by Steven Booth
“You lousy fuck!”
“Six seconds, the clock is ticking.”
Miller handed him the rifle.
Clearly relieved, Rubenstein turned and typed a quick command into the keyboard. The red button stopped blinking with a mere three seconds left, and the terrifying numbers disappeared. Miller sagged against the large glass table. Rubenstein aimed the gun at her. His hands were shaking, but he had her covered. He’d won.
At least John the zombie did not enter Scratch’s isolation tank.
The acceleration left her body. The constant low-level anxiety and depression that had created that eerie mental connection with the zombie horde faded away. At least that was a good thing. Miller felt like herself again.
“I’m so glad you saw reason, Penny.”
“I want to talk to Scratch.”
“All in good time. He is, after all, a part of the team now.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that.” Miller grimaced. “In a way.”
“I understand.”
“No. You don’t. What just went down in the other room? What happened between Sheppard and Alex?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
Miller exploded. “What the fuck do you mean you don’t know? What did you inject him with to get away from us? And did Sheppard know about this?”
Rubenstein spread his palms. “I used whatever was handy on Alex. I didn’t prepare the syringe properly. I knew an air bubble would at least slow him down. When we are done here, I will take a blood sample from his body and see if I can document whatever has taken place within his system. I don’t want him dead if that can be avoided. Alex is valuable too.”
“And Sheppard?”
“Your friend Karl did not know what I had planned. He may or may not have survived being alone in the room with Alex. I did what I could to survive. Don’t we all these days?”
Miller felt torn about the safety of the three men in her charge. She was also damn tired of being in the dark. She needed to know. “Just answer me one question. Why are you so hell-bent on my participation in this damned program? You know I don’t believe in it, and that I’ll fight you every chance I get. So why?”
“Sheppard didn’t tell you?” Rubenstein looked genuinely surprised.
“Tell me what?”
“Why, that you’re pregnant, of course.”
Miller almost fell over. She put both palms on the cool glass table to steady her balance. When the shock wore off she managed a hollow laugh. “Bullshit. I can’t get pregnant.”
“You can, and you are.”
“That rings about as true as the brain tumor, Artie,” Miller said with as much bitterness as she could muster.
Rubenstein shrugged. “Nevertheless, it is true. It was a reaction just like the one to the wound in your shoulder. The virus merely expedited your body’s natural healing mechanisms. You’re pregnant, I assure you.”
Miller sneered. “So now what? Now you’re going to breed little super soldiers? Have your own super soldier little league team?”
“What an excellent idea!” Rubenstein smirked. “Camaraderie in the miniature ranks.”
“You’re out of your damned mind.”
“No, Penny, you see, I’m not the one with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and persistent delusions of grandeur. I’m not trying to save the world by killing one zombie at a time.”
“Then why are you doing all this?”
Rubenstein looked surprised. “Why I’m doing it for the money, of course.”
That was more than Miller could process. What use would money be on a dead planet? She guessed Rubenstein and a few others had plans to set up the high life on an isolated island, perhaps with young woman prisoners and stockpiles of food and drink. Somehow a handful of greedy pricks always seem to come out on top. They’re expert at taking advantage of everybody else.
Her heart had slowed. She wasn’t hungry. Miller felt reasonably normal again. She glanced down at the rifle. Rubenstein seemed to have forgotten about it. Miller suddenly moaned and clutched at her stomach. Rubenstein moved closer, concern in his ferret eyes.
In one smooth movement, Miller reached out, grabbed the barrel of the rifle, and snatched it out of his unpracticed hands. She almost tore his fingers from their joints. Rubenstein cowered back, clutching his injured digits, shocked by the violence of the move.
“Wait. Don’t kill me.”
“Don’t tempt me. Let Scratch out. And then do your best to save Alex, Sheppard too if he is still alive.”
Rubenstein turned. He wanted to go through the far door.
“Slowly,” Miller warned. “I’m going to be on you like underwear.”
