Miller shook her head. "I think we'll be a hell of a lot more perfectly safe if we had a couple of those M-4s I saw on that rack over there." She really wanted to toss out there how perfectly safe Dale had been, but resisted the urge.
"Major?" said Sheppard.
"Yes, Sergeant."
"I respectfully recommend that you consider our request. Give us some sidearms at least. We've been through a lot and we function well as a unit. I think you'll find us a lot more relaxed and cooperative if we are armed."
Outside the sky filled with colors and shadows. The sun was going down. Night was trotting forward on sharp claws.
A voice came through the headphones again. "Major, we're over TK-508, but the hangar doors are closed, and they are not responding to the signal."
Sheppard shifted in his seat. He looked out the window into the fading light. "That's damned strange."
"What's strange, Sergeant?" demanded Hanratty.
Sheppard turned to look at her. "When they evacuated us from the base, those hangar doors were wide open."
"Could they have closed automatically, or been closed by the last to leave?"
"I suppose."
"Well they sure as hell are closed tighter than a gnat's pussy now," said Scratch. "So it appears we're going right in the front door."
"Major," said the pilot. "How do you want us to proceed?"
Hanratty paused for a moment. "Sergeant, these are your old stomping grounds, not mine. What course do you recommend?"
Sheppard didn't smile, as Miller thought he would. In fact, he had gone a bit pale. A long finger of dusk crawled across his features. "Have the pilot land in that empty patch near the parking lot. We'll enter through the south gate."
Hanratty gave the orders. The huge ship cut a swath through the evening air. It lurched as it came in for their final approach. The world had gone dark. As the helicopter eased down onto the cement, Miller breathed a sigh of relief, but the feeling was short-lived. Being back on the ground was good, but being on the ground at Crystal Palace—whether there were animated zombies to be found or not—brought back a shitload of uncomfortable memories. She blinked away more disturbing feelings and images that she had been trying to rid herself of for the last month. She had seen too much death and destruction.
Instead of racing out into the twilight like they owned the place, they had the pilots turn the helicopter's external lights up to full. Psycho used infrared night-vision goggles to get a better look at the landing zone. After a long moment, he declared the area clear, and Hanratty gave the order to disembark. The desert around them was lethally still. The pocked moon leered coldly, a disinterested eye in an unkind sky.
Brubeck and Psycho stood guard over the operation, which mostly included offloading the crates. Hanratty, Lovell, Cochrane, and Ripper moved with a purpose as they shifted the crates onto the electric pallet truck and rolled it down the ramp onto the concrete. The tires crunched gravel. A coyote howled. Miller studied the night sky outside. Stars winked overhead as if they were in on some crude joke. She hugged herself against the cold.
When everything was offloaded, Major Hanratty came back into the aircraft.
"All right, folks, it's time to get to work."
"Major?"
"What is it, Sheriff?" asked Rat warily.
"What's your decision on arming us?"
"Decision's already made. My orders are to maintain the security of the operation, and that includes protecting you and your team. My instructions were specific. The handling of weapons by you four is strictly off limits. End of discussion."
"Need I remind you that if I had had a weapon…" Miller broke off. The look on Rat's face made finishing the sentence unnecessary.
"Sheriff Miller," said Rat crisply. "I am not giving your people weapons, and that's the bottom line. We've gotten you this far. It's time to do your job. Please join me outside." She held out her hand, ushering them off the helicopter. Her finger stayed alongside the trigger of the wicked M-4 she carried.
Sheppard came up behind Miller. He put his hand on her elbow. "Come on, Sheriff. You're not going to win this one."
Miller shook off his hand. She walked down the ramp into the night. The air was cool. She began to regret not bringing a coat, as Sheppard had once pointed out. Now that the helicopter had powered down, the night was silent. Miller hadn't heard that kind of silence since the last night she'd slept in her own bed, the night before the zombie outbreak. The darkness that night had this kind of vibe, she thought. Calm, soothing, kind of inviting… She tried not to think about her home, her comfortable bed back in Flat Rock. Life before the zombies seemed so foreign, so removed from reality. Things had been so simple then. Shake this fairy tale shit off, girl, she thought. The only chance you have at a normal life is right here in front of you. Get them what they want and be done with it.
