The Hungry (Book 6): The Rule of Three (The Sheriff Penny Miller Zombie Series) by Steven W. Booth & Harry Shannon

Author:Steven W. Booth & Harry Shannon [Booth, Steven W.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Publisher: Genius Book Publishing
Published: 2014-11-14T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

4 hours, 1 minute from Stage Three (7:59pm)

Sheppard looked up at the clock for what felt like the seven-hundredth time. The minute hand had hardly moved. Where the hell were they?

Something banged in the kitchen.

Sheppard turned abruptly. “Hello?”

A woman answered. “In here.”

Down the hall, Sheppard could see Christa McDivitt standing in the kitchen, her hands busy at the counter. Sheppard thought the older woman had a striking face and a strong personality. He knew her husband valued her counsel. Sheppard found something about her comforting, almost motherly at times. Christa had to be worried, but she didn’t show it to her troops. He studied her for a time.

Sheppard approached Christa, who was still busy making food. “Have you heard from Major McDivitt yet?”

“Not yet, Captain.” Christa handed him a sandwich. “I’d imagine he and Sheriff Miller are pretty busy right now. Eat up. We haven’t gotten any distress signals. They’ll be home soon.”

Sheppard chose not to mention his misgivings about the electronic security that might be in place on the base or the possibility that there would be no time to send a distress call. He just took the sandwich. He stood there and took a bite, and actually had to stop and look down at the food in his hand. It was delicious. He’d tasted sliced turkey, cold bottled pickles, crisp lettuce, and spicy mustard. Again, Sheppard felt a little sad. Fresh food had been in abundance less than a year ago, before plague day. Even when he’d been the commander of Crystal Palace, the food hadn’t been much better than all the packaged crap. Before arriving at McDivitt’s headquarters, Sheppard hadn’t seen fresh food since the day before the apocalypse. He had no idea how he’d respond now to going into a fully-stocked grocery store. He’d probably wind up sobbing gratefully into the corn chips.

Karl Sheppard still remembered the stories his father had told him as a boy about coming home from Africa after a stint with the Peace Corps. How for two years the sight of fresh tomatoes had been enough to reduce him to tears. At the time, that story had seemed overblown and silly. Now, after so many people were dead or dying, and so much had been lost, Sheppard fully understood his father. Part of him just wanted to enjoy a fresh glazed old-fashioned donut. He wanted to go to a funny movie on a hot day, to feel the air conditioning tickle his skin, to hold someone’s hand and laugh out loud without fear. He just wanted to let go of eternal vigilance and relax for a while. Yeah, like that’s ever going to happen…

Sheppard knew perfectly well that he had an advanced case of PTSD and that, like Miller, he’d been permanently scarred by these experiences. Scratch was another story entirely, since he’d lived his entire life on the edge. He had been overtaken by violence and filled with gallows humor for years before the advent of the zombies. For his

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