The Hungry 2: The Wrath of God

by Steven W. Booth

  A child?

  "Hold on there!" Miller shouted, struggling to control the kid. "It's all right. We're the good guys!"

  In response, the child bit her on the arm. Bit down hard.

  "Sonofabitch!" Miller let go.

  The child ran at full speed out the front door and around the corner. Little footsteps on the cement fading away. In a heartbeat, the kid was out of sight.

  "You okay?" Scratch spoke from across the room. His rifle was pointed at the wall just above Miller's head.

  "I'm fine," Miller said. "Find Abraham, I'll handle this." She headed out of the cafe and after the child.

  The bright sunlight was a shock after the cool, dank darkness of the café. A light wind tickled her hair. Miller was outside just in time to see the kid entering a storefront a few doors down. Penny Miller didn't think. She followed at a dead run.

  Seconds behind, Miller paused. Common sense made her pull up for a moment. She reached out. The door to the storefront that the child had entered was closed but unlocked. Miller listened at the door. Charging on inside, she knew perfectly well, was a good way to get her ass killed. On the other hand, the kid must be feeling alone and absolutely terrified. Hell, who wasn't these days?

  "This is Sheriff Miller." She was speaking through the half-open door into the shadows. "I'm coming in. I'm not going to hurt you."

  Miller paused to let that message sink in. She moved the door ahead until it was wide open. And then she went inside, letting the door close behind her. The interior of the store was dark of course, but enough light came in through the glass door to show Miller which store she'd entered.

  It was Rosette's Bridal Shop, where she'd bought her dress years before. That fact alone was almost enough to make her stop and turn around.

  "Damn."

  Rows of white gowns on shapely dummies, just like in real life, Miller thought bitterly and grimaced. She had a duty to protect the citizens of Flat Rock, even ones who weren't that excited to be protected, and especially terrified kids. She thanked God that Terrill Lee and Scratch weren't there to give her any shit about the wedding dresses. Sighing, Miller raised her .357 and took another step inside.

  "Hey," Miller said in a conversational tone. "I know you're probably scared, kid. A lot of really bad things have happened around here recently. But you're safe now." She scanned the dusty carpet for the child's footprints, but caught nothing specific. She blinked, waiting a moment for her eyes to get used to the darkness. The gloom closed in but her pupils adjusted. Miller ventured farther inside.

  "I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to make sure you're okay."

  Miller thought she could hear rustling in the back of the store, but she couldn't be certain. Crows cawed outside again and this time their odd laughter disturbed her. Was this a trap of some kind? No way to be certain it wasn't…

  "You know, hiding from me doesn't help. I don't know who else might be in here with us, maybe one or two of the bad guys." Miller pushed aside a rack of white wedding dresses, peeked behind them. "If you hide, I have to keep my gun out in case I have to protect us. I'll make you a deal, though. If you let me know that you're all right, I'll put my gun away. I promise."

  Silence. The mannequins seemed to stare back at her, their faces blank, some headless and missing arms—rows of plastic zombies waiting in the shadows. Upstairs the wind moved through a cracked window and tugged at something in the attic. The old building issued a faint moan.

  She cursed under her breath. She stepped around another rack of wedding dresses and looked behind some hanging tuxedos. She heard nothing. Just the crows outside and the faint breeze. She had no choice but to keep the chatter up. This was a kid. She didn't want to shoot a kid by accident.

  "Why don't you tell me your name?" Silence. "My name's Penny. Penny Miller. I'm Sheriff of Flat Rock. Maybe we've met. Are you from around here too?" Nothing. "I know a lot of the kids in Flat Rock. I just visited the elementary school a few weeks before… " she trailed off. "Before all the bad stuff happened. Were you there that day? I'll bet you were. So you know what sheriffs do, right? We protect the good guys and punish the bad guys. We keep the streets safe for kids like you."

  "Penny?" It was Scratch from outside the shop. "You okay in there?"

  "Yeah. Stay outside, Scratch."

  "Need some help?" He pushed at the door behind her, opened it about halfway.

  "I'm fine. I just need you to stay outside for a little while."