Miller turned to watch Scratch come down the ramp, followed by Terrill Lee and Sheppard. One of the soldiers had set up some small floodlights. Each of them gawked at the surroundings as if they were veterans returning to the scene of an old battle, which they were. Only Sheppard seemed comfortable. He had other, better memories of Crystal Palace to mute the effect. They stood at the foot of the ramp in a clump, nervously looking into the shadows for the next threat. The memories were sharp and clear. They hung in the air like swamp gas. The mutual lack of weapons was clearly not lost on them. The night waited patiently.
Finally, Rat came down the ramp. She cut quite an imposing figure, dark haired and slender in her uniform, a beautiful woman commanding a vast array of rough men and nasty weaponry. The ramp began to rise behind her with a low hum. She strode forward, relaxed in her surroundings, at ease with her assignment. She surveyed her team, and then gave Miller and her friends the once-over.
"Are we going to just stand around out here, Major?" Miller asked. "You know, just in case some of them zombies want to shoot scrapbook pictures to show their little dead kiddies? 'Betty Sue, come check out the fine dinner we had that night. That Sheriff tasted like chicken.' "
"Sergeant Sheppard!" Rat approached Miller's group. "You know the base better than anyone. I know you've been briefed on our objectives. You're navigating."
Briefed? thought Miller. What does Sheppard know that we don't?
Hanratty turned to her team. "Brubeck, Psycho, take point. Clear us a path. And remember, the only authorized personnel on site are standing right here, so don't wait for me. We all know what a zombie can do, thanks to Dale." Rat looked at all the faces in turn. "Stay alert and keep your eye on the prize. Let's get in, get out, and go home. Nobody dies. We've got just over twenty-two hours before this bad boy goes boom," she said, lightly slapping the largest of the offloaded crates. "I for one don't care to be here when that happens. Let's move."
They all jogged forward, the armed soldiers in a loose formation around the civilians. Brubeck and Psycho led the way toward the front doors on the south side of one of the outbuildings. The building didn't look particularly special, but Miller and her friends knew better. It was actually the entrance to an underground complex more than two football fields long, and deep enough to hold two dozen helicopters and hundreds of troops. The camouflaged exterior made it look small. Crystal Palace was below ground and huge. This was not going to be a short journey.
They slowed to a walk. The formation changed on its own as they got closer to the entrance. After Brubeck and Psycho came Sheppard and Miller. Ripper was driving the pallet truck, Scratch, Terrill Lee, Rat, Cochrane, and Lovell brought up the rear. Everyone was quiet, subdued, the only sound being the crunch of feet, the rolling of tires on the gravel, and the steady electric whine of the pallet truck's feisty motor. Miller kept her eyes moving to the shadows on either side of the entrance as they got farther and farther from the external lights.
The darkness felt threatening. Miller was pissed about not having a weapon of any kind. Hell, an eight-cell flashlight would have at least given her something to entertain a z
ombie with before it put out her lights permanently. She wondered if Hanratty would show enough courtesy to shoot her in the head if she turned zombie. She doubted it. Maybe Sheppard or Scratch would. Miller decided to ask for that particular mercy at the next opportunity. She didn't want to end up as Dale had.
She stopped dead in her tracks.
Sheppard said, "Crap."
Miller said, "Uh oh."
The main doors to the base were closed—really closed. In the fading light, Miller could see a jagged mess of crude weld marks. Someone had barricaded the doors. And someone had also spray painted words on those doors. Miller squinted to make them out.
The WrATh of GoD!
"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?" asked Rat.
No one spoke. Miller looked at Scratch and Terrill Lee. "Boys, were the doors this way when you came to get Sheppard and me?" Terrill Lee and Scratch had mounted a daring rescue, invaded the top-secret base—then showed up too late to do a damned bit of good. They should have been the last humans both in and out. Clearly, they weren't.
