by M. D. Massey
“Cheer up.” His tone changed. “Let’s hope Luther has some good news for us. If not, betcha bottom dollar I can sweet talk him into taking the road trip with me,” Dean said, faking a smile.
“Uh, right.” Her sarcastic tone said it all. “Do you really think Luther would come here if he knew of a safe, normal place?” She frowned, disappointed in Dean’s decision.
The next morning Dean drove Scarlett and Justin across town to the western end of Vacaville. One lane had previously been cleared on the I-80 westbound lane, giving her hope that perhaps the military had been in the area.
Dean parked the truck in the middle of the interstate by the Monte Vista Avenue exit. “Might as well head Luther off at the pass,” Dean drawled with remnants of what sounded like a southern accent.
Scarlett found Dean’s down-to-earth, southern-like attitude comforting. When he’s not in a grumpy mood. They were in good moods this morning. Hope and anticipation were good for the soul, she decided.
“By the way, Dean, where are you from? You have this way of talking—” Scarlett started.
“Dude, sometimes you talk like that cowboy who made those vintage westerns . . . you know, what’s his name?” Justin quipped, but it was evident Justin didn’t know the actor’s name.
“John Wayne?” Scarlett offered, trying to hold back a smile.
“Exactly,” Justin said.
“I know, I do sound like an old-timer. Well, older than I actually am.”
“Like dude, how old are you, anyway?” Justin asked in amazement.
Dean ignored the question. “Born and raised in Las Cruces, New Mexico on my dear ole granddaddy’s ranch. See, I was sort of an accident. In those days, it was a mortal sin to have a child out of wedlock. Soon after I was born, my mama left me there with my granddaddy.”
“Didn’t she visit you?” Justin seemed sad.
“Now and again, but as the years passed, she eventually married and forgot about me. Had to, that’s just the way it was back in those days.”
“That’s so sad.” Scarlet sighed.
“Never thought of it that way. Life on the ranch was great. Had lots of family around. Learned a hell of a lot of things—how to live in the real world, how to do things with my hands, and how to use my brain. Yep, not afraid of a little blood, sweat, and tears. No computers back then,” he said, turning to Justin.
“How did you meet Mary?” Scarlett asked.
“Well, it was on account of my granddaddy’s deathbed wish. Naw, you didn’t argue with him,” Dean paused, smiling as if lost in a pleasant memory. “He had it in his mind that I was wasting my life away at the ranch. Just before he passed on, he sold the ranch and set up a trust fund. It was all mine. If I went to college—in California. He said I needed modern-day learnin’ ’cause the world was changing fast. And I’d better be ready for it.”
“You went to college in California?” Justin asked in astonishment.
“You betcha, Chico State.” Dean almost sounded embarrassed. “And that’s where I met my Mary.” A tear found its way to his cheek. “Old habits are hard to break. There’s still a smidgeon of my ole granddaddy and the ranch in me.”
Scarlett thought about what Dean said, and she understood him better. It was funny how all of one’s life experiences (good and bad) molded one’s way of thinking and edged a path for one’s journey through life. It made her wonder what series of events had been the catalyst for mankind to end up as soulless man-eating creatures.
The three of them sat low in their seats with the windows rolled-up, so their human scent wouldn’t give them away, only leaving the security of the truck to relieve their bladders. Silently, they nibbled on their cooler-packed lunches. And they sat there. Waiting. And Waiting.
Justin fiddled with the purple cell phone, making sure it still worked. He even tried calling Luther several times. No one ever answered his calls. Periodically, packs ambled the destitute highway, fortunately unaware of their presence.
At dusk, Dean finally said, “Let’s call it a day, shall we? Don’t think Luther would risk traveling the dead-head infested roads at night.”
They made it back to the hotel in time for dinner, not wanting to rouse the suspicion of the Stockton Boys. Dinnertime was particularly gloomy that evening. Justin’s exuberance didn’t fill the dining room as usual. She realized how much they relied on Justin’s enthusiasm, his funny impressions, and silly exaggerations to keep them entertained or rather, distracted from the creepers twitchily pacing the barbed wire fence. For some reason, Nate and Paxton tolerated Justin’s wacky personality and never-ending supply of outrageous quips.
