The Hungry 4: Rise of the Triad (The Sheriff Penny Miller Series) (6 page)

MALIBU SERENITY CENTER

“I think you’re overreacting.”

“I’m what?” demanded Miller. “How can you say that?”

They stood arguing near the balcony doors of their spacious suite. They were both still in their swimsuits. The lights of Santa Monica and the coast sparkled brightly in the distance, twinkling like ornaments on a tree. They seemed from another time and place. Their cheerful indifference made Miller angry. She felt weird—headachy, nervous, tense, a little dizzy, as if she were going through withdrawals of some kind. That afterglow of sex she had been feeling since they’d first arrived had long departed, leaving her cranky and pissed off.

And incredibly hungry.

“Look, I know that Rubenstein is a psycho,” Scratch said, “but there are no strings attached here. Maybe this is the deal we’ve been looking for since Las Vegas—most certainly since we beat feet out of Hope Springs. This ain’t a burning lodge in Colorado. Why can’t you just relax and enjoy life?”

“You’ve got to be kidding! What happened to
Live Free, Ride Free,
or whatever that biker code crap was that you used to be so into?”

Scratched frowned. “Hell, I never said anything like that.” His features softened into a wry smile. “You must be thinking of your other bad-assed biker boyfriend, Penny.”

“This isn’t one bit funny!” Miller shrieked. “The longer we stay, the more we get our butt cheeks sucked into Rubenstein’s odd little world. The deader we become inside. This is all wrong, I can feel it. Why can’t you?”

“Okay,
Sheriff,
” Scratch said, stepping back. Miller blanched. Scratch only called her Sheriff when he’d really lost his temper. He chewed his lower lip. “Enlighten me. What’s the plan then? We got no money, no weapons, no ride, no
clothes
of our own, and we’re completely out of friends to call. Oh, and we got no place to sleep, and no food of our own, neither.”

“Scratch…”

“Let me finish. We’re out of gas, honey. We’ve got absolutely nowhere to go and it could take us forever to get there. There it is, right? So enlighten me, girl. What exactly are you proposing as a constructive alternative to hanging around here for a few days?”

The question brought Miller up short. She didn’t really have a plan, did she? She was reacting to her instincts again. Sure, they were usually right, but sometimes…
Damn.

“All I know is that we can’t stay here.”

Scratch set his jaw. “Yes, we can. At least for a while.”

“So you just want to cave in, give up the last of our rights and maybe our freedom, just for a soft bed and free food?”

“This isn’t about freedom anymore, Penny. Not this time or any other time, and you damn well know it. This is about
survival.
The way I see it, we’d have to be damned fools to give up an opportunity for food and shelter at a time like this, with the world rapidly going to hell all around us. And let me point something else out, something I think you’re overlooking for some reason.
There ain’t no zombies up here yet!
”

Miller felt her throat constrict. Her eyes burned. “They’re close, Scratch. They’re just down the beach a ways, or in the alleys of the city. Don’t you remember what happened this morning?”

“I do remember.”

“Well?”

“We saw some zombies, but what I also remember is that you flipped out and blew our cover. We wouldn’t even be in this gilded cage if you hadn’t tried to be a hero. Again.” As if sensing he’d gone too far, Scratch stepped forward and put his hands on Miller’s shoulders. “You need to hear this, Penny. I think you kind of wanted us to get caught.”

“What are you saying?”

Scratch turned to the bar. He poured them each a glass of red wine. Scratch downed his drink in one gulp. Miller held hers, not wanting to lose control.

“I’m waiting, Scratch.”

“Look, it’s just that I think Rubenstein has a point, even though he’s bat shit crazy his own self. I think the stress of all this has been getting to you.” Scratch softened. “Hell, you’ve been assaulted and blood splattered, drugged up with all sorts of weird shit, lost a boatload of good friends, and had to shoot your own ex-husband in the face. Can’t you at least admit you might be a little… off balance, after all that? Anyone would be.”

Miller looked up. She stared deep into his eyes. He was serious and sad for her. The combination of her topsy-turvy emotions and the loving look on Scratch’s face brought her as close as she had come to crying in a long, long time. Miller felt herself weakening, but then the old sense of duty kicked in one last time.

Miller looked down at her feet. She whispered. “If we give up, we die.”

