The Hungry 4: Rise of the Triad (The Sheriff Penny Miller Series) (5 page)

MALIBU SERENITY CENTER

“I’m beginning to see why half of North American wants to move to California,” Scratch said. The bright sun flattered his lean frame. “The people are kind of weird but the weather is flat fucking amazing.”

They walked down the stretch of private beach. The sand was warm beneath their feet. Miller felt good in her little red bikini. A girl didn’t have much of a weight problem when she’d been on the run for months, fighting for her life. Her body was looking lean and strong. The wear and tear of the last few desperate months had hardened her muscles and burned away flab. Scratch didn’t look half bad either in his board shorts. He looked at her and winked. Sea birds floated lazily above them, their cries covered by crashing waves. It was a beautiful day.

Miller felt a bit off balance. Should they really have been having so much fun, all things considered? Her mind kept wandering down long, dark corridors and back toward disturbing memories of the horrors she’d recently witnessed, the people she’d seen slaughtered, the hordes of zombies she’d laid to rest. She’d think of Terrill Lee, the destruction of her hometown and other painful memories, but then they’d all just float away to remain moored in the distance like those little sailboats anchored offshore. The Center was so peaceful, so relaxing. There was no room to allow her to become depressed. Even the thought of the zombie horde reaching Malibu—which she knew was certain to happen at some point—caused her very little new anxiety. She and Scratch would handle it. Hadn’t they always managed to come out on top?
Why worry about that now?

“It’s so pretty here.”

Miller walked on, at peace for once. She enjoyed the sand between her toes. Her shoulders felt hot, as if she already had a touch of sunburn. There were other couples out and about. Everyone smiled pleasantly, just like the staff, but no one seemed to want to get drawn into a genuine conversation. Two teenaged boys were tossing a football back and forth. A dog ran between them, barking with joy. Sea birds swooped down and occasionally plucked a struggling fish from the rolling, white-capped waves. All was right with the world. Life and death went on elsewhere, but not in this bubble. Here, everything was picture perfect.

Time hung suspended. The universe shrank to embrace them like a lover. The beach was warm and the cool air fresh and clear. The rhythmic swoosh of the waves was soothing and hypnotized them both. They walked back and forth along the strand, turning back only when they saw a concrete boundary. They walked back and forth and back and forth. If the Serenity Center had stationed armed guards around the perimeter, Miller thought mildly, the sentries were certainly discreet. Perhaps the place was exactly what it claimed to be? The very question made her hesitate. She blinked until the numbness went away.

Miller said, “Let’s go back.”

“Why?” Scratch asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Let’s just go.”

Miller led the way. The late winter sun was sinking down into the southwest beyond the horizon when Scratch and Miller finally returned from the beach. A boat far out to sea blew a horn. The sea was a palate of colors drifting slowly into a cool darkness. A few stars already winked high above, where a half-moon waited to be noticed.

The beach was still sparsely populated with other Serenity Center residents. Once again, the others stayed pretty much to themselves. No one spoke. Each of the residents, or couples, seemed lost in their own thoughts. Scratch and Miller had been having too much fun to bother chasing down another denizen of the beach, especially to ask rude questions. Miller realized how badly she’d wanted to suspend disbelief, just pretend there was no other world to worry about. No zombie apocalypse, no Army scientists, no experimental zombie virus in her bloodstream waiting to torment her again. She deserved a break. Her life had been so stunningly complicated before tonight. The exquisite simplicity of making love to Scratch and walking on the beach had been a little taste of heaven. She needed to get back to work, but didn’t really want to work. She tried to focus on the others they had left behind in Colorado. Rat the beautiful mercenary soldier; Sheppard, the man who had helped to start the virus at the Army lab he’d nicknamed Crystal Palace. Their faces remained blurry to her now, their memories weirdly out of context.

The Serenity Center was lit up with spotlights when they walked closer, making it seem like a brand new amusement park. It twinkled like a magic castle, dazzling when set against the steadily darkening sky. Miller and Scratch held hands most of the way. The sea breeze had begun to cool and Miller’s exposed skin got a wave of goose bumps. They arrived at the main building.

