The Hungry (Book 6): The Rule of Three (The Sheriff Penny Miller Zombie Series)

by Booth, Steven W.

  “Sheriff, please just…”

  “Major, give me a minute. We’ve dealt with power-hungry military commanders, insane psychiatrists, nuclear weapons, survivalists bent on destruction, and now we have an opportunity to end it all soon and you want to stand on formalities?”

  Scratch said, “Major, we’re calling bullshit. We’re being stalled like drunks at a convention trading business cards.”

  Miller said, “Speaking for my group, I’d really like to quit farting around and get down to the matter at hand.”

  “Fuckin’ A!” Scratch slammed his hand down on the table, a tad too loud. “Let’s just do this. We all appreciated the bed and breakfast treatment, Major, but now can we get down to the good stuff? We have some people to kill.”

  The show was over. Major McDivitt realized he’d been cornered and his authority seriously questioned. His wife had left the room. Everyone was waiting. McDivitt frowned but caved in. “All right, let’s talk. Take my word for it, we would love to help you take down the Triad and the entire Enhanced Bioweapons program, but right now we just don’t have the resources to do that.”

  Miller and Scratch spoke in unison. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that at best all we can do is slow them down for a while. I’m sorry, but that’s all I can tell you for now.”

  Miller cocked her head to the side. Something else had occurred to her. “What kind of resources would you need to do that, exactly? To take them all down?”

  “We are an unofficial—and quite frankly, illegal—militia. We can call in some extra personnel, and we know where to get the weapons we’d need, but we would have a hell of a time capitalizing this venture. This part of the world isn’t the Wild West, Sheriff. It’s the same old story. Things have to be bought and people paid. We don’t exactly have the ability to access the DoD budget line item. We just don’t have the funds for a mission like this.”

  “You just need money, then?” For the first time ever, Miller liked where the conversation was headed. Things were finally going her way.

  “In a word, yes, we’d need a lot of money.”

  Miller, Scratch, and Sheppard exchanged a look. Scratch sagged with disappointment and then shrugged. Sheppard nodded at Miller, who straightened in her chair. She was certain her dead friend Rat would have approved. She turned to McDivitt and smiled broadly. “Hell, if it’s money you need, maybe we can strike a deal.”

  Chapter Seven

  16 hours, 42 minutes to Stage Three (7:18am)

  Comfortably parked with a second cup of Java, Miller sat in front of the aging MacBook laptop computer and called up an Internet browser. Their surroundings, this mixture of war and peace, safety and threat, still had her confused. These people in Idaho had access to things she’d lacked for weeks at a time, but it still wasn’t safe, just quiet at the moment. The combination was odd, to say the least. She frowned and clicked things with the unfamiliar trackpad. She had almost forgotten how to use a computer, but the skill was slowly coming back. Meanwhile, Sheppard sat next to Miller, watching her work.

  Scratch was upset, pacing the cramped office at the back of the Tennis Club. “I thought Rat left it to us and that was our money, Penny. Our money.”

  Miller forced herself concentrate. She was trying to find the little space where she could put Rat’s username and password. Eventually realizing she was on the wrong screen, Miller found what she was looking for. Scratch was right. Rat, their dear friend who was also a mercenary soldier, had squirreled away a small fortune during all her years fighting for money. Rat had jotted down a will before getting bit and infected by an albino. She’d left her fortune to the group just before committing suicide to spare Miller the anguish of having to take her down.

  “Why are you doing this?” Scratch said. “We just got here last night and you already trust Sergeant McDivitt and his Lonely Hearts Club Band? This is all moving way too quickly. There is no way we’re ready to trust this joker. We both should have learned that lesson by now. You’re being naive. That’s not like you at all.”

  Miller typed quickly.

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  Sheppard offered a lick of dry humor. “For what it’s worth to one who has never served, it’s Major McDivitt, Scratch.”

  “I know that, Karl. It just didn’t sound as cool in my head. I think we’re going to have to change your name from Captain Sheppard to Captain Obvious.”

