The Hungry (Book 2): The Wrath of God (9 page)

"I thought this was your operation, Hanratty." Miller's eyes flared with frustration and anger. "I thought you were supposed to have all this under control."

"How many times are we going to go over this?" asked Hanratty through gritted teeth. "I don't know whose orders Ripper and the others are working under, but they sure as hell aren't mine. And yes, I was supposed to be in command. As it turns out, I'm as much in the dark as you are."

"Yeah, well it also turns out you're also about as useful as a trap door in a canoe."

"It's Gifford," said Sheppard, wearily. He was leaning back with his eyes closed. He'd clearly been working things out. "This is about money."

"What?"

"Has to be. Someone out there sees a chance to make billions from this virus by selling the lost cure back to the government."

"So they need all of us dead, anyone who knows anything about how it all started," Miller said to Sheppard. "You most of all."

"I guess both of us most of all, Penny. I'm sorry."

"That son-of-a-bitch Gifford
ratfucked
us?" Lovell said. The room went silent. Hanratty glared. Lovell grimaced. "Sorry, Rat. Didn't mean nothing personal by that term. But why us? Why didn't he at least try to cut us in on the scam?"

Rat sighed. "Because he knew we wouldn't go for it."

Terrill Lee sat at one end of the long conference table, staring down at his watch. "Twenty hours and eight minutes before the bomb destroys the base." He said it almost calmly, but Terrill Lee was close to losing it. He had been counting down the minutes out loud since Psycho had locked them in. One bead of sweat ran down his left cheek and lodged in some salt and pepper whiskers. At least he wasn't staring at Rat's boobs again.

"Give it a rest, T. L.," said Scratch. He stood on a chair and fiddled with the ceiling tiles, none of which were yielding to his attacks. "A lot can happen in twenty hours. I'd suggest we just focus on getting the fuck out of here."

Terrill Lee looked up at him. "Hey, I agree! Unless they reset the timer on account of a sudden attack of Eagle Scout goodness, we all have just about one day to live. Let me see if I can make this perfectly clear. If we don't find a way out of here, and fucking soon, we're going to become nothing more than a cloud of carbon vapor and plasma."

Scratch strained to move the tiles. Sheppard got up and stood below Scratch, eye level with his substantial package. Miller noted that. Scratch did too, and he jerked back with a defensive glare. In fact, he almost fell off the damned chair.

"Scratch," Sheppard said, "you aren't going to get anywhere with those ceiling tiles. This isn't the evil lair of some James Bond villain. There are no convenient man-sized air ducts or giant secret passages out of here. I wish there were."

"There's got to be a way out," Scratch mumbled.

"There is," said Hanratty. "Right through the front entrance." She went over to the locked double doors. "Psycho? I know you can hear me. We go back a lot of years. We were part of a team. You got to at least let me out of here so I have a damned chance to survive. You can't just leave me here to fry with the rest of them."

Miller thought,
thanks bitch. That's teamwork for you.

Nothing.

"Come on, Psycho. You know this isn't right."

Zip, nada.

"Goddamn it, Psycho," Rat called, rattling the doors. "Talk to me!"

"You sure he's even still out there?" asked Miller.

"Ain't gonna happen, Rat," said Psycho. His voice was so close it made them all jump. Scratch hopped down from his chair. Psycho cleared his throat. He seemed to be standing right outside, just beyond the locked double doors.

"Psycho. Please?"

"Told you, Rat. Tried to warn you. Women got no place in combat." There was a tiny trace of empathy in his voice, but far more cold efficiency.

Rat lowered her voice, just enough to penetrate the door. "How many times have I saved your sorry ass in a firefight? Remember when you caught that shrapnel in your leg, and Lovell and I risked our lives to pull you out of there? And what about that time I went to bat for you with the Review Board? I got you out of some serious hot water. Think about it, Psycho. What has Ripper ever done for you?"

There was a long silence. This time, Rat let him think. Finally, they heard Psycho say, "He offered me a shitload of money."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, and that's more than enough."

Miller shook her head. Rat wasn't getting anywhere. She stepped forward.

