The Hungry (Book 3): At the End of the World (21 page)

The survivalists were steadily losing ground and confidence. Miller could hear it in their screaming and shouting. There was a fire somewhere in the lodge, she could smell it. She took stock of her situation. Her shirt was ripped up to the bottom of her bra, and she had lost her uniform jacket. She searched the suite for something warm to cover up with, but she didn’t see anything she could use. All she could hope for is to take something off a dead survivalist. She did have the Peacemaker and a reload stolen from Martin. She regretted leaving the knife, but it had gone to a good home, as Scratch might say. Martin deserved his fate.

Miller got herself together. Scratch was her first priority. He was somewhere in the building, hopefully still alive. She’d worry about a fashion show later.

As she crossed the room, Miller felt the floor rattling. At first she didn’t know what was going on. It felt like some kind of earthquake was taking place.

A low rumbling sound filled the air. It was a fresh noise, and one that temporarily overwhelmed the sounds of combat. It made Miller smile. A large helicopter, a Blackhawk by the sound of it, was flying quickly over the roof of the lodge. Miller breathed a sigh of relief. Lovell had understood their message after all, and had come to rescue them.

It was almost over. Miller just had to find a way to collect her people and get safely to Lovell and the helicopter. She went to the door, and put her hand on the knob. She didn’t know who might be out there waiting, so she turned the knob slowly.

The door flew open in her hand.

Both Miller and the man on the other side of the door stood there, surprised.

The strange man snapped out of it and reached for a gun. Miller had no choice. She raised the Peacemaker and shot him, point blank, right in the bridge of his nose. His arms pinwheeled and the body tilted away. The man fell back, revealing a stunned Crosby completely covered in the other man’s blood and brains.

Miller immediately took aim at Crosby. He stared at her gun. His face went white. For just a moment, Miller hesitated—she wasn’t too happy about killing another one of the remaining living, no matter how evil the son of a bitch had turned out to be. She pulled the trigger anyway. One second too late. Crosby had turned to the side. The bullet missed his face and hit the opposite wall with a thud.

Crosby ran for the stairs.

“Crosby, stop!” Miller shouted, but he was already halfway down the staircase. Miller fired again, and a small piece of the wall next to his right ear exploded. And then Crosby was gone. Smoke was drifting up from the area below. The firing was still going strong, but fewer men were shouting.

“Fuck,” Miller said under her breath, “of all the times to miss.”

Miller stepped out into the hallway. She looked around. It seemed deserted. No one was present except for the man she had just killed. He was flat on his back and leaking blood onto the carpeting. Miller rolled him on his side. She pulled his jacket off before it could get covered in the man’s blood. She put it on. The jacket was tad too big for her, but not uncomfortably so, and it was still warm from the dead man’s body heat. She tried not to think. Instead, she pulled his gun belt off him, along with the long-slide Beretta 92 she found in the holster and four fresh magazines. She slung the belt around her waist. It was too long, but there was a leg-tie for the holster. Miller made it work. She tucked the Peacemaker into her waistband, and checked to see if the Beretta was fully loaded. The brass casing of a loaded round peeked at her through the ejection port.

Miller stepped down the hall, the weapon at the ready. Her next stop was the second floor, and hopefully a chance to rescue Scratch.

Holding the pistol out in front of her, Miller reverted to her old training. She started clearing a building full of potential hostiles. Staying low, she turned each corner as if there were someone there trying to kill her, which probably wasn’t far from the truth, especially considering fucking Crosby had gotten clean away.

The stairs were clear and so was the second floor landing. Miller didn’t lower her guard. She made a quick survey of the landing anyway. She could tell things were coming to a climax. Down below, something big was happening. Desperate shots were being fired, and she could hear the hungry grunts of zombies deep inside the lodge. Something must have happened in the time that Miller was cooped up with Martin. The zombies were definitely inside and starting to win the war.

But the zombies weren’t her problem. She had people to rescue.

