Miller felt her stomach rumble. She was hungry. She needed rest too, but was afraid to let go and nap. Maybe Rat had a point. If she didn't take proper care of herself, the group could end up in chaos. Miller tried to close her eyes but they popped back open. She studied the world passing by.
The desert scenery was beautiful and bleak as always. Miller loved it deeply. She was used to open spaces, having grown up in Montana and Nevada, but she never really got used to the emptiness of this part of the desert. She would never have moved to Flat Rock in the first place if it weren't for Terrill Lee and his having purchased a veterinary practice. She had been perfectly happy being a beat cop in Carson City—there was always plenty going on in the capitol. Her first few years in Flat Rock had felt more like prison than "an escape from the big city," as Terrill Lee had phrased it. Then thinking of Terrill Lee made her want to cry again. God, she thought, I'm getting soft in my old age.
If old Sheriff Lawson hadn't been such a complete fuck-up, Miller would have settled into the life of a deputy. The deceased Bob Wells had theoretically "trained" her—which meant sitting in a sheriff's cruiser with him while he told crude jokes, cut farts, and made passes at Miller. After doing Mike Lawson's job and her own for a couple of years, Miller decided that Flat Rock needed a professional law enforcer in the Sheriff's office, not the bloated politician Lawson had become. Miller was young, she was experienced, she was a hell of a lot prettier than Lawson, and between her duties as a deputy and Terrill Lee's connections, she had the political clout to pull off the election. Miller had kept Wells on because, when all was said and done, he was a pretty good deputy. Miller had settled into married life with Terrill Lee and a professional routine. The time hadn't passed so badly.
Poor Terrill Lee…
Miller snapped out of it. Unable to nap, she went back to her memories. She'd had the sheriff's headquarters remodeled a couple of times, adding a modern jail and a kitchen for the prisoners, and basically made the place look like a police station rather than a fat-cat's office. Her marriage ended up on the rocks, but the job was okay. That comfortable routine had been broken up by the onset of the zombie plague. Her life had been turned upside down, but then, so had everyone else's, so Miller really couldn't complain.
She studied Father Abraham. Something about the man made her nervous. They needed him for the vehicle, but once they got closer to civilization, Miller decided she might cut the old man loose. Not in any way where his life would be endangered, but she wanted to protect her group, and didn't consider Abraham one of them.
Finally, Miller closed her eyes for a few moments. She fell asleep.
After traveling several miles, Father Abraham began slowing down. Miller woke up. She saw that they were close to the entrance to the state nature reserve that bordered on the Ruby Mountains. The large sign outside it remained untouched, though a few cars lay still by the side of the road, metal corpses rotting away in the unrelenting heat.
"What's going on?" asked Rat.
Father Abraham turned to look back at them. He winked, smiled. "Awaken. God has spoken to us."
Miller cleared her throat and rubbed her eyes. "Excuse me?"
Abraham had turned back to face the road. He spun the wheel and abruptly headed for the entrance to the reserve.
"Abraham? What, exactly did God say?"
"God commanded us to make a quick stop, Sheriff Miller. After all, I offered to make you a fine meal, and I have yet to follow through on that vow. I will soon. I promise I shall serve you shortly."
"We have enough supplies with us," protested Sheppard, speaking for the first time in a while. "Why don't we stay on the highway and eat on the way?"
"Nonsense, my son." Abraham turned his attention back to the road.
"This is not a good idea," Rat said. She and Miller exchanged worried looks. Lovell seemed to be sleeping.
Miller shifted in her seat. "I'm with Rat. I'm asking nicely, here, because it's your Winnebago. Please go back to the highway."
Father Abraham ignored them both. He rolled through the entrance to the preserve without slowing down. There was a stream nearby, runoff from the Ruby Mountains, and some decent pines in a neat row, green soldiers on parade. The lower forest and cherry trees lay beyond. There was a fork, then two open paved tracks. Abraham whistled something vaguely spiritual. He turned the wheel again and took the road to the left. The blue and gray rock formations passed.
