There were two male zombies and one female. One of the male zombies wore stained jeans and a ripped bowling shirt with the named LEVON stitched on it. He wore a cowboy belt with a big buckle. The other male had been a teenaged boy, and it was wearing a rock-and-roll t-shirt and cargo pants. The female was dressed plainly and quite similarly to Miller herself—t-shirt, jeans, and running shoes. The creature had once been a blonde. If it had been a redhead, Miller would have thought she was looking at herself in a zombie funhouse mirror. She studied the three monsters. They looked like a vacationing family, and probably had been just before the change.
Miller prepared herself. Zombies were stupid. She expected them to come at her in a straight line, and wondered how long she could lead them around in circles in an arena this size. But they didn't come right at her. They sniffed the air. They grunted back and forth almost as if communicating. As soon as they knew where she was, they began to circle her, to flank her. The two males stumbled quietly to her left, the female moved to the right. They were cooperating with each other. This was the damnedest thing Miller had ever seen. They seemed to be working as a team.
"Penny, be careful!" Sheppard called. "These zombies are different."
"No shit?" Miller shifted to her left, kicking up dust. She was trying to keep the two males from getting past her. They promptly changed trajectories, predatory animals adjusting to her movements. It was both fascinating and horrifying. Miller kept moving around. She feinted and dodged. The zombies continued to spread apart and work to encircle her. Then they closed in as one, a hunting party. They were going to trap her soon. Miller knew she could not allow that.
Finally, one of the zombies—the male with the big belt buckle—made a move. It came at her while the other two were hanging back, covering her retreat. Miller crouched. She watched as the thing shuffled toward her. Drool ran from its broken mouth. It moaned loudly, Uhhhh hunhhh… These zombies may have been acting smarter than the ones she was used to, but they were still pretty slow and clumsy. Miller knew she could use that fact to her advantage.
Miller feinted away and then ran right up to the bold male zombie. It grabbed at her. She ducked as it reached out, kicked out with her right foot and tipped it over. It tumbled to the ground, lying there stunned. Miller kept moving. She now had all three together on one side of the arena. She swayed sideways like a cat, waiting for their next move.
The ragged spectators above booed and hissed impatiently. They'd expected her to die quickly like the others who had been sacrificed. The zealots were spoiled, like drunken Romans at the games. Miller had absolutely no intention of cooperating with their blood lust. She kept moving. She eyed the zombies warily. The woman zombie snarled. The teenaged-boy zombie grunted. The downed man seemed frustrated and angry. He grunted as he tried to sit up. These zombies were indeed different. Their almost human emotions puzzled her.
Then Miller saw something that startled the shit out of her. The other two zombies helped their fallen comrade to its feet. Then they came at her as a unit, the males to each side of the female. It was she who led the second charge. Miller again remembered what they'd noticed back in the Crystal Palace, that the zombies seemed to have learned to cooperate. One had sacrificed itself to feed the others. Sheppard was right. They were different.
Miller, light on her feet, dodged past them again, and pushed the boy into the female. All three went down like bowling pins. The boy lay on top of the pile, with the female in the middle and the other male on the bottom. They struggled to get up.
The crowd screamed in annoyance.
Miller kicked the boy in the head as hard as she could. She heard its neck snap. She kicked it a couple of more times and created a large, bowl-shaped crater in its wet skull. It stopped moving. She dodged away just before the female could bite her other leg. The audience, which had been shouting, cheering, booing, and chanting, now switched to exhibiting a stunned silence.
Miller stepped back. Her anger was high. She looked around the arena with fire in her eyes. Some of the zealots cringed. She could hear Abraham chewing someone out for the fuck-up. She wondered if they'd set more zombies free in a desperate attempt to take her out. The man who had been kind to her was openly smiling, tugging on his friend's sleeve. Some of the crowd began to walk away. They apparently did not want to see her win.
Miller moved again. It took a moment for the remaining two zombies to orient themselves. They struggled under the weight of the dead boy. While they were still getting organized, Miller closed in on the snarling female. She placed herself perfectly and kicked it in the face. The jaw immediately caved in. Miller kicked again. Brains and other goo leaked onto Miller's shoe, but that was the least of her problems. The male nearly bit her thigh. She trotted away. Two down.
