The Hungry (Book 2): The Wrath of God (3 page)

The doctor shook his head. "No."

Short pause.

"About as much as we can hope for, I suppose," said Rubenstein. He looked up at Miller, that annoyingly neutral expression on his round face. "Yes, sir. I think she'll be happy to hear that." Rubenstein closed the phone.

"Happy to hear what?" Miller demanded.

"Come with me," Rubenstein said. He got up with renewed energy. Miller was on her feet in an instant. Her pulse sped up. Something, anything was going to change. Good. She followed him back into the main hotel room, where they found Scratch, Sheppard, and Terrill Lee seated on one of the long, ornate couches. They were all facing forward—a bunch of little boys waiting for the nuns to deliver them an ass whipping for farting at mass.

Miller paused in the doorway. Sitting on a gold loveseat with his back to her was a man she didn't recognize. Rubenstein motioned her forward. The man stood as they entered the room. He was decked out in desert camouflage, but his stars were clearly visible. He was about sixty years old, from what Miller could guess, but still in very good shape. Not exactly handsome, the years hadn't been kind to him. His short white hair was clipped in a traditional high-and-tight. His green eyes played over her, and he smiled slightly. A guy winning at the tables or a redneck Romeo hoping to get lucky. He stepped forward and held out his hand.

"Sheriff Miller? I'm General Edward Gifford. It's a real pleasure to meet you."

Miller shook his hand. She didn't return the smile. "General, I'll let you know if it is a pleasure when I finally figure out whether you're our savior or our jailer."

Gifford's smile broadened a bit. He clearly admired her spunk. Miller didn't particularly appreciate how he liked it.

"Let's just say I'm your parole officer. Have a seat, Sheriff." The tone was polite and deferential. The statement was clearly an order.

Miller looked at her options. She took the padded armchair that sat at the end of the couch. Dr. Rubenstein took the seat opposite Miller. Terrill Lee, Scratch, and Sheppard stayed put, waiting for a lecture from the Principal. Gifford resumed what now appeared to be his throne. He placed a dark brown briefcase in his lap. He surveyed them all.

Out of the blue, Terrill ventured a joke. "I suppose you're wondering why I called you all together here today."

Everyone looked at him. No one spoke for a long time.

"Sorry," Terrill Lee said. He slumped down into his seat. Sensing his discomfort, Sheppard turned and smiled kindly.

Miller looked pointedly at the General. She said, "So why
have
you called us all together, General? And what's this shit about parole? Are we getting out of here, or what?"

General Gifford blinked. He cocked his head admiringly. He sat down. "Let's get right to the point then, shall we?"

"Yes," Miller said. "Let's."

"The Army wants you four quarantined for the duration. Sheriff Miller, you are a unique specimen, the only living person to have received both the zombie virus and the antidote. You went to hell and back and survived. The rest of you were witnesses and participants in an adventure which violated any number of Homeland Security regulations. You broke into and stole classified materials from a Top Secret installation. It isn't too much of a leap to call you traitors."

Miller shook her head. "You don't need to tenderize the meat, General. You're here for a reason. Let's hear it."

"Yes. Well, despite all of that… We have something that we want you to do for us, Sheriff. All of you, in fact."

"After which?"

"After which all charges will be dropped and you may leave the premises."

"Just like that?" Scratch said, dryly.

"Almost," General Gifford said. "We'll fly you far away from the Occupied Zone and you can start your lives over."

Miller leaned forward. "And just what do you have up your gilded sleeve?"

Gifford leaned closer as well. He produced a slim folder from his briefcase and opened it. "A mission. Don't worry, it's just a milk run."

"Do we look worried to you, Gifford?" asked Scratch. But he managed to look only semi-tough sitting on that fluffy, gold paisley sofa.

That remark earned a laugh from the general. "I didn't mean to insult you, Mr. Bowen… "

"Scratch," corrected Miller, Terrill Lee, Sheppard, and Rubenstein, simultaneously.

"Yes, of course," said General Gifford. He cleared his throat. "At any rate…"

"Why don't you tell us a little more about this harmless little milk run of ours, General," said Miller. Her tone dripped sarcasm.