Even Nate and Paxton were exceptionally quiet and sedate during dinner. Dean didn’t bother asking how much fuel they’d scavenged. And Scarlett, as always, avoided expressing her opinions at the dinner table. Her outspokenness often caused a flare-up with LuLu, which usually caused Nate and Paxton to tell LuLu to shut-up, which in turn caused Dean to get red-faced with anger. For some reason, everyone was on their best behavior. Or was it hopelessness?
After dinner, Justin helped Ella with the dishes while everyone else seemed to feign tiredness and went upstairs. As usual, Nate, Paxton, and LuLu stopped off at the second floor. Scarlett had a sick feeling she did not want to know what the three of them did—besides the drinking. According to Dean, The Stockton Boys were even meaner when they were drunk.
Scarlett sat cross-legged in the middle of her bed sulking, in desperate need to talk to someone. She absentmindedly shuffled a tattered deck of Bicycle playing cards she’d found in one of the vacant hotel rooms. With nothing else to do, she set up the deck to play an old favorite game Aunt Marge had taught her as a child, clock solitaire.
Raised by her elderly Aunt Marge, she had grown up playing cards, reading, drawing, listening to music, and there had always been daydreaming . . . I loved daydreaming. She hadn’t done that in ages. Luckily, she had learned to keep herself occupied without all those electronic gadgets, or she would have gone insane. She wondered how the younger generation managed without their electronic devices keeping them entertained. If there are other people out there? There must be. Why’s it taking so flippin’ long for the military to take control?
The Super Summer flu must have been far more devastating than she had realized. Every night she tossed in bed thinking, worrying, and regretting the things she had and hadn’t done with her life. Her thoughts often drifted to Cyndi and her two precious sons, hoping Cyndi, Rex, and the boys had made it to Levi’s Stadium. Scarlett scolded herself. She should’ve gone to Pinole to find out for herself. She needed to know if her sister, brother-in-law, and two nephews were alive.
It brought her back to that same question: Why had she survived? She wasn’t a survivalist. She was merely an elementary school teacher, who happened to be a damn good shot with a rifle. Even Kevin had said she was a natural. It hadn’t taken much training except for learning how to handle and load the gun. The trick was to gently squeeze the trigger without flinching. Kevin had taught her that. Would she still be alive if he hadn’t taken her shooting that one day last May?
The tears started. The salty droplets trickled to her quivering lips. She was tired of holding them back. Dammit, Kevin! How could you leave me like that? A part of her still clung to his memory, his comforting arms, and all those times he had said he loved her. She shoved the memories away. If he had truly loved her, he wouldn’t have dumped her days before the wedding.
With a quick swipe, she smeared the cards across the bedspread, destroying the perfect clock-like spread she had so carefully arranged. Scarlett gazed about the boring hotel room: the ugly brown and blue striped wallpaper didn’t match the ugly brown and blue striped carpet, and neither matched the ugly brown and blue striped drapes.
Her eyes drifted to the novel sitting on the dresser. It was a Charles de Lint novel, Moonheart, a wonderful, whimsical story—a great way to pass the time. Ella had mentioned she wanted to read it next. Scarlett impatient
ly wiped the tears with the back of her hand. Grabbing the book, she sprinted down the stairs, hoping to catch Ella in the kitchen or maybe in the lobby, which they had turned into an entertainment room. She might even join them for tonight’s movie; she didn’t care what they watched. She just did not want to be alone.
The lobby was empty. “Ella. Justin? Are you in the kitchen?” She poked her head in the dining room. No one was there, and she went to the kitchen. “Ella, I have the book you wanted . . .” Scarlett turned the corner into the kitchen, face to face with Paxton. Her soul froze over.
Paxton seemed rather pleased. He quickly cornered her against the cold, stainless steel refrigerator, shoving his body against her. An evil smile spread across his thin lips as he pressed his muscular body against her harder and harder. “I’ve been waiting for you.” It sounded more like a threat.
“Fuck off!” She glared. He leered, nudging in closer. Feeling the bulge swelling in his groin, she tried shoving him back, but his broad shoulders engulfed her small frame.
“Nice tits.” He groped at her breasts. “Baby, you know you want it,” he bragged.