  Scratch peeked inside. He saw it was a bridal shop and chuckled dryly. Miller cringed and sighed. Ah, shit here we go…

  "Hey, Penny, are you in here picking out a new wedding dress for when we tie the knot? You still got one of them back at the penthouse, you know."

  "Scratch, this is not the time. Not for this conversation or any other. I'll be out in a minute."

  "But…"

  Miller shot him a look as cold as a frozen rope. His eyes widened.

  "Okay, okay," Scratch said. His upper lip twitched. He closed the door most of the way but stayed close outside. Miller was glad he waited. It could still be a trap.

  "You see that?" Miller walked around the room. "My friends are worried about me. And they're worried about you too. They want to make sure everybody is safe. Why don't we go outside in the sunshine and let my friends know that everything is fine?"

  Something rustled to her right and low down on one of the racks.

  Miller squinted. She thought she saw one of the dresses moving, though that could have been caused by the breeze from the partly opened door. She turned toward the rack and then took another step closer. The dress shivered again as if alive and trembling.

  "We have food if you're hungry and a doctor if you're hurt. No one wants to do you any harm." Miller slipped her pistol back into its holster. She reached out to push the wedding dress slightly to one side. She saw little feet in dirty tennis shoes. The kid was there. Miller could hear fast breathing and smell the dirt and rancid sweat. She moved the dress completely out of her way.

  There, sitting in a ball on the floor, was a little girl. Miller took her for about nine years old. The poor child was filthy, wide-eyed, and panic stricken. Her mouth was open and she was breathing in tight gasps. She saw Miller's face and started to scramble away.

  "Hold on there, honey," Miller said soothingly. "Everything is going to be all right." She reached out, snagged the little girl's dirty shirt. The girl squealed, but this time she didn't try to bite. Miller stood her up, checked her over, looking for injuries and signs of the zombie virus. The kid's bite hadn't been deep, but there was no sense in taking any risks. The little girl seemed healthy enough, just understandably terrified and undernourished. She clearly hadn't had a bath or a change of clothes since the zombies arrived. Miller brushed her hair away from her dirty forehead.

  "What's your name, sweetheart?"

  The child looked at the floor, said nothing. She continued to pull at Miller's grasp, as if ready to bolt at any moment. Miller gripped her tightly.

  "Look…"

  The sound of shouting and gunshots startled both of them. Boots struck cement as Scratch ran away. Panicked, the girl pulled hard, almost tearing herself from Miller's grasp, but Miller held on.

  "Scratch?" Miller called. "What's going on?"

  Scratch didn't answer. Miller looked down at the girl, whose eyes were wide with fear. She whimpered again.

  Miller felt conflicted. She had to keep this child out of danger, but she also had a duty to her friends. For the first time in a long time, she felt torn between two courses of action. The decision came quickly. Her friends were armed, the child was not. She stayed.

  A moment later, Scratch burst back into the bridal shop. He was panting and his eyes were darting around the room. Miller had rarely seen him so upset.

  "Penny, we need you out here now!"

  "What's going on?"

  Scratch looked out into the street. He paused to search for the right words. He turned back to Mill
er. "Them undead rat bastards got him, honey."

  "Got who?"

  "Penny, they just got Terrill Lee."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  6:42am – 11 hours 18 minutes remaining

  Miller paced inside the Winnebago, furious at herself and everyone else. "What the…" She resisted the urge to curse in front of the frightened child. "What happened?"

  "Terrill Lee was defending the Winnebago, just like you told him to," said Sheppard. His pale face sagged. "They got him."

  "What? I just said that because I wanted him out of the way."

  Sheppard shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. He was still in pain and now emotionally drained as well. The child's ripe body odor joined the other smells in the Winnebago. "Well, he took you very seriously. The zombies came out of that alley and stumbled right up to the door. I told him not to do anything. I told him that we were safe at least for a while. I told him that you would be back. But he opened it, with the intention of hitting them with a big frying pan, they way you did when we were back at base. There were too many of them. They grabbed him and pulled him outside. He hooked his foot in the door and it shut behind him, saving my life. Penny, I couldn't do anything about it. I'm too weak."

