One by one they called out, “Clear!”

They entered the center of the garage. More thunder outside, but it seemed to be moving away. Miller looked up. The roof was not leaking. She walked slowly, looking high and low, as did the others. She eventually led them back into the middle of the open space. The main building was empty except for some workbenches and industrial tools. And smack dab in the middle of the room was a parked vehicle. A truck like none Miller never could have imagined in her wildest dreams.

“Wow,” said Scratch. “Would you look at that?”

“Careful, Scratch. Check it out, but go easy.”

The thing looked like the front half of a semi-truck with some kind of elaborate trailer attached to the ass end. There were spikes and tubes and gun ports and the front had a large grinning shark face on it. Most of the work looked fairly new, though a lot of areas had yet to be painted. Someone had put one hell of a lot of effort into this. Scratch approached the machine, rifle at the ready. He stopped and lowered the gun. He looked like a man in lust. He was smitten by the truck.

“Holy shit, that is centerfold pretty.”

Miller grabbed him by the arm. “Focus, Scratch. You can play with your toys when we’ve dispatched any zombies who might be hanging around.”

“How’s your sixth sense, Penny?” asked Sheppard weakly. “Are they in the area?”

Miller thought about that for a moment. “I can sense a faint whisper of something, Karl, nothing super close. I’ll let you know if that changes.”

They all looked at the cadaver dog. Dudley wasn’t growling. Miller relaxed a bit.

They planted Sheppard at the door with a pistol that he could use one-handed, and fanned out to explore the rest of the warehouse. Brandon was ordered to stay within sight of Sheppard, but they had to split up a little more than Miller would have liked. Every time each of them came around a corner and found nothing, high or low, they would again call “Clear!” Pretty soon, the warehouse had been searched thoroughly for a second time. There was nothing else in there. Nothing anyone could find, at any rate.

The dog continued to pant and flopped on the cement floor like there was nothing to worry about. Miller’s senses weren’t warning her off. She began to breathe normally.

“All right, we lucked out. Let’s get Sheppard bandaged up properly, and then Scratch can go play with his new toy.” Miller set the safety on her pistol. “Maybe we can find some food and even get some proper sleep before we move on. It’s been a busy-assed day.” She turned to face them all. “But don’t relax. We aren’t home yet.”

Brandon found a first aid kit in the main office. He took it to Sheppard, who gave himself a pain killer and Rat helped him clean the wound.

“Oh, my God,” said Scratch, who was busily examining the unusual vehicle. He sounded like a teenaged boy who had just met his favorite porn star.

“What?”

“Those are rocket launchers!” Scratch pointed to one set of tubes, then another. “And those are grenade launchers.” He banged on the side of the truck. “This baby’s got two layers of armor plating on it. Somebody sure gave it a ton of thought.”

“Will it get us out of here?”

Scratch slung the rifle over his shoulder. He walked to the front of the truck and pointed to what looked like a snowplow hanging from the grill. “Hell yes, she has a goddamn road scoop.” He went back to the driver’s door and tapped on the windshield. “The man was a genius. He even installed bulletproof glass and gun ports.”

Miller rubbed her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re happy.”

“I have to check this out.” Scratch reached for the handle of the driver’s door.

Dudley the dog growled.

Miller also sensed something off. She felt a strange wave of queasiness pass through her body. “Scratch, wait!”

But he’d already opened the door.

“Motherfucker!” Scratch fell backwards onto the cement. He landed in an oil stain and the huge zombie driver crawled out of the cab. It lurched toward Scratch. It was a bearded man with long hair who wore blue overalls covered in grease. He was missing a large part of his right shoulder. The poor bastard had probably been bitten and crawled into the cab, intending to drive away. He’d died in there, but his zombie self didn’t know how to open the damn door.

Rat and Miller raised their weapons simultaneously. Both shots got the zombie in the head. His skull collapsed like a cracked egg and his brains turned to black-pink mist. The thing just fell to its knees on the cement and slumped over sideways. Miller stepped closer and shot it in the throat too, just in case. You never knew these days. Scratch was sitting there shaking with wide eyes and a pale face.

“You didn’t clear the cab?” shouted Miller.

“I was getting around to that,” said Scratch, defiantly.

Miller pointed to the elaborate trailer. “What about in there?”

“Uh… not yet.”

“Clear this thing out for real, and don’t bother to call me for help if you get your ass eaten.”

Dudley stopped barking and Rolf petted him absently. Sheppard had bandaged his wound. Sheppard was sleeping, and Brandon cradled his head on his lap. Rat had dark circles under her eyes. They were all completely wiped out. Miller went to go sit down by Brandon and Sheppard, but she deliberately did not get too close to them. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. That had been yet another close call. There had already been too many losses, too many foolish mistakes.