That left only the male on the bottom.
Observing from yards away, blood roaring in her ears, Miller could see that the Dad zombie wasn't much of a threat. Still, she couldn't take any chances.
The crowd watched in silence, still stunned.
Miller charged. She hopped up, and landed with both feet on the thing's head, which promptly popped open.
This time some of the spectators went wild. They applauded and screamed. Others murmured in shock and horror. How could this happen? They seemed to be stunned that Abraham had been wrong.
Miller turned. She looked up at the would-be prophet. He was backing away from the ledge, his mouth open. Scratch, Lovell, Rat, and Sheppard were cheering, whooping and slapping palms.
"Is that the best you've got, Abraham?" Miller taunted. "Fuck, if that's as scary as you people get, then you might as well throw down the keys to the Winnebago. We'll go right now. We'll be leaving soon enough anyway."
Abraham shouted at the crowd, calling for silence. His control seemed tenuous at best. Finally, the audience calmed down.
"Sacrilege!" Abraham cried. "You have desecrated the Angels of God!"
"Sorry about that."
He turned to the guards who had originally let the three zombies enter. "I command thee, release the Holy Host!"
"Oh, give it a rest, Abe," said Miller. "Why don't you come down here and do your own dirty work?"
The crowd murmured. Miller readied herself. Heard unhhh hunhhh…
A moment later another zombie appeared. Then came yet another. Miller counted as zombie after zombie entered, until the last one came into the chamber. There were five all together. Miller noticed that two were wearing torn military uniforms. Abraham had probably been going down to the base at Crystal Palace to bring captive zombies back here, and doing that for some time. That's where he'd found the severed head.
The crowd above began cheering again. Scratch, Lovell, and the others went silent. Miller ran to the creatures she had dispatched. She pulled off the dead man's belt and swung the huge buckle in the air as a weapon.
Miller didn't bother to wonder whether or not she should be frightened this time. She figured she'd best not give them a chance to talk things over. She ran straight up to the nearest zombie and pushed it back onto its ass. The others grabbed at Miller. She swung the belt and buckle. Smashed one zombie's face then backed away. Another came close to biting her but she kicked it square in the chest, knocking it backwards into the one behind it. Both fell to the ground. Miller swung the belt and buckle.
She felt a slimy, cold, dead hand on her shoulder, and she spun to punch the thing in the face. Another was right next to her, jaws snapping, and she ducked under its reach. Miller struck out with the buckle until she made it past the pack of zombies. They were doing the circle thing again. She was running out of room real fast. She was already too close to the wall, with five zombies coming toward her. She skirted them again and again, finally coming near to the entrance on the far side of the arena, but she didn't want to get too close to the humans there. They had guns, an even greater threat.
Miller wondered how she was going to take out five zombies, especially with them able to work together as a team. One c
ame closer to her, reaching out, groaning with hunger. Uhhhh-uhhh! She was about to lash out at it when something about it seemed familiar. She gasped.
"Luther?"
Her nightmares had come true. The zombie wore a service station uniform shirt, with GAS-N-SIP on one pocket, and LUTHER on the other. In the split second she had, she looked at its face. Sure enough, it was old Luther Grabowski. He looked just as she'd envisioned in her feverish dreams.
"Aw, shit, Luther. You, too?"
The thing that had been Luther grabbed her by the arm. His grip was fierce. Miller's shock held her still. The other zombies were almost close enough to touch her. But before Luther could bite, she remembered something, another vision she'd had in that same dream…
She took Luther's wrist in her hand. Miller twisted and pulled. Luther's arm came off at the shoulder. Miller saw what she thought was a surprised look in its blank eyes, again wondering at the intelligence in there, but there was no more time for contemplation. She swung the severed arm like a club, and hit Luther in the side of the head. Luther fell to the ground and stopped moving. The other creatures swarmed her. Miller flashed back to her explosion of violence at Crystal Palace, when she'd been riled up on zombie sauce. She completely lost all remaining fear.