Scratch and Terrill Lee shook their heads. Terrill Lee said, "No idea where that came from. We entered through that door over there."
Miller studied the words. The WrATh of GoD! "Well, we're not getting through that any time soon."
All eyes fell on a second, smaller entrance perhaps twenty yards away. Miller flinched at the sight. She registered more hulking shadows that just oozed evil. She saw way too many hiding places for the enemy to lie in wait. Fortunately, the mercenary soldiers also had flashlights mounted on their rifles. They brought them up as one to point at the second door. The open doorway seemed to soak up the light, a black hole in space.
Ripper broke the silence. "You reckon I can get through that opening with our payload?"
Instead of responding, Sheppard headed for the door with no escort. Brubeck and Psycho paused for a moment, wondering what the damned fool had in mind. They remembered they were on point and jogged to overtake Sheppard. Miller and the others followed. Miller sought a comfortable position, but felt exposed everywhere. She needed something in her hands. A board, a stick, a shovel, anything at all would be better than nothing. She kept looking around. And she kept moving.
Psycho got to the entrance first. He came up to the edge, and quickly peeked inside. From her point of view, Miller saw faint but flickering redness—probably the emergency lighting—coming through the dark beyond the door. Evidently there were no bad guys on the other side of the door, because Psycho waived Brubeck in. The two soldiers shined their lights inside. Nothing glared back. They relaxed.
"All clear, Rat."
"Yes, I think you can get through there," said Sheppard, though it was clear that Ripper could see for himself.
They stood back, the dark night surrounding them seeming to salivate with anticipation. The electric engine whined. Ripper shook his head and gnawed his lower lip as he maneuvered the pallet truck in line with the doorway. Brubeck and Psycho entered, weapons raised but not really pointing at anything, and then Ripper followed with the truck. Everyone moved efficiently and smoothly but you could have cut the tension with a blade.
Miller put her hand on Sheppard's shoulder. She whispered in his ear. "You feel it?"
Sheppard just nodded.
"This is not a good idea, Karl."
"Hold that thought, Penny," he whispered back. "I've got something important to tell you once we're inside."
"What, damn it?" But Sheppard had already gone.
Miller stared at the door for what seemed an eternity. Something down below in the dark stared back. Normally not a timid person, Miller didn't relish rushing into a dangerous situation, especially with nothing to defend herself with except, as Scratch had said, harsh language. Could she trust these yahoos with their shiny guns and headset radios? Would they get her friends killed before she could set them straight?
Before she could answer the question, Rat appeared in the doorway. The soldier said, "You coming, Sheriff?"
Miller looked around. She was standing alone outside. Everyone else had gone through the door, though Rat and Lovell waited for her right at the threshold.
Miller almost said, "No," when the helicopter behind her shut down its external lights. It was pitch black, with only a bit of light coming from the doorway and the cockpit of the helicopter. The desert around the base would come alive with things that crept and crawled and stung. Perhaps far worse things would be emboldened now that the humans were virtually blind.
A cold wind blew past her, making her shiver. Still Miller couldn't move. She was exposed here, clearly she'd be in a hell of a lot more danger on her own than even with the Magnificent Six. Her friends were inside. It was time to step on the gas.
She had her duty.
"Come on," said Rat to Lovell. "Move it." The two of them disappeared inside.
"Damnit!" Miller took a deep breath.
She followed.
CHAPTER FOUR
8:04pm – 21 hours 56 minutes remaining
Boots squeaked on the linoleum. A flowing, hissing dark devoured them. The base was a dead thing, and the implacable desert had already begun to take over. They brushed aside large cobwebs clenched in sharp corners and dangling from dusty doorways. At first, there was nothing to see but long, empty corridors under red emergency lights. No bullet holes, no splashes of blood, no dead bodies. They saw trash strewn about on the floor, here and there an empty cardboard box of ammo or rotting food, but no other obstructions. They were still way too high up for that.