Miller and Rat exchanged glances again. Rat shook her head, and Miller nodded. She fondled her weapon, considering the situation. They were all exhausted. Miller knew they had enough time to escape if nothing went awry. Her instincts nagged her, but in the end, Miller just shrugged. They couldn't exactly force Father Abraham to comply without threatening to shoot him, but they would probably be safer if they stayed on the road. Miller put up her hands. Let's see what this is all about, she signaled. Rat rolled her eyes, but in the end she held her peace.
Miller closed her eyes again. She felt so tired. She hoped she had made the right decision. If she hadn't, then Rat would probably try to take command of the party. And that would only lead to more trouble. They all deserved a bit of peace and quiet. The preserve was beautiful, and if it was deserted it wouldn't a bad place to kick back before continuing on.
Father Abraham brought the Winnebago around a large boulder. He drove up into the rocks for a while, onto an unpaved dirt road that led into the foothills. The ride became bumpy and proceeded at a far slower pace. They moved through a large copse of trees near a stream and then rode higher into the barren hills. Miller looked out, trying to remember exactly where they were. She hadn't been up this way in a few years. They were near the old Indian caves maybe. It was barren and dry up here, but at least they could see clearly in all directions. If any zombies came their way, they'd know in advance.
Abraham made one final turn and slowed down to a crawl. Lovell woke up and whispered to Rat, who explained what was happening. Elizabeth and Sheppard watched with eyes dulled by exhaustion.
Something in the rocks moved. Miller sat up. What is this? Zombies?
No. Humans. Miller shook her head, amazed. She could see a small group of people in a clearing between the huge boulders. They were standing around and talking. Abraham actually had real followers. It ought to have felt good that others had survived the outbreak, but somehow the sight didn't make Miller feel any better about her decision to trust the preacher. They'd be well armed, but now outnumbered.
"Who the hell are those people?" Rat felt it too. She was clutching her weapon.
"Lost souls, just like you," Abraham said. "As I told you, God showed me the way, just as he did when I found and rescued you. Rejoice, the Divine Will be done!"
The people saw the Winnebago. There were men and women of all ages, even a few children. They all wore ragged clothing, but seemed in reasonable health. They waved at the Winnebago and walked calmly up to completely surround it. Miller studied the band with a keen eye. She saw no weapons in their hands and the people made no threatening gestures. Father Abraham rolled to a complete stop. He stood up from his chair, stretched his back, and went to the door.
"Come, children. You have been delivered." Abraham stepped out of the Winnebago, and into the bright sunshine. The people surrounded him, murmuring softly and smiling.
"I don't feel good about this," Rat said.
Miller stood. "I don't like it either. Still, let's see what these people have in mind. Everybody just stay sharp and hang on to your weapons."
Lovell and Rat nodded grimly. Sheppard sat up with a wince, Elizabeth at his side. Miller went to the door and stood behind Abraham. She checked to make sure her weapon was still on her hip.
Abraham said, "Come, my child. Meet my flock."
The small group of survivors backed away from the Winnebago to clear a path for her. They were still smiling and nodding and murmuring to each other approvingly. They watched her as if she were some kind of movie star come to sign autographs. M
iller swallowed her suspicions and followed Abraham outside.
That was her next mistake.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
10:16am – 7 hours 44 minutes remaining
Sheriff Penelope J. Miller was royally pissed. The fiery impulse soon went beyond anger to outright destructive rage. If there had been any chairs around, she would have trashed them, along with any tables, windows, glassware, plates, or anything else breakable that she could have gotten her hands on. She also would have cursed a blue streak if she had had the opportunity; in English, Spanish, French, German, Russian, and she would have thrown in a couple of Native American insults that she had learned years before. She was a righteous, raging bitch on wheels—or would have been, if she could have been. Now was not the time, unfortunately.
