Scratch shook his head. "Looks like you did one hell of a job taking care of the family while I was gone, little brother." Before Ragnarok could answer, Scratch drew the police-issue 9mm from its holster. He aimed it at Rag. "Now, let me get this straight. Are you telling me that you let a little bitch in a wedding dress and a pasty redneck fuck like that take out ten of us?"
"Upon reflection," interjected Miller, "I do believe the turd who did a pizza-face header makes that eleven."
"Hey, Scratch," cried Ragnarok, eyes wide and his voice thin with fright. "It wasn't like what you think."
"That so? What was it like?"
Rag swallowed. "They ran over Top Notch. We couldn't let them get away with that, could we?"
"I see. People were trying to escape the zombies. They ran over one low level douchebag, and you felt a moral imperative to avenge him?"
Rag seemed bewildered. Miller fought down a smile. The bikers around them had lowered their weapons, happy to watch the show.
"That wasn't my fault," Rag sputtered. "You gotta believe me."
"Oh, I do believe. I believe that you're a worthless pile of shit." With that, Scratch aimed and fired.
Everyone jumped. Ragnarok went over backwards, his bike falling on top of him with a low clatter. The other bikers froze. Rag finally twitched. A dark stain pooled around him.
"You sombitch," cried Ragnarok, his voice a mixture of terror and relief. "You went and shot my ride!"
Now Miller could see a large hole in the bright blue gas tank right next to Ragnarok's leg. Gasoline was leaking out, soaking his blue jeans and filthy boots. Scratch had deliberately missed.
Scratch swung his leg over the seat of his bike. He took four long strides. He stood over Ragnarok, drew a zippo from a pocket, and flicked it open. A quiet yellow flame danced above the wick. The pool of gasoline waited, quivered as if begging for the kiss of the fire.
"No! Don't do it," squealed Ragnarok. Watching, Miller almost felt sorry for the poor bastard. He was being completely humiliated in front of the others. Scratch was re-asserting control over his gang, making his statement in a big way.
"I have one rule, Rag, and one rule only. Look after your own. Is some part of that too difficult to get?"
"No," said Ragnarok. He raised his hands, waved them desperately. "I get it."
Scratch stood over him. He waited for a long moment. "Piece of shit," Scratch said quietly. He lowered his hand, fully ready to drop the lighter on the other man.
Ragnarok closed his eyes.
Scratch stared down at him for another moment or two. Then he closed the lighter. Everyone jumped at the click, even Miller. She realized she'd been holding her breath. They all had.
Ragnarok gasped. He lay on the ground in the pool of gasoline, clearly happy to be alive. A wet stain spread from his crotch. A light wind ruffled Penny Miller's wedding dress. She eyed the other bikers, looking for a way out of the standoff. They were watching Rag suffer, or Scratch, as if waiting for orders. Beside her, Terrill Lee's eyes were wide and frozen. His entire system was in shock, probably from the adrenaline high of driving, and now all of this. Miller edged closer to get his attention. She touched his hand. Terrill Lee flinched a bit and snapped out of it. A larger biker with a red bandana around his head noticed them and tracked her with a .357. Miller stopped moving.
Scratch looked around at the other bikers, many of whom had their weapons aimed at Miller and Terrill Lee. Following their aim, he seemed to realize there was still some unresolved business at hand. He spread his hands and grinned.
"So, Sheriff," Scratch said brightly, almost as if nothing had happened. "Why don't you be a good little bride now and just set down that there scattergun. I promise I'll give you a wedding night you'll never forget."
"I've got a better idea," said Miller, with her weapon still raised. "Order your boys to stand down. I promise that I'll tell the judge that you showed mercy. That will probably get your sentence reduced, maybe even down to fifteen years."
Again, Scratch laughed. "Well, ain't that sweet of you." He turned his attention to a large, scruffy biker who stood nearby, dully watching the show. "Bull, you take a couple of the boys and go swing around behind them."
Bull signaled for three men to get off their rides and follow.
"Scratch, I'll kill them if they try," said Miller. She willed Terrill Lee to say something tough but he again seemed frozen with terror.
Still, something in her voice got to them. Bull and the others stopped short. They'd seen her shoot before.
