by M. D. Massey
“Now for cryin' out loud, where do you suppose those two are off to?” Dean pondered.
Justin shrugged his usual “I don’t know” response.
“Follow me,” Dean said. “The basement’s chock-full of scrap metal and whatnot. Best we get a move on it—need to reinforce the fencing before the rest of Vacaville shows up for breakfast,” Dean said, trying to say something funny in an attempt to lighten up Justin’s glum mood.
“Whatever you say,” Justin mumbled.
Dean and Justin made their way to the lobby with as much scrap metal as they could carry.
“Do you hear that?” Justin asked.
Dean opened the front entrance. “What in tarnation?” Dean gawped. In the dawn’s red glow, Paxton scraped the pavement with a big yellow bulldozer. Nate rode shotgun, hanging on with one hand and leaning into the crowd of early-risers with a machete. They’ll wake up every blasted one! Dean’s panic abruptly turned to revulsion at the severed body parts flying all over the dadgum place. Nate and Paxton didn’t seem phased by the ghastly task as the bulldozer shoved the massive mess of gory gunk out of the parking lot and across the street.
“El sicko.” Justin gagged, the stench lingering in the air.
In all actuality, it was the most efficient method to clear the area. Why didn’t I think of that? Of course, the dead-heads were starting to meander about but were no match for the bulldozer in their half-slumber state. Meanwhile, Scarlett began firing away, picking off the stragglers one by one. Damn, that woman’s one hell of a shot.
After the Stockton Boys hosed off the lot, Dean and Justin hauled out the building supplies, while Dean mentally drew up the plans in his mind. But he could only do so much with their limited materials. The plan was to build a stronger fence and gate, reinforced with the steel pipes they retrieved from the basement. But, if a horde as big as the one that had trapped Luther stormed it—it wouldn’t hold. All he could do was pray his five-and-dime security system would keep them out until they found a new home. Scarlett was right; it was time to get out of Dodge. He sensed the group’s restlessness and their need to find their way back to society. Whatever and where ever it was.
“Say, Justin, will you hand me the pipe wrench in the lobby?” Dean shouted from across the lot. No use in being quiet. Time was of the essence.
Paxton, Nate, and Scarlett kept the area clear while Justin assisted him. Meanwhile, Dean muddled through his quandary. A few days ago, he had started hearing chatter on the short-wave radio again. Usually, it sounded like a bunch of gobbledygook. However, yesterday he had distinctively heard Travis Air Force base mentioned several times. He was thrilled with the possibility Travis AFB was up and running. Was the military finally gaining control of the situation? It was high time he found out.
It brought him back to the same problem; he needed someone to watch his back. The Stockton Boys were completely out of the question. The last time he had gone on a supply run with those two, they had damn near killed him off. Oh, they had played nice like they hadn’t heard his call for help when a mob of dead-heads had him cornered in the Walmart. But he’d seen Paxton’s reflection in a window. Yep, he’d seen Nate’s shadow jumping all over the place. Fortunately, Dean had managed to escape by way of the Garden Center. And it was the last time he had gone out with those two sons of bitches.
And there was Scarlett, constantly pestering him about tagging along his journey to check out the military bases. Dean figured she could most likely handle herself in a tough situation, but he’d never be able to forgive himself if God forbid, she became one of them on his watch. He had considered taking Justin. Leaving the Stockton Boys unsupervised with the three women was a bad idea. And then his prayers had been answered. Luther had shown up. Luther looks mighty tough. Reckon’ he can hold his own in a street fight.
“You done pissing around, old man? It’s two fuckin’ o’clock!” Paxton yelled. “Justin, get your woman to bring us lunch.”
The Stockton Boy’s cooperation had lasted longer than expected. Dean gave Justin a knowing glance. “Let’s call it a day, shall we?” Dean announced while double-checking their handiwork.
“I’m sure Ella has lunch waiting for us inside. She always does. You’d know that if you two weren’t always gallivanting around God knows where, doin’ God knows what,” Dean said as politely as he could.
“Tell yo big-eyed girly-friend to bring it to us,” Nate joined in, always ready to rant.
“Like, you know, Ella and LuLu never-ever leave the hotel,” Justin retorted.
