The Hungry (Book 2): The Wrath of God (11 page)

"What the hell are we going to do now?" Lovell, his voice faint in the vastness of the darkened hangar. The moaning of the approaching zombies grew louder and closer.
Unnhhh… hunhhh…
The emergency lights flickered on and off, on and off, creating a strobe effect, and giving the sight the macabre feel of a rave. Miller almost giggled, briefly imagining half-naked teenaged dancers and an onslaught of crappy, booming electronic music, just to complete the insanity of this one God-awful moment.

Miller came back to the reality of the situation. "Everybody shut up and hit the deck!" Everyone dropped to the ground. Karl Sheppard banged an elbow on the concrete floor. He groaned. Miller was alone, the only person standing up in the sputtering light, the others lost in shadow below her. "Sheppard, give me your flashlight."

"Sorry," Sheppard whispered, "I dropped it."

Miller sighed. "Rat, hand me that rifle."

"Sure, but it's empty."

"Shh! Stay down but stay alert. Get ready to run." Miller took the unloaded rifle from Rat's grasp. "Scratch, you come with me."

Miller jogged through the shadows. Her eyes were adjusting. She led Scratch over to where the wide metal doors were waiting jaws. Miller shoved Scratch, straightened him up. She made him stand just to the left of the entrance. Then Miller whispered, "Follow my lead, brother. And don't get your ass eaten."

Miller crossed quickly to stand on the other side of the doors. She listened intently, waiting for their living pursuers to get closer. She kept her eyes half closed, knowing the electricity would fail again. Then the lights went out as expected. Miller waited in the cool dark. Waves of adrenaline overwhelmed her. She wasn't scared. She just felt mightily pissed off and hungry as a bitch wolf. The moaning continued. Miller waited.

"What do you think is going on out there?" She heard a male voice from behind the closed door.
Brubeck…

The lights flicked on again. The mercenaries were just on the other side of the doors. It was time.

Miller began screaming, "Help, help!" She banged the rifle against the closed doors. Scratch reacted quickly. His grizzled face split into a wide grin as he caught on to her plan. He steeled himself.

Grunting. Moaning. The shuffling of the zombies feet as they came toward the growing racket. The undead horde followed the noise of the living. They changed direction. The stench of death moved closer.

"Oh, God," cried Miller. "No!"

Scratch took the hint again. "Aaah!" he shouted, though he was grinning. "Get 'em off me!" He slapped the doors loudly with his open palms, further attracting the attention of the reeking zombies, who came closer and closer, always making those awful, lustful sounds. The voices from beyond the door grew tense.

"They're trapped in there."
Ripper.

"Fall back!" called Miller, at the top of her lungs. She reached over and grabbed the door handle. She whispered to Scratch, "On three."

"I'm bit!" Scratch screamed in response. The lights twitched and then stayed on for a moment. Miller nodded and braced herself.

"Three," screamed Miller, just as the first of the zombies fell upon them. She and Scratch swung the doors wide like metal bat wings, using them as a shield against the slobbering creatures. Miller watch two undead, gory soldiers stumble through the opening, greedy arms outstretched. A medic and a civilian in a hard hat followed. Behind, them countless more, shattered and gory and starving for human flesh and brains. They hurried into the opening, scared cattle into a chute, headed for slaughter.

The gunfire was deafening as Ripper and Brubeck unloaded an entire magazine each into what they thought would be their retreating human enemy. Instead, they punched a lot of useless holes in thirty or more oncoming zombies, all of whom were completely focused on them as the main course of their next meal. Safe behind the metal door, Miller couldn't help but grin and she imagined Scratch cackling at the trick they'd just pulled. One of the zombies smashed into the other side of her door, knocked Miller's breath from her. She swore quietly and braced herself. She listened.

"Holy fuck!" cried Brubeck, as he fell back and reloaded. His voice echoed through the corridor. "Where'd they go?"

"Screw 'em," said Ripper. "They're rare meat in a lion cage in there."

