by M. D. Massey
“Looks like we weren’t the only ones wanting a caffeine fix. There was a lot of looting in the beginning,” Justin said while combing the shelves.
“There has to be coffee in here—somewhere. Let’s check out the back.”
“Okay, you open the door. I’m hella ready to do some de-activating.” He set down the backpack and braced himself in a full zombie-killing stance. “Okay, so watch closely. I’ll show you my latest move,” Justin said, completely serious.
Scarlett slowly opened the door to one of the back rooms. Justin raised his zombie-slayer knife, ready for action.
He let out a disappointed whine, “Dude—no Zs.”
“Woo-hoo!” Scarlett gasped. The back wall was stacked with boxes and boxes of coffee.
“I’ll load the backpacks. You want to stand guard?” Scarlett didn’t wait for Justin to respond. She started ripping open the boxes.
“Next time we bring the car,” Scarlett proclaimed.
“Next time it’s Pete’s Coffee—like nobody does Starbucks anymore,” he chided.
“Rrr RRRrrrrrrr RRRrrrrrr!” A series of wails warned Justin and Scarlett. They exchanged frantic glances.
“Ye-ah, sounds like a horde. We’ve got enough coffee. Time to go.” Justin grimaced.
The moans grew louder. Closer. They left out the back door and then peered around the corner of the building. The littered parking lot was creeper-free.
“Come on.” Justin motioned, and they snuck back to Orange Drive.
She didn’t see any creepers, but based on the chorus of moans and groans, a vocal pack was closing in on them. She could almost feel their hunger pangs as if it were her own body slowly starving to death. Slowly, Scarlett and Justin crept back to the hotel down Orange Drive, darting from vehicle to vehicle for cover. She was both surprised and relieved to find no creepers in sight.
Scarlett started to dart behind a smashed-up Toyota when Justin tugged on her backpack. He held his index finger to his mouth, pursed his lips, and pointed to the Chevron station across the street. A pack of about fifteen creepers encircled one of the pumping station islands. Their abnormal behavior rather disturbed her. Instead of their usual lackadaisical rambling about, the pack seemed to be searching the area—methodically. The pack of creepers staggered like Mick Jagger on Quaaludes, jerking from one set of pumping stations to the next until they had completed a search of the gas station’s perimeter.
When the pack seemed satisfied with the search, they scurried to Orange Drive only a few yards down the street from where Scarlett and Justin hid. The pack loitered in the middle of the street. Scarlett’s solar plexus twinged in horror as they tilted their hideously disfigured faces to the sky, sniffing the wind. Were they waiting for Scarlett and Justin to return to the hotel?
She caught Justin’s apprehensive glance, and they instinctively retreated, ending up in a Burger King’s parking lot. The creepers gained ground. They couldn’t have seen us?
Justin pointed to a fenced-in area. “To the dumpster,” he whispered.
The gate to the fenced dumpster area screeched when Justin opened it, causing them to flinch at the same time. They backed their way into the over-piled trash. The dumpster lid was open, and trash spilled over onto the pavement, the stench unbearable. Scarlett tried holding her breath, but that didn’t work for very long.
“Don’t worry,” Justin said. “They’ll forget about us in a couple of minutes and scramble off at the next sound they hear.”
But she heard the anxiety in his hoarse whisper. After a few minutes, Justin edged out of his hiding place to check the street. He crouched back to Scarlett and didn’t say a word.
“Well, are they gone?” Scarlett asked. His olive complexion had faded to a pale-ashen color.
“It’s not looking good. Counted twenty. They’re just shambling in the middle of the freakin’ road—like they know we’re nearby.” He seemed close to panicking.
“I’m thinking that too. Our scent must be in the air,” she whispered.
“Must be this reeking trash that’s throwing them off. It super-stinks in here,” Justin whispered, plugging his nose with his fingers.
The Burger King’s rear parking lot was enclosed with a tall, cinder block, security wall similar to the hotel’s. They were trapped. The only way out was by way of Orange Drive. They waited.
A few minutes later Justin left the dumpster’s rank safety-zone for another view of Orange Drive. He hunched back over to Scarlett, shaking his head.
“Now there’s like thirty of them. And they are coming this way!” he lamented.
