The Hungry 5: All Hell Breaks Loose (The Sheriff Penny Miller Series) (9 page)

They reached another entrance of sorts, a wider one, and stepped through it. The tunnel got larger at last. Miller saw Scratch stretch his lower back and raise and rotate his arms just as they came into the open. This slightly larger cavern smelled like fresh water and Miller thought she caught just the hint of a breeze. Had they found a way out? Fresh air was coming from somewhere nearby. The ground tilted slightly as if they were gradually heading back up toward the surface, which made perfect sense. Miller began to feel more optimistic.

Scratch asked, “How much longer, kid?”

“We’re almost there.”

“Brandon,” Miller said, “Are you sure this Rolf guy is our best option?”

Brandon turned around. “Yes.” He looked back as he walked, but only made eye contact with Sheppard. “Anyway, remember this. Whatever you do, don’t ask who Walter is, and don’t ever acknowledge that he’s speaking to someone else who isn’t there. Don’t challenge his delusion. If he looks like he’s speaking to Walter, just keep quiet until he finishes the conversation and snaps out of it. Trust me, you’ll be a lot happier if you play along.”

The ceiling became uneven. Scratch ducked another outcropping that threatened to crack his skull. “Why? What happens if we say something wrong?”

Brandon stopped. “He can become violent, but I’ve only heard that, I’ve never seen it. So if you think you may say the wrong thing, just don’t say anything at all. That’s what my mother used to tell me.” He flashed a white smile in the torchlight. Brandon turned to face forward. He started walking again. They were in some kind of wide cavern now, definitely moving toward the center of the caves and again at a sharp, rising angle. Brandon motioned for them to quiet down and walk more slowly. He passed a couple of side tunnels that led to the right before ultimately taking one headed to the left. “It won’t be long, we’re close.”

“Close to what?” Miller had caught something odd in his tone. It made her feel slightly paranoid. Could he be leading them into a trap, still one of the cannibals after all? Miller gripped her weapon.

Before Brandon could respond, something that felt like a mini-earthquake—a sound and movement that was very short and concentrated—rumbled directly overhead. They all squatted down. Brandon remained standing. The noise increased, then gradually faded away.

“What the hell was that?” asked Scratch.

“Sounded like Army trucks. Those are probably the trucks that were coming for you, Sheriff.”

“Outstanding,” she said laconically. “That’s just what we need right now.”

“Come on,” said Brandon, hurrying a bit. “I’m not the only one who knows these tunnels. We have maybe a ten-minute head start on them. Gary will send them down here after us. We need to find Rolf and Dudley right now.”

Brandon waved his torch to clear another spider web. They went into a slightly smaller space. This tunnel was much more dug out and shaped and braced with timber, more like a mine than a cave, and when he reached it Brandon broke into a dead run. Miller thought he might be leaving them behind, but at the last moment Brandon slowed down and waved for them to hurry up. Sheppard, Scratch, Miller, and Rat followed behind down into the darkness, keeping pace, holding their primitive torches and trying not to accidentally blow them out.

A faint growling sound up ahead made Miller’s hackles rise.

Brandon did not slow down.

They could just see the other end of the tunnel when Miller identified the snarling of a dog. It was a low, wet, and deeply threatening growl of warning that chilled her blood. She felt naked and defenseless. The animal was nearby but invisible. They could not see more than a few feet into the darkness.

Brandon came to a dead halt. He whistled. “Dudley, go get Rolf, boy. Go, go! Good dog. We need him!”

Miller couldn’t help thinking,
Oh, and Timmy’s fallen down the well, too.

The cadaver dog stepped out from under a slanted rock. He was huge, a German shepherd by his coloring. Brandon repeated his instructions. Dudley actually cocked his head to one side, like he was processing the request. He gave one, loud bark, and hurried off in the direction they were running. Brandon raised his hand to stop the group from following.

“Hold up here, folks. We don’t want to surprise Rolf.”

“The dog we can surprise, but not the master?” asked Scratch. “Whatever.”

“Oh,” said Brandon. “One more heads up, guys. You will notice that Rolf sometimes talks to the dog, too.”

“So what?” Miller said. “I used to talk to my cat all the time. Not that it ever did me any good.” Her eyes stung. She tried not to let the thought of Sgt. Pepper upset her again. Every damn thing seemed to be upsetting these days.

