The Hungry 4: Rise of the Triad (The Sheriff Penny Miller Series) by Steven Booth, Harry Shannon Page B

prison ward. Hospital beds with people strapped down, sort of like I am right now. I spoke to a stranger who asked me for help. It was a horror show, Scratch. They’re doing experiments here, I’m telling you. Rubenstein is lying to us. We need to get the hell out while we still can.”
    Scratch shook his head. He had a look of sadness on his craggy face. Without the beard and long hair, he looked younger. How old was he, anyway? She had never asked. “They said you would be paranoid when you woke up.”
    “I’m not being paranoid.”
    Scratch sat back and patted her hand condescendingly, but Miller could tell he was torn. They knew each other far too well. He studied her face.
    “Please,” Miller said. “You have to get me out of this bed.” She pulled on one of the restraints, but it held her fast. “Scratch, believe me. I’m fine.”
    Before he could answer her, Scratch turned his head. His expression alone told Miller that someone else had entered the room.
    “Well, how’s my patient?” Dr. Rubenstein asked cheerfully. He approached the bed, an unctuous look of concern on his pudgy face.
    Miller stared up at him. He held all the cards. She wasn’t sure if she should just continue to play dumb or unload. Caution won out. She was tied down, and Scratch was unarmed. She decided to give Scratch some time to process what she’d said.
    “She’s about as good as you could expect,” said Scratch.
    Miller momentarily felt relieved. Maybe Scratch had believed her. At least he hadn’t thrown her under the bus. Rubenstein picked up her medical chart. He perused it, nodding thoughtfully. He made a few notes with a pen.
    Scratch stood up and planted his feet. “What’s the story on these seizures, Doc? Penny never had them before.”
    “Understandable, actually.” Rubenstein looked up from the chart. “A condition like Penny’s doesn’t always present itself right away.”
    “And what condition is that?” asked Miller. She wanted more water but was too proud to ask Rubenstein for anything.
    Rubenstein put the chart back on the metal table near the bed. His expression shifted to become stern and professorial. “It’s the virus.”
    Miller felt her stomach do a back flip. “Wait, the virus?”
    “The zombie virus you were exposed to so unfortunately months ago has managed to mutate again. You have something brand new inside you, Penny. Something we’ve never quite seen before.”
    “Jesus on a jet ski,” Scratch whispered. “What’s wrong with her?”
    “Let me see if I can explain this in lay terms,” Rubenstein said. “In the same way it helped you heal from the gunshot wound to your shoulder back at the beginning of the troubles, the zombie virus has now recklessly accelerated some precancerous cells that were buried in your brain.”
    “Just what does that mean?”
    He sighed. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Penny, but you now have a large tumor in your brain. And it’s growing bigger by the day. That’s why you’ve been feeling so off, hearing and seeing things, not sleeping, perhaps even hallucinating”
    “I don’t believe you,” Miller whispered. “ You did this to me somehow.”
    Rubenstein shrugged. He glanced at Scratch with a sad expression. He walked over to the x-ray light box and turned it on. The picture there showed a skull and a brain with a large white blob on the right side. It was the size of a golf ball. Miller’s insides turned to ice and fire. Her entire system reacted with a burst of adrenaline that erased all the aches and pains. This couldn’t be true, could it? Had she been slowly going crazy?
    “Bullshit,” Miller said. “You’re lying. How do I even know that’s really a picture of me?”
    “Scratch, as you can plainly see, I was also right about the growing paranoia,” Rubenstein said. “She won’t trust anyone by the time this is over.”
    “Easy, Penny.” Scratch stepped close to Miller. He held her hand again. “What are we going to