The Hungry Page 6

  "Damn it, Terrill Lee, you horny bastard, I'm going to poke your eyes out!"

  They both heard noises outside.

  "Keep your voice down." Suddenly pale and serious, Terrill Lee went back to the window. He eased the fabric apart, peeked out.

  "Crap," he whispered.

  Miller was stripping off the t-shirt. "What is it?"

  "We've got company."

  Miller dumped the t-shirt on the bed. She began slithering into the wedding dress. It was tight, especially going over her ass, but she could still get into it. And now Terrill Lee didn't give her shit for making noise or attracting zombies. Miller took note of that. He was changing gears, dropping the conflict. Kind of like a note from a marriage manual, don't score points just 'cause you can. She wondered if he'd ever gotten around to reading those books, now that they'd split up. She also wondered if he'd actually tried some of those counseling techniques on Marilyn, the dried-up bitch who'd worn those humiliating undies. Then Miller wondered why she was even thinking about shit like that at a time like this. I mean, who cares? They'd split up long ago, right? So why does it still piss me off?

  "Come on, come on," chanted Terrill Lee, under his breath. Miller could feel his pulse rising. His muscular body was bow-tight with tension. Eyes riveted on something outside the front window. Miller now noticed that he'd lost some weight. His arms looked like he'd been hitting the gym.

  She struggled with the zipper on her dress. Terrill Lee, sensing her frustration, zipped it up for her, pinching her skin. Terrill Lee slung the shotgun over his shoulder and scooped up her uniform boots. "Penny, we're out of time, we gotta go, now!"

  Miller hefted the Smith, grabbed her badge. She felt naked without her uniform, strangely powerless and vulnerable. She allowed herself to be pulled down the hallway into the garage. The dress rustled in an almost sinister way. It was pristine and white and as lovely as the last time she'd worn it years ago. Miller's legs moved well, her stride was normal. Her body felt up to speed now, muscles much stronger and mind more focused.

  End of the hall, the garage door. He turned the handle. Miller said, "What's happening? What's out front?"

  Terrill Lee opened the door. That action revealed a spanking fresh Dodge Durango. He tossed Miller's boots on the passenger-side floor. "Get in and get your feet covered."

  "Damn it, talk to me. What is it?" She slid inside, pulled on the boots.

  The answer came from right outside, in the form of a loud engine—unmistakably a motorcycle. No, it was a shitload of motorcycles. Miller heard evil-sounding laughter floating on the breeze. The situation registered fully. There was a gang of bikers just outside and swarming up and down the street. Then, punctuating the staccato rumble of the bikes, she heard the equally unmistakable sound of glass shattering. Miller turned her head. She looked back into the hallway and took in a glowing, flickering light. She hesitated, but the steadily increasing smell of smoke made up her mind. They had to go.

  "I think they just firebombed us," Miller whispered. "Okay, let's get." She closed the vehicle's door.

  Terrill Lee got in the driver's seat. He handed Miller the shotgun and bandolier. "Keep them off us as long as you can. I'm going to haul ass."

  The hallway was dark. Fresh flames were visible and black smoke billowed out into the garage.

  "Whatever we're going to do, I'd recommend we do fairly soon," said Miller. "Otherwise, stick a thermometer up my butt and baste me every twenty minutes."

  "Showtime," said Terrill Lee.

  And now it was as if he had been doing this kind of thing all his life. He'd gone from pussy to Terminator with no in-between stages. He turned over the engine and gunned it to life. "Ma'am, please put on your seatbelt and keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times."

  Miller locked her belt and rolled her eyes. "Just go, cowboy."

  Terrill Lee braced himself. He threw the Durango into reverse and floored it without opening the garage door. They roared backwards. The flimsy wooden door splintered under the oncoming weight of the SUV. They were outside. Daylight flooded into the truck's windows. Everywhere there was smoke, gunfire, screams and a blinding glare.

  The scene outside was even bleaker than Miller had remembered from a couple of hours before. Almost all the quaint houses were ablaze. Torn body parts lay strewn on lawns, sidewalks and out in the street. Trash, wrecked vehicles, and other human detritus fully clogged the sidewalks and road. Two homes away a little blonde girl with no arms was walking in circles, drooling blood. She wore a Girl Scout uniform.

