The Hungry 5: All Hell Breaks Loose (The Sheriff Penny Miller Series) (33 page)

Weary, Miller closed her eyes again. She nearly nodded off but heard something cracking in the brush nearby. It sounded like twigs underfoot. Someone was coming. She snapped awake. Miller stiffened and brought up her M-4. She knew that it was probably Scratch and Rolf returning, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Penny?” Scratch was right outside. “You can come on out.”

Miller got up. “Sitrep?”

“It’s still pretty busy up there. This is not going to be easy.”

Miller helped Sheppard to his feet and together they went out into the light. She blinked and looked around. It was bright enough that she had to shade her eyes against all the sunshine. They were in a deep ravine next to the empty road. A ramp led up to their right, some kind of a paved area the owner had designed to allow his vehicles to come and go. The entire area was deserted. The cool morning breeze felt good on her face, and the warm sunlight cheered her up. She promised herself to literally stop and smell the roses, but not until they were many miles away from the warehouse.

“There seems to be less of the bastards out there,” Scratch said. “Some are still in the garage on guard. I think they must have closed and padlocked the entrance to the underground back when they heard us shouting and shooting. A few more are standing outside milling around. There are a couple of police cars nearby and those are parked off in the trees that line the road. I counted two guards there, a biker and a cop. No idea if the keys are in the cruisers, but my guess is they are.”

“Let’s go find out.”

Miller handed Sheppard and Dudley off to Rolf, and she and Scratch went to the top of the ridge. Right across from them were two Idaho State Police cruisers. The door of one car was still open. Standing next to it was surly, bearded biker smoking a cigarette and sipping from a bottle of screw-top wine. He was glaring at a young policeman who stood nearby. The gang member’s look was one of pure hatred. Miller took in the posture of the young cop. He was puffed up like a scared kitten, ready for a fight. The truce between the police and the Demons of Death was already an uneasy one, at least in the case of these two clowns. Miller kind of liked that. She pondered a strategy and studied the scene.

In the distance, a few clumps of bikers and some small groups of officers had separated into cliques. They studied each other suspiciously, like awkward teens at their first dance. Miller watched as each group took furtive looks at the other, hiding their interest as if they didn’t want to be caught staring. They were all clutching their weapons too close, and standing as if tense and on edge. The zombie battle down below had done the trick. They were all jacked up on adrenalin and full of mistrust.

Miller and Scratch exchanged a look. He smiled.

The cohesion was falling apart. The two enemies had come together desiring something they could only get by working together. If it was Miller and her friends’ asses they’d wanted, they were feeling sorely disappointed. So what would they do next, when it seemed their quarry was completely out of reach? She figured that it wouldn’t be pretty. She thought that maybe they’d even turn on each other. Well, a big battle between them would surely make a marvelous distraction.

Miller put some more thought into that concept. Her head bobbed back and forth as she considered alternatives. Then she came to a decision. Miller motioned for Scratch to follow her back down into the ravine. They regrouped where Rolf and Sheppard were standing, all the way down towards the garage door that led back underground. A breeze ruffled Miller’s hair. The birds chirped happily.

“What’s the story, Penny?” Sheppard asked in a low whisper.

“It’s a powder keg up there, guys. But I’m thinking if we can get them to realize that we’re out of their reach, the truce will die. Maybe we can get them to go for each other’s throats.”

“You think that will work?” Rolf asked the empty air near his head. He turned back to Miller. “Walter says it is a very good idea.”

“Shitfire, they’re almost at that point now,” said Scratch. “Did you see that meat puppet posturing for the pasty-faced law dog? They’re both ready to skull-fuck each other. I say let ‘em go at it. Fuckers.”

Miller smiled. “You know, I almost got used to ex-biker Scratch. Now you’re all scruffy and pissed off again. I like that.”

Scratch grinned. “It’s still you and me, woman.”

“Okay, that gives me a great idea. Do you think you can pull off the role of a bad boy biker one more time? I think we need help from that old Scratch right about now.”

