The Hungry (Book 3): At the End of the World (20 page)

Miller almost felt like a victim, like she had lost all her fight. She never liked feeling that way, and decided that if she could, she would make Martin feel like a victim too. Right before he died. By the time they made it back to the lodge, she was filled with a terrible resolve.

Martin left them below. He headed up the stairs, followed by a couple of his attack dog survivalists. Crosby was nowhere in sight. He was probably already in the cottage with Sheppard, demanding information. Miller wondered if Sheppard would break and tell the truth, that he’d worked at Crystal Palace and had been involved with the zombie virus from the very beginning. Miller hoped not. She took a moment to worry about Sheppard, but she was feeling so conflicted about the loss of Terrill Lee, and Sheppard’s role in this whole fiasco from the start, that it was hard to feel fully sympathetic.

Inside the lodge, Miller began to warm up. She was grateful for the return of feeling to her limbs. She looked around the lodge. The fireplace was lit, the fire crackling almost cheerfully. Miller suddenly realized that she had been in the lodge for a little over a day, and had yet had a chance to just sit in front of the fire and drink one glass of wine. There was something terribly sad about that simple fact. The world had once again become such a dark and heartbreaking place.

“Penny?”

Miller sagged against Scratch. He seemed to sense her mood and caught her weight. She knew he would have held her if his hands had not been bound. Miller closed her eyes for a moment. She felt the loss of everything since the first day of the zombie apocalypse, all the death and destruction weighing down on her. She’d lost her home. Her job. Her cat. And all those people. A movie ran behind her eyelids. So many dead. Her deputy, Bob Wells, and his son, Lance. Luther Grabowsky. Needles. That poor biker chick, Darla. Dale and Cochrane from Rat’s team. Psycho. Elizabeth, the little girl eaten by the cultists in the hills. Hell, to a certain extent, Miller even missed the bad guys, Sanchez and Father Abraham. At least they had also been human once. The world had lost too many people and many of those who were left hardly seemed worth saving. There was something about this group of men that
wasn’t
human. Their sad alpha male philosophy had reduced them to shallow animals, strutting like roosters, still unaware of the overwhelming number of enemies they’d have to face, completely ignorant of the weary moral cost of shooting what had once been your friends and neighbors. Assuming they survived that long.

Time would teach them, of course, and the hard way.

Some of the townspeople had gathered near the fireplace. They looked cold and scared and, like everyone else in Hope Springs, in way over their heads. Miller thought she recognized one of the faces, though she did not recall her name. A woman who saw them tied up and looked away, her face sagging from an emotion that might have been guilt.

As they marched Miller past the throng of scared locals and up the stairs where they had been told Martin was waiting, she realized that she had almost forgotten someone in her brief remembrance. She hated herself for that. Perhaps the memory had been just too recent and too painful to bear when coupled with all of the other losses.

Miller climbed the stairs. She thought of Terrill Lee locked in that little room below. He had to be dead by now, or he’d gone stark raving mad from the virus, if he’d failed to shoot himself, that poor baby. She had loved him so. Back when they were both young and foolish and ridiculously hormonal. He’d been so brave at the end. He had made her promise to survive. And Miller vowed she would continue to fight. Ending up as some kind of a sex slave was not survival. She would need to figure out a way to get everyone out of this mess, to escape one last time. She had to. She was responsible for these people.

They were led to the suite where Miller had spent her one and only night’s sleep at the lodge. Abruptly, Miller stopped. In a flash of heat and grief she wished she had spent that one quiet, beautiful night in bed with Scratch. She wished that they had made love.

“Keep moving.”

Miller shook away the regret. She stepped up onto the top floor landing. Some of the rooms were closed, but some doors stood open and they could see men inside drinking wine and partying. Weary snipers stood at the upstairs window. Someone had taped the glass to make small firing holes. Cold air rushed inside to flood the lodge.

Miller and Lynn were pushed into a large, top floor suite. Most of the men remained outside. The door was quickly shut behind them.

Martin was waiting in the sitting area . He lounged on the couch, arrogant and calm, drinking directly from a bottle of wine. Miller glared at him. He had country music playing from somewhere, a male artist Miller didn’t recognize.

Someone shoved Miller and Lynn closer to the couch. Martin didn’t stand. Instead, he insisted with his eyes that the ladies be led before him, as if he were some kind of demented pharaoh. Most of the remaining men exited. Miller heard footsteps and the suite door closed. She checked out the room, taking stock of the situation. Four armed men, who stood half at attention, flanked Martin. He was now looking down at something—some papers—the better to show his authority. He ignored them for a few moments.
Yeah, the little prick is just setting the scene,
Miller thought.
Little boy
Martin is trying to show us that he is the boss.

They heard some shouts from outside the room. Another barrage of shots rang out from the hall. The noise boomed through the building. The zombies were still out there, still coming. Miller thought she’d detected a touch of panic in those human voices. Perhaps they’d begun to realize how badly they’d soon be outnumbered. Every human killed could eventually be turned, unless shot through the head. If you added up all the townspeople in the area, all the panicked drivers on the highways, and the starving population of Denver and Fort Collins already on the run, there were going to be one fuck of a lot of zombies up here and damned soon. The more noise they made the more creatures they attracted. The more they attracted, the more they made.

Miller figured they’d make it through the night, but just barely.

Martin finally looked up. He surveyed Miler and Lynn as if they were slaves at some kind of auction.

