The Hungry (25 page)

Nothing happened.

"And?" said Miller, after a few moments had passed. "Cut to the chase."

Sanchez released Ragnarok. He helped the biker sit up. Ragnarok seemed dazed. Sanchez reached over to the tray table and picked up a miniature UV lamp, which he then shined on the skin of Ragnarok's right arm. Miller stared. Nothing. Sanchez stepped back. Miller realized that Ragnarok was now sitting up on his own. He didn't seem as injured as he had back on the road or in the helicopter. And then as Miller watched, she could see something in the slight green fluorescence that shone steadily on his skin.

"The effect is nearly instantaneous," babbled Sanchez, excitedly. "We expected it to take hours, days even, but there is something about how the virus mutated within you, Sheriff, that makes it act almost immediately. Watch this!"

Sanchez addressed Ragnarok like the family doctor in a television commercial. "Mr. Bowen, how do you feel?"

"I feel like you shouldn't call me Mr. Bowen. Ever." Ragnarok stood up, completely on his own. He brushed at his bloody arms. Miller stared as she watched the dark scabs fall away. Beneath them were freshly healed scars—very much like the scar on Miller's shoulder—a bit pink and puffy, but fully healed nevertheless.

Holy hell.

"Very well, I'll call you Ragnarok," said Sanchez. "Penny? Now do you see how important you are to me, to the world? Not only can you end the zombie apocalypse, but you can also be the mother of a brand new race of humans. Do you see?"

Miller swallowed. For some reason, watching what happened to Ragnarok had frightened her more than seeing the hideous horde of zombies coming to attack the base. There had been something morally correct about that horrific sight. It was an awesome retribution from God. But this bit of mad scientist blather? It presented another, very different kind of horror show. Sanchez and his kind would be immortal and unstoppable. They'd become the only race to survive this apocalyptic chaos.

As if sensing her anxiety, Sanchez repeated himself. "Do you see?"

Finally, Miller said, "All I see right now is that an egomaniacal asshole thinks he can use me to create even more monsters."

Ragnarok's head snapped around. "Who you calling a monster, bitch?"

A new thought occurred to Miller.
Well, if I can't get up and kick his ass…
"Hey, Ragnarok, did you know that this arrogant piece of shit wasted your entire crew, including your brother, Scratch? Blew them out like snot and tossed them in the trash. You do get that, right?"

Ragnarok blinked. Thought. He nodded. He slowly cracked his knuckles. He rolled his immense shoulders. "Is that a fact?" The big biker faced Sanchez. "You've got exactly three seconds to explain to me why I shouldn't take that the wrong way, fuckhead."

"Oh, come on now," Sanchez sighed. "Play nice. There's no reason we can't all be friends."

"Wrong answer," said Ragnarok.

A blur of meat and motion. Ragnarok's fist flew outward toward Sanchez's face. Miller knew what one blow could do to a human face. Her heart jumped for joy. But Sanchez deftly caught the fist, and twisted Ragnarok's arm to the side, pulling him off balance. Ragnarok winced in pain. Sanchez easily maneuvered the biker down to his knees by spraining his wrist and shoulder. He was bigger, faster and stronger. Miller couldn't believe what she'd just seen. It was impossible, unless…

Sanchez winked. "Perhaps we should start over from the beginning."

SEVENTEEN

"Ah, shit." Miller rolled her eyes.
Now
I've got a lunatic in uniform with his own personal army—and he's got my superpowers. This is just great.

The tableau froze for a long beat. Ragnarok stayed down on his knees, wincing in pain. Sanchez had the much larger man completely and easily under control. Considering the transformation that Ragnarok had just gone through, Sanchez was immensely more powerful. Miller shook her head. The future of the human race hung in the balance today, one way or another. Something had to be done. She didn't have time for this shit, or for any more macho posturing.

"As you can see, Penny, you may be the first of our kind, but you are not the only one." Sanchez grinned, posing like an oiled up, shrunken-balled, steroid-dicked gym rat in a room full of polished mirrors.

"Okay, then just what the hell do you need me for,
Andre?
" she asked. Miller chose his first name carefully. She weighted both syllables with contempt. "You've already got what you wanted. You sure as shit didn't have to kill everyone else just to get me back."

"You surprise me, Penny," Sanchez said. "I thought you would have figured it all out by now. You're very special. The way the virus has mutated within you cannot be replicated. I still need you."

