The Hungry (Book 3): At the End of the World (12 page)

Scratch, driving Michelle’s SUV, took every turn on the road up to the lodge like a madman. It was clear that he was desperate to get this over with and return to rescue Miller from the jail. Constable Crosby drove steadily behind them, falling back a ways, playing it safer. Winter was upon the mountain in earnest and the lodge was white with snow. They all rushed to meet his vehicle when he arrived and took him straight upstairs to the second floor east window.

“There.”

They handed Crosby the binoculars. He adjusted the focus, followed Scratch’s aim, and trained them on the three filthy-looking people stumbling around over on the far side of the lake. His jaw dropped open. Crosby saw gory, shattered figures in the broad, cold winter daylight. He swallowed dryly. The people he was looking at sure as hell looked like zombies from the movies, but Crosby had been around long enough to know that you couldn’t always trust your eyes. His mind kept working, seeking a rational explanation. Maybe it was a hoax of some kind.

“Yeah, what’s that prove?” The skepticism sounded hollow, even to Crosby’s own ears.
Jesus, was this all really happening?

“What do you mean, numbnuts?” demanded Scratch. “Now you’ve seen some of them your own self.”

“So maybe it’s a couple of people with makeup on,” Crosby said. “This doesn’t prove anything.”

Scratch and Terrill Lee exchanged looks.

Terrill Lee spoke for the first time. “I’m thinking this guy needs a proper introduction.”

“It does appear that way.”

Terrill Lee sighed. He turned to the Crosby. “Sir, can you shoot that thing?” He studied the rifle that Crosby carried. “Can you handle yourself? Because if we go down there and you choke you might get one of us killed.”

Crosby cocked his head. He seemed to figure they were trying to get a rise out of him. If it was all for real, well… he needed to know,
had
to know for sure.

“Okay, you’re on,” said Crosby. “Let’s go take a look.”

Michelle stayed behind with her children, so it was Crosby, Scratch, Terrill Lee, and another man who introduced himself as Karl Sheppard. Crosby was impressed by that one. He looked ex-military for sure, soft spoken and very tired. The men led Crosby down the stairs and out through a service door and into the snow. They went on foot, trudging across the frosted ground. The whole thing seemed so surreal. If all this turned out to be true, then he had the village to protect. On the other hand, if this was a hoax, they were going to have a hell of a time explaining why.

The walk around the lake took a little over ten minutes. No one spoke. Scratch, Terrill Lee, and Karl seemed to know what they were going to do without speaking about it. They’d clearly worked together before. They were a smooth unit, grim and determined, and that observation made him feel even more nervous. Crosby fought the urge to chat. Crosby was tough enough, but this situation had him baffled. Zombies didn’t exist. They
couldn’t
exist. That was physiologically impossible, wasn’t it? Scratch—Crosby had finally gotten used to using Jim’s nickname—and all of his friends sure took the whole idea seriously. No one had mentioned anyone else in their party who could possibly be out there playing the part of the zombies. Most importantly, Crosby had seen pretty clearly that one of the people in the snow was missing an arm below the elbow. No one in the village was missing half an arm like that, so they hadn’t recruited any locals. This whole thing didn’t add up. And if it did, Crosby knew the entire world was very seriously fucked.

“Constable?” Sheppard put his hand lightly on Crosby’s shoulder. “We’re close enough. Take another peek at them through your scope. You should be able to see what you need from back here.”

“What’s that smell?” Crosby put the scope to his eye. His stomach heaved. The odor was overpowering. It was a rotting, putrid smell that came to him in wafts. As a hunter and a lawman for years, he knew very well what it had to be. He didn’t want to accept the truth.

“That would be our friends over there,” Sheppard said.

Crosby looked at Sheppard for a long moment. The soldier’s expression was dead serious, like a teacher waiting for his pupil to get wise.

Crosby returned his attention to the scope and the looming figures.

“My God!”

“God has nothing to do with any of this,” said Sheppard.

The scope brought the zombies up to his nose. There was no way what Crosby saw had been accomplished with movie makeup. The one with the missing arm was also missing
a significant portion of his left side
. A long rope of purple intestine flopped loosely from the gaping hole, and Crosby could even see a shaft of sunlight coming through from behind its belly button. The thing’s exposed skin looked like worn leather. As if he’d been dead for weeks. The eyes weren’t focused on anything. The expression was weirdly bland, yet savage. The face was drawn, exposing cracked, red-stained teeth.

Nauseated, Crosby turned his attention to the next creature. Its skin looked like it had been subjected to third-degree burns. It wore no clothing and Crosby could see every wound in perfect detail. The zombie—the word did apply after all—looked like it had been in a terrible car accident, and yet somehow made it out anyway, starving and undead. Crosby could sense the other men studying him. He felt weirdly fascinated and repulsed at the same time. He simply could not stop looking.

“Damn.”

The third zombie—even Crosby couldn’t deny the truth any longer—was still relatively intact. It wore a big cowboy hat, a clean but torn black t-shirt, and mud-stained jeans with a big TEXAS belt buckle. The man’s face looked vaguely familiar, but this was certainly not someone from the village. Crosby thought maybe a truck driver he’d met, or service provider from another village. It was someone who’d driven through. Crosby couldn’t bring himself to figure out who it was or had once been. He didn’t want to remember.

“You convinced yet?” Scratch asked impatiently. “Penny’s waiting.”

“I… I don’t…” stammered Crosby. “Jesus.”

“Constable,” Sheppard said, “I want you to try an experiment. Pick one, say the one with the missing arm, and shoot it. Aim for the center of mass, and don’t miss. You’ll never forget what you see next, we promise.”

