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

“We’re here,” Scratch said. He puffed up, sensing Miller’s approval. “Terrill Lee, head over to the left, toward that little cabin. That’s our first stop.”

The building in question was what Miller would have referred to as a cottage. Whitewashed clapboard walls supported the high-pitched roof. This was a house, one that seemed too large for one person, but it would have been about right for a small family. As Miller continued to study the front of the cottage, one of the curtains moved to reveal a white face in the backlit window. As quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

“Well, someone’s home,” Miller said. “And now they know we’re here.” The seat squealed softly as she turned to address Scratch. “Is this person a friend of yours? I’m thinking maybe we should go in packing.”

“Yes, Greta’s a friend,” Scratch said. He did not protest as Miller checked the load in her .357 Smith and Wesson revolver. Instead, he checked to make sure his own .45 Springfield was still in its clip-on holster on his hip.

Miller said, “Let’s do this.”

“Look, don’t anyone freak her out,” Scratch said, mostly to Terrill Lee and Sheppard. “We need her help if this trip is going to pay off.”

Terrill Lee steered them to a stop right outside the cabin. The tires crunched to a halt. Terrill Lee rolled the window down. Snow—perhaps the first snow of the season—began to fall in a light powder. Up close, in the glare of their headlights, Miller noted that the yard was a bit messy, the main building a bit dirty. A Harley Electra Glide sat rusting in front of an out-building. Miller made a note of that. Any vehicle that ran could come in handy these days.

“Careful, boys,” Miller said. The men knew what she meant. Things had been boring for a while, but something about the situation reminded them all that Hell was waiting around the corner.
Any
corner.

“Okay, but this ain’t a special forces night drop,” Scratch said. “We’re all friends here. She’s just an old lady. We’ll take it slow and easy here, and everyone be sure and put a big smile on your face.”

Miller mumbled, “If it will get me a hot bath and a bottle of shampoo…”

Scratch waited a few beats as if to give the woman inside time to ponder the situation. The steadily growing darkness made them all uncomfortable. Everyone practiced smiling. Scratch looked at each of them, studying their shadowy features, eventually settling on Terrill Lee, who now wore a big, goofy grin, one more suitable for a John Wayne Gacy clown than someone trying to charm a scared old lady. Scratch frowned.

“Terrill Lee?”

“What?”

“Ease up on that cartoon smile there, big guy,” Scratch said.

“What’s wrong?”

“You look kind of like we all ought to start humming theme from Jaws.”

Terrill Lee relaxed his face and hid his teeth. He looked almost human again. “Guess I’m a little wound up. This better?”

“That’s good as gold,” said Scratch. “Keep it right there at twenty percent or so.”

Scratch opened his door, slowly and carefully. Miller, Terrill Lee, and Sheppard did the same. They all got out. Terrill Lee left the lights on so they could see. The headlights and floodlights turned everything white. Night was crawling rapidly over the forest floor, and their own long, fat shadows seemed to be rushing to swallow them up.

They walked toward the cottage, across the pine needles and crunchy frost and up onto the paved driveway. Miller saw the woman Greta’s face reappear in the window next to the front door. She seemed weathered, very nervous. She squinted blindly in their direction for a long moment before she vanished from sight for a second time. Seconds later Miller heard the quiet but unmistakable sound of a bolt-action rifle being cycled.

“Who’s there?” Her voice came from the other side of the thick front door. “Don’t come any closer or I’ll blow your ass to hamburger.”

“Hey, Greta,” Scratch called. “It’s me.” And then Scratch did something that must have been incredibly difficult in front of companions, and especially in front of Penny Miller. He used his real name.

“Jimmy Bowen.”

Miller kept her face blank. Terrill Lee immediately suppressed a snicker. Sheppard snorted and studied the frosty ground, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Scratch reddened. He shot the other men a warning look, but otherwise stayed quiet.

An owl hooted to the north. Miller studied Scratch with a new sense of respect. For as long as she had known the biker, he had been willing to beat the living shit out of anyone who dared to call him by anything but his gang name. And now here he was setting himself up to get teased to death by his best friends.

“Jimmy Bowen? You don’t sound like that punk-assed kid. Who are you really?”