Miller had overheard one of the survivalists saying that Scratch and the boys were being held on the second floor. She suddenly wished she had hung on to the master key that she had had earlier in the day. Now it looked like she was just going to have to kick the damn doors in. She flattened against the wall and approached the door. She took aim to shoot the lock off, and then hesitated.

Why not just knock?

“Identify yourself,” came a man’s voice.

“Room service,” Miller said in a cheerful voice.

A moment later, a stressed out but somewhat amused survivalist came to the door. “Give me a break,” he said. His weapon was in a shoulder holster. He obviously wasn’t expecting a threat. He must have assumed she was one of the women traveling with Carter’s group. Miller pointed the Beretta directly into his face. The guard stumbled backwards, but also was careful to keep his hands where she could see them.

“Where are the prisoners?”

“Across the hall,” the man said. He was scared shitless. “Number 8.”

“Come on out,” Miller said, signaling to him with the pistol. He stepped forward.

“What’s your name?”

“John,” he said.

“All right, John. Anyone else in there with you?”

He just shook his head.

“Give me your weapon.”

Using two fingers, he carefully lifted the pistol out of its holster and handed it to her, butt first.

“Do you want to live?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You are going to go in there and tell the men that Crosby wants to see the prisoners.” Miller shoved him with the gun. “And if you try anything, or if you’re lying to me, you’re zombie food. Got it?”

John nodded. He led the way. He went up to the door and knocked. “Hey, Phil. The boss wants to see the biker dude.”

Miller moved to the side, where she couldn’t be seen. A moment later, the door opened.

Miller pointed the gun at Phil. He stepped back and waved his fingers in the air. The guards were feeling panicked, that much was clear. They had probably gone from feeling secure about being upstairs to realizing they were trapped. Whatever their reasons, they were clearly not in the mood for a fight. Someone downstairs shrieked in agony. The two frightened guards exchanged a desperate look. They wanted to run.

Miller motioned to John, “Get in there.”

He went, and Miller followed the two into the room.

“Jesus, Penny!” Scratch was clearly relieved to see her okay and to be rescued. Then he regained his composure and a portion of his machismo. “Hey, it’s about time you got here. What took you so long?”

“There weren’t any wedding dresses on the premises,” Miller said, “so I had to go find myself a coat.”

Scratch smiled. Miller realized how much she loved his smile. The two guards were trembling now. Miller didn’t know what had happened in this room. She waited for Scratch to give her a clue. He did, just a few seconds later. He stood, hauled back, and punched Phil in the face. The first guard went down and stayed down. Then Scratch picked up his Mak 90 assault rifle and pointed it at the one named John.

“Take us to the boys,” Scratch said.

“Yes, sir.”

Once again, John led them down the hallway. Smoke was drifting up through the floor vents. The zombie grunting had increased both in volume and intensity. John took them into the gloom and around the corner, this time to room 10.

“Crosby wants the kids,” he shouted through the door, without being asked.

“Just a minute,” a man answered. “Christ, what the hell is going on down there?”

When the door opened, Scratch shot the man who stood there. Then he turned the rifle on John, and shot him too.

Miller grabbed him by the shoulder. “For God’s sake, Scratch! Was that really necessary?”

“Yes,” Scratch said simply. He looked into her eyes. Miller let it go.

They ran into the room and quickly untied Jimmy and Lex. Scratch picked up Lex, and nodded to Jimmy. “Let’s go, guys we don’t have much time.”

“I heard it too.” Scratch smiled. “Lovell?”

“Must be.”

“Wait.” Miller caught something in the air. “Do you smell that?”

“So?” Scratch sniffed. “I’ve been smelling smoke for a while now, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, but that’s also the stench of burning flesh. It’s not a small fire, not anymore.”

“I think it’s time to go,” said Scratch.

“No shit.”

“Where’s Lynn?”

Miller shook her head. Scratch blew out some air and wiped his forehead on his sleeve. He’d never looked more handsome. He led her over to the wall, so they weren’t standing near the open doorway.

“Damn it, Penny. Anything else I need to know?”

“Martin’s out of the game, but Crosby is still running around, and he knows I’m loose too. That could be a problem.”