“This ain’t giving up, sweetheart. This is nothing but a strategic retreat.”

“I’m having a hard time seeing things your way.”

Scratch said, “Then you ain’t trying hard enough.” His eyes were kind but serious.

“All right, cowboy.” Miller rested her hands on the crook of Scratch’s elbows. “You really want to stay here a while?”

“Right now, I do believe it’s our best option.”

She picked up her glass of wine and threw back a big swallow. “Then we will.”

Scratch leaned forward and kissed her. Miller was surprised by his tenderness. This wasn’t at all like Scratch’s usual passionate, forceful approach, a man on fire and full of need. He was trying to take care of her for a change. She let go. She could finally feel warm tears rolling down her cheeks, moistening Scratch’s perpetual stubble. Miller sagged into his large frame. Some of the erotic fog returned. The world drifted away.

When she felt Scratch’s hands untying her top Miller sobered up. She reacted immediately and pushed him away. “Hold on there. Calm your country ass down! Once is enough for today.”

“Come on, Penny. It’ll make us both feel better.”

“I said no.” She backed away from him before he could undo the last knot. “I’m sure it would feel nice, it always does, but having make-up sex just doesn’t appeal to me right now. I’m trying to adjust to a new reality.” She turned and headed toward the bathroom. “Besides, looks like we’ll have plenty of time for that, thanks to you.”

Scratch cocked his head. “So we’re really staying?”

Miller took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Yes, we’re staying.”

“Okay then,” he said. “I guess I can wait a bit for seconds.”

Miller was unimpressed by his patience. She needed to think things through. Her head was a mess, and the wine wasn’t helping. “I’m going to go take a shower and get the salt off my skin.”

“I’ll join you.”

Miller frowned. “I thought we just settled that, Scratch.”

“I’m just going to wash your back. No funny business.”

Against her will, Miller smiled. “Yeah, well it
is
kinda funny when you do it!”

“Gee, thanks!” But Scratch was laughing too.

The shower was gentle, ultimately uneventful, and relaxing. Miller found the warm, dopey feeling had returned. Afterward, they ordered dinner, and had another glass of wine. They spent a few hours on the balcony talking about nothing and listening to the calming pulse of the ocean waves. It was the first relaxing night they had ever spent together, at least as a couple, and Miller was determined to enjoy herself. She did, but also couldn’t shake the uneasy truth that just beyond those sparkling lights in the distance, something hideous was lurking, and it meant to bring them an early death.

They went to bed early. Scratch fell asleep almost at once. Miller lay still but remained wide awake. Time passed slowly. She listened to the electric alarm clock flip through the minutes with a soft click—she didn’t even know they still made those kinds of clocks, and she let her mind focus on the incongruity of it. Moonlight streamed in through white curtains that rustled gently in the breeze. The air outside was crisp and carried the scent of the sea. Miller stared at the dark ceiling. Something deep inside her just didn’t want to surrender control. She wanted to keep her edge, to stay alert, despite the apparent safety of their current surroundings. Miller just couldn’t rest. She tried to count sheep, imagined floating on a raft, and eventually felt tired enough to sleep. When she finally dozed off, a terrifying dream took hold. Miller was standing on the hot sand in the little red bikini, gripping a bloody fire axe. Scratch had turned. He was a zombie now. He was closing in fast, foul mouth open wide, hungry to bite her. Miller raised the axe to decapitate him.

Miller sat up and snapped awake with an icy blast of adrenaline coursing through her veins. She looked down at her man.

Scratch was snoring.

Miller quietly got up from the bed. She needed to calm down. She searched the bureau for some fresh clothes. Their latest had immediately gone to the laundry via an ever-discreet room service. She looked around. The drawers were stocked with unisex scrubs, all eggshell white. The garb reminded Miller of prison uniforms, or the traditional tunic outfits of a religious cult. The drab outfit also brought back an uncomfortable memory of her brief time in the medical ward at Crystal Palace. Still, this was the only game in town. And at least it wasn’t a gory, torn up, used wedding dress.
Thank God for his tender mercies.
She slipped into one of the garments and walked over to the window.

The moon cast long fingers of shadows over the sea. The waves crashed on and on, undisturbed by the folly of man. The moon was bright and the stars clear and scattered due to a low, steady wind from the west. The beautiful site calmed her nerves.