  The gang of raging bikers was everywhere; black clad, tattooed skin and silver chains, roaring up and down before and between the burning houses. A few seemed occupied firebombing a house down the block. The rest were circling around aimlessly, gunning their engines, masturbating their rifles, looking for more and more trouble. They found it.

  Terrill Lee and Miller backed out, wood panels flying, roared down the drive. They backed clean over one of the bikers with a bump and a crunch. Humpty Dumpty, Miller thought, strangely. Miller heard one high-pitched shriek, the last sound the biker ever made—at least from his mouth, anyway. Nasty stuff splattered as they crushed him. He split like a grape in kinky leather. The big, all-terrain tires crushed the bike too as they drove out into the street.

  "Hot damn, Terrill Lee, watch where you're going!" Miller began to scold him, just like the old days, but decided to leave it there. After all, what else could he have done? They had to get away and fast.

  Clink! The first bullet struck the side of the Durango a moment later, as they were wheeling around to go forward. Clink, clink. As Terrill Lee peeled away, she heard more bullets strike metal. Too many to count. It sounded like a fist full of BBs rolling around in a hubcap, just snapping and popping nonstop. Those bastards are trying to kill us! What, they think zombies drive SUVs?

  "Take cover," shouted Terrill Lee. The tires screeched as he swerved around a stunned pair of bikers, a wrecked car, and another headless corpse.

  "Great advice," said Miller. "Maybe next time." She rolled down the window and fired back at some of the bikers. She hoped to at least make them keep their heads down, but her aim was far better than she expected. Some of the buckshot found a pair of the bikers and it took one of them all the way down. His friend grabbed at one thigh, cursing and screaming.

  Terrill Lee checked it out in the rear view mirror. "Nice shot." He gave a low whistle. "I'm sure glad you're on my side."

  Miller looked in the side view mirror. They passed the last of the surprised bikers. Back a ways, trouble was coming. Damned near every one of them had turned and was now following the Durango.

  "Lotta good that my aim will do us if you don't keep moving," Miller replied. "Get us out of here. There's no more law. Those rabid assholes will shoot you dead and cheerfully rape me with everything longer than half an inch on and off over the next two weeks."

  They sped past the school, the torched grocery and all the way out of the empty and burning town. Soon they were in open country. The desert felt safer, but there was nowhere to hide. They'd chosen speed over cover. Sagebrush and sand flowed by like sped-up film. Miller and Terrill Lee stared straight ahead, lost in their own thoughts. Neither one said a word, but they both knew they might well have made the wrong call. Behind them, the bikers gunned their cycles and began to creep closer to the Durango. It was only a matter of time.

  Miller craned her neck to see out the shattered back window. "Head for the main highway," she hollered. "Maybe they'll drop back if they can't cut us off."

  The minutes passed like hours. Some of the riders managed to catch up and come along their right side. One dude with a long beard waved a pistol, as if ordering them to pull over. Miller raised her shotgun and the men wisely dropped back a bit. Miller said, "Whatever you do, don't stop!"

  "Right," said Terrill Lee. He swerved suddenly to bump a short, bald biker who was coming up on the left. The man went flying and his bike slid sideways into the
low dunes. "I figured that part out."

  The bikers—uniformly dirty, tattooed, and heavily armed—followed close behind or rode alongside and a bit behind. A few of the riders were now taking pot shots at the truck's tires. Miller watched as one of the biker women—she couldn't help thinking of them as 'bitches'—aimed and fired at the truck. She succeeded only in hitting a biker two cycles forward. Screaming, he grabbed at his back, dumped his bike and went tumbling along the asphalt like a bag of bloody rags. Three or four of the others swerved to miss the downed motorcycle, but one got tangled up in the wreckage anyway. They were taking each other out. Miller winced as yet another one of them—a big, overweight biker with a short beard—went right over the handlebars. The guy did a face plant on the highway. A long plume of blood colored the roadway as he rolled by them into the dust.

  A few of the bikers were down due to sheer luck and incompetence, but there were still way too many left for Miller's comfort. Speeding along, Terrill Lee jinked the truck between burned out cars that blocked the roadway, as much to avoid hitting them as to avoid the aim of the bikers. They had to keep moving and hope the enemy would just give up. What is their problem? Why chase the living in a world overrun by the dead?