General Gifford cleared his throat again. He perused his folder. "It's simple, actually. We need you to return to Science Station TK-508 and retrieve some data."

Miller said, "What the hell is Science Station TK-508?"

Before the General could answer, Sheppard said, "He means we have to go back into Crystal Palace."

Terrill Lee and Scratch both shifted uncomfortably in their seats. They said nothing. Frustrated, Miller blurted out, "That's your little milk run? You want us to go back to zombie central, where we almost died just a few weeks ago, and pick up your dirty laundry?"

"I assure you it is perfectly safe," began Gifford. "The zombie outbreak in the area has been contained. You'll be in and out before anyone knows a thing."

"Excuse me, General," Miller said, "but if it's so perfectly safe, why not send your own troops? Why do you need us to go back?"

"Because you four have a completely unique set of skills, you have direct knowledge of dealing with both the virus and the zombies, and far more importantly, of the target site. No one else alive has your experience with TK-508. It was beyond Top Secret, and thus we are unfamiliar with its systems. To insert beginners and somehow bring them up to speed in time is impractical, probably impossible. Look, we'll have you covered every step of the way. You'll be going in as advisors only. I guarantee you won't see any combat."

Miller shook her head.

"And if we agree to do your shopping for you," Scratch said, "exactly what do we get out of it beyond safe passage the hell out of Nevada?"

"How does fifty thousand each sound?"

Scratch puffed his chest. "Now you're talking."

"But there's more." Gifford caught the eye of each of them in turn. He stopped at Miller. "There's a real hope that, if we get what we want, we may be able to cure Sheriff Miller once and for all."

Sheppard sat up suddenly. His eyes widened as his scientific mind flared. "You've had a breakthrough?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"What's that mean?" demanded Miller. "What's he saying?"

Dr. Rubenstein spoke up. "It means, Penny, that there is a possibility that the zombie virus that has infected you can be eradicated once and for all. In you and in all others who have been infected. If you succeed, we can make a better antidote so that this whole nightmare will be over within a matter of months."

"And all we need to do is go on this milk run?" mused Miller. "And what, get you the files and discs and samples? That's it?"

"That's it. You go in with Special Ops protection, locate what we need, and return."

"And we go in packing, right?" Miller said.

Gifford said, "Everything the mission will need is already on board the helicopter."

Scratch interrupted. "Let's talk some more about the money."

Gifford smiled that weird
I'm gonna get lucky soon
smile. "Like I said, if you get us what we want, you and your friends will earn your release and a lot of cash. You can just go about your lives."

"I don't know," said Scratch, tapping his chin with one finger. "I kinda like the sound of a million each."

Terrill Lee nodded in agreement.

Gifford seemed to contemplate their greed. "I'm authorized to go as high as two-hundred-fifty thousand each. That's my best offer."

"I'm in," chimed Scratch.
Ka-Ching!
His eyes were rolling like dark cherries in the windows of a slot machine.

"Guess I'll settle for that," said Terrill Lee, a bit more reluctantly. "Gonna go bonkers sitting around here for the duration." Miller knew her ex-husband. He was already spending the money in his mind. Probably fixing to buy jet ski, a couple of dirt bikes, and an entire nude mud wrestling team. The pig.

"I'm in, too." Sheppard was sitting at attention, tense and uncomfortable. Miller noticed and felt something was very off. Something Sheppard wasn't saying aloud. "If it means curing the Sheriff, then I'm going. After all, I know exactly where everything you want can be located. This mission needs to happen."

Gifford turned his head. "Sheriff Miller?"

They all looked at her.

Miller shook her head. "No."

The men in the room stared.

Miller said, "I think you're full of shit, General. If it were that simple, you would have already just sent a battalion of your professional flying monkeys to take care of it. What aren't you telling us?"

General Gifford let the smile drip off his face. Miller glared at him. Gifford frowned. He lost the staring contest, and Doc Rubenstein seemed quietly pleased by that fact.

