The Hungry Page 13

  "That's a nasty wound, Sheriff," Sheppard said. The statement didn't seem to warrant a reply. Sheppard did a few things to clean it out, one of which stung a bit. He re-bandaged the wound with clean gauze. He took out a needle, and before she could flinch, plunged it into her arm. It didn't hurt—he was good at his job. As he packed his things, Miller covered herself again. The soldier in the doorway was pretending not to look, but his posture said he already had a tent pole in his jockeys. They must get awful damned horny way out here...

  Sheppard sat back on his side of the cot. "Now, please tell me about the zombies, Sheriff. Anything and everything you can remember."

  Miller snorted. "Should I tell you about my mother, too?"

  Sheppard looked at his watch. For some reason he slowly counted down from ten to one, under his breath. Miller felt all her resistance fading away. Suddenly she felt woozy and a bit drunk. The room seemed to slide sideways as she fell onto the cot. The twin fluorescent lights above her turned like the blades of a fan, or maybe a bright white chopper. She closed her eyes.

  "Shall we try this again, Sheriff? What do you know about the zombies?"

  As sleepy as she was, Miller talked. And then she talked some more.

  ELEVEN

  "I'm still waiting for the results of the blood tests," Sheppard reported excitedly, "but I have every reason to believe that the sheriff was infected but is still showing no signs of ill effects."

  "Outstanding," said Colonel Sanchez. He rose up from behind the plain wooden desk like a man posing for a photograph. He began to pace. A small television droned in the background, replaying videos of zombie attacks on civilians and news reporters. Sheppard licked his lips and flinched. His stomach rumbled ominously. He'd had watery diarrhea for days. Probably just stress. Sheppard didn't complain. He'd learned it was best not to interrupt the boss when he was thinking.

  Sanchez stopped walking. He stared out through the thick, bulletproof window that overlooked the busy aircraft hangar.

  "What is the subject's status?" That was the reedy tenor of Lt. Albert, who remained at attention by the desk. Sheppard couldn't tell if he was relieved that there might be a pot of gold under this particular rainbow, or shaking off the nasty reprimand he'd received after losing biker Romeo-Two and letting the infection spread. Sanchez kept his back to them. Sheppard despised Albert. He knew that if the prick had done his job properly, there would have been no zombie outbreak. Their project would still be a secret. A whole lot of people would still be alive, including Sheppard's old partner Taylor. Poor Taylor had deserved a stint in rehab, not suicide by cop after murdering his own girlfriend. Sheppard studied Albert, barely hiding his disdain. Arrogant bastard. He probably thought he had gotten away with it. And based on Sanchez's demeanor, he may very well have. But one of these days…

  It took Sheppard a moment to snap out of his revenge fantasy. He realized Albert had asked him a question. "Sorry, sir. I shot her up with about 20 cc's of thorazine to make her sleep. Her metabolism is already accelerating, so there's no telling how long she'll stay out, maybe only an hour or two. It's amazing. That nasty wound in her shoulder is already halfway healed. Sheriff Miller is a medical marvel. I've never seen anything quite like it."

  "Security?"

  "She's locked up properly, and I have two good men guarding her. She shouldn't be a problem."

  "Let's hope for your sake that she isn't," said Lt. Albert smugly. The hint of an accusation crouched between his words. His lips were pursed.

  Sheppard sighed inside. He knew Albert was already spinning things, shifting responsibility for the outbreak to cover his own ass. He'd surely find some way to blame both Sheppard and Taylor and cover himself with glory. But Col. Sanchez would have to be stupid to believe such a line of shit. And Sanchez was many things, but a moron wasn't one of them.

  "Take it easy, Lieutenant," said Sanchez absently. He was still staring down at the hustle and bustle of the helicopter hangar. "Let's not fall out amongst ourselves over events that cannot be altered. Despite the setbacks of the last few days, the discovery of the Sheriff's tolerance for the new serum is a major breakthrough, perhaps one that couldn't have happened any other way. The loss of life and property is regrettable, of course, but let's stay on point. We should count our blessings. "

  The two men said, "Yes, sir."

  Sanchez turned abruptly. Still posing, he returned to his desk, and sat down gracefully. "Give me an update on the other civilians."