As she sat there, Miller’s responsibilities suddenly felt overwhelming. She wanted to be alone for a few minutes. She barked one last order. “Rat, get somebody to rustle up some food and fresh water. See if you can find an electric heater back there somewhere, too.”

Miller closed her eyes, intending just to rest a bit. She was asleep in an instant.

Miguel Crespi threw open the door to Charlotte Williams’s office without warning and it banged against the wall. Dr. Williams looked up from her laptop.

“We’ve got them!” The excitement and enthusiasm were evident in his voice. Dr. Williams looked past him and out into the hallway. He had come alone.

“Close the door.” Dr. Williams didn’t turn her chair. She continued editing the memo she’d been working on. “So you now have Sheriff Miller in custody?”

Crespi closed the door. He was caught off guard by her question. “Well, no, not exactly in custody. Not yet.”

The temperature in the room seemed to fall ten degrees. This time Dr. Williams did turn to face him. She adjusted her clothing and leaned forward with her elbows on the glass desk top. “Clarify.”

“I meant we know where they are.”

Dr. Williams nodded. “And where are they?”

“They just made contact with the Idaho State Police.”

“So they’re in the custody of the Idaho State Police?”

“Well, no, not anymore. It seems that they escaped.”

Dr. Williams glowered at Crespi. “Then why are you invading my office? Do you think they would be in here, waiting to surrender?”

“No, Charlotte, I didn’t. I assumed you’d want to be on top of the situation, but it appears I was mistaken.”

“You believe we are close, then?”

“It’s just a matter of time now, because we know where they are. This time we’re sending a more appropriate team to extract them.”

“Who are you sending?”

“The Demons of Death,” Crespi replied. Then he allowed a small smile to caterpillar across his lips. “They’re a local biker gang we’ve recently convinced to work with us.” He didn’t mention that Miller and her people had already encountered the Demons. It didn’t seem prudent.

“I know who they are, Miguel. So, when the military and the police fail to get the job done, we send in psychopaths. One obvious problem presents itself. Do they know that Miller and Sheppard are to be taken alive?”

“They were the closest force we had available. As a precaution, the Demons are to coordinate with a small unit of Idaho State Police. A different group, in case you were about to ask. They have all been instructed to use a minimal amount of force to apprehend and deliver Sheriff Miller and her friends.”

“A pincer move.” Dr. Williams nodded with satisfaction. “Well done.”

“They won’t escape this time.”

“You’d better hope they don’t. Get back on it.”

Crespi left the room, visibly relieved. He closed the door quietly behind him.

Miller twitched and woke with a start. She felt like she’d only been asleep for a few minutes, but the rain had died down. An electric heater was buzzing, its toasty red face only a few feet away from the group. Miller looked out the window. The weather had shifted from stormy to cool and clear. The others were resting in a wide circle. Rat was standing guard, so Miller spelled her and let Rat stretch out in her place.

Though they could have moved on, Miller let them sleep. Huddled around the heater like this, they’d be able get most of their clothing to dry, and at least the walls kept out the cold and damp. Rat had found some supplies and laid them out on a wooden bench. A few hours later Miller woke the group and they split the last vestige of the dead man’s food between them. It was good to see everyone feeling a bit better.

The mystery truck was empty as a politician’s heart. After the zombie assault, Scratch checked every single corner of the damned thing, even the glove compartment. Miller’s first impression held up. The driver had built the deadly vehicle intending to drive it like a tank through plague country all the way to safety, but had become infected. Either that, or he was running missions into Nevada, maybe raiding casinos or just raising hell. He’d run from the attacker and locked himself in the cab. He’d died there before he could leave and gotten trapped when he turned. The poor bastard had probably thought he was safe until the very last minute. Here he’d been inside the warehouse, working on his getaway truck for what looked like weeks, but then something had gone wrong.

What happened? How did it happen?
Those questions haunted Miller.
Whatever bit him may have moved on, because we never found a body, but what if…

Had the man gone outside to hunt? That seemed possible as there were only a few cans of food left in the kitchen cabinets. In fact, they’d just finished the last of the beef stew. Had he gone outside to look around for fresh water? That was also possible, but there were six plastic containers left, and all filled to the brim. Or had the driver risked everything by leaving in response to a strange noise outside, or a human calling for help? Would he have been that reckless, a man so clearly concerned about his own safety? Miller really wanted to know what had happened to the mysterious mechanic. Somehow, someway, he’d been ambushed and bitten.

An hour or so later, they heard something flying overhead. It was somewhere to the south, and probably a fixed-wing aircraft, but it did not loiter or seem to discover their location. Drones might have already passed them by, but they wouldn’t have heard that sound from down in the warehouse with all the rain. Miller prayed that their stolen vehicles stayed hidden. Seeing the two stashed cop cars would be as obvious as them all running around outside buck-assed naked holding large cardboard targets reading AIM HERE.