Scratch turned to look at Miller, and seemed as confused as she felt.

“I know it’s been a few years, Greta, but it’s really me. Jim Bowen.”

To Miller’s surprise, Greta flung the door open wide. She stood still, her body backlit in the doorway, the hunting rifle slung casually over one arm. She was a compact brunette with graying hair, dressed in comfortable jeans and a blue work shirt.

“Oh,
Jim
Bowen.” Greta laughed a sinister chuckle. “I thought you meant… well, someone else.” Her posture changed, grew straighter. “What the hell are you doing back up here, boy? Ain’t you heard the world has gone to shit?”

“That’s kinda why we’re here,” Scratch said. “Things suck down in the flatlands. We were hoping you could show us some mountain hospitality.”

Greta laughed; a raspy, cheerful sound that was immediately followed by the phlegmy cough of a long-time smoker. “You always were a dreamer, Jimmy. We’re closed. Most of the villagers have left, and we ain’t had us a lodger since those bombs went off. Sorry, but there’s nothing I can do for you.”

“Couldn’t you help us out, just for old time’s sake?”

Greta shook her head sadly. “’Fraid not, son.”

The snow began to fall harder. It was cold as an ice diver’s balls. Miller’s spirits sank as she realized that their hopes of a place to stay for the night were going to shit. She felt worse with every passing second. Winter was coming. They were tired and hungry. After all the shit that they’d been through, she didn’t relish the idea of spending another night sleeping in the minivan. This was still Scratch’s show, but if things went south, she was willing to risk his ego—and this old woman’s comfort—to score a bed for the night.
And dear God, just one bath.

“We can pay you.” Terrill Lee spoke before Scratch could form a response. All eyes were instantly upon him. Scratch looked furious, Sheppard was simply shocked. Miller felt her own jaw drop open, incredulous. How dumb could Terrill Lee get and still remember to breathe? Greta, her face washed out by the headlights and wan moonlight, grinned broadly. Her smile was warm. Her eyes were greedy.

“Shut up, numbnuts,” Scratch said under his breath.

“How much?” Greta lowered her weapon.

“Ten thousand. Cash,” Terrill Lee said. He ignored the others.

“Terrill Lee, what are you thinking?” Miller said. She wasn’t whispering. He’d blown their secret. They had a lot of cash left. It had once been a fortune but was dwindling fast in a country losing faith in its currency.

“Each?” Greta asked. She had already taken their measure and seemed pleased. Times were tough. “I might be willing to let you in for ten thousand each.”

“Done,” Terrill Lee said, before anyone could stop him. “We want four of your best rooms. And in the morning, you’re going to feed us breakfast. I mean some real hot food. Not that dried survival bar crap. Do we have a deal?”

“Hell, yes,” Greta said. She put the rifle down and hoisted a large ring of keys. “For that kind of money breakfast will be filet mignon and eggs, with some cold champagne to wash it all down.”

“Good enough,” Terrill Lee said. As usual, he seemed immune to everyone else’s hostility. For the hundredth time, Miller remembered why he was her
ex-
husband. “Everybody, go get your stuff.”

Without looking back, Terrill Lee headed for the rear of the minivan. He was followed slowly by Scratch, Sheppard, and eventually Miller. Greta went back into the cottage but left the front door open. Miller watched her friends, then Greta, with her head on a swivel. Experience had taught her to be cautious.

When they reached the van, Scratch grabbed Terrill Lee by the shoulder and spun him around. His fist clenched and his arm cocked back. Scratch wasn’t all that prone to empty threats. Miller was a mite surprised that he didn’t punch Terrill Lee’s lights out right then and there. Hell, Miller almost considered doing the same damned thing. He had just announced to the world they were loaded with cash. They wouldn’t be able to explain where the money had come from without opening a twelve-foot can of worms.
Oh, that? Well, we got it off a corrupt military officer named Gifford. He tried to bribe us to protect his ass and hide the origin of the zombie virus, but ended up we killed him because of a double-cross and kept the money. Honest.
Try explaining that to a judge.

Enraged, Scratch brought his face close to Terrill Lee’s. The two stood in shadow at the side of the van. Meanwhile, Sheppard walked around the driver’s side and turned off the headlights. Terrill Lee stared back, unafraid.

