CHAPTER FOURTEEN
7:08am – 10 hours 52 minutes remaining
The grinding noise continued. No one spoke. Eventually Lovell said, "Easy, don't flood the sucker."
"Abraham," Miller said, "this is your vehicle. Why won't it start?" She stated the question much more calmly than she felt. Her gut was in a knot. The entire enterprise was rapidly spinning out of control. They were behind enemy lines, Terrill Lee was gone, Scratch was hiding something, Abraham was a senile maniac, a nuclear bomb was ticking their lives away, and now she had a traumatized child to worry about. Penny Miller had never felt so alone in her entire life.
Abraham mopped his sweaty brow with his sleeve. His filthy beard sagged down. He was like a fat goat ready for shearing. "I can't explain it, my child." He turned the key in the ignition again. The old starter turned, but the engine still didn't catch. "Personally, I suspect that the Evil One had his filthy hand in this."
Miller turned to the others. "All right, folks. Things just got a little more entertaining. As of right now, we put any personal disagreements aside. We have one job and one job only. Get this thing running and get the hell out of here. We take it all one step at a time. Lovell, you did okay with those generators last night. Know anything about Winnebagos?"
Lovell stood with a confident smile on his face. "I know a thing or two."
"Okay," said Miller. "You're up. Now, who wants to stand sentinel while Lovell is working outside with his ass end turned to the world?"
Rat cleared her throat quietly. "They sent us on this mission to provide security. I think Psycho and I can handle that."
Miller thought for a second. "Done, and Rat," she said, lowering her voice, "do me a favor and take Scratch with you."
Rat grunted assent. She armed up and headed for the door.
Miller put up her hand. "I want to make something clear, though. Unlike Crystal Palace, this is not a free-fire zone. We found this little girl, so there may be at least some uninfected citizens hiding out there who are still in need of our help. Please stay smart. Hold your fire until you
know
there's a threat. On the other hand, if it is undead or unresponsive to verbal commands, take it out without hesitation. Aim for the brain. Let's all try to conserve ammo."
The others mumbled acquiescence as if glad to have something new to do. They got to work, gathering up weapons and ammo and whispering their plans to one another. For her part, Miller was dropping back into her rhythm, problem solving, thinking on the fly. She turned to Lovell. "What else do you need?"
"Tools would be nice," Lovell said.
"Father Abraham? You have any tools?"
"In the baggage compartment there are some tools," the old man replied. "I don't know how many, or if they are the right kind for this sort of work."
"All right, Lovell," Miller said. "Get a move on and do what you can. If you gotta have some thingamagig, there's an auto parts store two blocks over on Liberty. I'd prefer not to stray that far from home, but if we need to, do it. Because, as you all know, we're kind of in a hurry."
Scratch gave a barking laugh. "Yeah, no shit."
Miller took a long look outside, searching for any kind of movement. The sun beat down with cruelty. The heat was rising. Everyone waited. When Miller was satisfied that nothing undead lurked around any shadowy corners, she said, "All right. Let's get this done. Hit it."
Rat, Lovell, and Psycho exited the Winnebago like Rangers on a night drop, fanning out with their weapons at the ready. Miller watched them go, the Magnificent Seven having been reduced to the Magnificent Three.
O, how the mighty have fallen,
she reflected. Nevertheless, at the moment she was happy to have them around. They certainly knew their shit. Hand signals, eye moves, no battle rattle at all. A good team.
Scratch sauntered around outside, a stark contrast to the mercenaries' cool efficiency. He carried his rifle loosely, but Miller knew he was far sharper than he appeared. He followed the mercenaries into the open.
Now only Miller, Sheppard, Father Abraham, and Elizabeth were still in the beat-up Winnebago. Miller turned her attention to the little girl. She was still dirty and smelly, with an unhealthy pallor to her skin—particularly around her face—that made Miller wonder when she'd last eaten decent food. Miller's stomach grumbled as well. She could barely remember her last real meal, so she could empathize.
She picked up the jar of peanuts. Miller poured out some more nuts for herself, and then approached the girl. "You're still hungry, aren't you?"
The girl never took her eyes off the jar.