  “Look,” Sheppard said, “there’s no reason for you to be…”

  Miller’s head snapped around. “Would you two please shut the hell up? I’m still trying to figure this damned thing out.”

  Scratch put his hand on Miller’s shoulder. “Well, then that’s fair. I’m still trying to figure out why you’re acting so impulsively.”

  “We talked about this last night, Scratch.”

  “Yeah, and you said you were just as confused as I am. Or were you referring to a different conversation?”

  “We are so close to the end game now,” Miller said, almost to herself. She leaned back in the chair. “We need these people, Scratch, because if we’re ever going to shut this Triad thing down once and for all, I want to have a decent-sized force behind us, if only to populate the outfield. Because we are outnumbered and outgunned and running out of time, and if we go down early and alone it’s game over for the whole damn world.”

  She’d run out of breath. Scratch surrendered and patted her shoulder. Miller looked at the screen. She clicked the submit button, and waited. A moment later, Rat’s bank balance came up. “Bingo.”

  All three of them leaned forward. Scratch gave a low whistle.

  Rat’s account contained $1,645,328.87.

  “Shit.” Scratch leaned back, as the full weight of the moment crashed down on his reliable sense of self interest. “What is that per person, about…?”

  “It’s something like $549,000 each,” Sheppard offered. “Assuming we don’t count Rolf as one of the shareholders.”

  Scratch snorted, making it clear he did not count Rolf. “We are rich. And Penny wants to give it all away to some complete stranger, a man who may be a complete dirt bag? Well, I still say fuck that. Who’s with me?”

  Silence.

  Miller turned her chair to face Scratch and Sheppard. “Gentlemen, I…”

  Scratch muttered under his breath, “Oh, shit.”

  Miller leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Gentlemen, I have been leading this merry little family for quite some time now, and God knows I’ve made my share of mistakes, some of them having cost lives. We’ve all suffered and we’ve all been wounded. We’ve lost people we cared about. We lost Rat just the day before yesterday. That loss has pained me each and every moment since and probably will for the rest of my days. To Rat.”

  Miller lifted her coffee cup. The three of them took a silent moment to honor Rat. Miller had smartly taken charge again. She stood and took Scratch by the hands. She looked him in the eye. “Scratch Bowen, you’re the love of my life. I can tell you that now, because we have nothing left to lose. Hell, try as I might, I can’t seem to get rid of you anyway.”

  “Damn straight,” he said.

  Miller did not smile. “But if you don’t want to kick in your third for this mission, then that’s the way it’s got to be. Karl, that goes for you too. We’re each right now worth a little over half a million dollars. My money’s going to McDivitt. That’s how serious I am about using my share of the cash. I want a small army. We need to end this thing. So here it is. If either of you want to just call it quits right now, to grab your share of the money and take your chances out there, I won’t stand in your way.”

  “Wait, what?” Scratch shook his head, finally catching on. To her surprise, Scratch pulled his hands back as if stung. He paced a couple of laps around the small office, while she and Sheppard watched. Miller let him stew. Finally, he turned to her and aimed a finger at her face.

  “Now you listen here, Ms. Penelope Jean Miller. I have stuck with
you through the hairiest shit that this planet has ever seen, bar none, and I am sick to Goddamned death of you trying to get rid of me, even when it is with the best of intentions. I think you’re wrong on this one, giving our precious money to these strangers just because they fed us some decent grub and gave each other fancy titles. I don’t like your decision.”

  Miller nodded. “I understand that.”

  “But if you think I’m going to abandon your sorry, stubborn country ass just because you suddenly decide to make another dumb move like this, you’re wrong on that count, too. Do you read me? You’re drop dead, crack open your skull, and let a zombie suck out what’s left of your scrambled brains wrong.”

  Miller registered that he was close to crying, something she didn’t want Sheppard to witness, but his voice never cracked. He’d never have been able to live that down.

