The Hungry (Book 2): The Wrath of God (23 page)

"Incoming," announced Terrill Lee. He peered out the streaked front window. Miller peeked over his shoulder as he pointed. A bright star hung unnaturally low on the horizon, a blaze of light in the rapidly darkening northwestern sky.

"That's got to be them." Miller looked at each of her companions in turn. There was so much at stake tonight. "Okay, everybody out of sight. If they figure out there's more than Rat and me in here, the party's off."

"No way in hell they can see this far," replied Scratch. He was still sitting comfortably on the sofa. As one, they all glared at him. Scratch eventually withered under their gaze. "Well they can't, can they?"

Terrill Lee said, "Believe me, Scratch, they've got optics nowadays that can count the zits on your ass through a rip in your jeans from ten miles out. Come on. Let's be smart and just go hunker down in the bedroom."

"How do you know so much about all this military shit, T. L.?" Scratch rose, reluctantly but smoothly.

"It's one of his many hobbies," Miller said, sourly. "The garage is full of his magazines. Hell, you should have seen the house when he was on his electric train kick."

"Jesus, now you're telling me that you didn't really like my trains all those years?"

"Oh, for God's sake," Rat said. "Come on, T. L. You can fight with your ex-wife later." She pushed Scratch and Terrill Lee toward the back of the Winnebago. Lovell followed with a sullen, bored expression on his face. Miller guessed he'd pretty near had enough of Terrill Lee by now. Damn, who didn't feel that way?

Miller glanced at the dashboard clock. They had twenty-odd minutes, maybe a little more, before the big bomb went off. Not a lot of time to make this all work. She didn't like their chances all that much. Raging zombies Miller could handle. A narcissistic asshole such as General Gifford, on the other hand, could be infinitely more unpredictable. Nevertheless, she had skulled this out as well as she could. Miller remembered an old saying from somewhere: "No battle plan ever survives first contact with the enemy." Truer words had never been spoken, and the thought did little to comfort her.

"It's time." Rat's voice yanked Miller out of her own little world. The evening was turning chill. The time had arrived. Miller licked her lips.

Rat stood in the doorway, ready and armed. She was always the consummate professional, cold and efficient as a flash-bang grenade.

Miller smiled at her. Rat nodded. Miller had an uneasy feeling in her gut but she didn't want to rock the boat when a wave was coming. She picked up one of the shotguns, hefted it, and felt its weight. It made her feel good to hold on to something she could rely upon.

"Okay, Rat, let's mosey on out and shout howdy."

Rat and Miller stepped down onto the ground, closed the door to the Winnebago behind them. A light wind tickled the hair on her neck. Shadows crawled rapidly across the deserted buildings and empty streets. Tension filled the air. Rat seemed to feel it too. They stood side by side, as the wind grew wilder, waiting for the big chopper to land.

Miller had almost forgotten how loud the Super Stallion could be, especially when it was sailing right overhead. Miller craned her neck to watch it pass. The wind lashed her hair around and blew up a cloud of sand and dust. Even Rat was covering her eyes. Miller took a deep breath. She paused to look at the famous West Wendover, Nevada landmark, a giant mechanical neon cowboy, long gone dark. It was standing in the middle of the main drag across from the open field, near where the chopper was set to touch down. That meant the proud state of Utah was only a few hundred yards away.

The two women started across the street just as the chopper turned to land. Wind from the rotors slapped at Miller's face and hair. It was getting colder by the second, and she was hungry as hell. She tugged Charlie's uniform jacket tighter around her and tried not to shiver. She needed to be in control of herself for this meeting. It had all come down to a few weighted minutes here at the edge of Nevada. Rat stood still as a park statue. Miller took a deep breath. She let it out slowly as the monstrous helicopter touched down about a hundred feet away. The blades began to slow and the big engines quieted down to idle. The pilot left the overhead lights on, so the area nearby stayed bright as a normal day. As they moved across the street their dark shadows melted around them like black streaks of death on the cooling asphalt.