“Then we go to plan B,” Scarlett encouraged.
“We have a plan B?” Justin looked bewildered.
“Ye-ah,” she teased. “We’ll jump the wall. And make a run for the back of the hotel,” she suddenly decided, hoping it made perfect sense to him.
“Uh, Scarlett, we don’t know what’s on the other side of this wall—” he started to argue. Gurgling-groans came from the Burger King parking lot. “Amazing idea! Let’s make a run for it,” he shouted.
He ran to the eight-foot wall with Scarlett right behind. They were in plain view of the pack. Their dreadful moans intensified when they saw food within their grasps.
“We need something to hop the fence,” Scarlett shouted, no longer needing to be silent.
“The pallets by the dumpster,” Justin yelped.
“Shit!” Scarlett screamed. “We can’t go back—it’s too late.” Justin dropped his fully-loaded backpack and ran back to the dumpster. The pack staggered at surprising speed.
“I got this!” Justin yelled back.
He grabbed two wooden pallets just as three creepers stormed the dumpster area. Justin shoved them back with the pallets, knocking them down to the pavement.
“Run!” Scarlett screamed. She grabbed his backpack and ran for the wall. She threw the two stuffed packs over the cinder block wall while Justin turned the pallets into a precarious ladder.
“You first,” Justin gasped.
She didn’t bother to argue and pulled herself to the top of the rough cinder blocks. “It’s clear on this side,” Scarlett announced with relief.
Scarlett jumped down to the empty field, her heart pounding so loudly she thought her eardrums might burst. Justin practically flew over the wall, yelling, “Totally awesome!”
Scarlett glanced back at him, his eyes wild with exhilaration and his cheeks flushed.
“That was like super-hecka amazeballs!” he whooped.
“Uh, that’s one way to put it,” Scarlett wheezed, trying to slow her rapid breathing.
“Ye-ah, I’m thinking we’d better not tell Dean about this,” Justin chimed.
“As if—” she responded. They laughed nervously. “Never thought I’d actually die for a cup of coffee,” she joked and swung her pack over the shoulder, thinking how stupid and lucky they’d been.
“Next time we’ll be better prepared,” Scarlett said defiantly.
“Next time . . . are you cray-cray?”
An impish grin took over. I can’t wait to see Dean’s expression when he sips his tea tomorrow morning. Won’t he be surprised, Scarlett mused.
Scarlett dashed down the stairs and practically ran to the dining room, relieved she made it there before Dean. Ella and Justin were already sitting at the table, giggling about something as usual.
“Is he up yet?” Scarlett asked. Her mini-alarm clock decided to stop working this morning. It had been in need of a fresh set of batteries, but batteries were quickly becoming a rare commodity.
“Any moment,” Justin replied, a silly smirk played with the corners of his mouth.
“Ella, did you make the coffee yet?” Scarlett asked.
Ella nodded an exuberant yes.
“So, let’s play this uber-cool. We won’t say a word—” Justin stopped in mid-sentence looking like a guilty kindergartener.
“Why’s everyone up so early?” Dean entered, obviously surprised to see the
m.
“Oh, you know, we’re busy with the CFO project,” Justin said.
Dean seemed pleased. “Like my ole granddaddy used to say, ‘the early bird catches the worm.’ Ella, what’s for breakfast this bright and cheery morning?” Dean asked.
As if Dean didn’t know. It was boxed cereal every flippin’ morning. At least he was in a good mood, Scarlett thought.
“By the way, what’s the status of your CFO project?” Dean asked as Ella nervously placed his favorite over-sized Gone Fishin’ mug in front of him.
“Oh, that, ye-ah, it’s going,” Justin said anxiously.
They eagerly waited for Dean to take his first sip of the French Roast. Scarlett was surprised the coffee’s aroma hadn’t given itself away, and then she realized why. Apparently, Justin or Ella had just doused the room with a familiar, fake smell-of-clean. Is that Lysol? Scarlett caught a big whiff of it and almost choked.
Finally, Dean lifted the mug to his lips. “What’s the scuttlebutt? You all are acting mighty peculiar.” He sat up straight and looked around the room, setting his Gone Fishin’ mug back down on the table.
