The Hungry (Book 3): At the End of the World Read Online Free
Author: Steven Booth, Harry Shannon
cooped up with for the last several weeks. Hell, maybe even a Jacuzzi tub. Miller’s eyes roamed the resort, and her body relaxed a bit. From where she was, rolling through the middle of the village, the danged place also looked defensible. They’d be safe and secure.
“Wonderful,” Miller said.
“That’s not it,” Scratch said, with a chuckle in his voice. “That old place burned up inside years ago. It’s just a fancy shell. I’m surprised that the outside is still standing.”
“Where are we going, then?” Miller asked.
Scratch pointed at a fork in the road ahead. The one to the left had a dilapidated sign for the Rocky Point Ski Resort . So that had to be it, Miller thought. Hell, the right-hand fork wasn’t even labeled.
“Terrill Lee, take the right,” Scratch said, “the one with no marker. We’ll be where we’re going in a few more minutes.”
Miller tensed up again. Wait a second , so we’re going to the worst possible alternative? This did not bode well, but she didn’t say anything. She’d just wait and see. Miller didn’t want Scratch to feel shot down. He had her best interests at heart.
Once again, they drove on. They began to climb higher into the mountains. The road was packed with tall pines on both sides, crowding close to the dirt road. The road was dark and Terrill Lee turned on the lights. The smell of the trees was particularly strong here. Compared to the Nevada desert Miller had grown used to, the location offered a lovely potpourri of fragrances. For a moment, she wondered what it must be like to bring a dog up here for a long run. It would spend its whole day here joyously sniffing the air. After days packed in with unwashed men, she would too. Miller cracked the window a little more and breathed it all in. It was the nicest perfume she’d ever inhaled. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“Bingo.” Terrill Lee broke into Miller’s thoughts and focused her attention on what was appearing up ahead, out in front of the car.
Scratch growled a warning to Terrill Lee not to start singing. Miller was momentarily worried he’d pummel Terrill Lee to death right there for just that reference to the damned song, but Scratch actually began to chuckle instead.
The light died rapidly. Their headlights illuminated the road, which became paved again. A hulking shape emerged from the gloom. Through the windshield, a couple of outdoor lights illuminated what appeared to be another good-sized building up ahead. Dark-stained wood framed the large picture windows of what appeared to be a three-story hunting lodge of some kind. It was far more compact than the burned-out ski resort, and very well designed. This was a place that could serve as a fortress. If Miller had any doubts of where they were headed, they evaporated right then and there. Scratch had done himself proud.
“We’re here,” Scratch said. He puffed up, sensing Miller’s approval. “Terrill Lee, head over to the left, toward that little cabin. That’s our first stop.”
The building in question was what Miller would have referred to as a cottage. Whitewashed clapboard walls supported the high-pitched roof. This was a house, one that seemed too large for one person, but it would have been about right for a small family. As Miller continued to study the front of the cottage, one of the curtains moved to reveal a white face in the backlit window. As quickly as it appeared, it was gone.
“Well, someone’s home,” Miller said. “And now they know we’re here.” The seat squealed softly as she turned to address Scratch. “Is this person a friend of yours? I’m thinking maybe we should go in packing.”
“Yes, Greta’s a friend,” Scratch said. He did not protest as Miller checked the load in her .357 Smith and Wesson revolver. Instead, he checked to make sure his own .45 Springfield was still in its clip-on holster on his hip.
Miller said, “Let’s do this.”
“Look, don’t anyone freak her
“Wonderful,” Miller said.
“That’s not it,” Scratch said, with a chuckle in his voice. “That old place burned up inside years ago. It’s just a fancy shell. I’m surprised that the outside is still standing.”
“Where are we going, then?” Miller asked.
Scratch pointed at a fork in the road ahead. The one to the left had a dilapidated sign for the Rocky Point Ski Resort . So that had to be it, Miller thought. Hell, the right-hand fork wasn’t even labeled.
“Terrill Lee, take the right,” Scratch said, “the one with no marker. We’ll be where we’re going in a few more minutes.”
Miller tensed up again. Wait a second , so we’re going to the worst possible alternative? This did not bode well, but she didn’t say anything. She’d just wait and see. Miller didn’t want Scratch to feel shot down. He had her best interests at heart.
Once again, they drove on. They began to climb higher into the mountains. The road was packed with tall pines on both sides, crowding close to the dirt road. The road was dark and Terrill Lee turned on the lights. The smell of the trees was particularly strong here. Compared to the Nevada desert Miller had grown used to, the location offered a lovely potpourri of fragrances. For a moment, she wondered what it must be like to bring a dog up here for a long run. It would spend its whole day here joyously sniffing the air. After days packed in with unwashed men, she would too. Miller cracked the window a little more and breathed it all in. It was the nicest perfume she’d ever inhaled. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“Bingo.” Terrill Lee broke into Miller’s thoughts and focused her attention on what was appearing up ahead, out in front of the car.
Scratch growled a warning to Terrill Lee not to start singing. Miller was momentarily worried he’d pummel Terrill Lee to death right there for just that reference to the damned song, but Scratch actually began to chuckle instead.
The light died rapidly. Their headlights illuminated the road, which became paved again. A hulking shape emerged from the gloom. Through the windshield, a couple of outdoor lights illuminated what appeared to be another good-sized building up ahead. Dark-stained wood framed the large picture windows of what appeared to be a three-story hunting lodge of some kind. It was far more compact than the burned-out ski resort, and very well designed. This was a place that could serve as a fortress. If Miller had any doubts of where they were headed, they evaporated right then and there. Scratch had done himself proud.
“We’re here,” Scratch said. He puffed up, sensing Miller’s approval. “Terrill Lee, head over to the left, toward that little cabin. That’s our first stop.”
The building in question was what Miller would have referred to as a cottage. Whitewashed clapboard walls supported the high-pitched roof. This was a house, one that seemed too large for one person, but it would have been about right for a small family. As Miller continued to study the front of the cottage, one of the curtains moved to reveal a white face in the backlit window. As quickly as it appeared, it was gone.
“Well, someone’s home,” Miller said. “And now they know we’re here.” The seat squealed softly as she turned to address Scratch. “Is this person a friend of yours? I’m thinking maybe we should go in packing.”
“Yes, Greta’s a friend,” Scratch said. He did not protest as Miller checked the load in her .357 Smith and Wesson revolver. Instead, he checked to make sure his own .45 Springfield was still in its clip-on holster on his hip.
Miller said, “Let’s do this.”
“Look, don’t anyone freak her
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