“These people are sick. They’ve been injured. We have to get them medical attention.”

“Carter, you’re smarter than this,” said Scratch. “Stop pretending. Snap the fuck out of it. You know we’re right. Just shoot.”

They all watched. He kept the scope to his eye. Crosby took the shot.

They were right. He was wrong.

He could clearly see the puff where the shot struck the torso. The bullet went through cleanly. The zombie didn’t even flinch from the bullet, but the impact did get its attention. It grunted and the sound carried. The creatures looked up and suddenly discovered them. The zombies were close enough for Crosby to hear. A faint sound raced the echo back to their ears.

“What the fuck is that?” Crosby whispered.

“A sound you never want to hear again,” said Terrill Lee. “But you’ll probably be hearing it a lot real soon. It’s the happy zombie song.”

Sheppard spoke softly. “Take the shot again. This time, hit the same one in the forehead. They can survive with just about any injury except one right between the eyes. As Sheriff Miller always says, aim for the brain.”

His jacket felt stiff and cold. It cracked with frost as Crosby raised the rifle and aimed. His skin was wriggling and crawling and his pulse slammed like a bass drum. He focused in on the creature’s face. He squeezed the trigger, and the rifle jumped in his hands. The round found its mark. The headshot zombie bent over backwards. It collapsed downward like a bundle of old clothes. The difference was astonishing.

“May as well take out the other two while you’re at it,” Scratch drawled. His breath blew out in a cloud. He stomped his feet to stay warm. “Ain’t no sense leaving the others to keep wandering around biting folks.”

“You’re telling me that I can shoot them as much as I want anywhere else but in the head, and they’ll keep on coming?”

“And chomping,” offered Terrill Lee

“Not the head, per se,” Sheppard said. “The brain. No brain, no zombie.”

Crosby blinked. “This is the freakiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You have no idea,” commented Terrill Lee, almost as an aside.

Crosby focused on Cowboy Hat, who was coming their way. He lined up on the spot between its eyes and squeezed. The thing’s hat flew off, and the zombie had just enough time to look surprised before it collapsed.

“Almost there.”

Crosby aimed at the third zombie. The wind changed and the smell of the thing became so strong that Crosby gagged. He pulled the trigger, but jerked his aim, and this shot hit it in the throat. No response—it kept coming and making that awful
unhhh hunhhh
sound. It closed the distance, picking up speed, hands extended, fingers crooked. Crosby lined up again, and this time hit it in the head. A broad cloud of red and grey mist puffed out behind the skull. It fell to the ground. There wasn’t much blood though. Just gore from inside its head and brain. The echo died down and the woods were silent.

“Good job,” said Scratch. “Let’s go take a look.”

“Go over there? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Carter,” Scratch said, with a razor edge to his voice, “you put my best friend in jail and held us all back for an hour or more, probably exposing us and the entire village to grave danger. Let’s be sure you get it this time. We need to stop jerking off. You’ve got to know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

Terrill Lee said, “Scratch…”

But Scratch was already leading the way. They covered the remaining yards quickly. The three zombies lay right where Crosby had shot them. Up close the stench was unbelievable. Crosby made it within ten feet of the zombies before he couldn’t stand it anymore. He turned, bent at the waist, and vomited violently onto the frosty ground. The other men waited patiently as he emptied himself. It took a long time before Crosby managed to even stand upright. Sheppard, Scratch, and Terrill Lee exchanged satisfied looks.

“You’ll be okay once you settle down,” Sheppard said. He was shading his eyes from the reflected sun. “Come here and take a closer look.”

Crosby wiped his mouth. “What am I looking for?”

“The eyes,” said Scratch. “See? Just like Greta. Their irises are grey or white. It’s a sure sign that they’ve turned.”

Crosby got up his courage. He swallowed and came closer to the dead cowboy. Its eyes were still open. Crosby grunted. He was stunned.

“There it is,” Scratch said.

“God in heaven,” Crosby said. It was the strongest thing he could think of at the moment. “Those eyes.”

“We told you,” Terrill Lee said, in the singsong voice of a little boy.

Scratch took Crosby by the arm. He steered the Constable over to Cowboy Hat. “If you want to know if some poor schmuck has turned, look at the eyes, or simply smell the bastards. All zombies smell like that, to one degree or another. Penny saw that in Greta and took her out. She made the right call and acted before Greta could bite anyone and spread the virus.”

Crosby leaned closer. His stomach settled down. He pinched his nose. Cowboy Hat was the same with white irises and a horrible smell. Flies buzzed around him. Crosby looked up at the sky where canny vultures could already be seen soaring above the tips of the snowy pines. One bold predator bird landed a few yards away from them and spread its wings in a display of supremacy.

“Here they come,” said Terrill Lee. “It looks like we just rang the dinner bell.”

Crosby pictured the huge birds pecking away greedily at the rotting corpses. He couldn’t stop himself from reacting. He heaved again, though this time nothing came up. He waved his right arm. “Okay. I get it. I’m convinced.”

“Let’s get out of here, Scratch,” said Sheppard. “He’s seen enough.”

Terrill Lee started to walk away. “Let’s go get Penny.”

“Not yet,” Scratch said. He turned to face the Crosby. “Carter, let me hear it, you do really believe us now? When Penny shot Greta,
she was a zombie
. Penny’s not a murderer, she’s a hero. We are all on the same page now, right?”

“Okay,” Crosby said. “I believe you. I’ll let your friend out of my jail. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Okay,
now
we can go back down,” said Scratch.