"For what?"

"Sometimes the obvious is the right answer, dear. You will become the mother of a new race."

Miller waited for him to use the term
Master Race,
she had one fucking clever retort in the bag, but he didn't even go there. Penny tested the bonds that held her, could now feel them giving way just a little, but it was still not enough. She had to keep Sanchez talking. Make him stay focused on his own ego long enough to get free. He was a man. He'd want to preen. She'd get loose eventually. After that, there would be blood. Miller knew she would have to make the rest up as she went along.

Sanchez held his pose. Ragnarok whimpered. Miller pursed her lips. She looked Sanchez up and down. She paused at the crotch of his uniform trousers, eyes moving slowly enough to cause him to flinch.

"Hoss, that would definitely need to be done by artificial insemination," Miller said. "Now, maybe I'd do Sheppard there, he's pretty hot. But as for you, Andre, I wouldn't fuck you with someone else's pussy."

Sanchez reddened. "Don't flatter yourself. I don't care how this gets done."

"What's in it for me?"

"What do you want?"

"First things first. Maybe you've got something to eat around here?"

"That's the spirit!" Sanchez said.

"Hey, jerkoff! Are you going to let me up, or what?" Ragnarok, still on his knees, looked up from that exceedingly awkward position. He did not look thrilled with the situation or the direction of their conversation. He'd gone from bullying braggart to wimp again in a couple of minutes.

Sanchez looked down at the biker, blinking as if he had appeared from thin air. He cocked his head to the side, carefully considering his next statement. He came to a conclusion, relaxed his grip on Ragnarok, but did not yet fully release him. Ragnarok rose slowly. He didn't seem to be in a fighting mood. After what had happened with Scratch out on the road just that morning, when Ragnarok had actually wet himself, Miller was sure that the biker would submit to authority whenever he felt out-gunned. And he was sure as hell out-gunned now.

Sanchez spoke softly. "Ragnarok, how would you like to be the third most powerful person on the planet?"

"Third?"

"After me and Penny, of course," Sanchez said, with an entirely straight face. "Together the three of us can change the course of history. We will be the new Trinity. We will correct all that is wrong with the world, and remake it as our own. All you have to do is agree to follow orders."

Ragnarok pondered his opportunity. As for Miller, considering that she was still shackled to the table and wasn't going anywhere for a bit, she laughed out loud again. The mirth exploded from her chest this time, a long, merry sound, and the release cheered her immensely. Sanchez and Ragnarok joined her, laughing together but for very different reasons. Sanchez actually seemed to believe his own bullshit. Ragnarok thought he'd won the Lotto.

Now…!

As Miller finally felt the restraints tear away from the table beneath her hands and legs, the crisp sound hidden by the loud burst of laughter, it was utterly clear to her that she was about to die, but at least for a very good reason. She couldn't count on Ragnarok's help—he'd just joined the dark side and was now working for Sanchez. Miller knew better than to jump up and challenge two opponents who were amped up on the virus. There was no way she could take on both of them at the same time. She stayed on the table, as if still tied down. And laughed.

As the laughter died out, Miller caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Sheppard. The handsome soldier sat silently, still handcuffed to his stool. Her only ally was a normal human in chains. His gentle eyes said he'd noticed her hands and legs were free. He didn't react in any other way.

"What are you going to do with Sheppard?" Miller asked. "Now he's heard your whole plan. Are you going to make him a super dude too?"

For a moment, Sanchez seemed disoriented. Then he remembered Sheppard's presence. "Yes, what
are
we going to do with you, Sergeant?" Sanchez said, scratching his chin. "You have become a bit of a nuisance."

"I say we crush him like a bug," said Ragnarok. He took two menacing steps forward.
You're very brave when facing a chained prisoner half as strong as you, Rag. What a stud.

"Don't be so hasty," Sanchez said, finally. "He can still be useful. Can't you, Sergeant?"

Sheppard eyed Sanchez. He shook his head suspiciously. "Maybe. What is it that you expect me to do?"

"We're going to need your help. No one knows serum Two-Six-Alpha better than you. We need your expertise to make enough to supply me with an army of super soldiers. You can do that for me, can't you?"

"And if I refuse?"

