The Hungry (Book 2): The Wrath of God by Steven Booth, Harry Shannon
Authors: Steven Booth, Harry Shannon
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of which were yielding to his attacks. "A lot can happen in twenty hours. I'd suggest we just focus on getting the fuck out of here."
Terrill Lee looked up at him. "Hey, I agree! Unless they reset the timer on account of a sudden attack of Eagle Scout goodness, we all have just about one day to live. Let me see if I can make this perfectly clear. If we don't find a way out of here, and fucking soon, we're going to become nothing more than a cloud of carbon vapor and plasma."
Scratch strained to move the tiles. Sheppard got up and stood below Scratch, eye level with his substantial package. Miller noted that. Scratch did too, and he jerked back with a defensive glare. In fact, he almost fell off the damned chair.
"Scratch," Sheppard said, "you aren't going to get anywhere with those ceiling tiles. This isn't the evil lair of some James Bond villain. There are no convenient man-sized air ducts or giant secret passages out of here. I wish there were."
"There's got to be a way out," Scratch mumbled.
"There is," said Hanratty. "Right through the front entrance." She went over to the locked double doors. "Psycho? I know you can hear me. We go back a lot of years. We were part of a team. You got to at least let me out of here so I have a damned chance to survive. You can't just leave me here to fry with the rest of them."
Miller thought, thanks bitch. That's teamwork for you.
Nothing.
"Come on, Psycho. You know this isn't right."
Zip, nada.
"Goddamn it, Psycho," Rat called, rattling the doors. "Talk to me!"
"You sure he's even still out there?" asked Miller.
"Ain't gonna happen, Rat," said Psycho. His voice was so close it made them all jump. Scratch hopped down from his chair. Psycho cleared his throat. He seemed to be standing right outside, just beyond the locked double doors.
"Psycho. Please?"
"Told you, Rat. Tried to warn you. Women got no place in combat." There was a tiny trace of empathy in his voice, but far more cold efficiency.
Rat lowered her voice, just enough to penetrate the door. "How many times have I saved your sorry ass in a firefight? Remember when you caught that shrapnel in your leg, and Lovell and I risked our lives to pull you out of there? And what about that time I went to bat for you with the Review Board? I got you out of some serious hot water. Think about it, Psycho. What has Ripper ever done for you?"
There was a long silence. This time, Rat let him think. Finally, they heard Psycho say, "He offered me a shitload of money."
"That's it?"
"Yeah, and that's more than enough."
Miller shook her head. Rat wasn't getting anywhere. She stepped forward.
"Psycho, it's Sheriff Miller." Rat shot her a look. She continued anyway. "Do you know what's going on here? You saw the bodies. If you go through with this, hundreds of thousands of innocent people are going to die. And the chances are, you're going to be one of them."
"Huh?"
Miller said, "You may not give a shit about us, but do you want to end up undead and wandering around forever, a terrible, impossible hunger driving you to eat the living, until someone takes mercy on you and blows your fucking head off? Do you want to end up a radioactive hunk of zombie pus?"
She figured to let Psycho think on that, so Miller paused to see if he would respond. Nothing. "What about someone else you care about?" Miller said. "Hell, what if your mother ended up that way?"
Rat suddenly gestured at Miller, waiving her off as if she were a fighter plane about to crash into an aircraft carrier. Miller didn't notice the signal.
Behind them, Lovell blanched. "Oh, shit."
"You want to know about my mother?" shouted Psycho. "That big fat ugly-assed crack whore? She used to beat the shit out of me every day, and in the nighttime I'd be lucky if she wouldn't sell my ass to some perverted fuck who wanted his little-boys young and tight. I can't think of a better end for that bitch than ending up a mindless, hungry zombie freak. Shit, I should have popped her
Terrill Lee looked up at him. "Hey, I agree! Unless they reset the timer on account of a sudden attack of Eagle Scout goodness, we all have just about one day to live. Let me see if I can make this perfectly clear. If we don't find a way out of here, and fucking soon, we're going to become nothing more than a cloud of carbon vapor and plasma."
Scratch strained to move the tiles. Sheppard got up and stood below Scratch, eye level with his substantial package. Miller noted that. Scratch did too, and he jerked back with a defensive glare. In fact, he almost fell off the damned chair.
"Scratch," Sheppard said, "you aren't going to get anywhere with those ceiling tiles. This isn't the evil lair of some James Bond villain. There are no convenient man-sized air ducts or giant secret passages out of here. I wish there were."
"There's got to be a way out," Scratch mumbled.
"There is," said Hanratty. "Right through the front entrance." She went over to the locked double doors. "Psycho? I know you can hear me. We go back a lot of years. We were part of a team. You got to at least let me out of here so I have a damned chance to survive. You can't just leave me here to fry with the rest of them."
Miller thought, thanks bitch. That's teamwork for you.
Nothing.
"Come on, Psycho. You know this isn't right."
Zip, nada.
"Goddamn it, Psycho," Rat called, rattling the doors. "Talk to me!"
"You sure he's even still out there?" asked Miller.
"Ain't gonna happen, Rat," said Psycho. His voice was so close it made them all jump. Scratch hopped down from his chair. Psycho cleared his throat. He seemed to be standing right outside, just beyond the locked double doors.
"Psycho. Please?"
"Told you, Rat. Tried to warn you. Women got no place in combat." There was a tiny trace of empathy in his voice, but far more cold efficiency.
Rat lowered her voice, just enough to penetrate the door. "How many times have I saved your sorry ass in a firefight? Remember when you caught that shrapnel in your leg, and Lovell and I risked our lives to pull you out of there? And what about that time I went to bat for you with the Review Board? I got you out of some serious hot water. Think about it, Psycho. What has Ripper ever done for you?"
There was a long silence. This time, Rat let him think. Finally, they heard Psycho say, "He offered me a shitload of money."
"That's it?"
"Yeah, and that's more than enough."
Miller shook her head. Rat wasn't getting anywhere. She stepped forward.
"Psycho, it's Sheriff Miller." Rat shot her a look. She continued anyway. "Do you know what's going on here? You saw the bodies. If you go through with this, hundreds of thousands of innocent people are going to die. And the chances are, you're going to be one of them."
"Huh?"
Miller said, "You may not give a shit about us, but do you want to end up undead and wandering around forever, a terrible, impossible hunger driving you to eat the living, until someone takes mercy on you and blows your fucking head off? Do you want to end up a radioactive hunk of zombie pus?"
She figured to let Psycho think on that, so Miller paused to see if he would respond. Nothing. "What about someone else you care about?" Miller said. "Hell, what if your mother ended up that way?"
Rat suddenly gestured at Miller, waiving her off as if she were a fighter plane about to crash into an aircraft carrier. Miller didn't notice the signal.
Behind them, Lovell blanched. "Oh, shit."
"You want to know about my mother?" shouted Psycho. "That big fat ugly-assed crack whore? She used to beat the shit out of me every day, and in the nighttime I'd be lucky if she wouldn't sell my ass to some perverted fuck who wanted his little-boys young and tight. I can't think of a better end for that bitch than ending up a mindless, hungry zombie freak. Shit, I should have popped her
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