Miller peeked through the hinge spacing. She could just make them out in the shadows. Ripper was sweating and appeared covered with gore. The zombies were closing in on them. He tapped Brubeck on the shoulder, and they both turned and took off at a flat run. Naturally, the zombies hungrily followed them farther into the deep corridor. The lights kept right on flickering. It was dark for a time. When a shitload of creatures had passed through the open doors, Miller shoved hard. She stepped forward and slammed her side of the doors shut. Fortunately, just then the lights flickered back on.

"Close them in, Scratch." Miller turned to the others. "Go, go!"

"What about these other zombies?" asked Lovell. Miller turned around. There were at least ten still on their way, but most lacked one or more limbs. Just the slow and the weak were left. They were all crawling or hobbling, slow as molasses in January. Miller went up to the closest one, a soldier missing his right arm and left foot. She clubbed it on the head with the butt of Rat's rifle. The crunching sound was followed by a splatter of gore and gray matter. The thing dropped to its knees and fell over.

Miller said, "Any questions?"

Scratch moved forward. He clubbed the next one with a piece of wood he had found.

The first two zombies lay crumpled on the floor. The third one was a former patient of some kind, a tall, morbidly obese woman in a backless hospital gown. She absorbed the blow and merely stumbled. The zombie reached out for Miller, its mouth open wide. She hit it again, flattening the nose and cracking the skull like a rotten egg. This time the creature stayed down, those massive, dented buttocks exposed and quivering.
If I ever get an ass as humongous as that,
Miller thought,
someone please do the same thing for me…

More slow-moving zombies appeared from other passages and doorways. None of them seemed alert enough or fast enough to pose a serious threat, but the group needed to move.

"Come on, damn it," shouted Miller. "They've got reinforcements. We can't hold them off forever."

Lovell picked the injured Sheppard up off the floor and threw him over his shoulder. They all began running toward the opposite corner of the gigantic hangar. Lovell moved surprisingly fast. The lights winked and went out, then came up dimly again. The abrupt changes forced them to slow down. Three faster-moving creatures came out of a corridor and attacked from the right. One of those zombies, an Army officer, came close to grabbing Scratch. He stepped into its grasp and shoved, knocking the thing back on its ass, then kicking its face in. Another zombie soldier took advantage of that distraction and reached out for Scratch. Miller spun with the rifle, focused as if she were Manny Ramirez swinging for the fences. The side of the zombie's face collapsed. It went down permanently.

Miller looked up at the others. They had stopped, gasping for air, and were waiting for Miller and Scratch to finish off the zombies and catch up to the group. The lights flickered on and off, on and off. Miller felt as if she were trapped in some old black and white horror film. The night seemed eternal. What a fate.

"I said run, damn it!" Miller called. "If you keep standing there, I'm going to nail your feet to the floor and let them eat you raw. Move!"

Terrill Lee didn't wait around to see how Miller would make good on her threat. He and the others ran in earnest toward the back corner. Scratch was busily fighting off two impaired zombies, slashing and kicking. He seemed to be enjoying himself just as much without ammunition. In fact, he looked kind of hot, what she could see of him.
Danged zombie juice, messing with my hormones again…

"Come on, Scratch."

Scratch closed the gap and smiled. "Just like old times, Penny?" He smiled mockingly and reached out as if to touch her face.

"Not now." Miller took Scratch by the wrist and dragged him away from the rest of the approaching creatures. They ran hard to catch up with the others.

"Where is this exit of yours, Sheppard?"

"Just up ahead." Sheppard was trembling and pale. He strained to stay oriented.

A few moments later, they reached the far corner of the hangar.

"Where to?" asked Miller.

Sheppard pointed with one trembling hand. "That door leads to a stairwell. Four flights up is the roof. You know, ground level. Then, to get to the helicopter, we have to make it the entire length of the base and get around that entrance building."

"And if that isn't enough," Rat said, opening the door, "once we get to the helicopter, we have to make sure that Ripper and Brubeck aren't there waiting for us. Oh and also that the pilots are still working for me. That is all."

"Hell, then why are we standing here like Jersey housewives jawing over coffee?" Miller said, half winded. "We have a lot of ground to cover. Let's go!"

