by Steven Booth
Where the hell is everyone?
People should have been running around in a state of hysteria. She should have seen mobs of frantic guests and confused orderlies and guards. Perhaps they had all already been evacuated while she was still unconscious. But how would the center have known the choppers were coming? She kept moving. It was all making her head hurt.
Miller could see the flames in one of the wings to her left, outside one of the windows. It wasn’t a big fire—not yet—but it was already out of control and would be a problem soon. She’d heard no weapons discharge, so perhaps someone had set the blaze on purpose. Maybe Scratch to create a distraction? For a second, Miller panicked. What if Scratch had gone back to the hospital room looking for her and was now trapped downstairs? No, don’t change course. She’d made her decision and she’d stick to it. Scratch knew her well. He’d realize she’d somehow find a way to get outside. She’d be looking for him, not waiting in a hospital bed.
“Shit.”
She turned in a circle, sniffing. The smell of smoke was still strong, but now Miller caught a whiff something else hiding underneath that already volatile, caustic reek. A foul scent that made her freeze in her tracks.
The stench of decomp.
If zombies were on the loose that could mean a real problem for Scratch. Though Miller was accelerated, she had nothing to destroy them with other than her bare hands. She had confidence in her talents, but she wasn’t some superhero from the movies. This would get messy really fast. The clock was ticking.
Miller ran down the hall and turned and ran again. When she went past the elusive snack shop she’d never managed to locate before, she realized that she was suddenly and completely lost. Smoke and water were pouring down. She had to stick to her guns. She had no choice but to keep moving forward. Hesitation killed in an emergency. Miller went forward. She kept one eye out for the guards and the zombies, and the other out for Scratch.
She got her bearings and figured out how to move back toward a more familiar part of the facility. The air was thick and reeked of destruction. Miller found herself standing in front of the double doors that led to the exam rooms and custodial ward. She couldn’t take a chance that Scratch wasn’t in there. He might have been captured and imprisoned like the others. She shouldered her way past the door, and stopped.
Uhh-huunnnhh!
Well, at least now she knew where the zombies were.
There were twenty or thirty of them. Her accelerated mind snapped quick mental photographs. She saw a woman in a nursing gown, probably an escaped prisoner or patient, some soldiers in National Guard uniforms, a few civilians, an old couple with walkers, a traffic cop. Miller wondered where they’d all come from. There always seemed to be so damned many of them. She only pondered that eternal question for a heartbeat. She closed the gap, approaching the small horde. Miller checked the face of the nearest one. It wasn’t Scratch. She kicked the creature in the chest and moved on. It sailed backwards into two of the others, and they all tumbled to the floor, biting and snapping. Miller didn’t have time to worry about stopping to destroy their brains. She had to keep moving.
Another one came at her from the right, a thin man in a hospital gown with bare arms outstretched. Miller only paused long enough to make sure it wasn’t Scratch. She grabbed it by the wrist. It was still a fresh one, so the arm didn’t come off at the shoulder. Grunting, Miller spun in a circle; she swung it around like a child and let it crash into its triad-mates. They all went down together, thrashing comically. Miller gagged. After so long a time away from their stench, the smell was making her stomach flop over.
This wouldn’t do. She couldn’t check every single one to see if it was Scratch. Not if she was to get anywhere.
Miller picked up a utility cart. She shook the instruments and do-dads off. She then used it as a club, smashing zombie brains in as she went along. She wasn’t angry anymore, or even trying very hard. Her mind was on her man. She only cared about making good time. Her goal was the custodial ward, perhaps thirty feet away—the place where she’d first seen the prisoners. She had to believe Scratch was there. It was her last hope.
And as she reached the door to that custodial ward Miller found him. Scratch. His long hair was dangling down in front of his face. Miller’s heart leapt. She ran closer.
Part of his neck was missing.
He was dead.