Rubenstein opened the door. He kept his hands up. He led her around through it and down another corridor, and carefully unlocked a second door. This one was marked number seven. Someone moved around inside. Miller raised the rifle, just in case.
“Who’s there,” called Scratch.
“Local law enforcement,” Miller called back. “You’re partying too loud.”
“Penny!” Scratch came to the door. He saw her holding the rifle on Rubenstein. “Honey, you’re just a sight for sore eyes.”
“Ain’t that always the truth?”
Scratch came out of the isolation room and into the hall. He stretched and kissed Miller on the forehead. Then he turned and approached Rubenstein, towering over the man. His eyes were blazing. “Do we get to kill this motherfucker now?”
“Not exactly, Scratch.” She turned to Rubenstein. “It’s your turn, Artie.”
“What?” asked Scratch and Rubenstein together.
“Get in there, Rubenstein.”
“Me?” Rubenstein whimpered. “You can’t do this.”
“Hey, zombie dude,” Scratch called. “Dinner bell!” Scratch grinned menacingly. He grabbed Rubenstein by the shoulder. He shoved the terrified doctor Miller’s way, nearer to the entrance to the isolation tank.
“Megalomania has its price.” Miller poked Rubenstein with the rifle barrel. Scratch shoved the man from behind. Reluctantly, he went inside the second tank.
“You aren’t going to feed me to the zombie, are you? I know you have a strong sense of duty, Sheriff. That would be murder.”
Miller didn’t feel like defending her ethics. This world had changed and she’d changed with it. “Maybe, but that’s certainly one of my options.”
“Are you going to leave me locked here to starve to death?”
“That’s not bad either,” Miller said. “Wait, I’m still mulling this over.”
“You won’t get away with this! Someone will come eventually. They will find me and let me out. And then I’ll find you.”
Miller and Scratch looked at each other.
“You just might at that,” Scratch said. “I vote we just shoot him now.”
Rubenstein sat down on the cold floor. He hugged his knees like a little boy. He did not look up again. Miller finally said, “I’m so tired of all the killing.”
Scratch opened his mouth to speak. He read her eyes. He shrugged instead. They closed the door and locked Rubenstein inside. Scratch disagreed with the decision, Miller could tell, but he did not challenge it. He respected her too much to argue.
Miller set the rifle against the wall. She put her arms around Scratch. She studied his shorter hair and the stubbly beard that was finally growing out again. She decided for sure that she liked him better nice and scruffy. And Scratch seemed to know that. He’d surely be the same old biker in no time, a bad ass again, and that sat just fine with her. “Damn Scratch, am I so glad to see you.”
Without a word, Scratch folded her into his arms. He kissed her. Miller enjoyed the kiss, and that her mind was her own again, with her only thoughts human and loving. The nightmare was almost over. Eventually, they pulled apart.
Miller steeled herself for the next step. “Sheppard and Alex are in the front room. One may have turned. I’m thinking we check on them and then we get us the hell
out of here.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
The voice that came from behind them was slurred, labored. “Oh, if only it were that easy.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CRYSTAL PALACE, LEVEL 6
Miller and Scratch both turned slowly. They kept their hands in plain sight and made no threatening moves. They found themselves covered by a big-assed machine gun. Terrill Lee would have known exactly what kind of gun it was. Miller just knew it was whale big and that the mouth of that barrel seemed to stretch ten yards past deadly. A woman held the weapon. Her face was bandaged. The air thickened and Miller’s heart beat rapidly.
Miller spoke first. “You look like shit, Rat.”
“Having your skull pile-driven will do that to you,” Rat said. She spoke through her teeth without moving her jaw. It seemed broken.
“So what’s the plan… Francine?”
Rat actually managed a chuckle. A trickle of blood escaped her lips and slid down her chin. “I haven’t decided. Rescuing Rubenstein is definitely still on the agenda, because that’s five hundred large in a bank in the Caymans if I pull it off. I just have to figure out if I’m going to feed you to that zombie next door or not for beating my pretty face to raw hamburger.”