The chopper's exterior lights almost blinded Miller at first, but she and Rat had been expecting that, and they shaded their eyes. The contrast between the bright glare and the dark sky made it difficult to see, but Miller still registered when the side door opened to let Gifford, Ripper, and Brubeck exit the helicopter. The military men stood still for a yawning moment. They looked around carefully, eyeballing the alleys and roof tops, checking for an ambush. Ripper and Brubeck were heavily armed and understandably cautious. General Gifford carried only a sidearm and a duffel bag supposedly loaded with the money. Unless this was all just a trap.

"Guess it's on," said Rat.

"Guess it is." Miller turned to her. "You were right. Gifford brought the goons along."

"Yeah, but he didn't bring an army," Rat said. "That's because he has to keep his part in this shit on the QT."

Miller squinted. "What about the pilots?"

Two men appeared in the wide opening, their faces covered by flight helmets. The co-pilots dropped down to the ground. They strolled toward the back of the craft. One proceeded to unzip and piss in the dirt.

Rat rolled her shoulders. "Let's do this."

Miller nodded. There wasn't anything else to say.

Gifford, Ripper, and Brubeck walked forward through the dead grass. The chopper noise covered the sound of their progress. The two pilots stayed behind. It felt like high noon in an old western movie. The men walked steadily forward as Miller and Rat closed the gap. The mercenaries kept a wary eye out, but for his part Gifford marched straight ahead as if unconcerned. Finally, Miller and Rat met the men about halfway between the Winnebago and the chopper, close enough to be heard over the idling engines. Miller could almost hear the clock ticking in her head. Time was a'wastin'.

Lightning flashed on the far horizon. Central Utah was fixing to get some rain.

Gifford moved closer. Ripper and Brubeck stood on either side of him, their fingers brushing the triggers of their M-4s. They were clearly pissed off, and Miller knew why. She'd double-crossed them good.

"I have to say, I'm impressed." Gifford stood before them, perhaps five feet away, and nodded appreciatively. "You are clearly more resourceful than I gave you credit for, Sheriff."

Miller wanted to spit in Gifford's face. "I'm not interested in hearing your compliments, General. My friends are dead, and so is Rat's team. Your 'milk run' cost the lives of seven good human beings." She looked him up and down. "You lied to me about everything. You'd damned well better not be lying about the money."

"I'm not."

"Open it." Miller used the barrel of her shotgun to indicate the large duffel bag. The men tensed up. Miller didn't even look their way. She was careful not to point her weapon at the mercenaries, as much as she would have liked to blow their brains to mist.

Gifford reached down and opened the bags. Inside were stacks of money, more than Miller had ever seen in all her years on earth. Her jaw dropped open like a teenaged boy seeing his first porn magazine.

"One million dollars," Gifford said, "exactly as promised."

"Back away," Miller ordered.

Gifford stood his ground. He turned to Rat. "I had your assurances that this would be a trade, Major."

"Oh, she knows the codes all right."

Miller thought of that ticking clock. She showed her frustration. "We don't have time for this. Your little firecracker is going to go off in about fifteen minutes. I'd like to get this over with before then, if you don't mind."

"I'm glad you are also eager to conclude our business," Gifford said. "As soon as you decrypt the data we retrieved from TK-508, you can have your money. You will be free to go wherever you want."

"That's the deal."

Gifford nodded. "Speaking of which, if you will do the honors, Sheriff?"

Ripper reluctantly lowered his weapon and moved closer to Miller. He reached behind him into a backpack and produced a laptop computer. Miller watched carefully. Ripper popped the machine open. The screen came on a moment later, a soft glow in the shadowy light. Ripper held the computer out for Gifford, who immediately tapped the track pad. A file opened.

"Give me the decryption key," Gifford said.

Miller let a little more of her nervousness show. "We have your word that you're going to both give us the money and fly us both to safety, right?"

"You have my word." Gifford held his hand out, palm up.

Miller lowered her shotgun. She dug into her pocket. She moved a bit too quickly. Ripper and Brubeck both pointed their weapons at Miller. Rat covered them in a heartbeat. The tension rose four notches in one second.

Miller froze. "Take it easy, boys."

"Just a precaution, Sheriff," Ripper said. "I'm aware of your reputation. We can't have you doing anything heroic."