“Fuckin’ A,” Scratch replied, puffing up in a surly imitation of the other biker they had seen. “It’s in my genes. What’s the plan?”

She quickly told them her idea.

“I don’t know. That’s a tad risky, isn’t it?” Scratch frowned. His posture sagged a bit. “You ain’t wrong often, but…”

“Yeah, I’ll allow it’s quite a risk,” Miller said,” but so is running out there to try and commandeer that cruiser by force. Once they all turn around and start firing we’d be hamburger meat. Like you said, their rear will become the front. This at least has some chance of success.”

Scratch turned to Sheppard. “Karl, are you on board?”

Sheppard seemed ready to vomit or pass out. He was hurting again for sure. A chilling thought passed through her mind.
Jesus, did you get bit and not tell us? Or not notice? But then the dog would be growling, right?

“I trust you, Penny.” That was all Sheppard could manage to say.

Miller studied the group. There were no more objections. “Let’s do this.”

Rolf led Sheppard back into the tunnel mouth where the two of them hid out of sight. Dudley followed his master. Miller went to the tunnel doorway and stood by the corner. She could be seen from outside, but only if someone was looking for her. She held the M-4 across her chest in an unconscious imitation of Rat. She was ready to use the rifle, but she hoped she wouldn’t have to. If she did, the noise would surely bring the bikers and police down on their heads. That would be a catastrophe. Miller stood guard. She waited.

Scratch scrambled up the ravine wall. Miller watched him go, silently praying for well-being. When he was high enough to lean on the edge, he poked his head up above ground level. He shouted at the biker by the cop car.

“Hey, brother!”

The two men above him turned as one, both startled.

“Coyote needs the whole club inside the warehouse right fucking now,” Scratch hollered. “Jesus. Can you believe this shit? These motherfucking pigs are trying to arrest him!”

“What?” The drunken biker had a surprisingly high-pitched voice.

“You heard me,” Scratch shouted. “It’s time to participate, brother. Let’s defend the colors. Go!”

Scratch ducked back out of sight. The young cop panicked. He went for his weapon and started shouting “Don’t move. Freeze!”

“You fuckers,” screamed the high-voiced biker. “Eat shit!”

Miller could hear two pairs of boots running through the mud. One shot was fired. Fists and shouting and grunts of pain followed. The biker and the officer were going at each other like mad men.

Scratch stuck his head up again. He smiled and waved at Miller. This time, instead of dropping down the hill to retreat, Scratch continued the rest of the way up and over the edge. That was the signal Miller had been waiting for. She motioned for Rolf and Sheppard to follow. Rolf came out of the shadows. He was carrying Sheppard, exactly as planned. Dudley trotted along beside them as if excited to see what would happen next.

Miller led them to the right of the tunnel door and up the ramp that went to the edge of the road. She could already hear the police cruiser rolling in the gravel above her head. It was close, and to the right. She urged the men forward.

“Motherfuckers!”

The racket overhead told her the fight was spreading. Someone else fired, and other men shot back. Men were screaming orders and shouting profanities and yelling back and forth things like
put the gun down, freeze, drop it
. The situation was raging out of control. The hate had spread like a forest fire.

Miller, Rolf, Sheppard, Scratch, and the dog made it to street level in fifteen seconds, though each of those seconds felt like a hundred years to Miller. They had so little time to successfully pull this off. Somehow Rolf managed to juggle both Sheppard and his weapon and make it up the slope.

When they were at the same level as the cruiser, Miller took in the scene. Some of the bikers and policemen were standing at the entrance to the warehouse, facing off and arguing. Others were firing warning shots into the ground or high into the air. They had so many weapons they were afraid to fully go for it, because the result would be a slaughter. Fistfights had broken out. The cop and biker who had been watching the car were rolling around in the mud fighting. Some other men were trying to pull them apart.

The enemy was occupied with the turmoil in his own ranks. The plan had worked perfectly. They were oblivious now, but Miller was fully aware that the opportunity wouldn’t last long. There were too many pairs of eyes that could spot them and turn the tide. They’d have to move fast to get away.

