The Hungry (Book 2): The Wrath of God (5 page)

"Nothing's simple when there's a hundred slobbering zombies coming at you and all you have is a six shooter and no reloads. It can be a bit overwhelming, brother. And believe me, one's a threat, but a group of them is a recipe for disaster. They come at you from all sides and take you by surprise. When we run into some, you'll see what I mean."

"You make it sound as if they're intelligent," said Lovell.

"No, not intelligent. Just really, really hungry. Desperate. Which makes any dumb, wild creature kind of cunning, you know? Speaking of which, when does the flight attendant come around with the Mountain Dew and salted peanuts? I'm starving."

The call came over the headphones: "Heads up," said the pilot, "we're descending into Nellis. Major, secure your troops."

Rat's voice took over the intercom. "Roger that. All right, sweethearts, when we touch down, I want you to remember that we are still on the clock. There is going to be a very big
kaboom
in just over twenty-six hours, and I don't want to be where it happens just because you left your dicks hanging out. Let's get what we need, get it on board, and get our asses back in the air and on the way home for some R&R. Nobody dies."

The men all said, "Nobody dies."

The Rat said, "We all go home."

The chanted, "We all go home."

Miller thought,
not much chance of that, lady.
She studied Terrill Lee. He had raised his hand like a second grader who needed to pee. "Major?"

"Yes," Rat replied.

"I thought we were landing at Nellis."

"So?"

Terrill Lee turned to look out the window. "Nellis is that airfield over there, Major. I'm pretty certain we're coming in to North Las Vegas Airport instead."

"It's Nellis," insisted Hanratty.

Terrill Lee shook his head. "Uh, no. It's not. Don't you think we should inform the pilots?"

Surprisingly, Major Hanratty smiled. "I'm sure the pilots know exactly what they're doing. And so do I." Her tone left no room for argument.

Miller watched this odd exchange closely. She didn't know Nellis Air Force Base from the Saint Louis Arch, but she knew that Terrill Lee did. He had grown up near Las Vegas, had done his pre-veterinary work at UNLV, knew the place like the wrinkle on his dick. So why would Hanratty tell Terrill Lee that they were landing at Nellis if it weren't so? The bad feeling she'd been having just got a little worse.
Maybe they're lying about more than one thing…

The aircraft lurched. They began circling in for a landing. Miller had not ridden on many helicopters—none until the zombie outbreak. When she had, those situations had not ended very pleasantly for her or her friends. As a result, she preferred to keep her feet on the ground and a loaded Smith & Wesson by her side. At the moment, she had neither
. I'm standing naked on a glass trap door,
she thought.
And I got me some drooling zombies looking up my skirt.

The huge helicopter touched down gracefully then rocked to and fro. It groaned before settling heavily onto the tarmac. The troops jumped up out of their seats. They were down the cargo ramp in an instant, fanned out into formation, automatic weapons raised. Late afternoon sunshine blazed. Weapons clicked and snapped. Miller had to admit their professionalism gave her a certain sense of security.

"Nice of you to join us, Penny," said Terrill Lee. "It wouldn't be the same without you."

Penny shrugged. "Yeah, well, someone's got to make sure that you idiots don't walk off a damn cliff or something."

"Thanks, Mom."

"You're welcome, sonny." Neither of them smiled.

"Can you two believe the arrogance?" Terrill Lee said. He turned away from her, and faced Scratch and Sheppard. His look demanded a response from them.

Scratch just groaned. "Hey, Sheppard? Do these headphones get a Classic Rock channel? I don't know about you, but I sure as hell don't want to listen to these two ex-lovebirds fight it out all over again."

Miller held up her hand. "Easy. I didn't come here to fight with anyone, at least no one still alive. I came along hoping to help."

Sheppard unbuckled his restraints. He walked over to Miller. "How are you feeling, Sheriff? I didn't see you have anything to eat today. Remember, your metabolism is still jacked from the virus and we both know that antidote didn't cure you. You really should be more careful." He jerked his eyes to the side, hinting one more time that the two of them needed to talk privately.

"I'll be fine," Miller said. "But that ain't a bad idea. I could eat road kill. I think I'll go see if our escorts loaded us up on any C-Rations." Miller released her harness. She patted Sheppard on the shoulder. "Thanks."