“Like, I want to ask your opinion about something,” Justin started to ramble.
Jeez Louise, Justin’s so bad at lying. Scarlett was getting impatient but kept her mouth shut, not wanting to spoil the surprise.
Ella placed several cereal boxes in the center of the table, and everyone automatically reached for their favorites.
“We’ll talk when I get back,” Dean promised. Once again, he held the mug to his lips. “What in blazes? Ella, real coffee? Where’d you find it?” Dean took another sip. “It’s fantastic!”
Ella’s rather comical crooked-raised-eyebrow expression had Scarlett and Justin bursting with laughter. Ella dropped the stack of napkins she’d been about to place on the table and then ran into the kitchen. Uh-oh, here it comes. Get ready. Might need some earplugs for this.
“All right, who’s the culprit?” Dean paused, glaring from Justin to Scarlett then back to Justin. “Justin, where’d you get the coffee?” Dean accused.
But Scarlett was ready, ready to face Dean’s anger, and she responded a bit too casually. “Oh that, it’s nothing. Just a little something Justin and I picked up in town yesterday,” she chatted, pouring a splash of evaporated milk over her berry-bran granola cereal.
“What in tarnation?” Dean’s voice boomed. “Thought I made myself perfectly clear. No one leaves this place without my escort. It’s dangerous out there.”
Trying to be reasonable, Scarlett said, “Dean, you can’t keep us inside the hotel forever. We know your intentions are good, but—”
“What I say goes,” Dean interrupted.
“Be reasonable. We’ve managed to survive on our own before you came along . . .” Scarlett tried to explain.
“Do not—I repeat, do not leave this place again without me. End of story!” Dean stood up abruptly, glaring at them, his face turning a purplish-red.
Ella rushed into the room. Scarlett, deeply embroiled with anger, wondered why Ella returned. She always left the room during a heated discussion.
Dean stood there, fuming. “Well, for Pete’s sake, Ella, don’t tell me you’re in on this too?” He seemed disappointed in her. “You all don’t know what it’s like out there. It’s far too dangerous. Hell, it’s beyond dangerous it’s, it’s . . .”
Ella tugged on Justin’s arm, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“I forbid each and every one of you from leaving without me. And that’s final!” Dean’s words reverberated throughout the room.
Scarlett slammed her cup on the dining table. “Like hell . . .”
“It’s—it’s for you,” a tiny voice murmured.
Scarlett dismissed the muffled voice in the background, worried Dean was about to explode. She hoped the hotel’s defibrillator was half-way charged, noting it had needed a new battery the last time she had checked it.
“Now, Ella, you’ll stay out of this if you know what’s good for you,” Dean scolded.
Then it registered. Was that Ella? “Ella?” They all shouted—almost sang—like some off-the-wall scene in a wacky sitcom.
“It’s for you,” Ella said calmly and handed the cell phone to Justin. It was the purple iPhone Justin carried with him everywhere; he must have left it in the kitchen.
The room went completely silent as anxious eyes darted around at each other. Scarlett didn’t know what surprised them more: the fact Ella had spoken for the first time, or the fact Justin actually had a phone call. Justin grabbed the phone with trembling fingers.
“Hello?” Justin questioned as if he had never talked into a cell phone before.
“Yes, this is Justin. Who the heck are you?”
Everyone else remained silent. Scarlett held her breath, clutching her chest, and ignored the unreasonable notion that breathing might cause the call to disconnect.
“Ye-ah . . . uh-huh . . . ye-ah . . . okay . . . ye-ah. We’re at the Sweet Suites hotel. Off of Orange Drive, past Nut Tree Road,” Justin paused. “Ye-ah, okay . . .” Justin handed the phone back to Ella, which she returned by placing it into his shirt pocket with a giggle.
“Son, why’d you hang up?” Dean frowned.
“He, he had to go—” Justin’s voice drifted. “That was some guy named Luther. He wants to drop by tomorrow for a friendly visit.”
“Well, Twinkle Me Mary! Justin, your CFO project did the trick,” Dean elated, clapping him on the back, almost knocking Justin over.