She was a wild woman, swinging, kicking and screaming.
Miller didn't stop. If she did stop, she knew they would kill her. The next one almost had her. She swung the dead, rotting arm and clubbed the zombie with it. She used the belt and buckle with her other hand. She spun in place, striking out left and right. She dropped another zombie. Then she hit the next, and the next. Some of them fell at once and some went to their knees while others just looked stunned. But she'd done enough to break free. In the end it was just enough to get away from the pack.
Miller ran to the other side of the arena, breathing hard. She felt her face freeze into a wide skeletal grin. Her body felt burning hot. Not having that super strength was already taking its toll. She remembered what to do and how to do it, but wondered how long she could manage to hold out.
The crowd had gone silent again. Scratch was laughing.
Three zombies hung back, and helped one fallen comrade. Yes, they were working together, something no one had thought possible until recently. Luther was down for the count, but the others still posed a threat. The fact that they were also conferring was still a distinctly creepy concept. A heartbeat later, the zombie conference was over and the things came at her.
This time all at once.
Miller didn't wait for them to trap her against the wall again. She charged, clubbing the nearest zombie with Luther's upper arm—it stumbled but kept its feet—and stabbed another through the eye with the slim bone in Luther's lower arm. It went down and stayed down. She left the lower arm stuck in the zombie's head and swung the belt. Creatures moaned and fell.
Miller was getting into the groove. Swinging and slashing with Luther's arm and the belt, she cut a path through the startled zombies. By now, two were down for the count, and three were confused, disoriented, or just disorganized. Blood had splattered everywhere. Miller could no longer hear the crowd. She was enraged and fully alive. It was almost the old days, when she'd been high on the zombie virus, all weirdly horny and full of blood lust.
"Hey, Abraham!" Miller shouted. "Do I have to kill all of your pet zombies before you realize this isn't going to work? I have no intention of dying today." To punctuate her point, she smashed another zombie's head in. It fell sideways and stayed down.
Abraham's face was bright red with anger. "Bring her to me."
"Come get me yourself."
She braced herself. The guards didn't move. Miller couldn't tell if they were more afraid of the zombies or her at this point, and frankly she didn't care. She hit another zombie with the buckle. It went down hard. The last one of the zombies stood still almost as if it had become too scared to attack. Miller laughed. She went up to the guards who stood at the arena entrance and barred the tunnel that lead to the outside. They were both pimple-faced teenaged boys. They were clearly too terrified to face her.
"You heard him," Miller said. "Let's go."
She held the upper arm bone to her side, a samurai sword, and the belt became a whip. The boys who stood there were stunned. Then one came back to himself, and gestured for her to follow. He made absolutely no move to restrain her or make her drop her weapons, which suited Miller just fine. Above them the crowd stayed silent. The metal gate swung shut behind Miller. She moved into the cool tunnel.
She'd done it.
A moment later, they were in the courtyard outside the cave entrance. Some of the zealots hung back to watch, some backed Abraham. The preacher stood there glowering, puffed up with rage. Miller could see Scratch, Sheppard, Lovell, and Rat were still there in the background, safe for the moment. But where was little Elizabeth? Coated with blood and brains, Miller walked a few steps into the open with her makeshift weapons high.
"Really, was that the best you could do?" Miller shook her head. She lowered the butchered body parts and the belt before Abraham could say anything.
"You don't know what kind of trouble you are in, do you?"
"Enlighten me," Miller said.
"You and your friends will suffer horribly for this." Abraham turned to the guard who'd led Miller to him. "Restrain her."
Miller turned to face the guard. "You really want to try that, Sparky?" She flexed her arms, showing him Luther's bones and the belt, but did not move to threaten him. Miller could see in the kid's eyes that he was scared of her. She smiled brightly. He still held a rifle, so she waited him out.
Instead of confronting her, the guard turned to Abraham. "Father, my faith is shaken. You said the Angels were here to protect us. If that is true, then how could this woman have destroyed them so easily?"
"Yes, Father," said another zealot, a blind old woman. "What does this mean?"
Abraham looked purple and ready to explode. "She is an agent of the Evil One, sent to destroy your faith in God."