“Shit man, that’s gonna change,” Nate mumbled.
Paxton gave Nate a scalding “shut-the-hell-up” glare. Despite the sudden flare-up between Nate and Paxton, the clean-up had gone faster and smoother than Dean anticipated.
Scarlett rushed down the stairs and into the dining room, glad the parking lot was finally cleared. She was absolutely famished. Please don’t tell me we’re having Spam again. The dining room table was arranged buffet style with stacks of cute finger sandwiches, bowls of black olives, green olives, baby corns, and artichoke hearts.
“Ella, this is a fabulous spread. You’re such a doll,” Scarlett complimented, pleased there was something to eat other than Spam.
“I for one, don’t eat no rabbit food shit,” Nate prattled off. Nate and Paxton grabbed most of the Spam sandwiches and took off.
“Ella, did Luther come down for lunch?” Scarlett asked.
Ella shook her head no.
Jeez Louise, I hope she’s not resorting back to not talking. “Did you check on him?”
Ella’s wide-eyed expression told Scarlett all she needed to know. Scarlett rushed up the stairs. Dean followed. In their frantic rush to secure the hotel, they’d forgotten about their guest. The poor man tossed about in the bed shivering and babbling, his body drenched in sweat.
“I should’ve checked on him. It’s my fault if he dies—” she lamented. “It never occurred to me he might be allergic to antibiotics.”
“Don’t you worry none. The sweating is a good sign,” Dean promised. “For now, all we can do is wait it out and hope his body fights off the infection and the allergic reaction.” Dean nodded in reassurance as he left the room.
Scarlett went back downstairs and loaded a plate of food. Then she ate in Luther’s room and waited for him to wake up. She was too keyed up to sleep. And she stressed over the future confrontation with Dean. He’s going to be furious. Why was it that during a crisis, Dean was calm as a cucumber, but when things were business as usual, and someone did something he didn’t approve of—he exploded?
Nevertheless, the time had come. She could not postpone it much longer. Would Dean understand? Did she? She knew it was idiocracy, this farfetched idea of hers that Cyndi and her family had somehow survived and were alive and well—living in their lovely home in Pinole. Still, this urgent desire of hers intensified every day. Sometimes she wondered if her desire to find her sister was really just a catalyst to get her to leave the hotel. The foreboding feeling plagued her like an ominous warning whispering in her dreams: Leave.
Scarlett sat at the edge of the room overlooking the balcony but not seeing, lost in thought as she relaxed to the sound of Luther’s deep breathing. Angry voices from the hallway brought her back. Great. The Stockton Boys were at it again. They’d been getting on each other’s nerves lately. She had to admit the two had worked hard clearing the creeper-infested parking lot with the bulldozer. It had been an excellent idea, despite the disgusting mess.
Their voices amplified. Paxton and Nate stomped down the corridor outside Luther’s room. That’s just flippin’ great. Scarlett prayed they didn’t decide to check on Luther while she was there. The last confrontation with Paxton had given her the heebie-jeebies. A door slammed, muffling the argument. She was relieved to be alone with Luther and her thoughts again.
“Wha da fuck, Paxton? You said Ella was mine, man. All mine! And you promised me sloppy seconds with the teach,” Nate howled, ha
ving another one of his psychotic fits.
It was the kind of fit Nate threw when he needed another fix. But Paxton’s supply of coke and crank was running low. He was saving his meager stash for dire emergencies—the days when it was impossible to control the tweaker. “Lower your voice,” Paxton warned. “I told you, I’ve got it worked out,” Paxton assured.
“You know what I think—think you’re full of shit, man. You be acting all tough back in that holding tank in Stockton. Now I’m thinkin’ you’re just a pussy-wussy,” Nate hissed.
“Like I said,” You dumbass, “it’s all under control. There’s no need to push it. We’ve been doing good, right.” Paxton turned the question into a statement.
“I be tired of that same ol, same ol LuLu-bitch. I want something fresh. I want Ella’s cherry—’fo Justin pops its. Man, I want her something bad!” Nate practically drooled.
“Ooh Baby,” Paxton moaned, grabbing his own junk, “you’re gonna be in bootwah-heaven. The timing’s got to be right if we’re going to pull this shit off.” Paxton reined Nate in slowly, for Paxton and all his small-time grifting years knew how to manipulate people when he wanted to.
