The Hungry

by Steve Hockensmith

  She turned her eyes back to the screen. Miller forced a laugh to distract him while she tested the bonds again. She was still not strong enough to break free. The camera jerked back and forth between the two horrendous mobs of nightmarish creatures, and then the long recording began again from the top. Dr. Frankenstein... Miller found herself chuckling for real.

  Sanchez scowled. "There is nothing funny about any of this. What you are seeing is a tragedy. Obviously, we never intended for things to get this far out of control. Sheriff Miller, believe me, I'm fully aware that the blood of every one of those thousands of innocent people is on my hands. It all began here. And it is now up to us to put a stop to the madness."

  Sanchez took a step closer. He lowered his voice. "Penny, I need your help to save what's left of humanity."

  Miller couldn't resist. Now she laughed heartily, long and loud. For a moment, she actually felt pretty damned good—or at least as good as she could manage when stuck in a filthy wedding dress strapped to a stainless-steel table in a secret Army base being hovered over by a power-hungry madman who was being aggressively pursued by a horde of slimy, slavering zombies. Other than that, she felt good.

  "Don't bullshit me like a bleeding heart, Sanchez. Sheppard already told me what you were doing here. You were conducting illegal human experiments because you wanted to create super soldiers. My guess is you had a fat government contract to create something you'd own a permanent piece of, right?"

  "The idea could have saved lives," Sanchez said.

  "I'm sure that was your primary motivation, not profit. Well, you did it. What you got was an unstoppable army. And now it's here to chew you up and shit you out like a rare roadhouse cheeseburger."

  "What can I say, Sheriff? I made a mistake, a horrible mistake, but I don't believe that this is irreversible. In fact, I refuse to accept that conclusion. I believe I can turn you into the cure for this horrible epidemic."

  "What?"

  "Let me show you how."

  Sanchez walked across the room to key an intercom on the wall by the flat screen. He whispered into it. Sheppard and Miller exchanged glances. What now? A moment later, four guards ushered a zombie into the room. The soldiers led it in, shackled and connected to long poles that allowed them to control the thing. It moaned piteously with that insatiable hunger. The body shape and size was average for a male. It was undressed except for a pair of torn sweat pants. Parts of the torso were missing, and the creature brought with it the rank smell of death. A bite mask covered its face. It strained against the restraints, but perhaps it had died only recently, it didn't seem that desperate. It also didn't try to tear off its own arms to get free, like the zombies back in the army truck.

  Sanchez paced the room, a few feet away from the monster. It tried to snap at him but the soldiers jerked the chains. Sanchez spoke to Miller. "When you were here last, we took a sample of your blood. We isolated a few key proteins that have a startling affect on the undead."

  Sheppard seemed intrigued. Miller was fascinated too, against her own will.

  "Ready? Watch this." Sanchez reached into his coat pocket. He took out a mundane looking squirt bottle, aimed it at the zombie's face. The creature reacted with mindless rage, thrashing as if it knew it was being threatened in some way. Sanchez squirted the zombie in the face, once, twice. Miller was stunned when the zombie gasped in shock. It then howled—a horrible, painful sound. The body stiffened and the legs kicked. The soldiers holding the poles and chains struggled to remain upright. Seconds later the zombie dropped to the floor. The soldiers let the thing fall with a crash. It did not move again.

  "You're telling me that you made that good a weapon just from what's inside of me?" Miller said. She trembled with possibility. Sanchez was a sociopath, but Miller could not help but be impressed. Perhaps there was a way out of all this after all.

  "Yes, Penny," Sanchez said. "I extracted it from your blood. You are the key to mankind's salvation."

  "Well, fuck me running." Miller looked over at Sheppard, who was still silent. He was now staring at his boots like a scared child. Miller wondered why. She said, "What do we have to do to kill the rest of those things?"

  "That's our problem," Sanchez said. "We don't know how to make more. That was our last sample. If we are going to stop the zombie epidemic, we'll need your complete cooperation."

  Miller stared at the crumpled heap that had once been reanimated. She didn't seem to have much of a choice. As morally repugnant as it would be to help Sanchez in any way, how else could she atone for Terrill Lee, Scratch and the other people she'd failed to save? She had to do something to stop this epidemic. At least that way she'd know she tried her best.

  Sheppard motioned for the soldiers to get the newly terminated zombie out of the lab. The two men exchanged looks, as if excited to see the brass had come up with a solution. They tugged on the poles, putting their backs into it, hauling dead weight.

  Sanchez didn't bother watching. He went to the intercom again. "Bring in the other subject."

  Meanwhile, the soldiers dragged the newly minted corpse away, both stepping very carefully around the small snail trails of smeared blood and bodily fluids left behind. One sprayed the floor with disinfectant. The door closed behind them.

  Sheppard spoke for the first time. His voice was thick with emotion. "Colonel, exactly what are you planning to do?"

  "There's more, Sheriff," Sanchez said, ignoring Sheppard. "In fact, there's so much more, I can't even begin to describe it. All the evidence we have indicates that this new virus—the same virus that transformed those poor souls into mindless zombies—has mutated into a strain people can not only survive with, but actually thrive with. That mutated strain? It is now inside you."

  A moment later, two more soldiers in medical scrubs came into the room. They were wheeling yet another gurney. A large man was strapped down tight. It was Ragnarok, Scratch's brother. Miller looked him over but still couldn't see any resemblance. The huge, overly tattooed man was bruised, bloody and charred, but apparently still very much alive.

  Sanchez waived his hand imperiously. The orderlies left the room. "Penny, this is what I really wanted you to see."

  Sheppard had gone pale. He whispered, "Colonel, don't!"

  Sanchez opened a wall cabinet, slid out a rolling medical tray. He rolled it over next to Ragnarok's gurney. Sanchez opened a small metal drawer. He withdrew a hypodermic needle, checked it carefully then squirted out the tiny bubble of air. Sanchez walked over to Ragnarok. He grabbed the huge man by the arm. Ragnarok spat at him. Sanchez unceremoniously injected the biker with the serum. Ragnarok whimpered like a baby. He closed his eyes.

  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 i
mportant 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 th
e 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.