  Unless they were after fresh pussy. And she was in a wedding dress. Uh oh.

  One of the bikers yanked the accelerator on his motorcycle. He surged forward. He came up alongside the truck, carefully staying clear of the arc of the shotgun. He fired several rounds into the Durango, one of them lodging in the dashboard not far from Miller's knee. Miller set the shotgun on the floor of the truck. She pulled out her Smith and Wesson. In one smooth movement, she drew a bead on the speedy biker and pulled the trigger. The bullet caught him square in the throat. He went over sideways, clutching at the gaping wound where his Adam's apple used to be. His bulging eyes said he couldn't believe he'd been gunned down by a pissed-off young bride still in her wedding dress. Take that, you fat skunk.

  "Hey," said Terrill Lee.

  Miller turned her attention to the front of the vehicle. She saw flickering and objects in the road. Seconds later she identified a roadblock of Nevada Highway Patrol cruisers, their lights flashing. They were up ahead, closing fast now, perhaps a half-mile away.

  Miller breathed a sigh of relief. "I do believe we still got a chance."

  "I'm on it," said Terrill Lee. He pushed the accelerator to the floor, and began inching away from the bikers behind them. Bullets still sometimes impacted on the back of the Durango, but Terrill Lee didn't slow down or flinch, not even for an instant.

  And that's when the left rear tire blew. The change in balance and thumping sound threw him off. The truck swerved and slowed. Miller could hear the rim touch asphalt. She could see sparks out of the side view mirror.

  "Come on, come on," Miller chanted, an unconscious imitation of Terrill Lee at the front window, just a few minutes before.

  "I think I can make it," he said. The Durango continued to slow.

  Bikers easily came up along the right side, and Miller blasted one right out of the saddle. The driver's side was unprotected, so one of the bolder bikers, an older man with no front teeth, came up close enough to grab the windowsill of Terrill Lee's door. Terrill Lee, seeing salvation in sight, swerved and slammed the brakes. The biker and his bitch went up and over the hood. Thump thump…

  They bumped along, still slowing down. The police roadblock was perhaps forty yards away now. Miller could see some of the Patrol Officers milling around behind their parked cruisers, but they took no action to protect the oncoming car against the pursuing bikers. Finally the truck came to a complete stop a few yards from their lines.

  Miller popped her door open. She let fly with two more shots, going for covering fire if nothing else. Terrill Lee leapt from his side. He began firing back at the bikers, who turned sideways, hid behind their machines and returned the favor.

  "Let's go," she screamed. Miller jumped up, gathered the wedding dress in one hand and the shotgun in the other. She ran as fast as she could toward the roadblock and safety. She could sense that Terrill Lee was only a few steps behind.

  The bikers, originally so emboldened by the absence of order, finally slowed up in the face of the roadblock. That was just the opportunity that Miller and Terrill Lee needed. They made it into the barricade, slipped between the two cruisers, and leaned over the hood of a patrol car. They held hands and fought to catch their breath. Hot damn, Miller thought, we did it.

  After a moment, Miller approached the nearest Patrolman. Her badge was prominently displayed on her white wedding dress, which was a good thing, but also made her feel like a complete idiot. "Officer, I'm Sherriff Penny Miller of Flat Rock County."

  The Patrolman looked at her blankly. Miller stared back. There was something wrong with his face. She flinched. She saw blood seeping from open wounds. The cop moaned wordlessly, twitched and reached out for her. His eyes were white and vacant and his mouth was hungry.

  Miller was too surprised by the uniformed zombie to react in time. The undead Patrolman latched onto her arm. He brought his teeth down to bite her. Miller slugged him in the jaw as she struggled to pull free. Two shots rang out from behind her, and two neat little holes appeared in his skull. The zombie dropped limply, thus releasing Miller.

  Three more zombies in uniform appeared from behind the next cruiser. Miller didn't need any more reminders. She leveled the shotgun and shot the closest one in the throat. His head tumbled down, followed by his body. Two more shots, and the other zombies' brains were vaporized. Head shots work. Head shots work.