"Psycho, it's Sheriff Miller." Rat shot her a look. She continued anyway. "Do you know what's going on here? You saw the bodies. If you go through with this, hundreds of thousands of innocent people are going to die. And the chances are, you're going to be one of them."

"Huh?"

Miller said, "You may not give a shit about us, but do you want to end up undead and wandering around forever, a terrible, impossible hunger driving you to eat the living, until someone takes mercy on you and blows your fucking head off? Do you want to end up a radioactive hunk of zombie pus?"

She figured to let Psycho think on that, so Miller paused to see if he would respond. Nothing. "What about someone else you care about?" Miller said. "Hell, what if your mother ended up that way?"

Rat suddenly gestured at Miller, waiving her off as if she were a fighter plane about to crash into an aircraft carrier. Miller didn't notice the signal.

Behind them, Lovell blanched. "Oh, shit."

"You want to know about my mother?" shouted Psycho. "That big fat ugly-assed crack whore? She used to beat the shit out of me every day, and in the nighttime I'd be lucky if she wouldn't sell my ass to some perverted fuck who wanted his little-boys young and tight. I can't think of a better end for that bitch than ending up a mindless, hungry zombie freak. Shit, I should have popped her skull like a zit years ago. Being undead couldn't happen to a nicer bitch. So don't you even talk to me about my mother."

Rat just stared at Miller. She whispered, "Thanks for that."

Miller shrugged.

"Well, so much for the front door." Lovell sighed. He held his head in his hand. "Psycho's all pissed off again. What a shock. But you know, I do think that's about the longest speech I've heard him give in years."

"Got any more brilliant ideas, Sheriff?" Rat was fuming, but she had the good grace to do it quietly. She sat heavily in one of the conference room chairs. Scratch watched her shapely ass land like a cat following a jaybird pecking for seed. Miller felt her face redden with jealousy. Them damned zombie hormones again. Her stomach rumbled. She was hungry.

Miller considered apologizing to Rat, but there didn't seem to be any point in that. They'd never see eye to eye. Miller felt the world tilting to one side. She was dangerously hungry, bitchy as hell, but not stupid enough to mouth off. Her crew was in trouble. Time was running out. She needed to make another attempt to make this right.

"Hey," said Scratch, quietly. "I got me an idea."

Everyone turned to him. He'd been busy in the corner of the room, fiddling with the widescreen TV. Scratch reached down behind a file cabinet, almost vanished. A moment later, he produced a power cable about eight feet long. He eyeballed the wall near the door, and smiled. "Quick. Anybody have a knife?"

There was a quiet
snick.
A five-inch long blade appeared in Lovell's hand. Terrill Lee eyed it nervously.

Lovell asked, "What do you have in mind?"

Scratch lowered his voice and told them.

Lovell handed over the knife. "You understand that's a hell of a long shot, right?" the Marine whispered with one bloodshot eye on those locked double doors.

"You got a better idea?" Scratch expertly cut one end off the cord, leaving the plug intact. He stripped the wires back with the expertise of a surgeon. They all watched him closely.

"Not bad," said Miller. "Bet you hotwired a ton of cars in your wayward youth."

Scratch deadpanned. "My father was an electrician."

Miller raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, I had parents too, you know."

"I'm sure they'd be very proud right now," said Miller. She grinned.

"Don't get too sappy, Sheriff. That guy Psycho had it good compared to me. My mother was butt ugly. Why, she was so mean…"

Sheppard shook his head wearily. "Please knock it off, you two."

Scratch rejoined them. "Now we wait," he said. He patted Terrill Lee on the left shoulder.

"Fuck that," said Rat. She stood up and stomped over to the door. "Hey, Psycho!"

The voice on the other side of the door was cold, clipped. "Give it a rest, Rat."

"We took a vote, and we'd rather be shot than vaporized. So you listen to me. I've been your superior officer for years. You've always wanted an opportunity to take a shot at me. Here's your big chance."

"Fuck off."

"Psycho! Show a little compassion and come in here. I promise we'll be good."

"Not that dumb… Got my orders…" His speech had become clipped again. The big man was stirred up and confused.

