The Hungry by Steve Hockensmith, Joe McKinney, Harry Shannon, Steven Booth
Book: The Hungry by Steve Hockensmith, Joe McKinney, Harry Shannon, Steven Booth
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up on Miller's thought and his hands were moving. He dropped the assault rifle, searched the dashboard.
"The middle one, the middle one," cried Miller.
Scratch found it. More flames, this time it came from directly behind them. It blew through the zombies like tinder wood. Scratch kept twisting the switch. Finally it worked. The siren went off WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP . The horde of burned creatures piled up outside left the sound almost nowhere else to go. It was damned loud. Miller prayed it was loud enough.
Miller and Scratch locked eyes. They waited. Time had run out. The fatal shower of flames never came. Instead, Miller heard the welcome sound of small arms fire. The popping noises seemed to be coming from the front of the cruiser. Sure enough, zombies fell where they stood, large holes mysteriously appearing in their heads. Finally, enough of the zombies were down. Scratch and Miller and Terrill Lee whooped and cheered. They could all see a path opening up ahead of their vehicle. Darla was still rocking and humming with her eyes squeezed shut. She had missed the whole thing.
The daylight returned as the last of the creatures were swept away. They were free at last. Miller squinted and shaded her eyes against the glare. She could see figures moving around outside and hulking shapes rolling closer.
Scratch shook his head. "Well, I'll be…"
A large National Guard truck with a roof-mounted flamethrower sat on the highway perhaps thirty yards away. Eight Guardsmen in combat gear and flak vests stood in front of those giant trucks. They continued mowing down the last of the zombies on the left and right. One of them waved hello.
"Thank God," said Miller. "We're finally safe."
The Guardsmen ran forward, still shooting as they came. Two efficient teams approached the cruiser, their semi-automatic weapons pointing right at the passengers just in case. Miller saw other soldiers spreading out, firing at anything that still moved. Double taps in the head every time. They knew their stuff. The soldiers surrounded the cruiser. One motioned for them to unlock it. Scratch complied.
All four doors opened at once.
"Get out," ordered one of the Guardsmen.
Miller was the first to emerge, the wedding dress bunched in her right hand. "Thanks, Sergeant, I'm Sheriff Penny Miller of…"
"Shut up," said the Sergeant. He grabbed her by her arm. Miller groaned. Oblivious to her wound, the soldier dragged her toward the waiting truck. Miller looked around. The others were receiving the same rough treatment. She looked back onto the highway behind them. The gang had fled. The Blood Riders were nowhere to be seen.
"Take it easy, man," said Miller. "My shoulder hurts like a motherfucker."
"Close the pie hole, lady."
"What's going on?" Miller demanded, still struggling to free her arm. "I'm an officer of the law, you idiot."
The soldier eyed her torn wedding dress. He fought back a smile. "You're in protective custody ma'am, which kind of means you now have the right to just shut the fuck up! "
The Guardsmen moved them toward one of the trucks, still very much at gunpoint. Darla remained in shock. She whispered to herself. Meanwhile, Scratch was only slightly more cooperative than he had been with Deputy Wells back at the jailhouse. And poor Terrill Lee looked like he was ready to piss himself. All Miller wanted at that moment was for the screaming pain in her shoulder to stop. Well, that and to get back into a uniform. Girl, she thought, when there are fully-automatic rifles pointed at you from all sides, it's likely not a good time to play hero…
"Get in," said the sergeant.
Miller looked into the truck. The space inside was dark, and large enough to hold at least twenty people. At the back of the truck squatted three filthy shapes. One moved. A low moan, all too familiar, emanated from that grim darkness. Miller recognized that awful stench.
"What the fuck, are you serious?"
"Look, lady, you've got two choices. Cooperate and get in
"The middle one, the middle one," cried Miller.
Scratch found it. More flames, this time it came from directly behind them. It blew through the zombies like tinder wood. Scratch kept twisting the switch. Finally it worked. The siren went off WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP . The horde of burned creatures piled up outside left the sound almost nowhere else to go. It was damned loud. Miller prayed it was loud enough.
Miller and Scratch locked eyes. They waited. Time had run out. The fatal shower of flames never came. Instead, Miller heard the welcome sound of small arms fire. The popping noises seemed to be coming from the front of the cruiser. Sure enough, zombies fell where they stood, large holes mysteriously appearing in their heads. Finally, enough of the zombies were down. Scratch and Miller and Terrill Lee whooped and cheered. They could all see a path opening up ahead of their vehicle. Darla was still rocking and humming with her eyes squeezed shut. She had missed the whole thing.
The daylight returned as the last of the creatures were swept away. They were free at last. Miller squinted and shaded her eyes against the glare. She could see figures moving around outside and hulking shapes rolling closer.
Scratch shook his head. "Well, I'll be…"
A large National Guard truck with a roof-mounted flamethrower sat on the highway perhaps thirty yards away. Eight Guardsmen in combat gear and flak vests stood in front of those giant trucks. They continued mowing down the last of the zombies on the left and right. One of them waved hello.
"Thank God," said Miller. "We're finally safe."
The Guardsmen ran forward, still shooting as they came. Two efficient teams approached the cruiser, their semi-automatic weapons pointing right at the passengers just in case. Miller saw other soldiers spreading out, firing at anything that still moved. Double taps in the head every time. They knew their stuff. The soldiers surrounded the cruiser. One motioned for them to unlock it. Scratch complied.
All four doors opened at once.
"Get out," ordered one of the Guardsmen.
Miller was the first to emerge, the wedding dress bunched in her right hand. "Thanks, Sergeant, I'm Sheriff Penny Miller of…"
"Shut up," said the Sergeant. He grabbed her by her arm. Miller groaned. Oblivious to her wound, the soldier dragged her toward the waiting truck. Miller looked around. The others were receiving the same rough treatment. She looked back onto the highway behind them. The gang had fled. The Blood Riders were nowhere to be seen.
"Take it easy, man," said Miller. "My shoulder hurts like a motherfucker."
"Close the pie hole, lady."
"What's going on?" Miller demanded, still struggling to free her arm. "I'm an officer of the law, you idiot."
The soldier eyed her torn wedding dress. He fought back a smile. "You're in protective custody ma'am, which kind of means you now have the right to just shut the fuck up! "
The Guardsmen moved them toward one of the trucks, still very much at gunpoint. Darla remained in shock. She whispered to herself. Meanwhile, Scratch was only slightly more cooperative than he had been with Deputy Wells back at the jailhouse. And poor Terrill Lee looked like he was ready to piss himself. All Miller wanted at that moment was for the screaming pain in her shoulder to stop. Well, that and to get back into a uniform. Girl, she thought, when there are fully-automatic rifles pointed at you from all sides, it's likely not a good time to play hero…
"Get in," said the sergeant.
Miller looked into the truck. The space inside was dark, and large enough to hold at least twenty people. At the back of the truck squatted three filthy shapes. One moved. A low moan, all too familiar, emanated from that grim darkness. Miller recognized that awful stench.
"What the fuck, are you serious?"
"Look, lady, you've got two choices. Cooperate and get in
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