The tantrum would have to wait because right at this moment Miller was bound, gagged with someone else's stinky underwear, and lying flat on a cold dirt floor. She was a prisoner in a partially lit cave in the middle of God-knows-where while her captors got ready to do God-knows-what to Miller and what was left of her friends. She could see the others, similarly trussed up nearby. With the exception of little Elizabeth, they all looked as mad as she was, and they were all mad at the same dipstick she was mad at—Sheriff Penny Miller. She shook her head sadly. Scratch, Sheppard, Lovell, and Rat glared over their own filthy gags as if daring her to get them out of the new mess she'd gotten them into by trusting Abraham. Elizabeth appeared to have dropped into shock.
Miller closed her eyes. She had to think and think fast.
When she'd stepped down the Winnebago's stairs, she'd gripped her weapon tightly and looked everywhere. The people were smiling warmly and the clearing seemed safe enough. There were no guns or other weapons visible, and only the handful of men, women, and children who came to stand around the Winnebago to greet Father Abraham and the rest of them. The sun was warm. Miller could hear a stream nearby. Everyone seemed well fed and comfortable. Truthfully, the people appeared complacent and that fact kind of put Miller off her guard. These people obviously posed no immediate threat to Miller and her crew. Even Rat could see that.
"My children, I have brought more lost souls into the fold," announced Father Abraham. "Bring food and drink, for they are grieving. They have suffered losses to their numbers, and they need our support in this darkest of hours."
Miller and Rat exchanged glances. Sheppard shrugged. After a long moment, Miller shrugged too, and holstered her pistol.
"We definitely could use some chow," Miller said. She walked closer to Father Abraham, "And we surely do appreciate your hospitality, but I think we explained that we're in kind of a hurry." Miller looked around at her crew. They exchanged looks and silently debated telling these poor people about the nuclear weapon that was set to go off at six o'clock. Finally, Miller shook her head. She'd hold onto that alarming information for a little longer.
Miller slowly relaxed as she looked around. She'd counted more than fifty people, with a few more moving shadows up in the rocks, possibly standing guard. With Rat, Lovell, Scratch, Sheppard, Elizabeth, herself, and Father Abraham already on board, even another twenty or so would be an impossible fit. Maybe these people would be all right where they were, if they remained in the caves, especially at the time the bomb was set to go off. There they would be protected from the shockwave, Miller reckoned. She would have to discuss all this with Rat once they had a private moment.
Abraham moved through his flock, ruffling the hair of the children and whispering in the ears of his ladies. The men shook his hand and stayed respectful. The old man was most definitely the big man on campus. Miller watched him, still not trusting the zealot. She was completely ready to cut Abraham loose, but she had a small philosophical problem with commandeering someone else's Winnebago to get only her crew back to safety. It would sit heavy on her conscience. Would this tribe of survivors be able to survive out here at all, much less without their vehicle? Maybe, maybe not. She really didn't want to find out.
"Hey, Sheriff?" A familiar voice. Miller turned around and was stunned to recognize a thin, brown-haired, sad-eyed woman named Vanessa Baker. Vanessa had been the owner of the Silver Dollar Café back in Flat Rock. She was frowning, wringing her hands as if nervous. Two other women in dresses were close behind, one standing just over her left shoulder.
"Vanessa? You're alive? What the hell are you doing here?"
"Father Abraham saved me," Vanessa said simply. "He saved all of us. Welcome to the Valley of the Shadow of Death."
Miller wasn't quite sure as to how she should respond to that one, so she just nodded and smiled a bit.
Vanessa sighed. Her faced was lined with worry. She smiled back. It was a thin, compressed bow of a smile, without much feeling behind it, but Miller figured that Vanessa had seen so much pain, suffering, and death in the last few weeks that true joy was far away and behind her.
"The Valley of Death, huh?" Scratch moved away from the Winnebago and headed closer. "I guess we should fear no evil, right?"
Miller looked at him, a mite surprised yet again. Since when does he quote the Bible?
"Very true," said Abraham, clapping Scratch on the shoulder. "No evil shall find you here. Come join us, we shall eat."
Miller's stomach rumbled. She relented. "We can't stay but a few minutes, Abraham. But we thank you for the ride and the hospitality."