They went. The booming stairwell was pitch black. They paused now and again to listen but didn't hear any lurking zombies grunting in the corners, waiting to ambush them. Step after step and level after level. Miller, Terrill Lee, and Scratch weren't in terrible shape but they were soon panting and gasping. The mercenaries ran ahead and then waited for them. Even with Lovell carrying Sheppard, they were still faster than the civilians. Eventually they all made it to the top.

Terrill Lee went up to the illuminated exit door and pressed on the handle.

Nothing happened.

"What's the hold-up?" asked Miller.

"Fucking door's jammed."

"Let me try." Psycho walked up to the door and without stopping kicked with all his strength and weight. The BOOM reverberated down the stairwell and into the abandoned base. It was a Herculean effort, Miller found it quite impressive. The guy could have leg pressed an entire Vegas casino with the strippers on stage.

But nothing happened.

"Try holding the handle down at the same time," said Sheppard.

Psycho just glared at him. "No shit." But he nodded at Terrill Lee, who pressed the handle in. Once again, he gave the door a mighty kick. This time it swung open with a bang and slammed back so quickly Terrill Lee almost lost his left hand. He opened it part way and peered out to see if it was safe to move forward.

"Nice job," said Miller. She considered carefully, then took a risk, and patted Psycho on the shoulder. In the darkness, she couldn't see his expression, but the big man didn't comment or shrug the gesture away. Miller smiled to herself.
Hooray for group therapy
.

They moved through the metal door and closed it behind them. Scratch wedged it shut with rocks. The night air was colder, but after the stuffy, smelly hangar, it was a pleasure to be able to breathe deeply again. They had made it. They were outside and still alive.

Outside, they were able to pick up speed. The rapid walk to the other end of the base, in comparison to the slow motion adventure in the hangar, was a welcome change of pace. However, the desert night was harsh and chill. Soon, Miller started to regret her lack of warm clothes. She found herself longing for what she'd thought of as a gilded cage, their rooms back at the penthouse. That was safe, it was warm, and there was food and a bed. And she'd had a bathroom, a real bathroom with a tub. And a toilet. Miller needed one of those too, and damned soon. She considered calling a halt so she could quickly squat behind one of the many outbuildings but they were in a race to the helicopter. She probably wasn't alone, but peeing would have to wait.

It seemed to take an hour to get across the whole length of the hangar. Too long. Their breath fogged the air. Sheppard seemed to be growing weaker, as was Lovell, who'd been carrying him along. Miller paused to catch her breath. Overhead, the moon stared down with the dispassion of a serial killer. They had come a long distance but were still a good football-field away from where they left the helicopter, at least as far as Miller could tell.

Someone wheezed, "How much longer?"

It was pretty clear that the blood was rushing to Sheppard's head. Lovell had him nearly upside down. He patted Lovell's back, and Lovell slowed. Sheppard craned his neck. "The other side of that building," he said, pointing.
That building
was maybe a hundred yards away and it was also immense. It would take the group some time just to get around to the opposite entrance. Miller considered her options. None were good.

"You hear that?" asked Lovell. He'd frozen in place with a worried expression.

They all stood silently and hope collapsed. Miller spun in a circle, furious and frustrated.

"Rotors," said Rat. She took off at a run. "Psycho, you're with me."

Psycho hesitated. He turned to Miller, waiting for orders.

"Oh, for God's sake," said Rat, slowing. "Let's move!"

"Go on," Miller said. "Just don't let them take off without us."

Psycho followed Rat, leaving Miller, Terrill Lee, Scratch, Lovell, and Sheppard behind. The night closed in, a drooling creature eager to see them destroyed. The others continued on toward the helicopter as fast as carrying Sheppard would allow them. Miller grimaced. She could hear the rotors accelerating, the pitch growing higher, and vibration shivering through the concrete. They followed Rat and Psycho, who were closing in on the building.

No!

A bright light flashed in the sky and the stars winked out. A roar filled their ears. A moment later, the Super Stallion lifted off, gracefully circling over their heads. Miller stared up at the craft with raging eyes. It hovered for a second, as if those safely aboard were savoring their moment of triumph, and then the rotten bastards just flew away. The wind whipped Millers hair and dust stung her eyes. Her chin trembled. The noise began to fade. Everyone sagged. No one spoke for a long time.