Scarlett glanced around the room. It was as if the argument had never happened. They enjoyed their breakfast and hot coffee, everyone giving kudos to Justin for making “contact” as he called it. They had finally connected with someone from the outside world. It made her think of Carl Sagan and how he might have felt after making first Contact.
“I knew he’d do it,” Ella gushed. For once Justin seemed speechless.
“Well, everyone, let’s hop to it. We’re expecting company. Is my lunch ready?” Dean asked, brushing his hands off on his pants.
Ella returned from the kitchen with two coolers. She handed the blue cooler to Dean and gave the red cooler to Scarlett.
“I’m coming with you today, Dean. No getting out of it this time. We need to talk,” Scarlett’s tone was dead-serious.
Dean shrugged. “Come on then. The sunrise doesn’t wait around for dawdlers.” Dean paused in the doorway. “Do me a favor. How’s about we don’t mention this Luther fella to Paxton and Nate. Or, LuLu for that matter. Let’s keep this to ourselves—until Luther shows up,” Dean said politely, and no one argued.
Scarlett turned to give Ella a big hug, so happy the girl decided to talk again. But, Justin and Ella were completely lost in conversation. They must have oodles and oodles to talk about.
Scarlett and Dean rode in silence. Once they climbed into the cab of Dean’s jackknifed semi, Dean finally spoke. “What’s this all about? The Stockton Boys hasslin’ you? I warned them. I’d just as soon shoot ’em dead if either one of them messes with you.”
“No, Dean. I can handle those jerks. Remember the day you found me?” It feels like a lifetime ago. “You said you had a plan. But if you do have a plan, you’re leaving me—all of us, out of it. So, I’m thinking, maybe there is no plan.” She left it at that.
Dean rubbed his chin. “The thing is, I do have a plan. It’s just not workin’ out the way I had intended. Why do you think I come out here every day?”
“To get rid of us, I suppose.” Scarlett looked out the window, pretending to watch the sunrise.
“Now that’s where you’re wrong. I come up here every blasted morning hoping to find help. The military or someone? I’ve listened to this CB radio for hours. Something just isn’t right. Things are worse than I thought. Hell, we should’ve seen signs of the military by now.” Dean sounded despondent.
Has he given up? “That’s why we need a plan,” she encouraged.
Dean ignored her. “And,
and all of this—it’s too much for an old fella like me—keeping you all safe, keeping the generators running, finding the supplies—” It was his turn to vent.
She heard the agony in his tired voice. “Dean, you’ve done an excellent job.” Scarlett felt bad; she hadn’t meant to be ungrateful. She had never thought about it from his point of view. I suppose we’ve been trying his patience. “So, what exactly is your plan?”
“I had figured on headin’ up to Travis Air Force Base to scope things out. Search for signs of the military or a refugee camp. If that doesn’t pan out? Then, hell, just keep headin’ west to San Francisco and check out the military installations up and down the California coastline.”
“So, what’s stopping you?” she gently prodded.
“Well, it’s on account of—you know . . .”
She stared at him “What? What exactly are you trying to say?” Scarlett’s voice went up an octave.
“Truth is, I’m afraid of leaving you and Ella alone with the likes of Paxton and Nate.”
“That’s ridiculous. They don’t mess with Ella. And by the way, LuLu practically threatened me to keep away from her men.” She shook her head in disgust. “We’ll all go. Why not?” Scarlett asked.
“For one thing, fuel is downright scarce. We could get stranded or trapped for days. It would be sheer lunacy to endanger everyone,” he stated.
“Don’t you see, our lives are in danger every flippin’ day, even when we’re in the hotel. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but those things are aware of our presence. Yesterday, they actually searched for Justin and me. It was like they knew we were there—waiting to ambush us. They even had us cornered. It’s only a matter of time before they converge into one huge mega-horde and storm right over that chintzy 4-H Club fence you made,” she said with a shudder.
She was surprised by his silence. Was he considering her words? “Dean, I have this uncanny feeling—I don’t know, call it intuition if you will, but they are learning. And we don’t stand a chance in hell. We’ve got to find help. The hotel’s a death trap—waiting to happen,” Scarlett’s voice cracked, for at that instant she had a fleeting image of death. The image was so intense she could almost feel the dagger of death slowly piercing her heart.