  "Not much to report yet, Colonel," Sheppard said. "I started with the Sheriff, and came to you as soon as I had finished that one interview. The others are still locked up in the decontamination chambers."

  "Very good, Sergeant," said Sanchez, before Albert could even open his mouth. "Get back to work at once. Complete your interviews and report back here immediately afterwards. You are dismissed."

  "Yes, sir."

  Sheppard turned to leave. His back tightened. For some reason the hair on his neck fluttered. As he reached the door, he heard Sanchez say, "Lieutenant, you can go too." Sheppard didn't turn back, but stopped in his tracks, left his hand on the knob. Something told him to wait.

  Albert hesitated a second too long. "Yes, sir."

  "Here are your orders," Sanchez said. "Keep your mouth shut and observe. Who knows, perhaps you'll learn something by watching a true professional like Sergeant Sheppard."

  Through gritted teeth, Lt. Albert repeated, "Yes, sir."

  Sheppard turned the doorknob. He suppressed a smile. Maybe batshit crazy Lt. Albert wasn't going to get away with his fuckup after all. And then it occurred to Sheppard that he was going to have to babysit the lieutenant all day. Somehow keep him out of the way while he conducted several vital interviews. Terrific. Sheppard rolled his eyes. He continued on out through the door.

  Albert followed Sheppard out of Sanchez's office with a scowl etched on his dim, brutal features. The door to the office shut behind them. Albert overtook Sheppard in two long steps. He reached out an arm, stepped in front, and blocked his path.

  "You must think you're hot shit."

  "I beg your pardon?" Sheppard produced an innocent expression.

  Albert stabbed a finger, brushing up against the chest of Sheppard's scrubs without actually poking him. "You probably think you've gotten away with committing the worst fuckup in scientific history. But make no mistake about it, Sheppard, this is not over. I'm on to you. You will be held accountable for this disaster."

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "It's you and your asshole buddy Taylor who are responsible for this entire mess, not me. Things were fine when I left the room. I ordered a complete autopsy at once, not a delay long enough to allow that thing to reanimate. If Taylor weren't dead, I'd have all the evidence I need to prove this was your fault. Colonel Sanchez may be too blind to see the truth, but I know the blood of all those people is on your hands. So watch your goddamned step."

  "Sir, maybe you should watch your own."

  Lt. Albert stepped back, outraged. "Mark my words, Sheppard, by this time tomorrow, you're going to be facing a firing squad and I'm going to have my oak leaves back."

  Sheppard's face went white hot. He balled his fists but kept the omnipresent security cameras in mind. "Lieutenant, let's be reasonable here…"

  "Well," interrupted Albert. "Don't just stand there, Sergeant. We've got work to do. Move your ass!"

  Sheppard moved. He ran double time down the hallway, Lt. Albert at his heels. It took eight minutes and thirty-three seconds to navigate through the maze of corridors and get back into the decontamination area. By then Sheppard was sweating despite the air conditioning, but he kept trotting. His colon was killing him, but he wasn't going to give the lieutenant the satisfaction of watching him ease up.

  The guards outside the decontamination chambers were already at attention when Sheppard and Albert entered the corridor. Sheppard approached the first door. He pulled the chart off its hook. He studied it for a moment t
o buy some time. He still had Lt. Albert breathing down his neck. The chart wasn't much more than a name and a couple of notes from the soldiers who had rescued the civilians and missing guardsmen. Sheppard read the notes twice anyway, to be sure he hadn't missed anything.

  After a moment, he turned to the guard. "All right, open it up."

  The soldier stepped forward, slung his rifle over his shoulder and opened the thick door. The room was cool and dark, the lights down low to keep the patient calm.

  "Ms. McPhee" Sheppard said kindly, with a broad, plastic smile plastered on his face. "Ma'am?"

  The poor woman sat huddled in the corner near the toilet, arms wrapped around her knees. She was rocking continuously, humming to herself. Sheppard recognized some old tune from a Disney movie. The woman was psychotic. She had been under enormous stress both before and after the zombie outbreak. Sheppard adjusted his coat. He decided to keep the Taser out of sight for this one. Kindness was definitely in order here.

  Behind him, Lt. Albert sighed, as if already bored.