Scratch thought for a long moment. "No. You won't do that," he said finally. He used his fingers to choose two others. He turned back to Bull. "Go."
Now it was Miller's turn to hesitate. She watched as six of the bikers flanked her position. He'd rightly guessed she was too low on ammunition and wouldn't have time to reload. Miller pondered their situation. She grimaced. Finally, she turned to Terrill Lee. "Okay, now we're fucked."
Terrill Lee snapped out of it. "Ya think?"
"Well, our choice would appear to be 'die right now, or die a little later.'"
"Shit, then I vote we put off that dying thing a tad longer." Terrill Lee carefully laid his pistol on the hood of one of the NHP cruisers. He raised his hands.
"Fuck a duck," said Miller softly. She lowered her weapon.
Scratch had them handcuffed and stuffed into a squad car. It reeked of blood, someone's dried shit and unwashed bodies. Miller didn't like being on the wrong side of the metal grill. Scratch assigned them a female driver who seemed two miles high on something. The brunette kept clicking her tongue, licking dry lips and humming some old Disney Princess song. She drove them out onto the highway recklessly, dust spraying. The air conditioner was roaring, but all that served to do is chill the stench a bit.
"Where are you taking us?"
The female driver hummed and mumbled a bit.
"I said, where are you taking us?"
Finally, the driver cracked. "Sheriff, I'm not supposed to say nothin'. Now please just shut up and stop asking."
A small smile crossed Miller's face. Now we're getting somewhere. "Your name's Darla, isn't it? I heard Scratch call you that."
"What's it to ya?" Darla mumbled. She stared at Miller and Terrill Lee in the rear view mirror. Miller could see that she had once been attractive, before crystal meth and a biker lifestyle had ravaged her features. She had the shoulder bones of a skeleton.
"Darla? What's going to happen to us?" Miller allowed her tone to crack, pretending to show just the tiniest bit of fear.
"You're gonna be a gang bitch," Darla replied. "Get used to it." Her initial reluctance to speak was gone. Her eyes hardened. She looked back at Miller. "I hope you can lube up good, sweet thighs, because you'll be lucky if some smelly bastard only rapes you once or twice a day."
"Is that what happened to you?" asked Miller.
"None of your fucking business what happened to me," said Darla. "I'd be worried about my own ass, I were you. You may have been a sheriff out there, but now you're with the Blood Riders. Take it from me, girl, here you're nothing but two tits, a hole and a heartbeat."
"Sounds like you had a damned rough time of it," Miller said. "How long have you been stuck out here with the gang?"
"Shut up, I said!" Darla swerved the patrol car. Miller banged her head on the metal grate. The biker chick barely made it back onto the highway without spinning out. The desert straightened and then rolled by again. Wherever they were going she was in one hell of a hurry to get there. Or get away from the new meat, perhaps.
"Why don't you leave her alone?" whispered Terrill Lee.
"I know what I'm doing." Louder, to Darla, Miller said, "Girlfriend, I could help you get away. Think about it."
Darla burst out laughing. She howled so hard she almost lost control of the cruiser. "You can't do nothing," she said when she could finally breathe again. "In case you haven't noticed, the entire world has gone to shit. We're all fucked."
"So wake up, bitch. Out here there ain't no government, there ain't no help. Things have changed for the worse. There's just zombies, zombie food, and the Blood Riders." Darla laughed again, a dark, ugly laugh. "No one is gonna help me, and they certainly ain't coming to help you."
"Don't give up, Darla."
Something registered on Darla's weary face. She looked out through the dirty windshield instead of into the rear view mirror. Her eyes glistened and her lower lip seemed to tremble.
"I'm serious," continued Miller. "If you help us escape, I could protect you. I know where we could go to be safe from the zombies and safe from the Blood Riders. We women will have to stick together."
Darla pulled to the side of the highway. The brakes shrieked. The car slid sideways and came to a stop. Dust swirled all around them. Darla turned in her seat. She pointed a pistol at Miller's head. "If you don't shut up, I swear to God I will blow your brains out here and now."
Miller didn't move. "Easy. That's metal and bulletproof Plexiglas between you and me, Darla. You shoot that thing you'll be lucky if the bullet only ricochets around and goes out the window. More than likely, the bullet will come back and take most of your head off."