"Then Ragnarok gets his wish," said Sanchez. He looked back over his shoulder at the biker, who stood just behind him, cracking his knuckles. "You'll suffer greatly and then be fed to the zombies."

Sheppard looked over at Miller, held her gaze. "You're lying your ass off and we both know it, Colonel. The truth isn't so prosaic. We're going to have to eventually kill Sheriff Miller to extract enough of the serum to create your damned army." Sheppard lowered his eyes. "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I won't do it. So you're going to have to kill me, too."

"Works for me," said Ragnarok. He lunged forward.

Sanchez held him back effortlessly. "Think about what you're saying, Sergeant."

Sheppard took a deep breath. His handsome face sagged. "I still have a soul, Colonel. The answer is no."

Ragnarok smiled. The biker reached out for him, but before he could touch Sheppard, Miller was a blur of motion. She slid free, cleared the table, jumped and was on top of him. She hit Ragnarok so hard his large, bald head dented the stainless-steel wall. Blood splatter darkened the metal in a wide arc. Sheppard froze, watching helplessly. For his part, Sanchez observed the brutal scene with wry detachment.

Ragnarok grunted. Miller used her fists again. Disoriented, he lashed out at her. She caught his wrist, twisted it backwards. He screamed as something large snapped. But even though Miller had the initiative, Ragnarok had at least a hundred pounds on her. He used his sheer bulk to toss her aside like a throw pillow. Miller flew across the room. She bounced off of the metal table she had originally been shackled to, bowing it. She lay stunned on the tiles.

Now Ragnarok had the advantage. He grabbed her and picked her up. He raised Miller over his head. He slammed her down on that same examining table, which groaned and bent completely in half under the force of the blow.

Damn, that hurt…!
Miller tried to shake things off, find her feet, but Ragnarok was on top of her again. His huge fist flew at her face. She had just enough time to move out of the way before it punched completely through the V-shaped metal table. Ragnarok tried to yank his hand out of the hole in the metal, but it had become stuck. His flesh tore raggedly away, but the biker appeared impervious to the pain at this point.

A voice in Miller's head, one that sounded a lot like Scratch, said,
Take him the fuck out!
Miller didn't need to be told twice. She punched the biker once, twice, three times in the face, with enough force to crack the engine block of a truck. Blood flowed from Ragnarok's broken features, but his skull did not crack. Amazingly he seemed almost indifferent. He jerked his hand free of the hole in the table. It emerged holding a long, steel bar. He swung the bar at Miller, catching her on the shoulder, not far from where she had been shot. Her body's pain signals exploded. The agony was tremendous, but Penny knew that if she took even five seconds to feel hurt, she would be dead on the floor and soon drained of blood. Sanchez would have won.

Ragnarok swung the bar at her a second time, this time aiming at her head. Miller stepped inside the blow. She blocked it with her forearm. She grabbed Ragnarok by his good wrist. She spun him around then stepped behind his foot. The move forced the biker to fall heavily backwards. Miller held on to both his wrist and the bar. She tried jerking the bar out of his grasp, but he held on tight.

"Let go, dumb-ass," Miller whispered. "You're not the one I want."

But Ragnarok didn't let go. Instead, he pulled her down on top of him. He put his arm around her head and twisted like he was trying to snap her neck. Miller let go of the bar and twisted her body to avoid a critical injury. Then she scrambled off of him and backed away. Miller and Ragnarok squared off again, both hurt and each far more wary of the other's power. Sheppard was watching, his face as tense as a fist.

In that moment of respite Miller wondered what Sanchez was doing. She risked a glance. The prick had moved to his left and now stood closer to Sheppard. Sanchez was smiling and watching like some MMA trainer.
Smug bastard.

Miller snapped out of it. Ragnarok was coming after her again. He swung the bar at her but missed. Miller lost her balance and started to fall sideways. She was fully exposed. Ragnarok swung again, back handed, but the killing blow never arrived. The biker's eyes widened.

Sanchez was behind Ragnarok. He'd grabbed Ragnarok's right arm, twisted it so that the bar's end pointed at Ragnarok's head. The big biker had a second to realize what was happening. Sanchez jammed the sharp metal bar into Ragnarok's eye. The steel emerged like an erection from the back of his skull. The biker twitched once as if electrocuted before going limp. Sanchez dropped him to the ground. A dark pool of blood spread at his feet.