  "Shit."

  "Penny, you didn't leave us any weapons." Sheppard's eyes briefly accused her but then fell away. His reluctance to blame her made it all even worse.

  Dear God, no… A tear rolled down her cheek.

  "So where is he?" Terrill Lee's words about not splitting up the party rang in her ears. Her stomach felt all hallowed out. Her eyes burned.

  "Scratch and Psycho are still looking." Rat leaned back against the wall. She did not meet Miller's eyes. She knew that feeling all too well.

  For his part, Lovell just shook his head. "I doubt they're going to find much of anything. By the time we noticed what was going on, they had already dragged him off."

  "What do you mean, dragged him off?" Miller said. "They didn't bite? Didn't just eat him right away?"

  "We don't know," said Lovell. "We couldn't see."

  Miller screamed at them. "So what you're saying is you don't know if he's dead or alive; you don't know where he is; actually you don't know anything."

  Rat shrugged. "Well, yes. And we won't know anything more until Psycho and Scratch get back."

  Miller flexed her hands. She was beyond angry. She didn't appreciate the idea that one moment of carelessness had cost Terrill Lee his life. She had an overwhelming urge to apologize to Rat for not being more understanding. Miller hadn't just lost one of her men this time, she'd lost her ex-husband, that loveable idiot. Damn it.

  "Penny," said Sheppard, "You're pale and shaking. You should eat something."

  "He's right," Lovell said. They were all used to her ongoing zombie virus appetite by now. "We managed to find some water and food that hadn't spoiled." He moved to the pile of supplies that they had collected in the store. He rummaged around.

  "How can you think of food right now?" snapped Miller. The truth was she did feel hungry again. She always felt hungry. Always. Ever since those scientists had shot her up with that junk. Abruptly light-headed, she nearly lost her balance and grabbed the wall of the Winnebago for support. She thought of the slogans painted on the walls about the "wrath of God." Maybe it wasn't one lone madman. Maybe it was true. Maybe God had returned after all, and was righteously pissed.

  "The first order of business is survival," said Rat. She stood up. "You're starting to lose it, Penny. Take a deep breath, eat something, and then we'll figure out what to do."

  "I'm not hungry," Miller lied. Her stomach grumbled. She thought, I don't deserve to eat. Not if those things are eating Terrill Lee…

  "Since when aren't you hungry?" Sheppard asked. "We need you. Stop being a hero for five seconds and take care of yourself. You won't be any use to us if you're in the middle of a meltdown."

  Miller opened her mouth to protest, but before she could get a word formed, Lovell handed her a jar of dry roasted peanuts. "Eat."

  Miller felt woozy. There were things to tend to and she was on the edge of passing out. This fact brought Miller up short. She stared at the jar in her hand and realized that they were right. We're going to at least find and bury you, Terrill Lee. I won't let you become one of them, I promise. Not that she had much of a choice.

  Penny Miller twisted the top of the jar of peanuts and went over to the little girl whose name she still hadn't learned. "Put out your hands," she said. The girl reluctantly stuck out one hand. Miller poured some peanuts into it. The girl ate them greedily. Then Miller poured some into her own hand and did the same. Her body shuddered with gratitude.

  "So where is Abraham? Don't tell me he got dragged off too."

  "He's in the bedroom resting," said Lovell. "Our little friend knocked him down and startled him something awful." Lovell moved back through the vehicle toward the beaded curtain. "Want I should wake him up?"

  "No, let him sleep." Miller lowered her voice. "The last thing we need right now is his very special outlook on life interfering with our plans." Miller filled her hand with peanuts again, inhaled them in one mouthful and chewed like a starving squirrel. Rat handed her a gallon bottle of water, and she washed the peanuts down. Her blood sugar began to balance out and her heartbeat steadied.

  Miller felt a quiet rage take possession of her soul. She vowed again, Terrill Lee would not become one of them things. No way.

  The group stiffened. Outside, they could hear voices. Rat moved to the window and peered out, her shotgun at the ready. "Okay, it's them, they're back."

  "Is Terrill Lee with them?" Miller asked hopefully, though she already knew the answer.