  "Your first name is Darla?" Sheppard attempted to approach her. If she noticed his entrance, she showed no sign of it. He moved slowly, carefully. He got closer. As he moved in, Sheppard crouched to get down at the same eye level as the woman, put her at ease. He spoke again, softly. "How are you feeling?"

  Her wild eyes flicked over him. She said nothing. She gripped her bandaged right wrist in her left hand. She continued to rock and hum. Sheppard felt a flicker of concern ripple through him. Who had checked this woman in, Lt. Albert? Jesus, had she been bitten?

  "May I see your arm?" Sheppard asked. There was nothing in the notes about a wound. Could she also be immune? Damn, that would be amazing!

  No response from the patient.

  Sheppard decided to edge back a bit, rather than move closer, lower her adrenaline, make her feel less threatened. After all, may as well play it safe. But before he could say or do anything else, Lt. Albert's voice boomed comically. "Hey, basket case? We're talking to you."

  Darla's eyes shot past Sheppard, who had frozen three feet away in a crouch. He instinctively held his position. The woman's gaze locked onto Lt. Albert like a heat-seeking missile. Sheppard felt his bowels rumble again. He worried about soiling his pants. He wanted to beat the shit out of Albert for being so heavy-handed, but there was nothing he could do about that right now. He edged away slowly, carefully. Time to beat feet before things got worse. Hopefully they hadn't traumatized this poor woman beyond repair. The woman glared at Lt. Albert and bared her teeth. The stupid bastard actually chuckled.

  Sheppard duck-walked backwards, moving across the cool tile, and carefully rose to his feet. His sneakers smacked the floor with a dry kiss. He shot Albert a hostile look. Albert seemed to think this whole thing was amusing.

  Sheppard examined the woman from a distance. Her skin was sickly pale, almost green in the fluorescent lights, and she was now sweating profusely even in the cold of the air-conditioning. She was definitely infected. Her immunity may have been temporary, even an illusion. Darla picked at her bandage and stared directly at Albert. Sheppard gasped when he saw the mark. The skin around her wounded arm was inflamed. He could already smell the telltale scent of gangrene. On top of everything else, the poor woman was in very serious pain.

  "Get up!" shouted Albert. He stepped forward. Sheppard stepped back.

  In a low voice, Sheppard said, "Don't do that!"

  Ignoring him, Albert reached down for the woman. He grabbed her by her good wrist and hauled her to her feet. Darla squealed in resistance, but she was sick and weak and appeared no match for the much larger man. Like all bullies, Lt. Albert upped things a notch. He yanked her to the side and then shoved her into a sitting position on the cot. "All right, Sheppard. Now we have her attention. You can get on with it."

  "Sir, we should leave."

  "Sheppard, that's an order. Get on with it."

  Sheppard looked at the lieutenant. His jaw dropped in disbelief. Could anyone be this ignorant? The cameras were running. He'd been clearly instructed to observe the interrogation. His career was as good as over. Still, orders were orders. Sheppard decided that there wasn't anything he could do now but try to complete the examination as ordered. Darla stared at the floor again. She hummed and rocked.

  Sheppard approached her carefully. Perhaps he could sedate her and do something about the pain. He tilted her head up with his fingertips, and pulled a small penlight out of his top pocket. He shined it in her eyes. Something went wrong. Instead of dilating in response to the light, Darla's corneas clouded over. Oh, shit… It had all happened in an instant. She was dead and gone—and back again. Sheppard was so startled that he jumped back several steps. That reaction is what saved his life.

  Darla gave a low moan. She hopped forward like a giant insect. She growled as her grimy hands seized on Albert's right wrist. She jerked the big man forward, off balance. As the sentry fumbled for his rifle, Darla took a healthy bite from Albert's first two fingers. Sheppard could hear the tiny bones crack between horribly powerful jaws, a sickening crunching sound that made him think of someone eating buttered lobster. Bile rose in his throat, and Sheppard squirted the rest of his breakfast into his pants.

  Lt. Albert howled. He tried to pull his arm away. Blood splattered the shiny wall. Darla was just too strong. Her head darted forward, and she snatched off his thumb in one bite, seemed to swallow it whole. The sentry raised his weapon but found a stunned and embarrassed Sheppard in the way. He didn't have a clean shot. He stepped to one side as Sheppard tried to get out of the cubicle.

  "Get this bitch off me!" screeched Albert.