  Sheppard raised a finger too, but his eyes were twinkling a bit. “You know better than anyone, Scratch, zombies don’t actually eat brains.”

  Scratch glared at his friend. “You know something, Karl, for a gay guy, you sure don’t get into it much when there’s some serious-assed drama going down.”

  “You know something, Scratch?” replied Sheppard quietly. “For a straight guy, you sure seem to have figured out what’s important in life.” He smiled softly. “Penny, I’m with your big dumb boyfriend. I’m not sure I agree with this choice, but you’re in charge like always. I’m with you to the end. If you want to use my share to make this mission work, you’ve got it.” Sheppard shrugged. “What the hell. It’s hard to say what money is going to be worth anyway, if this plague keeps spiraling out of control. It might just end up being green toilet paper.”

  The color had drained out of Scratch’s face. “Now, just hold on a minute. I didn’t say nothing about giving away my share of the loot.”

  Miller’s head snapped around. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m staying with the team, but if we survive this, someone has to look after our financial security, if that still even means anything in the middle of all this shit.”

  “So, you’re not kicking in your half mil?” Miller shook her head, trying to clear it. “Well, you had me going there for a minute. Isn’t there any way I can convince you to kick in some of your loot?”

  “No. Not a goddamned penny, Penny. In fact, you two are going to kick in the difference between my whatever-the-hell-it-is and $600,000. Now, I know I ain’t the smartest tool in the shed, but that divides evenly between three and two. See, what’s left makes kind of a nice nest egg if this cockeyed plan of yours goes haywire and you two don’t survive.”

  Miller winced with irritation. “If we don’t survive? You can’t be serious.”

  Sheppard smiled, catching on first. He got into the game. “Come on, Scratch, if any of us are going to buy the farm this last time around, it’s going to be you. Penny and I have years of training and experience.”

  “Says the guy who’s been shot twice,” Scratch said. But now he was smiling too.

  Sheppard paused and nodded. “Okay, point taken.” He scowled, pretending to turn sullen. “I’m a very handsome walking target.”

  Miller shook her head. She still hadn’t quite gotten the joke. She was running numbers in her head. “So we’ll to do this with just over a million dollars? Did I get that right?”

  Scratch reached over and chucked her under the chin. “You say that like it’s a bad thing, sweetheart. That way it will leave us with something for our retirement.”

  Miller waved his hand away from her face. “But other than that, you two are on board with this idea?”

  “Well,” Scratch said, “not exactly.”

  Miller felt dizzy. “Will you quit fucking around?”

  “I have one more condition if you want my help.”

  “I can’t wait to hear it.” Miller felt like taking to her chair again, but didn’t. “Go on.”

  “Jimmy and Lex,” Scratch said. “That’s the rest of my price. Part of the mission has to be to rescue my son and his brother. If they’re alive and on that damn air base, we’re going to be getting them on the way back out.”

  “I…” Miller hesitated. Wasn’t that what she had been saying for days anyway? “I’ll agree to that, too.” Then she did sit down. She turned to Sheppard. “When the hell did this conversation get away from me?”

  Sheppard put his hand on her shoulder. “You lost control pretty much right away, as far as I can tell. It happens to the best of us.”

  “We need to go back in there soon,” Miller said. “Exactly what are we going to tell them?”

  Scratch stood tall. He’d won. He looked as proud as a peacock in heat. “Tell them we need their bank account numbers so we can transfer a million dollars to them to buy weapons and recruit help and get their act together for an assault. At least, I think that’s how it still works, that bank transfer stuff, sort of like Western Union and shit like that. We don’t mention the rest of the money. We keep it for ourselves.”

  Miller’s head was still spinning. “Okay then. It’s a deal.” She held out her hand to Sheppard and he shook it. Then she did the same to Scratch. Instead of shaking her hand, he wrapped her in his strong arms. She melted into his body, the tension draining away. When they came up for air, Miller found herself just inches from Scratch’s smiling face. She could just spot Sheppard smiling in the background.

