The Hungry (Book 3): At the End of the World (5 page)

“At least she didn’t cut our throats.” Terrill Lee smiled weakly. Miller felt like slapping him, but in the morning sunshine he seemed like a terrified little boy. She looked down at her worn boots and sighed.

“You know what?” Scratch made a fist. “The next time you consider being a stand-up, take-charge type of guy, don’t!”

“It’s not his fault,” Sheppard said wearily. “Let’s go make some coffee.”

“It’s not his fault?” Scratch was livid. “If he hadn’t opened his mouth, we’d still have six—count ‘em—six
hundred thousand dollars!
”

“And a minivan,” said Miller absently. She continued to stare at the contents of the folder they’d found on the admissions desk. The papers Greta had left for them.
Good lord.
Why can’t life ever be simple?

“Thank you!” Scratch waived his hand in Miller’s general direction. “See, even Penny agrees with me.”

Miller didn’t even look up. “I didn’t say I agreed with any of you dipsticks. I was simply stating a fact.”

All three of the men turned to look at her. Scratch opened and closed his mouth like a fish. Sunlight streamed through the windows on the lake side of the lodge. The day was gorgeous, the ground outside white with snow.
If we weren’t so well and truly fucked,
thought Miller,
I would say it was actually beautiful up here.

“And here’s another fact,” Miller continued. “If I read this document correctly, we all seem to be the proud new owners of a slightly used hunting lodge.” She held up the signed papers. “I’m no contract expert, but I’d say this looks pretty legal.”

“We really own the place?” Terrill Lee jumped on the chance to redeem himself. “Owning a lodge is better than owning a minivan, right?”

Sheppard shrugged. “Yeah. Whatever owning something means these days.”

Miller looked at Sheppard and nodded. “That’s precisely my point, Karl. But until the zombies are gone and the damned courts mean something again, I’d say this place is ours one way or the other.”

“This joint ain’t got wheels,” said Scratch. “And it also ain’t got a big bag of money.”

“Scratch, out of all of us, I would have figured you to be the one who’d understand.” Miller set the papers down on the desk. She turned to face the three men. “Your idea was to find someplace safe to hole up for the duration. Look around you. We got a roof, four walls, a view of the lake…”

“Kinda pretty,” Terrill Lee said quietly. Then he shut up again.

Miller turned to the side. She pointed off to her right. “Gentlemen, I can see some scoped hunting rifles and twenty-gauge shotguns standing in that gun case from here. There’s electricity, now we have hot water as we’ve discovered, probably some decent food, and if those big-assed windows hold out, best of all, a defensible position. Not to mention a collection of enough twenty-year-old paperback novels to last us a year. I’m not sure that’s worth six-hundred-forty-thousand dollars—plus a fifty thousand dollar minivan,” Miller waved to cut off Scratch, who looked like he was about to say something. He shut up too. “But this was your plan from the beginning. We don’t like the price, but I figure at least we got what we came here for.”

Terrill Lee beamed like a kid let off the hook. Scratch frowned. Sheppard nodded. Miller was satisfied to have them motivated again.

“We should inventory the place,” said Sheppard. He stood up. “I want to go check for medical supplies and we should see how much ammunition we have. Just in case.”

“Now you’re catching on,” Miller said. “Let’s make the best of this.”

“I suppose,” Scratch said. There was a deep frustration building behind his eyes. He wasn’t stupid—not by a long shot—but this was clearly not the result he was hoping for. Still, he respected Miller enough to reign in his rage.

Terrill Lee clapped Scratch on the shoulder without thinking and almost got punched. “Smile, Scratch. Penny is right. You got your wish.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” said Sheppard in a singsong, just loud enough to be heard. “Okay, I’m going to start with the kitchen, Penny.”

“Excellent. Terrill Lee, go pick an end of the building, work your way back here and see what you can find. You and Scratch ought to separate for a time anyway. Everybody get some paper and a pencil, take it with you and write stuff down. Let’s get a complete map of the lodge and an accurate inventory. Meanwhile, I’m going to take my own look around.”

They spread out. Sheppard went to the café area and into the kitchen, and Terrill Lee headed down into the basement. The snow had stopped and the light from the thick windows was bright and warm. The air was cozy and the wood smelled of fresh pine furniture cleaner.