"You know what?" Darla shouted. "Fuck you!" She dropped the weapon on the front seat. She turned, started the cruiser and drove back onto the highway. Darla was like a little girl with her palms over her ears, refusing to listen to or face reality. Soon she was humming and mumbling again, something about a handsome Prince coming to take her away. She was on the edge of madness, maybe over.
"That went well," Terrill Lee said.
"Just like I planned." She wouldn't meet his eyes.
"What's your next brilliant move?"
"Stuff it," growled Miller.
They both fell silent.
Moments later the cruiser raced into Flat Rock. They passed an abandoned home and a row of stores and squealed to a stop. The little town was eerie, silent and littered with trash. Darla turned off the engine. Miller heard the rest of the gang coming up behind them. A formation took shape. Soon they were surrounded by powerful engines and tense men and women.
The Blood Riders had come to a stop on Clarke Street, the main drag through the middle of Flat Rock. Miller shaded her eyes and peeked out of the cruiser. As expected, the town was a war zone. Bodies lay everywhere, some with heads and limbs, some without. Puddles of dried blood stained the sidewalk and blacktop. Down the street, the First Regional Church of Flat Rock billowed black smoke. A dog ran down the middle of the street, looking confused and lost. One of the bikers gunned it down without a thought. Everyone jumped.
Scratch called, "Save your ammo you dumbshit."
The bikers shut off their motorcycles. For the first time in a long time, it was quiet. Miller could hear Scratch barking more orders. "Bull, take the women and go raid the grocery across the street. Get beer, food, anything you can carry. Kill anything that moves that ain't one of us. Come back and load up the cruisers with the food. You've got maybe 20 minutes. Go."
Bull and the others headed off. Scratch turned to another man. "Kong, take Rag and the boys and empty the pharmacy. Grab everything, dope and bandages and food and cleaning supplies, whatever you see. We'll figure out what it all is and what to do with it when we get back to camp."
"You got it."
"And Kong?" Scratch waited until he had Kong's full attention. "Get this good. You don't let that asshole Rag out of your sight. He needs to be re-initiated into the club. Hit it."
"Scratch, what about them zombies we spotted heading this way?" asked one of the other men, a dark-skinned Hispanic.
"Oh, by the time they get here, we'll all be partying up a storm back at camp. Don't worry about it."
Everyone else was leaving. Scratch was standing still. Noticing, Kong said, "What are you going to do?"
Scratch smiled. "Why, it's time for me to introduce my new bride to gang life."
Kong laughed. He slapped Scratch on the back. "Tear her up!"
Scratched chuckled evilly. "You know it. Both ends."
Kong and the men headed off toward the drug store. The rest of the gang scattered, looting and cheering and raising hell. Scratch just watched them go. He seemed comfortably in command again, very much in his element. Miller tried to figure out some ways to kill him when the time came and he was in close enough.
Scratch headed over to the NHP cruiser where Miller, Terrill Lee, and Darla sat waiting. He opened the back door. "Come on, Sheriff. Looks like you and me got us some personal business to attend to."
"You don't have to do this," said Miller. Her legs were shaking.
"Oh, quit your bitchin', Sheriff. After what happened between you and me in the jailhouse, you've earned yourself a good fucking."
"You so much as touch her," said Terrill Lee, suddenly finding his balls, "and I swear I'll kill you."
Scratch ignored him. Somehow that was worse than responding, even with a gun butt. It was as if Terrill Lee didn't factor into this. Scratch reached inside the patrol car. He grabbed Miller by the sleeve of her wedding dress. He got her by the arm and pulled her out of the back seat.
"Goddamn you!" shouted Terrill Lee.
Scratch pulled his pistol this time. He pointed it at Terrill Lee's beet red face. He spoke, but addressed Miller, "Give me three good reasons I shouldn't shut him up permanently."
"Okay, you've made your point," said Miller. "I'll go with you, Scratch. Just don't hurt him."
"All right," said Scratch simply. He slammed the car door closed. Terrill Lee was now locked in the back seat alone. Miller heard him sob.
Scratch pulled Miller around the corner of the building, back toward where he had parked his bike, now out of sight of the others. Then he spun her around and pushed her up against the wall. She wasn't going to be facing him. Miller would have to endure the rape from behind and wait for another opportunity to cut his throat. She braced herself.
