by M. D. Massey
The trucks’ reverse lights flashed. “Holy shit, they heard the gunshot.” Justin snatched the gun out of Ella’s hand and then shoved her behind the stack of shopping carts. “Ella, no matter what happens, do not say a word. Or Paxton will do the same horrible things to you that he did to LuLu.”
They looked into each other’s eyes for a fleeting instant. He begged her to listen—for once. Ella answered him with those big, beautiful eyes, shaking her head just as the trucks came charging backward toward him. Justin was pretty sure the men hadn’t seen Ella. Pretty sure. Paxton hopped out of the truck at the same instant it lurched into park.
Justin quickly calmed himself and slowed his breathing down from rapid gulps to a slow, steady breath. If he wanted to live, and even more importantly, if he wanted Ella to live, he needed to play his part convincingly, like an Academy Award winner. Maybe he could just act all nonsensical like a Billy Bob Thornton character or better yet, Woody Harrelson. That’s it. I’ll play it all wonky and cool like a Woody Harrelson character.
Justin waved frantically like he was glad to see Paxton. “Dude, I was trying to catch up with you. I had to shoot LuLu—she got bit.” Justin dropped to his knees.
Paxton lifted him by the scruff of his jacket like he was a half-drowned kitten. Paxton grabbed the gun out of his hands and then pistol-whipped him across the cheek with his own gun. “Ow, what’s that for?” Justin grimaced. All the while he regretted, I coulda shoulda woulda killed that psychopath. But the other two men were there. Justin didn’t have the chance to kill Paxton.
“Where the hell you been, boy?” Paxton’s ambivalent tone remained flat and steady.
The other two men kept their distance from Paxton. “You know him?” one of them said.
“It’s Justin. Part of our old Vacaville gang,” Paxton said with an unwavering glare. “Where’s your girlfriend?”
Now’s the time to win that Academy Award. “S-she, she—” he stuttered, hoping it didn’t sound too fake, “she didn’t . . . make it.” For a second, he relived the gut-wrenching moment when he’d thought Ella really had died. And he actually produced a real tear.
Paxton held the gun to his head. The cold-hard metal pressed unyieldingly against his forehead, bearing down as hard as Paxton’s piercing eyes. “Last chance funny-boy.”
The cocking-click of the gun had a finality to it. Justin couldn’t say a word, his mouth momentarily numb. It took all his willpower to not look back at the pile of shopping carts for one last glimpse of Ella. He dared not, knowing full well if their eyes met, she’d come running out to save him. Try to save him, he thought.
Paxton shoved Justin with one hand while uncocking the gun with his other hand. “You piece of shit. In the truck,” Paxton ordered.
The two trucks raced off, leaving Ella behind in the zombie-gut-splattered parking lot. Holy shit! What have I done! And he didn’t have Dean to smack him on the side of the head, telling him to get his act together. He had just abandoned the girl of his dreams, the girl he desperately loved. Left her alone in—Zombieland. Sure, his off-the-cuff scheme had worked. But, he really hadn’t had time to think it through. How the heck is Ella gonna survive five freakin’ minutes out here—alone? Yet, as he thought about it, it was a super-sad world when they’d rather deal with zombies than Paxton and Nate. Of that, he was super sure. Silently, as if telepathy was an actual possibility, he urged Ella to go back to their rooftop before the sun set.
31
Ella Vasquez sat amongst the circle of Best Buy shopping carts she had fenced around her seconds after the trucks had left. Justin had abandoned her. And she was alone . . . waiting for them to find her. Their rank un-dying bodies infused her nostrils with the scent of death. A hellish-frigid darkness overtook the night, chilling Ella’s soul. Their scuffling and moaning crept closer and closer, and she squeezed her eyes shut tighter and tighter.
The tears gushed down Ella’s cheeks as she tried pushing back the painful memory. Inexplicitly, she had the sensation of flying through a wormhole in time, bringing her back to the exact time and place of that hellish day.
The day started off badly. Little Miguel had caught a cold, and Mama was convinced it was the weird summer flu everyone was talking about on social media. Mama made Papa come home from his construction job in Lodi and even closed the restaurant, something Mama only did on Sundays. Ella hoped it was a sign she’d still be able to go to Six Flags the next day with her cousins. Because if the restaurant was closed, there would be no excuse to keep Ella from going this time.
Papa came home in an extra-bad mood, and then Mama and Papa ended up arguing all afternoon. Their argument came to life like a YouTube clip. She smiled. But the demon moans threatened to take over. She shoved the demons to the back of her mind, so she could remember. She had to remember!
Ella was in her room. Safe. Her lime-green iPod was on her bed. She put the earbuds in, clicking on her latest playlist. The moans disappeared. Suddenly, she was going through her closet, picking out the cutest outfit to wear to Six Flags.
Someone knocked on her bedroom door. “Mija, we’re taking the van. I need you to put mijo’s car seat in the backseat,” her mother said.
“Sure,” she replied, ecstatic they were finally leaving. Awe-some, they’re taking the van. Which meant they didn’t expect her to tag along. There was only one seat in the back since Papa had renovated the van into a mini-camper. Maybe her cousin could pick her up tonight instead of tomorrow. Yes. Six Flags!
Papa burst into her room. “Where’s your suitcase?”
“Huh?” That’s when she found out they were all going. They were staying the night at Aunt Rosa’s house in Concord, that way they could take little Miguel to get the vaccine first thing in the morning. The news said the Concord Pavilion was the closest place to get the vaccine since the hospitals were out. I don’t get it. Why does little Miguel need the vaccine? He’s already sick.