"One thing." Abraham cocked his head oddly. He looked up at Rat and Lovell, who were still carrying their shotguns, and Scratch who had his .30-06. He extended his hands as if preparing to receive. "This is a place of peace, my children. You shall not carry your weapons here."
Rat's head snapped around. Her reaction was so fast Miller thought she'd give herself a concussion. "If it's all the same to you," Rat said, "I think I'll just hang on to mine. There are a lot of undead sinners out there."
Miller nodded. "I tend to feel the same way, Abraham. No offense."
"Me, too," Scratch said. "But as far as I'm concerned, you can be just as offended as you want."
Father Abraham pondered and obviously thought better of arguing with his new friends. He dropped his hands. But Miller caught him eyeballing one of the men, a thick, bearded fellow in jeans and a work shirt, who nodded and walked away briskly. Uh oh. Rat feels it too. Better watch our step…
"You're in luck." Vanessa was tugging at Miller's elbow. "We actually have some decent food for you today."
"Really?" Miller found herself salivating at the thought of food. Pavlov's Sheriff, she chuckled to herself. Damned zombie juice…
Vanessa pulled again. "Come with me, I'll show you folks where you can take a load off and grab a bite of lunch."
Miller said, "Scratch, Lovell, can you help Sheppard walk away from the Winnebago? If anyone needs something to eat, he does."
"Uh, sure." Scratch headed back over to the stairs, to where Lovell was waiting for him. Sheppard was still standing in the doorway. He seemed a bit wobbly but beginning to recover. Miller watched as the two men tried to figure out how to safely support Sheppard and carry their weapons at the same time. They looked clumsy, the stars of a silent comedy. The sun went behind some clouds and a chill passed over her. Miller rubbed her arms. She walked over to the men and frowned.
Miller went up the stairs. "Lovell, hand me your shotgun. Scratch you just leave your rifle for a minute or two. It'll be okay."
Lovell glanced at Rat, whose expression was even, giving no sign of what she was thinking. A hawk did a lazy circle over her shoulder, out past some tall cacti. The sound of the brook made Miller thirsty, and she thought she could smell something cooking. Her mouth watered.
Lovell said, "Rat?"
"Hand it over." Miller held out her hand for the shotgun. Rat did not object, at least not aloud. Lovell made up his mind, and surrendered the weapon. Then he and Scratch lifted Sheppard, who grunted from the pain. They helped him down the stairs. Miller shifted the weapons in her hands. She looked up to the top of the steps. She walked
up to the doorway and peeked inside the Winnebago.
Elizabeth was huddled up in a ball in the corner next to the sofa. Now that Miller had been outside in the fresh air, she realized how badly the dusty vehicle reeked of their collective body odor. Shadows embraced the child. Sunlight flared dust motes that caressed the little girl's hair. Elizabeth had cried herself out and her pretty eyes had gone glassy.
"Let's go, sweetheart," said Miller, softly but with authority.
"No!" Elizabeth barked defiantly. She held tighter to her knees.
Miller held out her hand. "Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to you."
Elizabeth shrank back and glared straight ahead. Miller took her measure. She had her hands full of weapons loaded with live ammo and didn't know if all the safeties were on. A few seconds passed before Miller moved again. She reached down and attempted to pry one of Elizabeth's hands away from her dirty, scabbed knees.
"No!" cried Elizabeth. Miller pulled harder on her hand, but Elizabeth was having none of it. She slipped away. The weapons rattled around and pulled Miller off balance. Elizabeth sprang up and ran through the dark shadows, through the beaded curtain and into the forbidden back bedroom.
"Are you folks all right in there?" It was Abraham's voice. He was outside the Winnebago, a ways away.
"Shit," Miller whispered. She stared at the slowly moving curtains that danced like reeds in colored water. The old preacher would crap thumbtacks if he knew anyone was back there again. Miller wavered. She did not want to violate anyone's privacy. The last thing she needed was for Abraham to have yet another meltdown. But…
The Hungry 2: The Wrath of God Page 17