Miller poured a few more peanuts into the girl's waiting hand. Just a few—she didn't want the girl making herself sick. But it was good protein. Miller had some more too, calculating a new way to start the conversation up again.
As the girl munched the peanuts, Miller said, "I need to talk to you, Elizabeth."
The little girl swallowed loudly. She drew her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her knees. Elizabeth had clearly had experience with adults who wanted to talk and knew the results were often problematic.
"I want you to know that I believe you when you say that Scratch did what he did."
"What did he do?" asked Father Abraham.
Miller looked up sharply, but just managed to hold her tongue. They needed this strange civilian. She stopped before she said something she would later regret. "I'll explain everything later, Father Abraham. Perhaps you could step outside for a stretch. Please let us talk."
Abraham busied himself. Miller turned back to Elizabeth. This time she whispered. "I told you back in the dress shop that my job was to protect the good guys and punish the bad guys. Which of those two jobs do you think is more important?"
Elizabeth's face contorted into a look of pure hate. "Punish the bad guys!"
Miller sighed. "Well, no. Right now, with everything that is going on, my most important job is to protect the lives of every living person here. I know Scratch has done some bad things, but as long as he's alive, I have to do whatever it takes to keep him—and you—safe and still willing to help one another. We need each other. There are just a few of us, right, and lots and lots of zombies out there. We can't get out unless we work together. Can you understand that?"
The little girl did not respond, but she was clearly thinking it over.
Miller continued. "Elizabeth, the thing is, I need you to be patient. If all goes well, we're going to be where there are no zombies really soon, we hope before six o'clock tonight. And then, when everyone is safe, we'll talk this out and try to find out what really happened. I promise you, we'll find a way to punish those who were responsible."
"But… I just told you what really happened." Elizabeth said it without crying. Miller was grateful. She'd seen enough tears.
"I know," Miller said. "And as I said, I believe you. But you need to believe me. It has to wait until we get out of this mess. In the meantime, stick with me. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I promise."
"He's your friend, isn't he?"
Miller said, "It's... complicated."
Elizabeth shook her head slowly. "You aren't going to do anything, are you?"
Before Miller could respond, the girl got up and smashed through the beaded curtains. They rustled and one string broke, dropped tiny beads in a rattle all over the worn linoleum flooring. The little girl ran into the bedroom in the back, vanishing into the messy shadows of Abraham's den.
Up front, Father Abraham went pale. "Wait, she's not allowed in there."
"She'll be fine. Elizabeth just needs a minute."
"No, I mean, she's not allowed in there at all!" Abraham got up from the driver's seat. He lumbered back toward her and then started toward the beaded curtain. Miller caught his arm. She had to plant her feet and tug, he was far stronger than he'd first appeared, but she managed to stop him.
"Come back out here, child!"
"Father Abraham?" Miller shouted, just loud enough to startle him. Then she lowered her tone. "Look, she's nine years old, her entire family is dead, and she's afraid of Scratch. I think she can use a little alone time."
"She can't be back there," Father Abraham's tone was sharp, angry, commanding. He snatched his arm from Miller's grasp. "Hear me! The child cannot go in there. Get her out now, I command thee!"
Miller considered this odd old man. They had been with him for about an hour. What did they
really
know about him? Not enough to do more than guess about why he was so upset about Elizabeth being in his bedroom.
Maybe he has some whacked out pornography? A sex doll and some lube? What?
"All right," Miller said, finally, "I'll go get her. I'll bring her out."
"You're not allowed in there either, woman," Abraham barked. "No one is."
"But…"
Abraham stepped toward the beaded curtain yet again. This time his big arms were spread wide. A pissed off polar bear in a flowered shirt.
Miller opened her mouth to protest, but a sound from right outside stopped her.
"Hey, kid," called Rat. "What the hell are you doing?"
Miller shouted. "What's happening, Rat?"
"The kid's trying to climb out the back window."
"Shit!" Miller flew out the front door, down the steps, and around to the back of the Winnebago. She came around the corner just in time to see Elizabeth dangling from the small rear windowsill. Miller rushed up beneath her and grabbed her around the waist. She lowered the child to the ground and held on tight. "What are you doing?"