Scratch nodded thoughtfully. “So, the plan is we hook up with Lovell, find Sheppard, and then take out Crosby, right?”

“Pretty much.”

“Then what the hell are we standing around for?”

Miller traded Scratch a pistol for the assault rifle—carrying Lex, he couldn’t handle the big weapon. They headed out onto the landing.

At that moment, the fire alarm finally went off. A bell clanged loudly, and dozens of hidden sprinklers began to shower them with ice-cold water. Between the smoke, the cold mist, and the noise, the situation was deteriorating rapidly. Something bad had happened in just the last few moments. Miller could only guess that someone had screwed up in a way that had allowed a huge flood of the zombies to rush inside. As for the rest, she had a pretty good guess. It was a clusterfuck downstairs. There were the living, the dead, and the undead, all backlit by a fire she still couldn’t see, and now dowsed in sprinkler water.

Miller stopped the group in the hallway. She took stock of their situation. They were still far closer to the ground floor than the roof. They could see plenty of smoke, and now really feel the heat. The fire itself was probably blazing directly below them. If they climbed straight up to the roof the fire would likely do them in, if the smoke inhalation didn’t get them first.

Scratch was waiting. “Penny?”

Miller reluctantly changed her mind. She wanted to get these people to safety while they could still breathe. The chopper, assuming it was Lovell come to their rescue, would have to pick them up somewhere outside in the snow. If the lodge was going up in flames, the pilot would probably come to the same conclusion and vacate the roof anyway.

“Follow me.”

Miller led the group down the stairs, which now ran with water like some rock-strewn creek. The air was thick and dark. Miller kept them close together, holding hands or bits of clothing to stay connected. She could hear the zombies stumbling around below going
unhhh hunhh huh…
Miller knew this ground. She had confidence in herself and in Scratch. She had only one army left to fight. The one she knew best. The undead.

Miller paused. She waved Scratch and Jimmy into position. Someone was moving down from the floor above them, stumbling down the smoke-filled stairs; someone who moving rapidly their direction. They spread out in a half moon and raised their weapons.

“Drop your weapons.” It was an authoritative, female voice and a very welcome one.

Miller grinned in the gloom. “Hell, is that you, Rat?”

“Penny?”

“Have you got perfect timing, or what?”

Major Francine Hanratty emerged from the thick smoke. She trotted down the stairs, a tall brunette impressive in her slick black uniform and battle rattle. Rat seemed light on her feet, close to fully recovered from the gunshot wounds sustained back in Nevada. She was followed by three of her men, also clad in black Special Ops uniforms. They all carried wickedly efficient machine guns. Miller was gratified to see that these men looked like they likely knew their weapons better than their own dicks. Their support was more than welcome. She would have kissed them all, and maybe offered more if Sheppard hadn’t warned her off having any sexual contact.

“Where’s Lovell?”

“Flying the helicopter.” Rat glanced at the men behind Miller. “Where’s Terrill Lee?”

Miller shook her head. Her eyes burned from more than the fire and smoke. She blinked back tears. “Terrill Lee died a hero.”

“I’m sorry, Penny.”

Miller sighed. She looked away for a moment. “We lost track of Sheppard. He’s probably across the way, in the little cottage, if I heard right.”

Rat smiled broadly. “Sheppard’s safe. We got him on the way in. He’s onboard the helicopter right now, with Lovell.” Rat waved her men into a half circle. She closed the distance and placed something in Miller’s hand. Someone down below fired a long burst. Some of the zombies made their strange, chanting sound as they overwhelmed the shooter.

“What’s this?” It looked like a round bulb on a long stem.

“Radio,” replied Rat, tapping her ear. Miller could see she had a similar unit of her own. “We need to go. The chopper is waiting. Lovell is giving us fifteen minutes from right now. Fifteen and he’s gone.” She looked over Miller and her people, eyes lingering on Lex and Jimmy. “Anyone else in your team we need to worry about?”

“Nope, this is it.”

They were out of time. The place was burning and steaming and still packed with starving zombies. Miller steeled herself. She had her people to protect.