Miller stopped short. She couldn’t believe it. After all this time, Scratch had finally gotten himself killed by a zombie. He’d become one of them. It didn’t seem possible. It was so damned unfair. She sobbed with grief.
Uhhhh-uhnnhhnn.
But no, something wasn’t right. It was only that this man was the right size and shape and coloring. This zombie didn’t have Scratch’s tattoos or upper body.
And Scratch had just cut his hair.
Relief washed over Miller. Then the anger came back. She swung the cart at the thing-that-wasn’t-Scratch. The upper half of the zombie flew apart, splattering her with gore. Miller didn’t care. Scratch was still alive somewhere, and that’s all that mattered. She called out.
“Hello?”
Miller pushed her way into the custodial ward. She peeked into the windows. The first few rooms were empty, but the next two were occupied.
One was Alex.
She couldn’t just leave him behind. For some reason, Miller felt obligated to help the man. He’d looked like someone who could handle himself, assuming they hadn’t fucked up his head with all those drugs. She opened the door with her key and entered.
“No!” Alex screeched.
Miller unbuckled his restraints.
“You’re… not one of those things?”
“Not yet. Let’s go.”
Alex at up and rubbed his wrists. “Ma’am, how are we going to get past the zombies?”
“Carefully and quickly,” Miller said, dryly. “Here is the deal. You follow, I lead. Stick to me like a snail on a mirror. Do what I do. If you get a weapon and a chance to shoot one, aim for the brain. Do not get bit. Now follow me.”
They went out into the corridor. Most of the zombies were still at the far end of the ward, back near the entrance. They must have been newly minted because they were wandering around in a circle, not yet in triads, clearly lost without a living target. Miller knew the story by now. After a time, one zombie would emerge as a leader. It would somehow select and communicate with two others to form a triad. Then they’d work together. She wasn’t going to wait around for that to happen here.
“This way,” Miller said. She headed in the opposite direction, away from the zombie horde.
“Wait!”
Miller turned back impatiently. “What?”
“We can’t leave Leslie?”
“Who the fuck is Leslie?”
“The girl that is locked up in the next room. We were brought here together.”
“We don’t have time for this shit.” Alex looked distraught. The zombies were only a few yards away, shuffling along and grunting. The girl would be breakfast for sure. Miller sighed. Despite herself, she went to the next room and peeked in.
A woman about Miller’s age was there. She was weeping openly in her bed, restrained like Alex had been. Miller’s heart went out to her.
Miller opened the door. “Alex, you get her out of there. I’ll keep watch.”
Alex went into the room. Miller kept a close eye on the zombies. They were slow to enter the last corridor, but they had heard the living voices and were definitely heading their way. Miller steeled herself for another hand-to-hand battle. Behind her, Alex fumbled to set his friend free. He was having trouble with the restraints. The zombies were closing the gap rapidly, grunting and moaning obscenely. The girl began to weep. “Please, get me out of here!”
“I can’t undo this, Leslie,” Alex said. “They put a lock on yours.”
“Alex,” Miller called, “we have to move.”
“Don’t leave me!” Leslie cried.
Miller looked back over her shoulder. Alex was frustrated and seemed close to tears. He couldn’t get the locks open, and he was frantic to find some other solution. When Miller turned back around a hulking figure was right in her face—a tall, white-haired man with a matted beard and one good eye. A string of bloody drool ran down his chin. He snapped at her with cracked dentures, muttering unhhh hunhh hunhh…
Someone started shooting down the hall. Miller had to fight her zombie. “Alex? We’ve got company.”
“I’m coming!”
More shots. Miller fought off the old man. His dentures slipped down out of his drooling mouth. They hung from his lower lip like larvae. The sight chilled her blood. “Alex, somebody’s firing, but I don’t know whose side they’re on. You’d best hurry your ass up!”
“Leslie, I have to go.”
“I mean it,” Miller called. “Just get out here. Just lock her inside or something!”