"There is the question of timing," Gifford said. "We're under the gun. Frankly, I am under orders to destroy TK-508 and all its facilities by eighteen hundred tomorrow." He consulted his watch. "That is, just over 26 hours from now."

"When?" asked Scratch.

"Six PM," said Sheppard and Terrill Lee together.

"Why the hell would they want you to do that?" asked Miller.

Gifford looked at her, the weight of his rank seeming to come down heavy. "The Secretary of Defense sees this as a no-brainer, Sheriff Miller. TK-508 is the origination point of the zombies. We have fresh intel that suggests that not only do certain foreign groups know that fact, but they know the location of TK-508 and what to look for. In case you hadn't noticed, the United States of America is a mess, and Nevada is the Wild West. At the moment, the zombies are contained mostly within Nevada. We have to end this. Our borders are worse than ever now. Can you imagine what would happen if the zombie virus got into the wrong hands, or if some corporate interests located the cure and blackmailed the US government? Those are risks we are simply not willing to take."

Gifford paused to let that sink in for a moment. Then Terrill Lee raised his hand and said, "What does
mostly
mean? Are there zombies outside of Nevada?"

The General looked down at his notes, avoiding their eyes. "There have been some isolated reports of zombies in surrounding states. So far, these zombies have succumbed to a judicious use of force, but there is no way for us to patrol the entire border of Nevada 24 hours a day, not even with Predator drones. If we don't act, the zombies are going to get out sooner or later and spread this virus. However, if you succeed in your mission, there is a hope that the cure that Sheriff Miller seeks will work to stop the spread of the plague. We simply have to try before we give up and blow the site. That's my assessment of the situation."

Scratch said, "Damn."

General Gifford cleared his throat. "Sheriff Miller, I need your help. The country needs your help."

With an odd urgency, Sheppard said, "Penny, it may be our last best hope."

The windows began to rattle. They had become used to the sound of supersonic jets landing and departing at McCarran, but this was something else. Whatever was out there, it was loud, it was persistent, and it was hovering just beyond the window. Miller craned her neck to see what was outside.

A huge shape appeared in the afternoon sky. A Vietnam-era heavy-lift helicopter roared by the window, its three engines producing a whine that was only rivaled by the thump of the seven rotors. The helicopter resembled a gigantic, desert-brown insect, the stuff of nightmares. The helicopter circled around, and instead of landing at the airport a mile or so away, it descended into the empty parking lot of the hotel. The chopper powered down. From their vantage point at the top of the Excelsior Towers, they could see the cargo door at the rear open up. They watched as seven figures in full battle rattle exited in formation.

"Ah, I see your escort has arrived," said General Gifford.

"Escort?"

"Of course, Sheriff," replied General Gifford. "I told you, you're not going in there alone. We're not sending you into the middle of Downtown Zombieville without support. The team should be up here momentarily."

"General, would you excuse us for a moment?" asked Miller. Gifford simply waved his hand, dismissing them. He and Dr. Rubenstein conferred in hushed tones.

Miller dragged Terrill Lee, Sheppard, and Scratch into the far corner by the floor-to-ceiling drapes. They stood near a fountain that featured a boy peeing into a pool of water. Miller hunched them into a football huddle. She whispered, "Listen up, boys, I really don't think this is such a good idea."

Terrill Lee frowned. "What's the matter, Penny? We have the opportunity here to cure you, stop the zombie outbreak and, more importantly, get our asses the hell out of here. What part of that don't you hanker for?"

"And the money too," Scratch said. "There's that."

"There's something wrong with this scenario," Miller said. "If all they needed was someone to go and retrieve some data, they could have sent anyone. They would have already sent someone. Why now? Why so late? Why send
us?
"

"You know that I've been consulting with them about the virus, Sheriff," said Sheppard. He seemed hesitant, awkward. "What he's saying makes sense. I think they are close enough that a few files from Crystal Palace could make the difference between you living a half-life here in this penthouse and having a full, productive life back in the world. Personally, I think we should do it." And then Sheppard made the kind of face a child makes when signaling
I've got me a big secret I just can't tell you now
.