The Hungry (Book 3): At the End of the World by Steven Booth, Harry Shannon Page B

deep breath.”
    “Carter?” the man with a bloody nose shouted. “You’d best get yourself on out here, right now!”
    Miller kept her aim on the bigger man, who licked his dry lips. He was rigid and alert, but also steady. He was taking her measure. Miller took his and instantly knew she’d win. She moved her finger onto the trigger, and could see the man watch her do it. She almost didn’t hear Scratch when he called her name.
    “Penny!” Scratch put his hand on her left arm. That finally got her full attention.
    “What is it, Scratch?” Her voice held even. “This had best be important.”
    “Look at Greta.” Scratch whispered urgently. “Do it now.”
    Miller eased back and turned her head. “Ah, shit.”
    Greta was having some kind of seizure. The woman was shaking like an old fraud at an Ouija board. Her eyes had turned bad and gotten all clouded over. Drool hung from the corner of her mouth. She moaned uh hunh hunh huh , and then she was changed in a finger snap. The human vanished, gone, turned to zombie. Greta snarled. She started stumbling forward with that vapid undead leer on her face, and it all happened fast, Miller wavering from the angry man, reluctant to take her eyes of him, Greta spotting her and moving forward, Miller shifting her stance, but a bit too slowly; Greta closing the gap and reaching out for Miller. Uhh… hunnh!
    Miller didn’t hesitate any longer. She abruptly waved the big man away and he nearly fell to his knees with gratitude. “Everyone back away!” she shouted. Miller turned the revolver on Greta, found a safe shot that wouldn’t put a hole in one of the citizens, lined up smack dab in the center of the dead woman’s filthy forehead, and pulled the trigger.
    BAM! The spray of blood and brains coated the shocked the villagers and sprinkled all the overpriced merchandise. Time froze and silence reigned for a split second.
    Someone shouted, “Sweet Jesus!” It was Michelle.
    Greta’s lifeless body sagged into a clump of bones and dirty rags. The fresh corpse fell and struck what was left of its head on the hardwood floor.
    As one, the crowd screamed and ran, several folks grabbing cans and sacks of rice and other items on the way out. In a few seconds, the store was empty of townspeople—also much of the merchandise. Miller’s hands finally started to shake. She’d feared striking one of the civilians and had known how risky the shot was. She was amazed no one else had been hit. Miller swallowed dryly. She was still aiming at Greta’s corpse, out of habit, just in case it got up and came after her again.
    Miller looked up to see Crosby pointing his gun at her. He and Michelle were covered in a light mist of Greta’s blood. A dainty white chip of her skull perched bird-like on the brim of Crosby’s hat.
    “Drop your weapon,” said Crosby. “Do it now!”
    “Carter,” Scratch said, putting out his palms. “It’s okay. That was a zombie.”
    Crosby’s attention never flickered from Miller. “Put the gun down!”
    He still has no idea what he’s up against here. Miller didn’t even bother to look at Crosby. She bent down and placed the revolver on the wooden floor. Miller stood and put her hands on her head.
    “You’re under arrest, Sheriff Miller.”
    “You’re making a huge mistake,” she said.
    “Now wait a minute, Carter,” Scratch said. He shouted, sputtering. “Sheriff Miller just saved your ass!”
    “Stay out of this, Jim. She’s committed a murder.”
    “It wasn’t murder,” Scratch said. “You know damn well it wasn’t. Jesus, didn’t you get a good look at Greta’s eyes?”
    “Jim, shut up, or I’ll arrest you too.” Carter took out his handcuffs, and snapped them over Miller’s wrists.
    Scratch started forward aggressively, but Miller shook her head. “Easy, Scratch.”
    Miller allowed Crosby to walk her to the door of the General Store. “I’ll explain things to the Constable here. You get back to the lodge. Tell