As Miller struggled to fight off the macabre creature, another fresh zombie, the male in a police uniform, brushed past her and broke into Leslie’s room. Miller crushed the first zombie’s skull with her fist and threw it into two female creatures. She turned to look over her shoulder. Back in the room, the cop attacked Leslie. Alex shoved it away. Another followed it into the room and another after that one.
One got to Leslie.
Miller saw just a glimpse of it, a woman-thing in a gory one-piece bathing suit. Miller fought with a tall zombie soldier. She shoved it back against the wall and kneed it in the groin out of habit. The male zombie didn’t react. She slammed its head into the wall, crushed its skull and shoved it away. Meanwhile she could hear Leslie shrieking in terror. Miller looked into the crowded room. She saw Alex behind Leslie, struggling to break free. He didn’t seem to have been bitten. He burst out through the door, distress on his face. Behind them, the still bound Leslie shrieked as the cop zombie bit down on her leg. Alex slammed the door shut, locking the three creatures inside. Leslie’s last scream stopped with a gurgle. It was over.
“Follow me,” Miller said.
Alex pulled himself together. He nodded grimly.
They heard more shooting, getting steadily closer. They went out into the smoke-filled corridor. The rest of the zombie horde was almost upon them. Miller made a snap decision. She turned to the left, away from both the zombies and the gunfire. She wanted to find Scratch and get to a safe place. No other contact until she knew exactly who had just arrived and why they’d come. She and Alex made it a few yards down the corridor. Miller raised her arm and brought them to a halt. She saw figures running through the smoke and haze.
Five armed soldiers in tactical gear were coming right towards them.
Miller sighed. She had about two seconds to decide if these people were friendly. If not, she was going to have to find some way take them out. Perhaps kill one, get his weapon and turn it on the others. At least she and Alex would be armed. Miller knew she could move fast enough if she had to get it done. She’d done it before, back in Nevada, at Crystal Palace. She knew her capabilities. First, they’d have to let her get close enough.
“Hold your fire!” Miller shouted. “We’re unarmed.”
One of them put up a fist in the classic hold position. The others aimed their weapons at Miller and her companion. The group fanned out into a half moon. They were well trained.
“Soldier, you have one second to give me the right answer,” Miller said. “Are you here to rescue us or kill us?”
“Penny?” said the leader. It was a familiar voice. A woman. “It’s me.”
“Rat? What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Rescuing you. Again,” Francine Hanratty said. She jogged closer to Miller with a smile on her grimy face. “We’re starting to make a habit of this.”
Miller and Alex came toward her. Miller said, “Appears that way don’t it?”
“Where the hell is Scratch?” Rat said. “We’re here for both of you.”
“We got separated,” Miller said. Rat offered her water. She drank some and handed the canteen to Alex, who gulped thirstily. “I was just going to look for him, but I had to make a stop and let this ape out of his cage. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you what’s been going on around here. Or maybe you would.”
“Tell me some other time. Right now we need to get you out of here.”
“Not until we find Scratch.”
Rat shook her head. She motioned for her team to protect them against the approaching zombie horde. The men spread out as instructed. “Let us worry about that. You need to get to the helicopter.”
“I’m not leaving without Scratch,” Miller said. “You can take this guy with you—his name is Alex—but I’m going back in there.”
Rat’s men watched silently. She sighed. “We really don’t have time for this, Penny.”
“Then help me.”
“I lost you in Colorado and it’s not happening again. If Scratch is alive, we’ll find him. I promise.” Rat put out her hand. “Come with me if you want to live.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
MALIBU SERENITY CENTER
Miller stared down at Rat’s hand. The mercenary withdrew it. “Damn, you always were a stubborn bitch, Penny.”
Miller smiled. “It’s good to see you too, Rat.” She turned to Alex. “Go with this woman. She’ll get you to safety.”
“Hold on, Penny. We’re not here for anyone else but you, Scratch, and Dr. Rubenstein.”