The next thing Miller knew the handcuffs that had secured her wrists clattered to the cement behind her. She was free.
"Come on, Sheriff," Scratch said, quietly. "We ain't got much time. Get on my bike and let's just get us the fuck out of here."
Miller was stunned. "But I thought..."
"If you're worried about not getting laid, I promise to fuck your brains out some other time. Right now, we gotta go!" Scratch pushed her toward the bike.
"Wait," Miller said. "We can't just leave them."
"Them?"
"Terrill Lee and Darla. Look, you know they'll kill Terrill Lee if we leave him behind, and Darla will suffer for having let us escape. Damn it Scratch, after the hell your gang put her through, you owe it to Darla to at least get her out of here before the zombies come."
"Why does everything have to be so fucking complicated with you, woman?" Scratch said, clearly exasperated.
"I saved your life." Miller looked him dead in the eyes.
"That you did, lady."
"So I thought your one rule was 'look after your own.'"
Scratch stared at her. His face reddened. He took her by the arm and dragged her back toward the cruiser. "Damn it, I try to do one decent thing in my life, and you have to make a big deal of it. Get in the back." Scratch handed her the set of keys to the handcuffs. Smiling, Miller opened the door and hopped back in next to her ex-husband. Darla looked over her skinny shoulder, confused and blinking like a crackhead.
"What the hell?" Terrill Lee gaped as Miller unlocked his cuffs.
Scratch opened the front door. He waved his gun at Darla. "Slide over."
She did. Scratch got in the driver seat. He started the cruiser up.
Darla shook her head. "What the fuck, Scratch?"
"I'll explain everything when we're a hundred miles from here." He stepped on the accelerator. Scratch spun the cruiser in a wide arc. Dirt sprayed everywhere. He deliberately knocked over several of the Blood Rider's bikes to slow the gang down
when they tried to pursue. Finally, Scratch peeled out of town, leaving a long trail of rubber behind him. Meanwhile, Miller watched out the dusty back window. She saw several of the bikers rush out of the stores to stare after them. They argued back and forth as they grew smaller in size. Eventually, several moved to the working bikes and started them up.
"Damn it," said Scratch.
"I saw them," said Miller. "They are going to follow us."
"No, not them," said Scratch. "Look up ahead."
Miller turned and gasped. A huge group of zombies were clumped together on the road ahead of them, limping and stumbling. One woman was missing her right hip but kept moving forward. There were children among them, one a toddler in diapers. As they raced closer the group of creatures seemed to grow in size. Miller counted rapidly. What now seemed like nearly a hundred zombies blocked the road ahead, and back behind them the first wave of Blood Riders were approaching fast. They were between the proverbial rock and a boner hard place.
Miller craned her neck. She swiveled her head to and fro to keep an eye on both threats at once. Terrill Lee whimpered. Darla closed her eyes and hummed. Scratch cursed a blue streak but kept driving.
Miller said, "Well, I do believe that this is going to suck."
SIX
"Hold on!" screamed Scratch. Miller winced and covered her ears. His voice was much too loud in the enclosed car. He pressed down on the accelerator, heading directly for the mass of writhing, stumbling, gory creatures blocking their path. Miller covered her eyes instead, but then peered through her fingers. A doctor and nurse covered with gore stumbled along with the mob of creatures. The doctor still wore his stethoscope in his ears, the end clutched in one bony hand.
Miller found herself shouting. "Scratch, just what the hairy, bad-assed hell do you think you are doing?"
Scratch spat on the floor. He never took his foot off the gas pedal. "Don't worry, darlin'. They're already dead."
The cruiser hit the first zombie, a soccer mom in a t-shirt and skirt. She flew wide of the speeding car, pinwheeled through the air and knocked over several other zombies. They fell like a formation of undead bowling pins. A nun slammed face first into the hood and flew over the roof of the cruiser. A little boy in a baseball uniform made Miller cringe. After that, it became too difficult to sort out what happened. The car crashed through rows and rows of the creatures in slow motion, sort of like a plane flying through a flock of birds, only everything was a lot louder than that… and much bigger stuff than bird and bug guts got all over their windshield. Things Miller didn't choose to identify.
The Hungry Page 7