“So how you pullin’ off this plan with the new bro in town?” Nate went on.
Paxton clenched his jaw even tighter and resisted his urge to punch Nate in the nose. All he wanted to do was shut Nate the fuck-up, but he couldn’t risk pissing him off. He needed Nate. He needed Nate more than he didn’t need him if that made any sense at all in this fucked-up world.
“Did you ever stop to think Luther might want to play ball with us?” Paxton said, trying to kick the ball back in his own court, the way he liked it.
“Not sharin’ my bitch three ways, and that’s my final answer.” Nate snorted a psychotic laugh as if he’d just said something clever.
“I’ve got it all worked out. And I don’t need you to go and screw things up,” Paxton said firmly, eyeing Nate pacing around in a semi-circle. It was one of Nate’s annoying habits, something he did when he was unsure. Paxton waited for Nate to calm down a notch, knowing he was close to convincing the tweaker.
“I don’t get it, man. We could have offed the old fart months ago,” Nate continued whining.
“Patience is a virtue, my friend. We needed Dean in the early days. He runs this hotel and everyone in it. Except us. All we’ve got to do is scrounge the city for fuel, take out the trash, and act like we’re playing by the rules. Which gives us plenty of time for our extracurricular activities.” Paxton raised one eyebrow suggestively. “If you know what I mean?”
“You let that old fart boss you around like you’re his little fuckboy,” Nate spouted, sending a mist of saliva into the air.
“Think about it, Nate. While we play Dean’s game we’re earning their trust. And when they least expect it—Bam! We take abso-fucking-lutely over.”
“But, why not now? Right now!” Nate whined.
“Timing, it’s all about the right timing. We still need to know what’s happening out there, see if the government is in fact—AWOL. ’Cause if it is, then my friend, we’re about to rule this new world. A world made for people like you and me. People who aren’t afraid to grab the world by the cojones and squeeze them so tightly they’ll do anything we want.”
“But Luther done screwed-up our plans. I say we go finish him off now, b’fo he wakes up,” Nate said eagerly, his eyes darting about wildly, the way they did when he went on a rampage.
Nate’s one sick fucker. “Think about it. Luther’s arrival here is perfect. He can tell us what’s going on out there. And depending on what he says . . .” Paxton deliberately left the sentenced unfinished and opened the dresser drawer. He pulled out a bottle of Johnny Walker Black; he always kept a bottle in his room for emergencies. He poured them each a glass, breaking Dean’s rule of drinking on the third floor.
“Depending on what Luther says—” They clinked glasses. The art of distraction . . . sleight of hand. It always worked on the simple-minded tweaker. All Paxton needed to do was distract Nate a little longer. Paxton continued, “By next week, things will be just as I promised.” Paxton downed his glass and then poured another round. The frown lines in Nate’s brow eased.
Paxton placated Nate by going on and on about their exciting plans all the while thinking what a dumbass Nate was. And he wondered out of all the people in this fucked-up world, why the hell had he gotten stuck with Nate as his sidekick. The tweaker would just have to do until he found someone better.
19
Scarlett sat at the small table in her room, studying the map she’d found in one the houses they had raided the other day. The map had been a lucky score. Nobody seemed to have paper maps these days; they were forgotten relics buried at the bottom of cluttered desk drawers. She carefully unfolded the map to get a better view of her route. Interstate 80 was the most direct route to Pinole, but she should prepare for detours. She neatly folded the map into the square section revealing the route, and then carefully slipped it into a plastic baggy, ready for quick decision-making.
The scavenging hunt she had gone on with Justin had been successful, and she was both grateful and relieved to find the clothing she needed after being stuck wearing the same clothes since her arrival at the hotel. Her overly stuffed luggage bag leaned against the bed, packed with winter clothing: two pairs of jeans, two sets of sweatpants, several sweaters, a raincoat, rain hat, rain boots, socks, underwear, and a pair of Nikes.
Last night’s nightmare clung to her like a bad case of morning breath. Unfortunately, Scarlett couldn’t recall the dream. It remained elusive and ominous. However, she hadn’t forgotten the dream’s urgent warning: Leave! She dreaded breaking the news to Dean. What if he doesn’t let me leave?