Miller glowered at her. “Rubenstein? Why take that miserable fuck? He’s the source of the damned problem.”
They heard zombies in the distance. Rat waved to two of her men, who moved down the corridor to seal it off. “Rubenstein’s the one who called us. He’s paying the bills.”
“You’re shitting me.”
Rat shrugged. “Unlike you, I work for a living, remember?”
Alex coughed and returned the empty canteen to Rat. Watching, Miller hesitated. Something was very wrong here. “If you’re working for Rubenstein, we have somewhat different agendas. I want that sick bastard deader than Nixon’s reputation, but you’re standing there telling me you’re here to keep him alive.”
“Penny, like you said, we don’t have time for this. The taxi ride is free, but you and Scratch are going to have to share it with Rubenstein.”
Someone fired again. A man screamed. Seconds later, a pair of zombies appeared from around the corner. They saw two women in nursing uniforms, both freshly minted. One had her arms up, but was missing most of a hand. The other had half a face. They were snarling, stumbling forward, covered with filth and gore.
“Hostiles!” Miller shouted.
The mercenary team turned as one. They terminated the two zombies with what seemed to be a solid wall of bullets. Their ears rang. Smoke drifted by. Miller’s eyes burned. She watched the team of soldiers survey the hall and then relax.
“Where’s the third?” Miller yelled.
The soldiers looked baffled by her question. Miller started to explain. A scream startled her into action. Miller reached over and snatched the submachine gun out of the hands of one of Rat’s men and turned it on the third zombie who had finally emerged, a chubby clergyman with a shaved head. Miller double-tapped the creature just as it bit down on another one of the mercenary soldiers. He screamed. He stood staring down his right arm where the zombie’s teeth had sunk into his exposed flesh.
“I’m dead,” the man cried.
“Sorry, Jack,” Rat said, calmly. She raised her gun.
“Fuck you, Rat. I’ll do it.” The soldier took a deep breath. He pulled his Glock and blew his own brains out. Gore flew up the wall like modern art.
“Damn it. We needed him.” Rat signaled her men. “You ladies get her back to the helicopters. We’ll deal with things up top.”
“Just get him out of here,” Miller said, staring at Alex. “You aren’t going to arm him anyway, so he’s just dead weight.”
Alex sputtered. “I’ve done a tour or two, Penny. I
can help you. Don’t write me off until you’ve at least seen me shoot.”
Miller ignored the protest. Two of the remaining mercenaries hustled Alex back out the way they had come.
Miller felt shaken. She might have lost another one of her people. But she didn’t have time to dwell on any of that. “Rat, are you and your choir boys going to follow me, or what? You can look for Rubenstein while I go after Scratch.”
“Hold on,” Rat said, while her soldiers readied themselves. “I think you’re going to at least need a sitrep before you jump right into the mouth of the dragon.”
“I’m waiting.”
Rat gave a wry smile. “Be advised the west wing is on fire. Nothing serious, but emergency services are still a ways away. Team Bravo is already on that end, searching for survivors and taking out any zombies they can corner.”
“How did they get loose in the first place?” Miller asked.
“Look, we can discuss that in the air. Right now, we have more pressing problems.”
“So, Rubenstein didn’t tell you?”
“Or he didn’t know. Anyway, we have more teams on the way in. We’ll have to deal with all soon. It wouldn’t be cool to have a volunteer fireman get bit and go home to infect the rest of Los Angeles. Anyway, I’ll have them be on the lookout for Scratch as well.”
Miller put a fresh load of ammo into a submachine gun. She gripped it tightly. “Tell them to look for a big guy with short cut hair and lots of tattoos.”
“Short hair?”
“Yeah, the stupid son of a bitch went and cut it all off.” Miller stared into the smoke. She was itching to get moving again. “I suspect he thought he was going to impress me. I think he’s already trying to grow it all back.”