"No, I'm not. I'm Sheriff Penny Miller of Flat Rock, and I'm here to take you all to safety." She had no idea how she would pull that part off, but then, she'd had no idea how to get out of that arena alive. She'd just have think of something when the time came. "People, that bomb I spoke of is real. And it is also about to go off. We only have a couple of hours left to make it out of the area."
Abraham looked worse, almost ready to have a stroke. He strode over to the guard who had challenged him and snatched the rifle out of his hands. He walked up to Miller, pointed it at her. Miller stared back. She stopped smiling.
"On your knees," Abraham ordered.
"No," said Miller.
The barrel of the rifle was pointed directly at Miller's head. But she wasn't looking at that. Instead, she was distracted by the blond zealot who came up behind Abraham. It was the kind young man who'd helped her back in the cave, the one who had seemed ashamed. His female partner was nowhere to be seen. The man was holding a long kitchen knife, kept glancing back and forth from the knife to Abraham, like he didn't know what to do with it. He seemed nervous as a horny groom on his wedding night.
"Fine," said Abraham. "Die on your feet, then." He cycled the bolt of the rifle with expert ease and sighted down the barrel.
"Stop," said the man with the knife. "I can't let you do that."
Abraham's eyes widened. He turned to stare at the blond man. The rifle went with him. It was now aimed at the stomach of his follower. "How dare you speak to me that way?"
The man shook with fear. He lowered the knife, pleading, "Let her go, Father Abraham. Let all of them go."
Abraham said, "You shall go. To hell." He fired. The shot blew the man backwards. Some of the zealots cried out in anger, some ran away. Blood pooled in the afternoon dirt. People shouted and cried. The world was collapsing around them. Their faith was shattered and their motley band was falling apart. Abraham turned back to Miller, who was just raising the arm-club to ta
ke him out. She froze with her arm high. Her heart was pounding and her head hurt. Miller knew perfectly well that she wasn't bulletproof.
"And now you will die too," Abraham said.
"I wouldn't try that, if I were you."
Miller was startled by the familiar voice. Well, I'll be damned…
Someone new had appeared behind Abraham. A hooded male zealot stood there. He held a .357 against the side of Abraham's head. He pulled back the hammer. Abraham stared at Miller. His new life had fallen apart too, and it was all over but the shouting. Abraham pondered. She read his eyes as he reached a decision.
Miller grabbed for the barrel of the rifle. Abraham grunted as she tried to jerk the weapon up and out of his hands but didn't let go. Two guns went off simultaneously.
Abraham's head exploded.
Miller's did not.
Miller let go of the rifle barrel with her ears ringing. She looked around at the shocked faces of Abraham's followers. They stared down at Abraham's body. Several more ran away. Some fell to their knees in prayer. No one made a move to threaten Miller or her friends. The sun was slipping behind the tallest rocks and shadows once again ruled the earth.
"Are you okay, Penny?"
"I'm fine," she said. Her eyes spilled over with genuine tears. "Where the hell did you come from, Terrill Lee?"
CHAPTER TWENTY
3:26pm – 2 hours 34 minutes remaining
"We can't take all of you with us!" Miller held her palms out. She shouted loudly, trying desperately to calm the former zealots. Several had run away in terror and returned to the abandoned mines and caves. There were only about twenty of them left now, and not all of them wanted anything to do with Miller and her group. They walked in slow circles or stood frozen in clumps, confused and frightened.
"Please." The blind old woman, wringing her wrinkled hands.
Miller looked around at the last stragglers. Some didn't believe in anything anymore, much less the rumored bomb that was supposed to go off in a couple of hours. Eight of them had washed their hands of the infidels, as they referred to those who had lost faith in Abraham's bullshit, or those who never actually believed. The loyal eight had carefully, lovingly collected Abraham's body and washed it down. Then they'd taken a shovel and pick axe and gone higher in the rocks to burn him. Miller didn't like the idea of a fire large enough to signal bad guys, but she was glad to see them go. She felt grateful that they hadn't opened fire themselves when Terrill Lee had blown Abraham's head off.
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