Scratch pulled up in the police cruiser. He already had the back door open. Rolf got to the cruiser and practically threw Sheppard inside, and then dove in after. Dudley obediently jumped in behind the two of them. He sat on the back seat and barked for joy. The noise went unnoticed in the tumult.

Miller went around the hood of the cruiser, trailing her palm on the metal, her eyes still on the chaos across the street. She opened the passenger door. The uneasy truce between the bikers and the law had come apart. Men were still screaming and threatening to shoot and probably would any second. She couldn’t hear anything else that they were saying and didn’t care. She thought about shooting one of the bikers in the leg to kick things off. When she did, someone else was bound to shoot back, creating an instant crossfire and perhaps starting a firefight that would wipe them all out. That would be cold blooded as hell, but it would add to her team’s chances of survival.

She couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Scratch didn’t hesitate. “Penny, come on. Don’t just stand there. Get in.”

Miller jumped into the cruiser, and slammed the door without thinking. The moment had passed. They would just have to run for it.

“Hey, wait, look,” came a shout from the garage. “What the fuck are those people doing?”

“Stop,” a man called.

Someone else screamed, “It’s them!”

“We’ve been made,” said Scratch from the driver’s seat. The engine was still running. He threw the cruiser into gear and slammed his door. “Buckle up, kids.”

Scratch floored the accelerator without waiting. The huge engine roared. The car hopped forward and they were racing away in an instant. Scratch struggled for control at first. The cruiser fishtailed down the muddy road but when they hit the pavement the tires did finally catch. Scratch whooped for joy. The power was incredible. It was like being strapped to a rocket.

“Are they following us?” asked Sheppard, still sounding weak and tired.

Scratch swerved around an old wreck that hadn’t been cleared from the road. They clipped it, denting the patrol car, and just continued on. He was doing seventy down the open stretch before anyone could blink.

“Following us?” Scratch said. “Gee, what do you think, Karl?”

“We’ll be fine,” said Miller. “We have a big head start and they are disorganized and confused. Just don’t slow down for a damn picnic or anything.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

The cruiser picked up speed. Scratch saw another wreck and swerved again, but this time he leaned into it and timed the gas perfectly. Scratch was a great driver, of course, and out on the highway they hit 110 mph, edged past that, and in no time the warehouse and garage and then whole damn area had been left far behind.

Miller felt relieved, though she also knew that their reprieve was temporary. They couldn’t stay on the run forever. Not out on some lonely stretch of two-lane highway with no town for another hundred miles. And yet that’s exactly what they’d have to find some way to do. Miller didn’t say anything. She let Scratch go for distance and take full advantage of the straightaway. She studied the dash and the GPS and opened the glove compartment looking for maps. At least in a cop car they were probably safe from random drones. Well, for the time being, anyway.

“Where to, boss?” Scratch grinned.

“Just make them eat dust for a long while. We’ll stop at the next town, wherever the hell that is, and look for another car. Assuming we last that long.”

Rolf was muttering and chewing and licking his lips. Dudley was napping without a care in the world. Sheppard was trying to rest.

Miller leaned back in her seat. She was thirsty as well as bone tired. Not that any of that mattered. They were all thirsty and weary and Sheppard needed medical attention and Rolf was demented and the dog needed some food too, but she would have to deal with all those things later, maybe in the next town, once she’d ensured their continued survival. Right now she just needed to keep her people alive.

She had her duty.

The conference room was dark, the only light source a large, flat-screen monitor on the far wall. The image it displayed was a bird’s eye view from a drone stationed one thousand feet above the ground. The little craft was flying three miles behind a stolen police cruiser, ostensibly the one containing Sheriff Miller and her companions. Low-lying clouds partially obscured the view at times, and at the moment the screen was white and streaked with water vapor.

“Can’t we get a better angle?” Charlotte Williams sounded upset. “Or at least zero in and keep them in the frame?”

Crespi reached for a telephone handset. “I will call the pilot, but their standing orders are to give us the best view possible without revealing their presence. This is probably as good as it is likely to get, at least for today.”