  Sheppard remembered his Taser. He drew it, aimed and fired. Seeing that, the sentry relaxed for a split second. Unfortunately, both darts missed Darla and caught Albert in the side of his chest. He began to convulse. Meanwhile, Darla bit off his other fingers and a good deal of his hand. Sheppard felt himself shoved to the floor. He curled up in a ball, knowing what would come next.

  The second guard entered the cramped room. The two soldiers unloaded their weapons into both Darla and Albert, who danced in the air, held aloft by bullets, bodies spraying gore. The sound of the shots was impossibly loud in such a confined space. Sheppard covered his ears with his hands. He screamed for it to stop.

  The weapons clicked empty. Sheppard sighed and sat up.

  Holy shit.

  Somehow, not a single round had struck Darla in the head. She released the lifeless body of Lt. Albert and stumbled forward, moving almost too fast for Sheppard to see. She bit one of the soldiers on the face. He screamed and thrashed. She tore out his throat. The other soldier tried to pull Darla off his partner, but she lashed out at him with one arm. The blow sent him flying toward the cot, where he landed on Albert's still-twitching body.

  The first soldier bled out as Darla continued to bite chunks of his flesh. Sheppard watched in horror. He crawled for the door as the second soldier, who was having trouble walking through the growing pool of blood, reached for his sidearm. He brought the 9mm up and went for a headshot. Uh oh.

  Sheppard stared. One step behind the concentrating guard, Lt. Albert rose up. His face was savage. He wrapped the fingers of his remaining hand around the soldier's neck and bit off his ear. The rounds intended for Darla hit the ceiling. A fire alarm went off, perhaps from the gun smoke, and sharp streams of water poured down. The whole thing had gone from bad to awful to worst-case scenario in ten ticks of the second hand. And it was all on camera.

  Sheppard came to his senses. Get your sorry ass out of here or you're going to be lunch meat just like these other poor fucks. The guards are coming and if they have to they will just lock you in…

  Sheppard went for the door. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the first soldier stand up, already zombie for sure. Three to one and the change is speeding up, happening so fast now. Sheppard was in deep shit, and not only the kind in his pants. He managed to keep his feet even while sliding across the bloody
floor. Pulling himself by the doorknob, he managed to get outside of the room. He yanked the door shut behind him. Yes!

  No! Darla's arm darted out through the closing doorway. She grabbed him by his lab coat. Damn, the dead were strong. The zombie didn't quite have his arm yet, just the clothing, but she was pulling him back into the room all the same. Sheppard trembled. Something in his brain told him how to slip free. He turned quickly, raised his arms and let Darla pull the coat, kept spinning until the coat came away. Unfortunately, at the same time the door opened the rest of the way. Darla was on top of him in an instant. The other zombies jammed up the doorway clownishly, unable to decide which got out first.

  Sheppard held Darla off as he scrambled backwards to the corner of the corridor. He had one shot left. The intruder alarm was a few inches away from his reach. He kept one hand around Darla's bloody neck. He slapped at the button.

  No alarm sounded. Instead, the doors to the other decontamination chambers opened. What the fuck? Sheppard saw the two civilians and two National Guardsmen emerging from their rooms. He'd freed the prisoners. They'd been safe in lockdown until now. He'd just killed them, too.

  "Run for it," Sheppard screamed. Darla gnashed at him, but he managed to avoid her bite. She was grunting under her breath in a weirdly sexual way. Uh huh huh…

  And that's when Sheppard knew that he was dead. What a fucking lousy way to go. Darla came in for another bite. This was it. Just before Darla's teeth could connect with his flesh, her head exploded, spraying blood and brain matter high in the air. Sheppard managed to close his mouth and eyes just in time.

  Another hand tugged at him. Zombie or savior? Sheppard was too confused to ask. He felt himself being dragged down the hallway. Voices were shouting, feet slapping at the floor. He wiped the blood from his eyes just as the bulkhead door closed behind them. Sheppard looked around at the others. They'd all gotten away.

  "Where's the Sheriff?" demanded the biker. He held one of the guard's rifles, and looked pissed off enough to use it on Sheppard. The other civilian and the two guardsmen stood behind him. The civilian had scored a handgun. The guardsmen seemed frozen with terror. For the moment, the biker seemed to be in charge.