The group moved on, following the electric truck down seemingly endless corridors. The low lights flickered occasionally, which was enough to make the already spooky atmosphere even more eerie as it teased them with strobe flashes. Miller would have never admitted it, but deserted the place gave her the creeps even worse than it had the first time. This was the emptiness of deep space. No soldiers, no life, no movement. Here there was only death and shadows.
After at least a quarter of a mile of walking in dark and silence, steadily down the long ramp that led into the bowels of the hidden base, the first signs that something horrible had happened here became apparent.
They smelled it first.
Psycho motioned with his hand. The group paused. He shined the light on his rifle down into the gloom. Entrails festooned the walkway. The bottom half of a soldier, still wearing pants and boots, lay in a pool of its own blood. At least, Miller hoped it was its own blood. She couldn't help wondering what became of the top half. Had it turned zombie? Just gone off on its own to wreak more havoc on the unsuspecting humans around it, or had the poor boy been a meal for a crowd of hungry zombies? Hell, maybe both?
Miller stepped forward, holding her nose. There were no drag marks in the blood, or anything else to indicate that the top half had been ambulatory. No bloody footsteps where the sated zombies would have tracked through the pool of gore. It was as if the top half had simply been vaporized where the soldier stood. Miller didn't know whether to be relieved or perhaps vomit. She had hoped never to see such things again. She stepped over the guts, checked around. The corpse had no weapon to steal.
"Holy fuck," said Cochrane. His voice was hoarse.
"All right, ladies," said Rat. "We knew we would see this. Let's keep moving."
They continued on down the ramp, and soon found themselves in complete darkness. The emergency lights had failed at this level. Miller's skin crawled. The group tightened up as the soldiers' flashlights flowed like water and sought out every scary corner. Their pace slowed down. Their breathing seemed louder and more ragged. Every noise they made boomed and echoed around them. They may as well have been crawling along the bottom of a deep, dank mine shaft.
"Tell me, Major," whispered Miller. "Whose brilliant fucking idea was it to do this at night?"
"You afraid of the dark, Sheriff?"
"Sometimes," Miller said, a little too quickly. "You should be, too."
Lovell chuckled. "R
emind me to tell you why they call her Rat when this is all over."
Miller opened her mouth to reply that if and when this was all over, the chances of Rat being able to do anything but slobber and moan were looking rather slight. Psycho stopped short. He clenched his fist to signal for them to hold.
The group froze and silence fell.
"Talk to me," whispered Rat.
"I got movement." All eyes followed where his flashlight blazed a trail. It finally illuminated a green Hummer that had crashed into the left-hand wall of the exit ramp. The tortured metal sculpture was perhaps five yards away. An explosion and fire had torched the front of the Hummer, and much of the passenger cabin was melted and burned. Psycho knelt down. He was shining his light at the concrete immediately beneath the wrecked vehicle.
Nervous, everyone squatted to get a better look.
"I got nothing," said Ripper, scanning the entire undercarriage of the Hummer with his light, "unless it's small enough to hide behind a flat tire."
They stayed still in the gloom. Miller yawned and her jaws popped faintly. She needed to pee, but wasn't about to risk going off alone to squat. The very idea brought back another scary zombie memory, a messy encounter in a gas station ladies room. She'd hold it until they were behind locked doors.
"You sure something was moving out there?" whispered Hanratty.
"Bet on it," Psycho said.
"Well, there's nothing there now," said Lovell.
The group relaxed. Rat got to her feet. Miller did too. Just then something on the other side of the Hummer crunched loudly, a sound that reminded them of broken glass underfoot. It was a soft sound but a sound all too familiar to Miller. Her heart pounded. Whatever it was could be heard on the other side of the Hummer. And it was grunting. Uh, uh, uh.
"We've got company!" shouted Miller, her voice much too loud in the enclosed space. Her words echoed down the corridor. She pictured dozens of the horrid creatures lumbering out of storage rooms and closets, their filthy arms outstretched; eyes red, slack mouths open and drooling. It was on.
The Hungry 2: The Wrath of God Page 5