When they came back inside the lobby, Ramon was waiting with two plush white bathrobes. They took the comfortable robes, which bore the Serenity Center logo, and covered up.

“Did you enjoy yourselves?” This time Ramon did grin, as if reading their thoughts. Miller realized that he had a pleasant smile. He wasn’t such a bad guy.

“Yes, very much,” said Miller. She almost giggled. She was feeling fine, as if the afterglow of sex was still upon her.

“Excellent. Orientation is about to start. Your questions will be answered shortly. Would you both follow me, please?”

Miller snuggled into her warm bathrobe. She held Scratch’s hand and they walked through the Serenity Center towards orientation. She wanted to worry about what was to come, but couldn’t. Scratch looked so handsome, his long hair clean through and through—she had seen to that personally. Ramon led them beyond the elevators and down another long, glassed-in corridor. Miller looked out the tall windows as they walked down the carpet. She thought she saw some armed men—security guards, perhaps—on patrol. They were there all right, but very discreet, which was a good thing, of course; or had Miller only imagined them being armed? She looked back again, but by then they were gone.

That’s just plain old paranoia
, Miller told herself.
No one was out there. Relax.

The hallways were virtually empty. Where were all the other people now? Had they gone back to their rooms? Still on the beach, perhaps, or gathered in a meeting area? Ramon glanced back at Miller. He had that same soft smile on his face. Miller smiled back, but the thought of armed soldiers had given her a tiny burst of adrenaline and the sweet afterglow feeling was beginning to fade.
Paranoia has its uses, Penny. It has saved your life more than a few times… Think.

Finally, they arrived at their destination. Ramon took them to an empty conference room with chairs all around the table. Strangely, the room was windowless. The florescent lighting seemed harsh and cold after their warm day at the beach. It was as if a fog was lifting.

“Dinner will be served directly after orientation,” Ramon said.

“Are we waiting for someone,” asked Scratch, “or is all this shit, like, automatic?”

“Orientation will begin shortly,” Ramon said. He left through a side exit and closed the door behind him. Miller was aware of a loud click as it latched. She and Scratch exchanged looks. The sound had puzzled him as well. Miller read the concern in her lover’s eyes, but in the end he just shrugged. They both acted bored. She and Scratch and took empty seats near the door. Miller glanced around the room. There was another door partially hidden by the sidebar. It had some kind of electronic combination lock on it. Winking lights beckoned. Miller yawned but watched that door closely.

“What’s the deal with this orientation, do you reckon?” Scratch asked, breaking the silence. He tapped her leg as if to telegraph a sense of urgency, but kept face blank and his tone calm. “You think they’re going to just leave us sitting here all night?”

“I don’t know.”

Scratch twisted back and forth in his chair. “Damn, I just realized that there ain’t even a TV in the room. I haven’t seen a football game since the beginning of the last pro season. You think they still have football?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Miller said. “Nothing stops the NFL.”

“Well maybe the news, too? It would be kind of nice to know what’s really going on out there in the world.”

“Something’s always going on,” remarked Miller. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Question is, what have they been told? Most of these people don’t know a thing about the zombies. Hell, if I hadn’t personally killed a few hundred of them, I likely wouldn’t believe in them either.”

“It’s weird, ain’t it? Nevada’s gone, Utah’s a mess, Colorado is about to become an enormous walking graveyard, and yet most of the rest of the world thinks zombies are just something you see in the movies or on cable TV.”

“Whoever the spin masters in Washington are,” Miller said in that low voice, “they sure as hell are earning their paychecks in Malibu. This has got to be maybe the biggest cover-up in world history.”

“Roger that.”

Then Miller heard herself say, “You know, this is exactly the kind of thing that Terrill Lee would have made into one of his incessant hobbies if he’d lived around here. Can’t you just see him collecting zombie artifacts and signing up for zombie conspiracy newsletters online?” Using her ex-husband’s name in context brought back the horror of the moment he’d first turned into a zombie, and when she’d realized that she’d have to shoot him. Miller flinched inside and the burst of emotion knocked her for a loop. She was surprised that her voice didn’t crack.