I’ll just take a walk down there,
Miller thought.
Maybe I’ll try and look for a snack shop. I can go to sleep later…

It had been many years since she had walked along the beach at night. And that had been way back while on her honeymoon with Terrill Lee. Miller smiled a bit, remembering those dopey days. They had been so innocent. She and Terrill Lee had held hands and strolled down Santa Monica beach. They had been so much in love back then, so young and utterly stupid. She remembered loaning Terrill Lee her coat when he got cold—a gesture that had seemed funny at the time, but was also an odd portent of things to come. He had been such a needy and frightened person in so many ways, but Terrill Lee had also tried hard in his own way. He’d wanted to be a good man, Miller thought, despite all his weaknesses. He’d really meant well. He’d truly loved her. And she would always miss him.

He was also a jerk, sometimes
.

She shook off the pensive mood. Moments later, Miller slipped out of room 329 and headed down the hall toward the elevators. Terrill Lee was still on her mind. Sure, he could be a complete baby, but he was also gentle and kind. He’d loved animals, and when it came to book learning, he was one of the smartest people she had ever met. That had been one of the first things that had drawn Miller to him. He’d wanted to know a little about everything. Of course, his countless hobbies and distractions had become major issues later on. The end had come when they’d learned that Miller couldn’t become pregnant. Terrill Lee, who’d always wanted a family, couldn’t handle that. That one sad fact of biology dug at him, somehow made him feel less of a man, and eventually undermined their entire marriage.

Miller realized she’d stopped moving. Puzzled, she stretched and yawned. She walked down the hallway barefoot, the carpet cool and plush beneath her feet. She heard no voices, no music. No one else was still up, apparently. The doors were all closed tight. Miller looked down the corridors in all directions. She saw no guards. She lazily noticed that the security cameras were on, their little red activity lights staring blankly at her, but that didn’t strike her as odd. She felt sleepy and yet wide awake, almost euphoric. She reached the elevator and hit the button. No movement, no sound. After a few moments she realized that the elevators had probably been shut down for the night. Perhaps those were house rules. Miller looked around and spotted door leading to a stairwell. She found it unlocked. The stairs were lit by emergency lights. She could see well enough to make her way down. The cement felt refreshingly cold under her bare toes. She started down the steps, trying to think only of the sea.

Until Terrill Lee crept back into her thoughts, spider quick and bittersweet.

He’d had an affair and later divorced her because she couldn’t give him a child, and then died without every having become a father anyway. Her feelings on that point were mixed, and tended to come down somewhere between sympathy and
serves you right, you selfish bastard.
Some part of Miller noticed the odd mix of emotions but didn’t offer comment. Her observing self seemed to be in a trance.

Miller found herself at the bottom of the steps. She was facing another door. She opened it and discovered she’d found the lobby. The immense room was empty but for a lone figure near the desk. Soft music came from the ubiquitous hidden speakers. Miller yawned and stretched again. Walking closer, she nodded to a tall blonde security guard with a pleasant expression and sleepy eyes. He was dressed in the omnipresent scrubs, the same uniform everyone wore, though Miller could see a holster below his tunic. He was armed with what appeared to be a 9mm. That fact didn’t strike her as odd either. Rubenstein knew full well the zombies were on their doorstep. She expected to be at least questioned if not stopped, but nothing happened. The guard barely acknowledged her presence. He just looked up with a nod and went back to the mind-numbing duty of standing there waiting for something unpleasant to happen.

Miller walked between the couches and chairs and soon discovered that she was no longer alone. There were other insomniacs, semi-dazed residents out wandering the halls. She thought she recognized one or two—a television star and a thin, aging rock singer with myriad tattoos and long, black hair. Apparently celebrities were still coming to this celebrity rehab, but then they had no idea what was really going on one city away. No one bothered her. They did even not meet her eyes, just kept their own counsel. Miller spotted a woman who looked a lot like one of her favorite country singers. She almost said hello, but the lady turned and fled when Miller approached.
Jesus, I wasn’t going to ask for your autograph…
Miller shrugged off the incident. She continued to explore. One hall led to the next, one staircase to another floor of rooms. Time crawled by.