Scratch stood where he was. As soon as the others were out of earshot he said, “You can’t be serious.”

“What else do you propose we do?” Miller started in the direction of the gun case, which stood against the far wall near the large stone fireplace. She wasn’t really looking at Scratch, yet not really ignoring him. She knew he needed to calm down and didn’t want him to feel further challenged. “Blaming Terrill Lee for what happened won’t get us anywhere. Besides, I didn’t hear anyone suggest that we stay in the same room, post guards, barricade the doors, or do any of that. We were all too dead tired. Instead, we split up the party like a bunch of rookies, even after you warned us that Greta wasn’t stand up. Hell, I left the money bag too far away from where I was sleeping. In the end, I figure maybe we all deserved to get screwed.”

She kept walking. After a moment, Scratch followed behind her. Miller could tell she had made her point. She stopped in front of the glass doors and counted the rifles and guns inside the case. Miller tested the doors. They were locked.

“You’re better at breaking and entering than me, Scratch. Why don’t you see if you can’t get this thing open?”

Without thinking, Scratch reached up above the gun case. He felt around, and produced a dusty key. He opened the gun case and stepped aside as if to say, ta-dah.

“You seem to know an awful lot about this lodge,” Miller said. She pulled one of the long hunting rifles from the rack. “Care to explain that?” She pointed the rifle out the window, sighted on a bird on the top branches of a tree a hundred yards off. It was a fine weapon.

“I told you in the minivan,” Scratch said, “my folks used to work here. Me and my brother spent what were supposed to be the best years of our lives cleaning toilets and mucking stables for nothing more than a pat on the head. There wasn’t anything to do for fun but get shitfaced, chase some tail, and break all the local laws. If it weren’t for the clientele, it would have been a total fucking waste.”

“There’s a stable?” Miller asked. She took the scope away from her eye. She was suddenly very interested. “Horses?”

“Yeah, out the back next to the lake, behind Greta’s cabin. There are usually four or five horses in there. This lodge was kind of a dude-ranch-slash-fuck-palace for celebrities who wanted to get away from the cameras and their wives. Jack Nicholson was here almost every other weekend. They say Jimmy Carter didn’t just lust in his heart around this place. Axl Rose nearly overdosed upstairs. They had to send a helicopter to airlift his sorry ass out.”

“Good times, eh?”

Scratch chuckled, remembering. He waved his hand, indicating the whole lodge. “There was more hunting for pussy going on around here for the last fifty years than for bear, I can tell you that.” He patted a stuffed black bear that stood next to the gun cabinet. The long, yellow teeth looked ready to bite down on his hand. “No offense, my man.”

Miller looked at Scratch for a long time, not saying anything.

Finally, Scratch broke the silence. “What?”

“You done good, Scratch. This place ain’t exactly Fort Knox, but it sure will do.” She set the rifle down in its spot in the gun case. “Thank you.” Miller smiled. She stepped up to Scratch and kissed him.

Scratch wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back. It was a long, gentle kiss. Miller surprised herself when she bit his top lip, then slipped her tongue in his mouth. Scratch had brushed his teeth and freshened up, so the rancid smell of the minivan was gone. Miller breathed in through her nose then let the breath out. She put her hands on his butt, and gave his cheeks a gentle squeeze. Scratch got pretty wound up. Miller shook her head and sighed again. She put her palms on Scratch’s chest, and gently pushed him away.

Scratch broke the kiss. He didn’t let go all the way. He nuzzled her neck. “I think we might be more comfortable upstairs.” He breathed into her ear and nibbled.

“I was thinking the same thing.” Miller pulled back. She smiled at him. “However, we have company.”

“I thought we talked about this, Penny.” The stern voice seemed to emerge from the stuffed black bear.

Miller let go of Scratch. She stepped backwards a pace. She was in no mood to be lectured. Not again.

“What is it, Karl?” Miller spoke with as much patience as she could muster. Which was very little.

“You two can
not
be doing that kind of thing,” Sheppard said. He stepped out from behind the huge stuffed bear. His features were tight with disapproval. Miller pictured him as an angry nun. “You know perfectly well that the zombie virus can be transmitted through bodily fluids.”