  "No."

  Miller deflated. The thought made her sick, but she found herself praying they'd found Terrill Lee and shot him through the head. Otherwise, she'd have to do it herself before they moved on. She would have to do that for his sake. None of them deserved to wander around starving and insane. No one did.

  There was a knock. They stared at the Winnebago's door.

  "Open up," Scratch called. Lovell stood to let Scratch and Psycho in. Scratch came up the stairwell carrying the .30-06. His face was sweaty. A frustrated look was deeply etched into his gruff features.

  "Well, there was no sign of him."

  The little girl took one look at Scratch. She gave a demon shriek. She leaped off the worn sofa and hid behind Miller and Rat. The women looked down with puzzled expressions. The little girl clung to Miller's waist, and trembled like a tent in a windstorm. Scratch had raised his weapon. He lowered it again.

  "What the fuck was that?" Scratch said. "The kid about scared the shit out of me."

  Miller turned to the child, ignoring Scratch's question. She and Rat tried to calm her down. The kid couldn't be consoled.

  "Shh," Miller cooed. "It's all right. He's a friend." She stroked the girl's hair, but it did nothing to calm the child. She began crying silently, and a dark stain spread from her crotch. Rat stepped back, puzzled and a bit disgusted.

  "Scratch," said Miller. "You're scaring her. Go stand guard outside or something until we get this figured out." Her tone made it more than a request.

  "I didn't do anything, Penny."

  "Rat," said Miller, turning back to the child, "please take him outside."

  Rat got it. She moved with a purpose. She picked up a shotgun and motioned with it. "You heard the lady. Let's go."

  "Whatever." Scratch stomped down the stairwell, a bullied teen.

  "Psycho, you're with us," said Rat. Holding the other shotgun, Psycho stood without hesitation and followed Rat outside. Miller figured he didn't want to think for himself, and preferred action.

  Penny stroked the little girl's hair. The child cried.

  "He's gone, sweetie. You're safe. We have to get you out of those clothes, though." Miller turned, glanced at Lovell and Sheppard. "Lovell, go track down one of Abraham's shirts or something that she can change into. Try not to wake the crazy o
ld bastard, okay?"

  Lovell stood and went to the beaded curtain. He didn't disturb Abraham. Instead, he opened a cabinet just outside the curtain and rummaged through it. "This will have to do," he said, holding up a loud shirt that would have embarrassed Jimmy Buffett. It was bright red with yellow flowers in full bloom and tiny maps of the Hawaiian Islands. "On her it will be a long dress."

  "Hand it here," said Miller. The girl had stopped crying, but she still shook like a spider web in the breeze. "Turn your heads," Miller ordered. The men looked away. Miller made sure of that. She knelt down on the carpet, careful to avoid the puddle of urine. "Let's get you dry," she said.

  The girl shook her head. Her arms were crossed across her chest, and her skin had become paler than before. She instinctively resisted being naked, even for a second. That wasn't hard to understand. She'd been all alone in zombie country. Miller thought of Terrill Lee alone out there and her eyes filled. She looked away so as to not further upset the child. She composed her expression and looked back. The little girl eyes were defiant.

  "You can't stay wet," said Miller, "and we need to clean up this mess." She began unbuttoning the girl's soaked pants. "I need you to help me."

  The girl reluctantly uncrossed her arms. She helped Miller take her pants down. Miller stripped off her tiny shirt, which was damp at the bottom, and used the untouched parts to dry the girl's skin. Then Miller put Abraham's shirt around her shoulders and buttoned it from bottom to top. It came down to below the girl's knees. She was practically lost in the sleeves.

  "You can look."

  Lovell went to the window and stared out, on guard. Sheppard just lay back with his eyes closed. He seemed to be regaining strength, but clearly had a ways to go. Penny Miller used the child's shirt to mop up the puddle on the floor. She threw the shirt in an overflowing trash can. Then she met the little girl's eyes.

  "Now, why don't you tell us what that was all about?"

  "That's him," the child said enigmatically.

  "Who's him? I don't understand."

  "That man. That's him. He killed my family." The little girl shook, doubled over, and began to sob again.