“A broken nose and jaw will give you character,” Scratch said. “Men are gonna love it.”
Rat grunted. “Fuck you. Maybe I should just plug you both and go finish up my work.”
“Don’t do this, Rat,” said Miller. “Don’t take Rubenstein’s side. You won’t ever see that money. These people don’t pay anyone else in the end, they never do. They always find a way to stay on top. He isn’t loyal or honest. He’s out for himself. We both know he’d throw your sorry ass to the wolves for a half-eaten corn-beef sandwich.”
“Maybe.”
“Rat, you know he would.”
“He’s signing the checks, Penny. I follow the money.”
Rat stepped closer. Her weapon didn’t waver.
Scratch looked at her. “Something tells me those checks are going to bounce like a can of brand new tennis balls, especially after the way he’s handled this place.”
“Come on, Rat,” Miller said. “Think about this. You helped us take out Gifford, and you didn’t complain about that.”
“Gifford? He fucked me over big time. And you ended up with the cash.”
“Money is pretty much worthless now, Rat. We found out how much cash gets you in our brave new world, once the undead join the party. It cost us a hundred grand for four hotel rooms, and the service was lousy. The zombies are overrunning North America.”
Rat stared back. Miller had rattled her.
“Listen,” Miller said, “if you trade Rubenstein you should hold out for a ticket to Europe or maybe Asia. Try to find a contract there. Of course, I'd be surprised most other countries don’t stop flights altogether pretty soon, so you might want to move real fast. Forget checks or cash. They may as well be in Confederate money. And besides, like I said, you think Rubenstein won’t just fuck you over first chance he gets?”
Rat shook her head as if dizzy. “Yeah, he might.”
“He will. He just hasn’t gotten around to it yet. Turn your back. Let us go.”
Rat took another step towards them. The gun shifted to focus on Scratch. Miller took that as an unconscious reaction to the truth contained in her statement. Rat said, “Unfortunately, that’s not the way I roll. Now, both of you disarm and step aside.”
Miller thought furiously. None of the scenarios that played out in her mind ended with her and Scratch unharmed, much less walking out alive, but she had to do something before the die was cast. If Rubenstein got released, they’d be prisoners again in a heartbeat.
“Take a couple of steps backwards, Scratch,” Miller said. “It looks like Rat here wants to dance with me again.”
Rat blinked. “Don’t be stupid, Penny. You aren’t bulletproof, and I’m not interested in playing games right now.” She brought the barrel of the machine gun to bear right at Miller’s chest. “No fancy moves. I’ll kill you if it comes down to that.”
Miller backed up a foot or two. She was searching for a safer angle. Bullets would ricochet like mad in such a confined space, packed with metal surfaces. Scratch edged away from her, sensing her tension.
“Rat, I’m begging you. If you let Rubenstein out, if you rescue him, he’s only going to cause more death and despair.”
“As opposed to what? The rosy world we’re all getting right now?”
Scratch said, “Let us handle him.”
Rat chuckled. “Tell me something. Were you going to let him starve him to death, or just feed him to that zombie?”
“Neither one.”
“Then what’s your plan here?”
“To just go home,” Miller said, quietly, “and put this all behind us.”
Rat came to the door of the isolation tank. She kept them covered. She stopped moving and put her hand on the knob. She spoke without ever taking her eyes off Miller. “Stay where you are.”
Rat turned the knob and opened the door. “Come on out, Doc.”
Rubenstein stumbled out of the tank. His face was smudged and streaked, like he had been crying. His complete misery gave Miller at least a small measure of satisfaction.
“Thank you, Major,” Rubenstein said. He puffed his chest. “For your information, Sheriff Miller is no longer a superior threat. She’s been decelerated.”
“Oh, really?” Rat lowered the machine gun slightly. She smiled with admiration. “So you were going to take me on again, were you?”
“If I had to,” Miller replied. “I’d rather die fighting than go out a damn coward.”