Frustrated, Scarlett tossed the map on the bed. It was time to check on Luther again. She had checked on him after lunch, and thankfully the fever had finally broken. But he’d still been in a deep slumber.
What? Scarlett panicked. Luther was gone. Voices in the lobby? She rushed downstairs. To her surprise, Dean, LuLu, and Luther were chatting in the lobby when she joined them.
“You must be Scarlett. Don’t really remember much.” Luther held out his hand, giving her a gentle handshake. “I can’t thank you enough. Looks like you healed me,” he said and rolled up the bloodied, torn pant leg for everyone to see. The infection was gone, and the wound had scabbed over, healing nicely.
“Thank God.” Scarlett sighed in relief.
“Luther joined us a few minutes ago. You’re here just in time,” Dean said to Scarlett.
Ella eyed them from the doorway of the dining room, hesitant to join them. Scarlett patted the spot next to her on the sofa, and Ella shyly curled-up next to her like a skittish kitten.
LuLu spoke next. “What in Hell’s Angels is going on around here? Is this the Rapture or what?”
The smile on the big, black man waned.
Scarlett felt sorry for the guy being put on the spot. “So, where are you from?” Scarlett asked, hoping to take off the pressure.
Luther hesitated for a second as if it were a complicated question. “Originally Texas, then Ohio, then the Bay Area. I was living in Oakland when the Super Summer flu hit.” Sadness crept into his voice.
“What’s it like out there? You come across other people?” Dean asked.
“I ran into a few bands of—survivors. Most people are—” Luther paused again, “shell-shocked.” He seemed to choose his words carefully.
“Aren’t we all?” Dean said. “What about the military? Any sign of them?”
Luther hung his head low. “Nope.”
“Not even FEMA?” Dean almost sounded despondent.
“So, are you traveling with family or friends?” LuLu inquired.
A solitary tear slipped down Luther’s cheek. Scarlett was surprised to see a man of his ruggedness reveal such vulnerability. The dark circles under his eyes darkened even more, like black patches of soot mirroring his pain.
; “Levi’s Stadium . . .” the words came out like scratchy sandpaper.
“Yep, the new Forty-Niners’ stadium. Never did make it there. Heard it’s a real humdinger of a stadium,” Dean said.
“Is that where we’re going?” LuLu asked.
Even Ella sat up straight, alert, excited for the news.
Luther sat in silence looking down at the carpet. They waited for him. Finally, he spoke. “The news stations told everyone infected with the flu to get to Levi’s Stadium. They had the vaccine.” Luther seemed lost in the pain of remembering. He looked up at their anxious faces. “You see, my baby sister LaTasha caught the flu. I told Mama to take her to Levi’s Stadium. Told her not to worry, and I’d catch up with them there.” He stopped again. “I was almost there. I swear to God I’da been there in time, but the traffic was a bitch. I was so close . . .”
Scarlett was uncomfortably aware of the deafening silence in the room as if no one knew what to say next. Her heart poured out to him while he struggled with his grief.
“I was on my way there—to the stadium. Next thing I remember, these jets roared by. Seconds later, an explosion rocked the place. A massive fireball mushroomed in the sky.” His voice took on a monotone. “I remember thinking that was one hell of a fire. And I’d better get there before the fire trucks blocked the roads. The only thing was, you see . . .” He stopped again.
“It’s okay, Luther,” Scarlett interrupted, feeling a flash of his intense grief. “You don’t need to talk about it.” She wanted to cry for this man, a man she didn’t even know.
“Don’t you see? I sent them there. I signed their death warrants. Good Lord have mercy. Can you believe our military firebombed the goddamn stadium!”
Every single person in the room gasped at the same time.
“The roads were at a standstill. I don’t even remember getting out of my car. I just remember running to the stadium. The entrance was a mosh pit, hundreds of people. Everyone, running for their lives. Some people were even on fire.” Luther shook his head. “Yup, our almighty government sent the sick ones there and then blew-up the place. Heard rumors,” he paused. “Heard they firebombed all the stadiums. That’s one way for containment,” his voiced cracked.