Scarlett squirmed about, trying to avoid his hands, his hot breath lashed at her neck like the rank, searing breath of a dragon. “Damn you, Paxton—Dean will get you for this,” she hissed. It was the only thing she could think of to say.
“Fuck Dean. Hmm, you probably already did. Ready for a real man?” He reached around her back, trying to unhook her bra.
This is not happening! With one sudden knee-jerk, she slammed her knee into his balls.
Paxton croaked, “Bitch!” He doubled over in obvious agony.
Paxton glared up at her with dark, piercing eyes sharp as scalpels. “So, you like it rough. Just my type.” That evil smile appeared again. “Dean can’t protect you forever. One day, mark my words, bitch—you’ll be begging for it,” he threatened as he rubbed his groin.
“Scarlett, I heard you calling me,” Ella’s voice called from the dining room.
Scarlett quickly composed herself. Paxton hobbled over to one of the kitchen cupboards. He snatched a package of Nutter Butter cookies, slamming the cupboard door just as Ella entered the kitchen. Ella jumped when she saw Paxton and was obviously relieved when she saw Scarlett. Paxton glowered at them both, sneered that wicked smile of his and left, laughing like a demented character in a psycho-horror movie.
“Scarlett—you okay?” Ella murmured.
Scarlett nodded, but she was woozy from his groping. “Here’s the book you wanted to read,” Scarlett said, trying to sound cheerful. “Has Paxton ever tried anything with you?”
Ella didn’t answer.
“Ella, if he or Nate ever touched you, I need to know. Dean will do something about it.”
Ella whispered, “Paxton scares me, but he hasn’t tried anything sexual. Nate grabbed me once when I was cooking dinner. I kinda hit him on the head with a pan. He left me alone after that. But, I don’t like the way he looks at me sometimes when he thinks I’m not looking. Really, I’m okay. Justin’s almost always with me when Paxton and Nate are here. Unless I’m in my room—by myself,” Ella emphasized.
Scarlett continued, not convinced Ella was telling the truth. “Ella, I’m serious. You need to let me know if Paxton or Nate have ever tried anything.”
“Don’t worry. I’m still a virgin—if that’s what you’re getting at?” Ella blushed and stormed out of the kitchen.
Isn’t that just flippin’ great! I came downstairs for a nice chat, and I end up pissing-off Paxton and Ella. Scarlett ran back to her unsympathetic room. She tossed the book back on the dresser and then plopped on the bed and spent the evening staring blankly at the ugly brown and blue carpet, sulking.
The next day, Scarlett loitered around downstairs furtively waiting for Justin’s phone to ring again. Dean, Justin, Ella, and Scarlett buzzed about doing menial chores around the hotel. Dean hadn’t gone to his morning lookout post; instead, he revised the food inventory list. Justin tinkered around with the entertainment center in the lobby, checking the wires and connections. Ella spent the morning in the kitchen, baking something delicious based on the aroma, and Scarlett reorganized the first-aid supplies (all five of them) for the umpteenth time and pretended to reread the Cracker-Jack-sized pamphlet, which had been stuffed perfectly inside the minuscule packet of bandages she had found in the maintenance room.
But really, Scarlett knew they secretly hung around, waiting for Luther to call again. He didn’t. She felt the group’s morale and hope fade into an evaporating mist of nothingness. Scarlett wondered if this was how they felt: the creepers, listlessly milling about. An eternity of waiting . . .
Discouraged, Scarlett went to her room, no longer able to stifle her urge to scream. I can’t go on like this, she thought while flipping through a Katy Perry calendar. “It’s already December. Time to move on.”
She was not staying at the Sweet Suites hotel forever. Apparently, they were in denial, thinking help would arrive any day. It had been four months since the flu pandemic and not a single sign of the government or society. If California had survived the pandemic, surely the military would have shown up, strutting their power.
Perhaps this part of California was in a hot zone, an area too dangerous to control. Even so, Scarlett figured there would have been reconnaissance flyovers. Wouldn’t the military be monitoring the area, if not with planes, with drones? But they hadn’t seen any planes or drones. According to Justin, the Super Summer flu hadn’t just hit California. Scarlett contemplated her next move, realizing it was time to move on. She needed to prepare for her journey.