Scratch stopped twisting around. He turned to look at Miller. “Yeah,” he said carefully, “that would have been right up his alley.” He put his hand on hers. “You know, that’s the first time you’ve mentioned T.L.’s name in a long while.”

“I think maybe I need to let him go once and for all.” Miller didn’t look at Scratch, but she squeezed his hand hard enough to telegraph intensity. Hell, she stopped just short of breaking it. “After all, it’s our time, now.”

“Excellent! That’s the best news I could have hoped for.”

Someone else was in the room. Both Scratch and Penny reacted instantly. They turned to the main doors to the room, seeking the source of that strange and yet oddly familiar voice. There was no one nearby, yet someone had clearly been listening in on them. Miller’s eyes shot back to that special security door. It was opening. A portly, balding man entered the conference room, followed by Ramon. Miller gasped. Scratch grunted. The man crossed the room calmly, his expensive shoes whispering along the thick carpeting. He closed the gap and put his hand on the back of Miller’s chair.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Rubenstein?” Scratch managed. His voice was thick with rage, but he did not move.

Miller tried to keep Ramon in her peripheral vision, but Rubenstein kept moving.

“I’m sorry,” Rubenstein said, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, or to startle you. I’m just so pleased to hear that your short stay at our center has already reaped such positive results.”

“I knew something was wrong around here,” Miller said. “I just didn’t see how wrong.” She shook her head and as she stood up her chair fell over. “Scratch, I told you this was too good to be true. We’ve been set up by the Army.”

Dr. Rubenstein put up both of his hands. “No, please, Sheriff Miller, that is not true. Sit down and relax. Hear me out.”

Scratch rose to his feet as well. He let his irritation show. “Hey, look, we don’t take orders from you anymore.”

“It all makes perfect sense!” Miller licked her lips. “First the National Guard troopers taking us here once they knew our names. The military staff at the center, the free price tag for a luxury experience.”

“You haven’t been enjoying yourselves?”

“Shit. This is all just another zombie-related experiment for you, isn’t it, Artie? You are still working for those crooked bastards.”

“Truthfully, Sheriff Miller,” Rubenstein said, “if I’d wanted to experiment on you, do you think I would have revealed myself to you so soon upon your arrival, before any of my nefarious trickery wreaked havoc upon you?”

Scratch tilted his head to one side. “I’d dearly love to just kill you here and now, but somehow I have a feeling trying that stunt would get me shot.” He nodded to Ramon. “Am I right?”

Dr. Rubenstein just smiled. His calm was all the proof they needed. Now was not the time.

Miller didn’t have any other ideas, so she punted. “What do you want?”

“The same thing you want,” Rubenstein said. “I want you to fully recover from the severe post-traumatic stress disorder that resulted from your encounter with the zombie hordes in Nevada and Colorado.”

“I don’t have PTSD,” said Miller.

“Come now, Penny,” Rubenstein said. Miller’s head snapped up. She and her friends had been forced to attend counseling sessions with Rubenstein back in Las Vegas, before their disastrous return to Crystal Palace, where they had attempted to recover a cure for the zombie virus. It had always irritated her when Dr. Rubenstein called her Penny. He knew that. Rubenstein’s smile slipped a gear. “Let’s discuss anxiety attacks, paranoia, bad dreams, emotional withdrawal, being easily startled or set off, protracted avoidant behavior, violent fantasies and, of course, flashbacks to trauma. Do any of those symptoms sound familiar to either of you?”

Miller swallowed dryly. “No.”

Scratch said, “Yes.”

Miller turned to Scratch. “Yes? Are you saying you agree with him?”

“Now, wait a minute, Penny,” Scratch said. “I’m not exactly agreeing with him, okay? But I’m sure worried about you. I have been for quite a while.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, damn it. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, but today was the first time I saw you relax in, well, shit, as long as I’ve known you. Today it is as if I finally met the real Penny Miller.”

“Scratch, Rubenstein is the enemy,” Miller insisted, pointing in accusation. “If you don’t believe me, just look at those creepy little eyes and that self-satisfied smile.”