Rat nodded. “I always loved that about you, Penny.” She waved the machine gun in the direction of the exit. “Things are slowing down upstairs. Let’s all go back up to Rubenstein’s office and watch the second half on the big screen. We can just sneak out when this is all over.”
“Watch the slaughter? I don’t think so.”
Rat smiled as best she could with a broken jaw. She turned halfway back to face the other room. “I can hear you, Sheppard. Come out with your weapon lowered or I’ll kill your friends.”
A silence followed. Rat braced herself to fire. Then they all heard a heavy sigh. Sheppard appeared from around the corner with his weapon lowered. He was clearly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Penny. I tried.”
To Miller’s right, Scratch sagged with disappointment. “Shit. Well, that’s just the way things go sometimes, Karl. Sometimes you get the gold mine, sometimes the shaft.”
He stepped away. The movement attracted Rat’s attention. She moved her weapon in a wide arc, intending to cover them all, but they were now spread too far apart for that move to be effective. Miller had a split second free from Rat’s field of fire. She chose to act. Rat sensed her intention and swung the gun around, aiming for Miller’s chest. In one smooth movement, Miller ducked under it, slid forward on one knee, leaned in close and slapped Rat’s thigh with the second decelerant autoinjector. The syringe snapped, and the harsh chemicals immediately rushed into Rat’s bloodstream. Rat stiffened at once, confused. Miller was already moving away, intending to shield Scratch from fire.
Rat staggered as the super-strength left her and her injuries took their normal toll. She shook her head, woozy. The gigantic weapon grew heavy in her human hands. It sagged lower and lower and ended up pointed at the floor. Rat was out of the game.
Before Miller could react Rubenstein reached forward. He pulled the machine gun from Rat’s grip. He shoved hard, knocking her to the ground. In her weakened state Rat couldn’t resist. Rubenstein could barely lift the weapon, but all he needed was enough power to pull the trigger, and they all knew it. Rat sat down heavily on the ground, shaking her head from side to side.
Miller stepped to the side. Scratch backed away without a word.
How the fuck are we going to get out of this one?
“Stay where you are.�
� Rubenstein struggled to hold the weapon. “Everyone remain calm. I don’t want to have to kill you.”
Miller and Scratch looked at each other. Something passed between them, though Miller couldn’t have explained how or why. They each knew exactly what the other was thinking. Sheppard watched with dawning comprehension.
“Artie?” Miller stepped two feet to her right to get his attention and create even more of a separation from Scratch. Rubenstein was inexperienced and arrogant. He bit on their sucker play. He swung the big rifle around to point it directly at Miller, while keeping one eye on Scratch, and lost track of Sheppard.
Without hesitation, Sheppard fired. Terrified, Rubenstein turned to face the threat just as the lone round struck him in the neck. He gagged, spit up blood and dropped the machine gun. Scratch picked up Miller’s M-4 and fired, and kept his finger tight on the trigger. Five more shots hit Rubenstein in the chest and belly, holding him upright. Scratch stopped shooting and Rubenstein went down. He landed hard, and his head bounced on the floor, but that didn’t matter. He was a corpse long before he hit the ground.
Scratch dropped the M-4. He wrapped his arms around Miller. “Are you all right, Penny?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Miller looked at Rat, who lay defeated, injured, and weak as a stray kitten. She ought to be angry but wasn’t. They had a lot of history. Miller couldn’t bring herself to hold a grudge. She held out her hand.
Rat took her hand and pulled herself upright. “Well, there goes payday.”
“Anyone have a specific idea for what to do with Rubenstein’s remains?” Sheppard came closer. He had a dark look of hatred in his eyes. “Me, I’m for introducing him to John the zombie.”
Miller released the tension in her body. She just felt sad. Scratch was safe at long last, but with so many dead or suffering. “Why not, Karl? Everyone deserves a last meal.”
EPILOGUE
FLAT ROCK, NEVADA
Dawn was well underway. The dusty, dented Hummer pulled up into the short asphalt driveway of a one-story house in the small, abandoned town of Flat Rock. The huge tires rolled to a stop in the driveway.
