The Hungry (Book 3): At the End of the World Read Online Free Page B

the hunting rifle slung casually over one arm. She was a compact brunette with graying hair, dressed in comfortable jeans and a blue work shirt.
    “Oh, Jim Bowen.” Greta laughed a sinister chuckle. “I thought you meant… well, someone else.” Her posture changed, grew straighter. “What the hell are you doing back up here, boy? Ain’t you heard the world has gone to shit?”
    “That’s kinda why we’re here,” Scratch said. “Things suck down in the flatlands. We were hoping you could show us some mountain hospitality.”
    Greta laughed; a raspy, cheerful sound that was immediately followed by the phlegmy cough of a long-time smoker. “You always were a dreamer, Jimmy. We’re closed. Most of the villagers have left, and we ain’t had us a lodger since those bombs went off. Sorry, but there’s nothing I can do for you.”
    “Couldn’t you help us out, just for old time’s sake?”
    Greta shook her head sadly. “’Fraid not, son.”
    The snow began to fall harder. It was cold as an ice diver’s balls. Miller’s spirits sank as she realized that their hopes of a place to stay for the night were going to shit. She felt worse with every passing second. Winter was coming. They were tired and hungry. After all the shit that they’d been through, she didn’t relish the idea of spending another night sleeping in the minivan. This was still Scratch’s show, but if things went south, she was willing to risk his ego—and this old woman’s comfort—to score a bed for the night. And dear God, just one bath.
    “We can pay you.” Terrill Lee spoke before Scratch could form a response. All eyes were instantly upon him. Scratch looked furious, Sheppard was simply shocked. Miller felt her own jaw drop open, incredulous. How dumb could Terrill Lee get and still remember to breathe? Greta, her face washed out by the headlights and wan moonlight, grinned broadly. Her smile was warm. Her eyes were greedy.
    “Shut up, numbnuts,” Scratch said under his breath.
    “How much?” Greta lowered her weapon.
    “Ten thousand. Cash,” Terrill Lee said. He ignored the others.
    “Terrill Lee, what are you thinking?” Miller said. She wasn’t whispering. He’d blown their secret. They had a lot of cash left. It had once been a fortune but was dwindling fast in a country losing faith in its currency.
    “Each?” Greta asked. She had already taken their measure and seemed pleased. Times were tough. “I might be willing to let you in for ten thousand each.”
    “Done,” Terrill Lee said, before anyone could stop him. “We want four of your best rooms. And in the morning, you’re going to feed us breakfast. I mean some real hot food. Not that dried survival bar crap. Do we have a deal?”
    “Hell, yes,” Greta said. She put the rifle down and hoisted a large ring of keys. “For that kind of money breakfast will be filet mignon and eggs, with some cold champagne to wash it all down.”
    “Good enough,” Terrill Lee said. As usual, he seemed immune to everyone else’s hostility. For the hundredth time, Miller remembered why he was her ex- husband. “Everybody, go get your stuff.”
    Without looking back, Terrill Lee headed for the rear of the minivan. He was followed slowly by Scratch, Sheppard, and eventually Miller. Greta went back into the cottage but left the front door open. Miller watched her friends, then Greta, with her head on a swivel. Experience had taught her to be cautious.
    When they reached the van, Scratch grabbed Terrill Lee by the shoulder and spun him around. His fist clenched and his arm cocked back. Scratch wasn’t all that prone to empty threats. Miller was a mite surprised that he didn’t punch Terrill Lee’s lights out right then and there. Hell, Miller almost considered doing the same damned thing. He had just announced to the world they were loaded with cash. They wouldn’t be able to explain where the money had come from without opening a twelve-foot can of worms. Oh, that? Well, we