"He's going to kill me the way he killed my family, and you're going to let him!" Elizabeth kicked and thrashed.
Miller held the struggling girl at arm's length, trying to avoid her feet. "I'm not going to let anyone kill you, Elizabeth!"
BAM! A gunshot rang out. It came from the far end of the Winnebago, toward the front bumper where Lovell was working. Elizabeth screamed and elbowed Miller hard in the solar plexus. All of Miller's breath rushed out in an instant. She dropped the girl to the ground. Miller sank to her knees, gasping for air. Meanwhile, Elizabeth scampered away around the other side of the Winnebago. A moment later, the child screamed again.
"Hey, calm down!" Miller heard Scratch shout. Elizabeth just kept right on screaming. Things were rapidly going from worse to shit storm. All this noise was bound to attract more trouble. Miller wondered if Rat might try to take command again, which at that moment would have suited Miller just fine. She felt like curling up in a ball and humming old Dixie Chicks tunes till the cows came home.
The kid cried and Scratch swore.
When Miller was able to stand and walk, she made her way around the corner of the vehicle. Rat was suddenly right behind her. There she found Scratch holding the rifle in one hand and Elizabeth in the other. The girl was shrieking at the top of her lungs but her voice had gone hoarse. The sound was feeble and thus all the more heart rending.
"What's your problem, anyway?" Scratch said. "Easy kid, I'm not going to hurt you."
"Rat," croaked Miller, "take her inside." Miller sucked in a couple of extra deep breaths. "What the hell were you thinking?" she demanded.
"What was
I
thinking? What about her? She ran smack into me, damn near knocked me on my ass."
"What's with the shooting?"
Scratch looked relieved she was there. "That shot? It was Psycho. He saw a new zombie out there and put it out of its misery."
Miller's face changed. Scratch saw her concern and hurried to respond. "Don't worry, Penny. It wasn't T. L."
Miller had almost put Terrill Lee out of her mind until that moment. Almost. "Scratch, that's what's next. We have to find him."
"What for?" Scratch seemed genuinely confused. "Use your head. It sucks, but he's got to be a goner by now."
"We don't
know
that."
"Huh? You know something that I don't?" He cradled the rifle in the crook of his arm. Scratch stepped closer to Miller and put his hand on her arm. "I'm sorry, Penny. I know you cared about him. We all did. But he got dragged off by the zoms. He's just hamburger by now. It sucks but you got to accept that."
Miller resisted the urge to shrug off his touch. She needed his help, too. "I'm just so sick of losing people that I care about."
"You still got me," he said.
Miller backed up a step. "Scratch, until we get this thing with Elizabeth's family worked out, I'd appreciate it if you would…"
"What? You'd appreciate it if I'd what?"
"Keep your distance," Miller said, finally. She shaded her eyes against the sun, but also to hide what was in them.
"Is that really what you want, Penny?" There was no mistaking it now. He was hurt. A crow soared over the Winnebago and offered a sarcastic laugh.
"Until I know the truth, it's got to go back to being 'Sheriff' to you."
Scratch sulked. His lower lip curled. "You know what,
Sheriff?
" He held out the rifle, thrust it into her hands. "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on." Unarmed, he strode off toward the front of the battered Winnebago.
"Is now a bad time?"
Miller spun around, barely resisting the urge to aim the rifle at the person behind her. When she realized it was Rat, she relaxed a little. Against all odds, Rat was becoming about the only friend she had left.
"What is it?" Miller asked.
"Lovell knows what's wrong with the Winnebago."
"Okay, what?"
"Fuel filter is clogged, and the tank is nearly empty. Not a good combination."
"Terrific," said Miller. "What do we do about that?"
"Lovell can explain. Come on."
Miller followed, grateful for the distraction. They walked to the front of the vehicle, where Lovell and Psycho waited. Psycho scratched at small bites on his reddened forearm. Lovell was covered with sweat and grease. The sun pounded at them as it crawled up into the morning sky. Crows cawed. Vultures circled the downtown area where the bodies were piled. Miller turned her head from side to side. Scratch was nowhere to be seen.