“Brandon, I need to ask the obvious, though the way you’re running around like a track star I rather doubt it, but don’t we also need to be worrying about zombies down here?”

Brandon stared at her. “You don’t ever stop worrying about zombies.”

Miller snorted. “There it is. Okay, now what’s next?”

Brandon waived a hand. “Shh. You’ll see.”

They waited. Miller heard some rocks dislodge and roll down a slope. A man appeared from the far end of the tunnel. At first glance, he reminded Miller of Sylvester Stallone in one of those Rambo sequels. He was a muscular soldier, complete with BDU pants, jump boots, long filthy hair, and a red sweatband. The only difference was that he likely weighed in at less than one hundred fifty pounds, and had red t-shirt on with the logo from a laundry detergent company on the front. The odd design made him look like a walking target. Rambo could have snapped this guy in half without breaking stride. Of course, that was the movies, so maybe the real Stallone was a munchkin too. Miller came out of her reverie, wondering if she was the one going psychotic.

Rolf spoke. He had a rich baritone that sounded pretentious and scratchy at the same time. “Dudley tells me you need our help, young Bradley.”

Brandon said nothing about his name being mangled. Miller figured that was a reasonable posture, especially if the guy was actually bat shit crazy. The torchlight sent long fingers of shadow dancing up the wall. Water dripped nearby and something stirred in the rocks above, something that squeaked like a rusty door hinge. A rat this time.

Brandon spoke with enthusiasm. “We need to get to the north entrance as soon as possible. Will you and Dudley assist us?”

“Do you hear that, Walter?” Rolf spoke to the air near his head. “We have been called upon for a great quest.”

The dog was eyeing the bats and rats up above them. It whined faintly.

Scratch and Sheppard and Rat exchanged looks. Miller just shrugged.

Rolf seemed to listen to his invisible friend. He turned back to Brandon. “You know, of course, that this journey will take us right through the Well of Souls. The approach is treacherous and filled with great peril.
You!”
Rolf pointed at Miller. “And you!” He pointed at Scratch. “You have the mark of Norg upon you! Are you prepared to confront the huskarls of Skaarsgaard? Or will you run when hounds of Fleeg beset you?”

Miller could hear Sheppard whisper to Brandon, “What the fuck is he talking about?”

“I have no idea,” Brandon answered, quietly. “Just don’t argue.”

“Well?” Rolf said. “We are waiting.”

Miller stepped forward with the pry bar in her hands. She studied Rolf and did her best to imagine what his life had been like down here all this time. She considered a hundred different ways to respond, but decided to be relatable on his level. “I concur. Only by being tested can we determine our true strength. We don't have a lot of other options, Rolf, but we would value you as our guide.”

Scratch, Rat, and Sheppard all looked at her in amazement. Even Brandon seemed surprised by her response.

Back straight, Miller headed toward the darkness of the next cavern, but paused for effect at the entrance. She turned and regarded the others, who were all staring open-mouthed at her, including poor Rolf and his dog, Dudley. Of course the dog was just panting. He seemed far saner than his master.

The others stayed where they were, apparently waiting for something.

In a moment of pure inspiration, Miller patted her leg and whistled.

Dudley the dog came trotting over, followed closely by a befuddled Rolf, who stood by her side as if surrendering authority to a superior officer. Dudley sat on his haunches and licked Miller’s hand. Miller stroked his head and patted his big neck and the German Sheppard lay down by her side obediently.

Rolf leaned closer. He spoke timidly. “You… It
is
you, isn’t it?”

Miller had no idea what that meant, but she had no time for any silly-assed mental games. “It sure seems that way, don’t it?”

“The Chosen One!” Rolf turned to the others. “It really is her!”

Scratch groaned audibly. Rat covered her eyes with her hand. Sheppard simply turned away. The torches flickered smoke and Rolf’s bleary eyes danced around like marbles on a white floor.

Finally Scratch muttered, “What is it about a little zombie apocalypse that brings out the utter whacko in folks?”

Rolf was awestruck and staring at Miller. His mind had gone somewhere else. Brandon was the only one who seemed to have any sense of how to speak to the poor man. “Hey, Rolf! Listen up!”