Miller caught on. She walked over, stood next to Rat. She slapped the door. "Psycho, you pussy, look here, if it's got tires or tits sooner or later you're going to have trouble with it, right? Here's your chance to get even."

"Come on, little boy," Rat cooed. "Just pretend we're your Mommy. We both know you hate women. You won't ever get a better chance than this to settle the score."

Silence on the other side of the double doors. Miller could picture the big man considering his options. He had weapons, they didn't. He had a raging hard on, and they were both gorgeous. All he had to do was shoot the three men and then play around to his warped heart's delight. They would all still end up just as dead. The concept finally penetrated.

"Stand back," Psycho said. "You try anything, I'll kill you slow instead of quick."

"No tricks," called Rat. Miller backed away. Scratch crouched against the wall, a few feet from the door. He looked at Rat and Miller. He flashed them a tight grin.

The door clicked, and the handle turned. It opened just a crack. Rat stood where Psycho could see her, her chest out and her hands in plain sight. Miller crept closer but also stayed in plain view. The two women tried looking defeated and scared. Psycho checked both sides of the doorway for a trap. Saw nothing. Miller gave him an encouraging smile. Psycho gripped and turned the knob.

Scratch touched the live ends of the power cord to the handle.

There was a loud pop and a bright spark. The lights immediately went out. Miller smelled burnt meat. Psycho bellowed in pain and stumbled forward into the room.

Miller ignored the sudden darkness. She reached up for Psycho's hand and yanked. Psycho lost his balance and came further into the room. His rifle flared as it fired once, twice. Miller brought her fist down on the back of his neck. She felt Rat jump on Psycho as well. The two women pummeled his head and Miller yanked the weapon away. Someone else landed on Psycho, perhaps Lovell. Psycho began to fold at the knees then went flat. They all clubbed him into submission. Everything went silent.

"Anybody hit?" asked Miller anxiously.

"No," came from all around.

"I thought he was supposed to get scorched," Rat called. "You didn't tell us that the lights would go off, Mr. Electrician."

Scratch said nothing. They waited in darkness.

"Is he out?" asked Miller.

"Yeah, he's out," said Rat.

Lovell pulled out his flashlight. He shined it on Psycho. The big man's eyes were closed, and a bit of blood dribbled from his flattened nose. His right hand was red and blistered and had clamped into a claw. He was still breathing.

With Lovell holding the light, Rat collected Psycho's rifle, pistol, and reloads. She flipped him over and pulled out his spare pair of handcuffs. She snapped them around his wrists. "Let's go."

"What about him?" asked Sheppard.

"Motherfucker was going to leave us all here die or become zombie bait," said Lovell, bitterly. "Only reason he came in was because you two offered to let him fuck you to death. So I say fuck
him
."

"We can't just leave him here," said Sheppard. "That makes us no better than those assholes. We have to take him with us."

"You got to be kidding me," said Lovell. "Seriously, Captain America?"

"Actually, I'm with Sheppard," said Terrill Lee. "Just maybe for a different reason. If it gets rough out there with the zombies we may need an extra gun."

"Not me," Scratch said. "I say waste his sorry ass."

Miller and Rat said nothing. Lovell shined his light on Rat. She looked washed out and homely in the bright, pale glare, which made Miller feel all warm and happy inside, then silly and cheap.

"What's it going to be, Rat?" Lovell sounded confused and pissed off.

Before she could say anything, Miller said, "Nobody dies. We all go home."

For a long time, Rat said nothing back.

"Lovell," Rat said, finally. "I hear you but they're right. We'll need every man we can get to make it out of here. Help me get him up."

Sheppard stepped forward. "I got it." He expertly checked Psycho over, and after determining that he was still alive, pulled something out of his pocket. He opened it up, and a sharp, ammonia smell filled the room. Sheppard held it under Psycho's nose. The huge man immediately snorted blood and stirred.

"Jeez!"

"Get up," said Rat. She held the rifle pointed at him.

"What da fuck?" Psycho sounded like a man with a stifling head cold.

Rat nodded in the dim light. Sheppard and Lovell grabbed him under the armpits and hauled him to his feet.