Miller walked down the ramp under the still turning rotors, expecting Sheppard to follow her for a private conversation. She kept her hand on her head to keep her bun from coming apart. Not nice to end up strangling on her own red hair. The desert floor was flat and rocky around the airfield. Beyond the tarmac, for hundreds of yards in every direction, Miller saw nothing but sage and a tall wire fence, with suburbia sprawling just beyond. The sun was intense. Miller squinted. She jogged out of the rotor wash and approached Major Hanratty. One of the men, Psycho, noticed her first. He nodded to acknowledge Miller.

Rat turned and scowled. "What are you doing out of your seat, Sheriff?" She shouted over the sound of the helicopter's engines. "I don't have time for another chat. Please return to the chopper. We'll be done here soon."

Miller leaned in close to her ear. "Major, I didn't want to say anything in front of your troops, but you're being a lousy host. My boys and I could use a meal. Sheppard and I can take it to them."

"Oh, for God's sake…" Rat began. Then she stopped and reconsidered. "Cochrane," she shouted into her microphone after a moment. A pause. "Listen up. Stop what you are doing and break out a few MREs. Our guests are hungry. We may as well grab some chow, too."

Miller looked up. She spotted where the lanky redhead was standing. She could see his mouth moving, but couldn't hear over the helicopter. Hanratty nodded, and Cochrane left what he was doing. He headed back toward the Super Stallion.

"Dale," called Rat, "pick up where Cochrane left off. Get the rest of that equipment sorted, tagged, and stowed."

Miller watched Dale, the tall machine-gunner, as he headed off toward a tall stack of crates, many covered with drooping sand-colored canvas. He moved out of sight for a moment. He returned pushing a handcart filled with boxes. Something behind him caught Miller's eye for a second—something that seemed to be moving. Miller rubbed her eyes for a second time. She was still half blind from the rotor-blasted wind. Then the slight movement happened another time, the canvas lifting and falling. Miller gasped. She got a sinking feeling in her stomach. She shouted for Dale to look up, but of course he couldn't hear her over the steady racket of the helicopter.

The movement came again. Someone was creeping through the boxes, under that long piece of green canvas, getting closer and closer to Dale.

Miller grabbed Hanratty by the arm, yanked to get her attention. Hanratty turned abruptly. Annoyed, she flicked away Miller's grasp.

"Hanratty!"

"Are you going to need an attitude adjustment, Sheriff?"

"Look!" shouted Miller, pointing at the shape emerging from the canvas flap.

Hanratty turned just in time to see Dale stopping to scratch his balls. She was looking in the wrong direction. Hanratty shook her head and turned back to Miller. "Sheriff, get back on the helicopter. That's an order."

"I saw something," said Miller. "We're not alone out here."

"I've been assured we are, Sheriff. Maybe you're having a bit of PTSD or something. Personally, I don't give a damn about anything but my job. My men are well trained. If it makes you feel better, I'll tell them to keep their eyes peeled. Now get back on the helicopter or I will put you back in your seat myself."

"Please, Major…"

"No,
you
listen. I've been filled in on your escapades. Like I told you, I saw the report and I'll admit it was impressive. You may have been Wonder Woman in a wedding dress back then, but while we're on
this
mission, you will do what I tell you. You are under my command. Do I have to escort you back to your seat?"

Miller's eyes cleared. She squinted, shaded her eyes and studied where she'd seen movement. There was nobody there, nothing at all. The soldier on duty seemed alert and the canvas rippled slightly in the wind. Maybe she'd been mistaken. Both confused and relieved, Miller was about to turn back to the helicopter when the stocky male zombie in a business suit stood up. It grinned wickedly and promptly bit Dale on the left shoulder.

"There! It's got Dale," Miller shouted, pointing again. "Get me a weapon."

"That's it," said Hanratty, oblivious to the horror show behind her. She grabbed Miller by the wrist and twisted her arm behind her. "Psycho, get over here and escort the Sheriff back to her seat."