Rolf straightened. “Sir?”

“The Chosen One needs us to get to the north entrance as quickly as possible. She commands that you lead the way.”

Rolf continued to stare at Miller. He repeated his warning. “You know, of course, that this journey will take us right through the Well of Souls…”

“Right on,” said Miller. “Well of Souls. Copy that. What do you say we get going now, Rolf, and then you can fill me in on the mark of Norg and the hounds of Fleeg a bit later on this evening, when things settle down?”

“She
is
the Chosen One!” Rolf said, in awe. “How else could she know sacred lore?”

“Uh, Penny?” Scratch said, with an edge of anxiety. He jerked his head backward, his gaze fixed on their rear.

A distant light appeared at the far end of the cavern. Shadows surrounded it.

“Shit. Time’s up.” Miller headed off into the dark. She heard the others gather together to follow her. Scratch stayed at the rear while Miller took point. They moved out. Rolf trotted along at Miller’s side. As the darkness began to smother them, Rolf made a soft clicking sound with his tongue. The dog shot in front of Miller, but set an easy pace.

They made good time. Miller trusted the hound would smell danger and alert them by barking a warning. She let Dudley lead the way. The dog would stop, sniff her, run ahead, sniff the tunnel, mark a rock, and then repeat the process. Apparently Miller had picked up two new creatures to worry about. At least one of them was proving useful, though he sure did piss a lot. Everyone followed Miller, as she followed the dog. Dudley seemed to know right where he was going.

Rolf struggled to get to the front of the pack, but it was still difficult for two people to walk side by side in the narrow tunnel. Miller looked back over her shoulder. The light behind them was slowly gaining speed. She reckoned it was easier to jog when you knew the folks you were chasing were the ones more likely to stir up the zombies and get attacked. Kind of set it up so that you won either way.

Rolf slowed down and crouched low. He growled again.

Miller bent over to catch her breath. They were all panting. She could hear water dripping. She started walking again.

“Slow down,” whispered Rolf hoarsely. “We are approaching the lair of the huskarls. You must wait!”

Miller slowed and then stopped. She waited in the shadows for instruction. Rolf could go and dub her the Chosen One, but Miller wasn’t dumb enough to believe her own public relations. She had no reason to think that she could get her people to the north entrance on her own. The dog seemed like their best hope.

“Hold, I say. I must pass!”

Miller stepped back and turned sideways. Someone shouted from far behind them in the dark tunnel, someone who had just picked up their trail. Miller could hear their battle rattle now, so it was clear that the people following them were carrying weapons and ammo.

Miller squeezed against the rock wall to let Rolf pass. “Welcome aboard, Cap’n,” she said, dryly. “You’ve got the conn.”

Once in front, Rolf led them down a side tunnel at a rapid pace. “The lair of the huskarls is just this side of the Well of Souls. Be advised of the coming test, Chosen One. Your character shall determine your destiny.”

Sheppard sighed. “Just what do you mean by that?”

“Only those who are worthy may pass,” Rolf said, and before they could respond he and Dudley ran forward. “Follow me.”

“Well, I sure as hell hope the rest of us turn out to be worthy too, O Chosen One,” drawled Scratch, “otherwise you’re sure going to have yourself one lonely-assed trip up to Idaho.”

Rolf stopped dead in his tracks. Miller bumped into him. The others were forced to stop as well. “Idaho?”

“Yes.”

“Idaho?” Rolf asked again—though this time the word sounded more like an accusation than a name. “That is your ultimate destination?”

Miller nodded in the flickering torchlight. The sound of water was closer. The air held the scent of a fresh breeze. They were so close, yet so lost. She answered Rolf. “Idaho if we don’t get captured by the Army first, which seems pretty likely to happen if we continue to just stand here with our thumbs up our collective asses.”

Rolf whispered to Miller. “Take me. Take me with you to Idaho.”

“You kind of have us over a barrel here.” The shouting and the sound of running feet were closing in, perhaps a mere hundred yards away. Miller made an executive decision on the spot. “Fine, Rolf. Done. If you can get us through the lair of the huskarls and this Well of Souls without getting us killed, you’re on the bus with the rest of us, okay? Now let’s go!”