Miller groaned.

Sheppard turned to Scratch. “So, my friend, unless you want to score the worst case of Zombie mononucleosis in history, I’d suggest you keep your distance, at least until I can get into a lab and figure out a complete cure. Remember, all we’ve done is put it in remission. If Gifford hadn’t double-crossed us after we double-crossed him and booby-trapped the laptop with all our research on it, I might have already had something.” Sheppard glanced back and forth between them. “In the meantime, I prescribe cold showers and hot phone sex—from opposite sides of the lodge—because that’s as close as you two should get to actual physical contact.”

Miller shook her head. Her cheeks flushed. As angry as she was at the interruption, Sheppard was probably right, as usual. “I feel fine, Karl. In fact, I was feeling better than fine only a minute ago.”

She smiled at Scratch. Scratch kept his eyes on the intruder, Sheppard.

“Karl, we don’t need a chaperone.” Scratch said, sounding more than a bit pissed off.

“Evidently you do,” Sheppard said. “I have enough trouble keeping Penny healthy as it is. Scratch, if you get infected, it could kill you. We’re going to need you for later, you know.”

“We don’t even know that she’s still got the virus.”

Sheppard glared at Scratch, disappointment on his face. “Nice try, but that’s wishful thinking. It may be dormant for right now but it is still very much in her system.”

“Enough, okay,” said Miller. “We get it. Was there something you needed, Karl, or were you trying to avoid presiding over a shotgun wedding?”

Sheppard scowled and brought himself to something like attention. “Terrill Lee and I have something to report.”

Scratch smirked. “Okay, sergeant, report.”

Sheppard ignored the sarcasm. “It’s better if you see for yourselves.” He did an about face and led them away.

Miller walked behind Sheppard but stayed close to Scratch. She almost held his hand as they walked, but decided against that. Part of her couldn’t have cared less what Terrill Lee thought of Scratch and her getting together, not by this point, but her ex-husband had also become a friend again, especially since the zombie outbreak. It didn’t seem right to rub his nose in a new affair—especially with Sheppard doing everything but locking her in a chastity belt to prevent that. On the other hand, she had once caught Terrill Lee screwing his veterinary assistant right there in Miller’s home and Miller’s bed, so maybe he really didn’t rate much sympathy in that arena. The thought of that made still her blood boil.

Nope.
Miller reached over and took Scratch’s hand.

A part of her brain commented how petty it was to hold a grudge against Terrill Lee—it had been over two years since she’d caught him in the act, after all. Hell, he had saved her life at the start of the apocalypse, and again from those cannibal cultists on top of everything else. But she did and was still angry anyway. Scratch’s warm hand closed over hers, and she smiled. It was time for things to change.

Terrill Lee’s back was turned when they approached. His head was in the big refrigerator in the kitchen. The kitchen itself was small, informal, but built for heavy use, with stainless steel everywhere and an industrial dishwasher in the corner. The wood paneling was dusty but clearly well maintained. Greta had seen to her job.

“They’re here,” Sheppard announced.

Terrill Lee pulled his head out of the fridge. He turned to face them. When he saw Scratch and Miller holding hands, his cheeks reddened. Terrill Lee cleared his throat and said, “Well, it isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

“There’s food?” Scratch grinned.

“Yeah, there’s food. Taking into account the spoilage,” He pointed to a large trashcan filled with rotting garbage, “there’s probably enough for the four of us for a month. If we want to make it through the whole winter, we’re going to have to find another source of food. And that means we’ll have to go hunting.”

“Or barter,” Sheppard said. “Tell them what you found downstairs.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Terrill Lee, brightening up a bit. “You’re going to love this!” He signaled for them to follow him down into the basement. Miller decided to let him have his little moment in the sun, especially after what had just happened with Sheppard, and she and Scratch holding hands. Fair was fair. Terrill Lee trotted down the steps and they followed him. It was cool and dark, and the air was dry.

“Please tell me the wine cellar is still stocked.” Scratch grinned hopefully.

Terrill Lee turned to shoot him a dirty look. “Damn it, Scratch, you ruined the surprise.” He looked genuinely hurt. Miller felt a bit sorry for him.