She ran into Dean in the lobby. “Where’s Justin?”
“Kitchen, last I saw,” Dean grumbled and stomped to the supply room.
“There you are,” Scarlett said
“What’s up?” Justin asked with a mouth full. “You gotta try these while they’re hot.”
Ella handed Scarlett an oven-hot tortilla. “Delicious.” Scarlett’s taste buds tingled with delight, reminding her of a question she had meant to ask Ella for a while. “Did you do the cooking for your family?”
“My parents owned a restaurant, Dos Lunas. I helped my mom after school and on the weekends.” Ella smiled proudly, but there was sadness in her tone.
“No wonder you’re such a fabulous cook.” Scarlett nibbled on the tortilla savoring each bite.
“Dean went over the inventory again,” Ella said, rolling her eyes. “He said we had a shitload (she giggled, looking down while covering her mouth) of flour and vegetable shortening. He was going to throw it out to make room for the canned goods in the storage room. I started telling him all the things I can make with flour and shortening. And do you know what he said?”
Scarlett waited for Ella to answer her own question, amazed at Ella’s chatty side. Poor Justin, if she’s a chatterbox, he’s in for it.
“Uh,” he said, “ ‘get to it then, chop, chop.’ ”
They laughed. Everyone was in a better mood, even if they were faking optimism. Scarlett was greatly relieved Ella was no longer irritated with her, and she started to feel human again.
“Justin, I need your help with something,” Scarlett said, purposely vague. He followed her into the dining room.
“Ye-ah, remember the last time you asked for my help? Dean almost had a freakin’ heart attack.” He shook his head with an emphatic “No.”
“I need a few things, and you’re the only one I can trust to watch my back. I’m sure we only need to hit a couple of houses to find what I need,” Scarlett explained all the while Justin kept shaking his head no. She didn’t dare tell him she wanted a few things for her trip to Pinole. “So what if Dean gets pissed. It’s not like he’s your dad,” Scarlett retorted childishly.
Justin continued shaking his head no. “Not gonna do it, no matter what you say.” He put his hands over his ears, pretending not to hear her. “La, la, la, la, la. I’m soooo—not listening.”
“I happ
en to know a secret,” she hinted. “A very special secret about your girlfriend,” Scarlett hinted tantalizingly, knowing the always curious Justin wouldn’t be able to hold out for too long.
“Okay, so tell me, already,” he moaned.
“If you take me shopping for supplies, I’ll help you find a special birthday gift for your sweetheart,” she tempted. “Her birthday’s December twentieth. I saw her school ID card the other day. LuLu found it when sorting the laundry and asked (more like ordered) me to return it to her.”
“I’m sure Ella would be pleasantly surprised if you gave her a birthday present,” Scarlett continued. She could almost see the thoughts whirling around in his head as that silly smirk of his lit up his face.
“You are so on! Dude, I wish I’d had you as a teacher. Let’s sneak out tomorrow at dawn. We’ll take the car this time. I know this super-fancy neighborhood not far from here. What do you need anyway?”
“Oh, a few things, first-aid supplies, and a pair of pink pumps,” she teased.
“What the heck?” he smirked.
“Really, I could use some winter clothes. And a few books to read. It’s getting rather repetitive reading the same novel over and over,” she joked, pleased she’d finally convinced him to come along. She didn’t have the nerve to go out there on her own.
17
After dinner, Dean remained at the dining room table, waiting for the Stockton Boys to retire upstairs for the evening. Meanwhile, he attempted reading the Tom Clancy novel Scarlett had given him. Where she found it, he didn’t want to know, and he hadn’t bothered to ask. He’d given up on keeping her inside the hotel—where it was safe.
All Dean wanted to do was enjoy the novel in his room, reclined in his favorite armchair with a highball of Crown Royal. However, it was his duty to keep an eye on things. So, he stayed to keep the peace, making sure the Stockton Boys didn’t get riled up like they had a tendency to do in the evenings. Scarlett sat in the lobby reading while Justin and Ella bustled about the kitchen and dining room, giggling about this and that during their usual after dinner clean-up. If he tried hard enough, they almost seemed like one big, happy family. Almost.