  "Uh…" began Terrill Lee.

  Miller looked up. The entire remaining biker gang, perhaps forty of them, just sat on their motorcycles, as if they had been watching a stage show. Each of them now pointed their weapons directly at Miller and Terrill Lee.

  "Give me six good reasons I shouldn't have my crew blow your ass to tomato soup," demanded a bald, over-muscled, heavily tattooed biker. He had pierced eyebrows and a nose ring.

  "Hey, Rag," said one of the others. "I say we waste Dale Earnhart here and get us some of that newlywed pussy."

  "We might just go that way," said Rag. "You two drop them pieces, and maybe we'll let you live."

  "I'm an officer of the law," said Miller. "I won't relinquish my weapon."

  "Then you're ratfucked," replied Rag. He nodded at the others.

  The gang took aim again. Only the sound of another motorcycle approaching stayed their hands. They looked at one another. Who had been left behind?

  "Well, look who decided to join the party," said Rag.

  The newcomer pulled up alongside Rag. The man switched off his engine. He brushed his long, stringy hair from his face, and rubbed at a bandage on his head.

  "Hey, Scratch," said Rag.

  Miller couldn't believe her eyes. "Terrill Lee, I know that dude. I thought he was zombie food. He was my prisoner back in town. We fought off the first wave together. He should be dead."

  Scratch stretched and adjusted his balls. "What's the story, Ragnarok?"

  "Looks like we got us some fresh meat. This bride here was just explaining to us why we should fucking blow her away because she's actually the local law."

  Scratch looked at Terrill Lee blankly, but then his eyes grew wider as he recognized Miller in her wedding dress.

  Scratch began to laugh. It was not a comforting sound.

  FIVE

  "Nice dress, Sheriff," Scratch said. He chuckled. "Damn, you picked a hell of a day for a honeymoon."

  "Tell me about it." Miller scratched at her armpit, feigning nonchalance.

  "Is this the meat puppet y'all got hitched to?" he asked, ignoring Terrill Lee.

  "Him?" Miller rolled her eyes. She lowered her weapon slightly. The bikers followed suit. Miller looked Terrill Lee up and down. "Hell, I can assure you he ain't even the best man."

  The bikers laughed heartily.

  "Thanks a lot, Penny," said Terrill Lee softly. His face red
dened.

  Scratch continued to smile. "Now, maybe it's just me, but sure looks like you got yourself into a bit of a pickle."

  Miller raised the shotgun slowly, carefully so as not to set off any of the shooters. She sighted Scratch along the barrel. "Nothing I can't handle," she replied. "So you tell your men to drop their weapons."

  Ragnarok said, "Is that the lady sheriff that threw your ass in jail, Scratch?"

  Scratch's face darkened. "Yeah, that's her."

  "Where's Needles?"

  Without taking his eyes off of Miller, Scratch said, "Miller's piece of shit deputy blew Needles' head off, so I returned the favor. Didn't I, Sheriff?" Scratch patted Miller's gun belt, which was still around his waist. He had her 9mm.

  "Don't be too proud of yourself, Scratch," said Miller. She continued to train her shotgun on him. "You're just a scumbag. If it weren't for the zombies, you'd still be locked in that cell looking at twenty to life."

  Scratch set his jaw. "That's tough talk from a bitch pig with about fifty guns pointed at her head."

  "I don't know," said Miller, "I only count about forty. I reckon we took out at least ten of your smelly friends on the way up here. Dang, if that was any indication of how they ride and shoot I'd figure we're safer on our own."

  "You may have a point there."

  Someone moved and Miller flinched. Scratch turned. A nervous brunette woman a few feet to his left tried to back away from the scene.

  "Darla," Scratch snapped, "you stay put."

  The woman stopped moving.

  Miller felt her stomach clench with fear. She kept her face rigid and a smile frozen in place. Don't let them see you sweat…

  Scratch took his eyes off of Miller. He searched the faces of the gang, carefully counting heads. Finally, he turned to Ragnarok. "Jesus, Rag, where the hell is everyone else?"

  Ragnarok, who until now had appeared confident and moderately badassed, suddenly shrank a tad in stature. He had trouble looking up. In fact, he seemed childlike. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.