Miller struggled and watched in horror. It was all over within a few seconds. The zombie fell upon Dale again, biting him on the neck and face. Dale shrieked silently, his features contorted in terror. Blood spurted as the horrid creature chewed through muscle and bit down into his neck. A piece of flesh flew up and away as if it were a used dishrag. Dale coughed blood. His weapon discharged into the tarmac, the sound drowned out by the roar of the engine. Dale sagged in the creature's grasp. It looked up. The neat business suit was out of place, for its face was of a long dead thing, gone all gray and green and writhing with maggots. Miller fancied she could see the creepy, rippling movement under the skin, even from such a distance. Or perhaps her horrified mind just filled in those blanks, drawn from nightmares and memories she'd worked so hard to erase.

One thing was clear as mountain water. She'd have more nightmares, for sure. Miller pawed at Rat's sidearm, her eyes wide.

Rat tightened her grip. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"Turn around," said Miller. She tried to fight back, but once Sheppard had given her the antidote, the super strength had evaporated. She was just a mortal now. "Look, damn it, a zombie just got one of your men!"

Hanratty got it. Her eyes changed. She turned to look where Miller's eyes were pointing, but one second before she looked Dale and the zombie fell backwards, onto the ground below some crates. They were probably really getting acquainted by now. Hell, Dale would likely be coming back himself in a few minutes. Hungry.

"Where is he?"

"Goddamn it, Major!" Miller protested. Psycho handcuffed Miller and dragged her back to the helicopter. Inside the cargo bay, Sheppard and Scratch jumped to their feet the second they saw Psycho roughly handling Miller. They moved to brace the soldier, one to each side.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" said Sheppard.

Scratch took two bold steps toward Psycho. The soldier stiffened at his approach, drew his sidearm. Scratch stopped. "What the fuck is your problem, jackass?" Nevertheless, Scratch kept his hands open and away from his sides.

"Zombies!" cried Miller. She was visibly shaken and struggled against her restraints. "Damn it, Scratch, they're right outside."

"Where?" cried Terrill Lee. He looked out one of the windows. "Holy shit!"

Psycho's resolve to follow orders crumbled then and there. He weakened and peeked out of the window. Then Psycho jumped back, jaw dropped wide with shock. Outside, the zombie had stood up, blood dripping down its torn shirt. It was flanked by two others, one of them a freshly reanimated soldier named Dale. They were almost on top of Brubeck.

"Rat, we got hostiles!" Psycho shouted into his microphone. He dropped Miller's arm, and ran from the cargo bay, weapon at the ready. Shots rang out—small popping sounds dulled somewhat by the engines.

Helpless and unarmed, Miller, Terrill Lee, Scratch, and Sheppard watched out the windows as Psycho came down the cargo ramp, shooting as he ran. Brubeck turned just in time to see the danger. He ducked just as the zombie Dale reached out for him. By this time, the entire team had been alerted. They all responded at once, firing at will, and the zombies' brains were immediately turned to red and gray mist by a hail of bullets. The torsos collapsed onto the tarmac and Dale's bled out in pulsing crimson waves. All of this happened within seconds and in pantomime, those awful sounds masked by the continuous strop of the heavy rotors.

Miller and the others watched through the windows as the mercenary team stood over their fallen comrade. They conferred for at least one full minute. Some kind of a decision was reached. Then the loading operation continued, but at a much faster pace. Miller thought the soldiers seemed a lot more serious, and a bit less cocky. They worked in pairs, concentrating on the contents of one large crate. Hanratty was grim and alert, standing guard.

Sheppard approached Miller. "You okay, Penny? We need to talk."

"Yes we fucking do. And yes, I'm okay. But talking will have to wait. Right now we have to get us some weapons and pronto."

"Agreed," Scratch said. "One way or the other."

A few minutes later the huge unmarked crate, along with a few other large boxes, had been rolled into the cargo bay on an electric pallet truck and fully secured. The team was efficient again, but Miller could see she'd been right. They all seemed shaken by their first encounter with the living dead. Good, they were finally in the damned loop.

Miller watched. She was upset, and furious at being handcuffed, but not insensitive enough to go head to head with Hanratty after the loss of one of her team members. Miller knew all too well how that felt. So she sat quietly, her stomach rumbling, while the soldiers got their shit together and prepared for departure.