  “Let’s rock,” Scratch said. And for the first time since the beginning of the strange conversation, Miller found herself in complete agreement.

  Chapter Eight

  14 hours, 10 minutes to Stage Three (9:50am)

  The spacious office was sound proofed and air-conditioned and a hidden sprayer gave the chilled air the faint scent of lilacs. Dr. Charlotte Williams had just completed the launch of Stage Three. She had been working solidly since the day before, only taking short catnaps in her executive chair. The necessary orders had been given, the authorizations signed, the top-secret funds allocated. There were a just few more details she would need to handle before boarding her transport to New Zealand but in essence the deed was done. Soon, Stage Three would be set in stone, and nothing short of an act of God would be able to stop it. The world as they knew it would come to an end.

  The door opened with a bang and two men stepped inside.

  Raymond D’Amore’s eyes bugged out of his head so comically upon seeing Williams seated at her desk that she had to resist the urge to laugh out loud. “What are you doing in here, Charlotte?”

  “I’m doing my job, Raymond, which is more than I can say for you.” She leaned back in her chair, torturing him with her evident nonchalance. “I have learned a few things since our last meeting.”

  “How the hell did you get in here?” D’Amore actually went so far as to poke his head back out into the corridor, presumably to search for the idiots who’d let her pass through security. “What’s going on?”

  “You will find out soon enough.”

  D’Amore turned to Miguel Crespi, the third member of the Enhanced Bioweapons Select Committee. For the last two years, the three of them had overseen the program intended to create a combat force that would defeat any threat short of an invasion by little green men. Nine months before, Dr. Williams’ favorite, a colonel named Sanchez, had gone completely off the rails. His egregious handling of his role ultimately led to an errant virus mutation and the subsequent creation of the zombies. To make matters worse, Sanchez had not only failed to stop the plague, he’d actually tried to use it to further his own sick ambitions. Williams, D’Amore, and Crespi had lost control of the project for a time, and any cohesiveness that the three of them once had was gone. The Enhanced Bioweapons Select Committee broke down entirely. Ever since that fateful day, D’Amore and Williams had been at each other’s throats, with Crespi playing both sides against the middle. Crespi, an adept politician, sometimes played moderator, sometimes pawn, but always found a way to remain in the thick of things. Williams still had a shred of respect
for the little twerp.

  Raymond D’Amore, on the other hand, was her mortal enemy. This was now an all-out war, in more ways than one.

  D’Amore took three steps and stood in front of her desk. The air had gone out of him. He reminded her of a high school bully called before the principal. “Whatever game you’re playing, Charlotte, I promise that you’re about to lose.”

  Dr. Williams smiled. “As usual, Raymond, you are completely behind the curve. The game, as you put it, is already over. Whatever power you think your precious piece of paper from the Secretary gave you, it is now completely irrelevant, as are you. The situation has changed.”

  “Miguel, go get security and have Charlotte arrested for treason.”

  “Treason?” Dr. Williams laughed. “Oh, come on, you can do better than that.”

  But instead of backing her up, Miguel Crespi ran out of the room without closing the door behind him, presumably to find a security forces specialist.

  Dr. Williams began to sweat a bit. Stage Three was proceeding, and it wouldn’t do to be stuck in a cell somewhere on the North American continent when that project launched. She needed to get away clean.

  Crespi returned a moment later. There were four security forces specialists with him, one over six feet tall and built like an NFL linebacker. Williams watched with a tense feeling in her stomach, but nothing happened. Instead of arresting Dr. Williams, the security forces specialists simply blocked the door.

  D’Amore turned to Crespi. “Go on, arrest her!”

  “Oh, please,” Williams said, though her mouth felt dry from all the suspense. “Miguel, please have your goons escort Raymond out of here and secure him in his quarters. He is to have no communication with the outside world.”

  Crespi locked eyes with Dr. Williams. He spoke slowly and deliberately. “Cecil. Lloyd. Averill.”