“Why, if it isn’t Sheriff Penelope J. Miller of Flat Rock, Nevada.” Martin held up one particular piece of paper. It looked a lot like an arrest report. Miller reckoned the little bastard had retrieved it from Crosby’s office whenever Crosby had let him out. It was obvious now that’s what happened. “You sure got a lot of fight in you. Trouble is, these days that kind of thing can get a girl killed, you know.”

Miller stood tall. She said nothing.
Terrill Lee, you rest easy. I’m going to figure a way out of this.

Martin stood. He came toward them. Lynn was the closest to him, and he stopped before her. She was quaking in her boots. He soaked up her fear like nectar. “Now take this one, for example. I bet she knows her place.”

Lynn whimpered. Martin moved to touch her. She flinched.

“Shh,” Martin cooed. “It’s all right now. You’re safe with me.”

Miller wanted to say,
like Brandy was safe with you?
But she held her tongue. Who knew what other cruelties Martin was capable of?

To emphasize who was in charge, Martin drew a vintage Colt Peacemaker. He brushed up against Lynn’s cheek. The gun looked huge. The phallic implications were obvious. Lynn was panic stricken, but stayed frozen in place. Her wild eyes looked at Miller for help. Miller gauged the situation.

“Knock it off, Martin.” Miller moved to protect the girl, but the other armed men pointed their weapons at Lynn. Not at Miller herself. Martin had prepared them. Their message was clear. She was to live. Miller wouldn’t be doing them any good if she got Lynn killed, not after what happened to Brandy. Reluctantly, Miller stood down. Martin grinned. She loathed this desperate little douche bag. She could smell his stench from several feet away.

“I bet you got a lot to offer a man, don’t you, sweet thing?” Slowly, so Miller could see, Martin placed his hand on Lynn’s left breast. He gave a rough squeeze.

Lynn squealed in terror. She backed into one of the armed guards, who pushed her back toward Martin. Martin continued to posture for his leering men. The guard was carefully holding her at arm’s length, just far enough away to cover her with his assault rifle. Miller searched the faces of the guards, looking for anyone the least bit sympathetic. They all seemed either bored or amused. Another shot rang out from outside. One of the men showed a flicker of concern.

“Let’s see what else you got, honey girl.” Martin moved closer to Lynn. He cupped his hand under her crotch.

“All right, we get the point,” Miller said. She took a step forward. One of the guards grabbed her by the elbow, but she shook his grip away. “You don’t want her, anyway, do you Martin? You want me.”

Martin smiled.

Miller stood before him, tall and proud. “I’m right here and this time you have the guns and a ton of support to back you up. Are you man enough to come take it?”

“Oh, I’ve heard that song twice before, Penelope J. And you managed to escape my sights both times. Fool me three times? Not likely. But you aren’t giving orders here anyway, are you, girl?”

Suddenly Martin took Lynn by the chin. He gave her a leisurely kiss, apparently in no hurry. Miller tried to think of another distraction, a way to protect the other woman. Lynn tried to endure it but then screeched. Martin continued to grind his mouth against hers. Lynn tried to knee him. Martin stepped to the side and grabbed her throat, forcing her on her toes. She whimpered then took a deep breath.

Lynn bit Martin on the lip. She bit down hard.

Martin pulled away with a grunt, his lower lip torn open. He looked shocked and frightened more than angry.

Lynn spat the piece of his lip on the floor. She dared to look triumphant. Down the hall, someone shouted about watching the windows.

Martin put his right hand up to his face. He pulled it away. The blood was wet and sticky on his fingers. He slowly recovered his poise. Martin showed the blood to Lynn, stepped close again. Lynn stared bravely into his eyes. Martin smiled, blood drooling down his chin. Before Miller could react, he raised his Peacemaker, put it under Lynn’s chin, and pulled the trigger. BOOM! Lynn’s brains splattered against the guard standing behind her and up onto the ceiling. She fell backwards into the arms of the guard.

“You bastard!” Miller began struggling against her restraints.

Martin wagged his finger at her. He smiled, his face smeared with blood. He cocked the big Colt again. “You’re going to play nice now, aren’t you?”

Silence flooded the room as everyone took in what had just happened. Miller worked to think of a plan, a way out. Death was everywhere around them. The world had gone mad. Martin had gone too far to recover his humanity. He’d kill her in the end.

The shooting outside slowed down for a bit. Someone shouted Martin’s name, wanting to ask him for orders. Martin shook himself like a wet dog. He started to call out but then paused. A thin stream of blood wound its way down through the stubble on his chin. He gathered himself and finally responded.

“What is it?”

The voice called back, “We need more ammo. Sure are a lot of these ugly dead fuckers down there.”

“Davis?” Martin waved his hand magnanimously to one of his honor guards. “Take care of it.” Martin turned to the two remaining men. “Get the corpse out of here.”

The men slung their weapons over their shoulders. One of the men looked relieved to be leaving, as if he’d rather take his chances with the undead than remain with Martin. They picked Lynn’s corpse up by the arms and legs, and hauled her out of the room like a prize deer. Miller tried not to picture them tying Brandy to a front fender. She didn’t quite succeed.

Martin turned to her.

“Come on, little girl,” said Martin. He spoke with that cold, adolescent sneer in his voice. “It’s just you and me, now.”

Miller stared. Martin unbuckled his belt.

Terrill Lee’s voice filled Miller’s mind.