Scratch said, “What the fuck is your problem, Terrill Lee? I had that under control.”

“Oh, bullshit,” replied Terrill Lee. “She was shutting you down, and you know it. I had no intention of sleeping with your feet in my face for another night because you blew a simple negotiation.”

“Damn.”

“We live in unusual times, Scratch, we need unusual measures.” Terrill Lee pulled away and turned his back. He opened up the back of the minivan and took out the duffle bag of money the General had given them. They collected their few meager possessions, extra weapons, and ammo. “What’s done is done, right?”

“Yeah, but now that she knows we’re loaded, you dumb shit.” Scratch paced back and forth, itching to lash out but restraining himself. Miller thought he looked downright sexy like that. “Greta has always been a bit off. How do we know she isn’t going to cut our throats while we sleep and take the rest of the money?”

Terrill Lee just stared. “You said she was a friend.”

“She is, but shit, I got half my scars from friends. You've got to think before you run your mouth, Terrill Lee.”

“Okay, boys,” Miller said. “Enough. Terrill Lee did what he did. He’s probably right. Remember buying the minivan? Who the hell knows what paper money is worth these days anyway. Might be zero by morning. Let’s hope the price ain’t forty thousand every damned night. We haven’t got that much left.”

“We still have about six-hundred thousand right now,” Sheppard said, stating facts as usual. “Our burn rate has been way too high.”

They locked the vehicle. Miller looked up to see Greta waiting in the doorway. She had lost the weapon and seemed at ease, even a little excited. “Jesus, Jimmy, are you folks going to stand around jawing all night?”

Miller turned to Terrill Lee. “Give me that bag of cash. I don’t want to find out that you lost it to old Greta there in a game of strip poker while we were sleeping.”

He did. Miller opened the bag. She pulled out four stacks of bills, each one worth ten thousand dollars. She kept the duffle bag and handed the rest of the money to Scratch. “At least they still have power up in these parts. Wonder how long that will last.”

When they had their things together, they all turned in a choreographed row to face Greta and started walking toward the cottage. Miller plastered on a grin. They walked a few steps closer. Greta stayed in the doorway. Uneasy, Sheppard and Terrill Lee stopped walking. Miller and Scratch kept going.

Greta stood there, her head tilted to the side, and stared. “Ahem,” she said politely.

Annoyed, Scratch stepped up and handed her the money. Greta pocketed the thick stacks of cash. Her face immediately brightened again.

“Right this way, folks,” Greta said. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

“Ladies first,” Terrill Lee said. Scratch gave him the finger.

The men waited for Miller. Clutching the last of their money, she walked in first. She was followed by Terrill Lee, Scratch, and then Sheppard, who closed the door behind him. The cottage was neat and well appointed, with a vaguely German look to it. It featured a large fireplace, with China figurines on the wooden mantel. Miller saw two thick and comfortable chairs and one long, green couch. A bedroom lay to the back, next to a small kitchen.

“Follow me.”

Greta grabbed a long, industrial flashlight from an end table. She flicked on some exterior overhead lights. They stepped outside, and Miller watched Greta carefully as she led the group into the next building. They walked up the wooden steps to the next level, the main doors of the lodge itself. She did something to a box on the wall—probably the electrical panel—then unlocked two elaborately carved doors with a series of keys. Miller glanced outside through the thick, stained-glass windows. The snow was now falling with a purpose, and it was only when they stepped into the large lobby of the hunting lodge that Miller realized how cold she had been. The promise of shelter was welcome and long overdue.

The main floor of the lodge was still dark and felt cavernous. The lights were off, and Greta didn’t flip them on, perhaps to save energy or retain emergency power. Most of the furniture had been shoved to one side and covered with sheets to keep the dust off. It hadn’t been used this season, that much was certain. Wood panels and floors gleamed with polish. Miller was reminded of that creepy movie,
The Shining.
Their footsteps echoed as they walked through the empty space. Miller moved closer to Scratch.

Terrill Lee must have felt it, too. “Creepy,” he said, mostly to himself.

“Let me get this straight,” said Scratch. “Zombies are normal, but a big empty building is creepy?”