The Hungry (Book 3): At the End of the World by Steven Booth, Harry Shannon Read Free Book Online Page A

I’m going to take my own look around.”
    They spread out. Sheppard went to the café area and into the kitchen, and Terrill Lee headed down into the basement. The snow had stopped and the light from the thick windows was bright and warm. The air was cozy and the wood smelled of fresh pine furniture cleaner.
    Scratch stood where he was. As soon as the others were out of earshot he said, “You can’t be serious.”
    “What else do you propose we do?” Miller started in the direction of the gun case, which stood against the far wall near the large stone fireplace. She wasn’t really looking at Scratch, yet not really ignoring him. She knew he needed to calm down and didn’t want him to feel further challenged. “Blaming Terrill Lee for what happened won’t get us anywhere. Besides, I didn’t hear anyone suggest that we stay in the same room, post guards, barricade the doors, or do any of that. We were all too dead tired. Instead, we split up the party like a bunch of rookies, even after you warned us that Greta wasn’t stand up. Hell, I left the money bag too far away from where I was sleeping. In the end, I figure maybe we all deserved to get screwed.”
    She kept walking. After a moment, Scratch followed behind her. Miller could tell she had made her point. She stopped in front of the glass doors and counted the rifles and guns inside the case. Miller tested the doors. They were locked.
    “You’re better at breaking and entering than me, Scratch. Why don’t you see if you can’t get this thing open?”
    Without thinking, Scratch reached up above the gun case. He felt around, and produced a dusty key. He opened the gun case and stepped aside as if to say, ta-dah.
    “You seem to know an awful lot about this lodge,” Miller said. She pulled one of the long hunting rifles from the rack. “Care to explain that?” She pointed the rifle out the window, sighted on a bird on the top branches of a tree a hundred yards off. It was a fine weapon.
    “I told you in the minivan,” Scratch said, “my folks used to work here. Me and my brother spent what were supposed to be the best years of our lives cleaning toilets and mucking stables for nothing more than a pat on the head. There wasn’t anything to do for fun but get shitfaced, chase some tail, and break all the local laws. If it weren’t for the clientele, it would have been a total fucking waste.”
    “There’s a stable?” Miller asked. She took the scope away from her eye. She was suddenly very interested. “Horses?”
    “Yeah, out the back next to the lake, behind Greta’s cabin. There are usually four or five horses in there. This lodge was kind of a dude-ranch-slash-fuck-palace for celebrities who wanted to get away from the cameras and their wives. Jack Nicholson was here almost every other weekend. They say Jimmy Carter didn’t just lust in his heart around this place. Axl Rose nearly overdosed upstairs. They had to send a helicopter to airlift his sorry ass out.”
    “Good times, eh?”
    Scratch chuckled, remembering. He waved his hand, indicating the whole lodge. “There was more hunting for pussy going on around here for the last fifty years than for bear, I can tell you that.” He patted a stuffed black bear that stood next to the gun cabinet. The long, yellow teeth looked ready to bite down on his hand. “No offense, my man.”
    Miller looked at Scratch for a long time, not saying anything.
    Finally, Scratch broke the silence. “What?”
    “You done good, Scratch. This place ain’t exactly Fort Knox, but it sure will do.” She set the rifle down in its spot in the gun case. “Thank you.” Miller smiled. She stepped up to Scratch and kissed him.
    Scratch wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back. It was a long, gentle kiss. Miller surprised herself when she bit his top lip, then slipped her tongue in his mouth. Scratch had brushed his teeth and freshened up, so the rancid smell of the minivan was gone. Miller breathed in through