Miller moved very, very slowly. She pulled out a small, thumb-sized device; red and blue with an LCD screen that flashed a long series of numbers. It had a USB connector on one end. She held it where Gifford and his guards could see it. "This is it."

Gifford took the device. He inspected it carefully. "Good."

Without warning, the door to the abandoned Winnebago banged open. The hinges squealed. Everyone jumped and Gifford stared at the entrance and metal stairs. The interior light poured out. Ripper and Brubeck tensed up again. They pointed their weapons toward the vehicle's side door. Miller and Rat exchanged glances and quickly stepped away from each other. Then they turned to look as well.

Karl Sheppard limped outside with a sour expression on his face. He was followed closely by Lovell, who held a shotgun pointed at Sheppard's back.

"What's this, Sheriff?" demanded Gifford. "They don't seem like zombies from here."

Miller said nothing. Rat's shocked expression said everything.

"Don't make the swap, General," Lovell shouted. "They're lying."

"God damn it." Miller thought Rat looked mad enough to shit barbed wire. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, Lovell?"

"It was all a setup, General." Lovell shoved Sheppard forward.

"Explain, soldier," Gifford called.

"They were going to wipe the data," Lovell shouted. "If you put the wrong password in, it self-destructs. And as I understand it, only Sheppard here knows the correct password."

Miller couldn't help but notice that Brubeck now had his machine gun pointed directly at her boobs and that Ripper had Rat similarly covered. After a time, Miller sagged. She bent over slowly and placed the shotgun on the ground. She straightened up and held her hands high. Scowling, Rat did the same. Those machine guns were too damned close for comfort. The last thing Miller wanted was for these two macho assholes to start shooting fish in a barrel. Her arms threw lengthy, insectile shadows across the Winnebago when she turned halfway around. Sheppard, muttering obscenities, was now closing the distance with Lovell close behind. He walked with that sloppy limp.

"Where's Terrill Lee and Scratch?" Miller shouted. She was now more worried about them than the lie that had gotten them this far.

"I cut their fucking throats," Lovell said. "They'd outlived their usefulness."

Yards away, Ripper smiled like a twisted jack o' lantern in the dark. "That's my brother."

Miller shook her head. "Why you slimy, two-faced, double-crossing, lowly piece of rancid lizard shit."

"Save it," replied Lovell. "You're boring me."

"Ripper, Brubeck," said Gifford. "You may kill the women. They too have outlived their usefulness."

Brubeck chuckled. "My pleasure, sir."

Miller and Rat dropped their hands in unison.

Two shots rang out from the Winnebago. One bullet struck Brubeck in the throat and the second Ripper square in the chest. Brubeck coughed. His neck gushed blood. A fountain of dark fluid splattered Miller's exposed skin, the warm, wet blood a startling contrast to the cold night air. Brubeck went down hard and fast. Meanwhile, Ripper was flat on his back, dazed and grunting with pain. His weapon lay just beyond his wiggling fingers.

Miller and Rat drew their pistols from the backs of their waistbands. Miller aimed at Gifford while Rat covered Ripper, who was still writhing on the ground.

Scratch and Terrill Lee appeared in the doorway of the Winnebago. They were both still holding their high-powered sniper rifles.

Gifford watched them exit the vehicle. He spat in the dirt his face contorted. "So this was all just a setup?"

Sheppard wasn't limping any more. He reached out. "Hand over the laptop, General."

"Do it slowly," said Miller. She pulled back the hammer on Scratch's Colt. Even with the steady racket from the chopper's engines it was a menacing sound.

Gifford hesitated. He held on to the computer like a man afraid of drowning will cling to a bit of driftwood. Sheppard approached him and pulled the laptop from his hands.

"Now the key," said Sheppard, reaching for the USB device.

Gifford put out his trembling hand. He almost placed the key in Sheppard's palm. But then he dropped it on the hard ground and crushed it under his left boot.

"It appears neither of us got what we came here for, Sheriff. You have me at your mercy but you're going to lose, too. It is such a shame that there will never be a cure for your sad condition."

"Nice try, General," Miller said. "However, I think you wanted
this
USB thingy." She held up a second key, its small numbers flashing quietly.