“I can’t go with you guys in the van—there’s no seat?” she reminded. The look in Papa’s eyes warned her to shut up. “But, no seatbelt? Really? That’s soooo illegal—” she blustered.
Are they cuh-ray-zee? Why do we have to take the ugly van? It was so embarrassing, and the air conditioner barely worked. Papa always took the old 80s van to his job sites; he could stay in it all week instead of paying for a hotel. Ever since the Big Recession (“The Crash” as her parents called it), it had been difficult for Papa to find steady work.
Papa was hardly ever home, and he never helped Mama with the restaurant either. She and Mama had to do everything. It so wasn’t fair. Mama had promised her weeks ago she could go to Six Flags tomorrow with her cousins. She had promised . . .
Ella stuffed a suitcase with the usual items and on a hopeful whim, included the cool outfit she had picked out, thinking Concord wasn’t too far from Vallejo. One of her cousins could pick her up in Concord. Besides, no one had said she “couldn’t go.”
She prayed to Archangel Michael while she made herself comfortable on the mattress at the foot of the van with a mini-fan blowing directly on her face and all the portal-like windows opened to the max for the fresh air.
Poor Miguel. His crying turned into screaming. He was pitchin’ a fit, and Ella was too worried about missing out on Six Flags to care. And on top of that, her parents were arguing, again. She cranked the volume to the iPod.
Between songs, she realized their argument had turned into a full-fledged shouting match.
“I told you to register with the DMV,” Mama scolded. It was one of their usual arguments. Ella was tired of it.
“The whole ‘Undocumented Worker’ bullshit is a scam. They just want to track us so they can tax us. That way when they no longer need us—” He mumbled a bunch of words in Spanish. “They can ship us back to Mexico.” Papa’s tone was full of hatred and anger.
Ella wanted to scream. Her parents were so paranoid about every little thing. I’m never getting married.
“If you had the cojones to
marry me, you wouldn’t have to worry about being an illegal—” her mama cried back.
“You know why I can’t,” Papa interrupted.
What? They aren’t married? Ella quickly removed the earbuds. Suddenly, she was more worried about her unmarried parents than Six Flags. She quickly made the sign of the cross and then clutched her rosary beads and whispered a string of Hail Marys. That was another thing bothering her; Papa never went to church anymore.
The van swerved off the highway. Papa slammed the brakes while muttering every Spanish swear word ever written. Ella couldn’t stop herself from rolling forward off the mattress and onto the grungy floor as the van skidded to a stop.
Papa stormed out of the van. Apparently, it had overheated, and he was trying to fix it. Little Miguel started screaming again, his eyes bloodshot from crying. His face was as red as a freshly-picked habanero pepper with sweat dripping down his forehead.
Mama turned around in the front seat and gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, mija, everything’s all right. Hold mijo while I help your papa.”
Ella took little Miguel out of the car seat and tried to comfort him, all the while thinking about what Mama had just said, “Everything was all right.” Does that mean I get to go to Six Flags tomorrow?
“Me gotta pee,” Miguel gasped between tired sobs. He really wasn’t a baby anymore. He was two and potty-trained, so she didn’t have to change his diapers anymore.
Ella stepped out of the van with Miguel’s clammy hands clutched around her neck. He was doing better. At least he wasn’t screaming. To her surprise, the highway was at a total standstill. People were just sorta walking around the highway like they do at a street fair.
“What’s with all these people?” she asked.
“Get back in the van,” Papa yelled.
“He’s gotta pee,” Ella insisted but made sure Papa didn’t see her exaggerated eye roll.
“Babe, take mijo to that tree over there,” he yelled to Mama.
“Can’t we stop at a gas station or something?” Really? That’s so ghetto.
“Estella Marie Vasquez! In the van. Pronto!” Papa yelled. He didn’t even look at Ella; instead, he eyed a group of people coming their way.
“It’s all right, mija, go in the van,” Mama said and then unlatched little Miguel’s hands from Ella’s neck. Mama took him to the tree.
OMG. Ella was so embarrassed.
“Van!” Papa shouted.
“It’s too hot,” Ella spouted, but Papa flashed his warning look.
Several people ran past them, screaming and pointing toward a crowd of drunks, staggering down the highway. Is everybody cuh-ray-zee today? Ella stomped into the van and then plopped onto the mattress. She held the battery-operated mini-fan to her cheeks until the sweat dried, leaving a cooling sensation. It felt so good. She cooled down the back of her neck and then the inside of her shirt as well. She felt much better. More yelling outside, so she cranked the iPod’s volume and sang the next song with a guilty pleasure.
The door to the van slammed shut. Ella bolted up from her comfortable position in time to see Mama toss little Miguel to the front passenger seat. Then Mama took off driving down the shoulder. Little Miguel isn’t in his car seat? He didn’t even have a seatbelt on.
Wait—Where’s Papa? “OMG, did you just leave Papa?” Ella screeched.
Ella fought for her balance and tottered to the window. Papa was fighting off the drunk people. And then, he was on the pavement. Papa?
“Mama—”
“Stop! Go Back!”
“Mama?”
Little Miguel started making really weird sounds. Growling? She did a double take when little Miguel leaped from his seat onto Mama’s shoulder. Mama crashed into the back of a truck. Ella landed on her butt after hitting her head on the front seat. Stunned, Ella stared in total shock when he burrowed his face into Mama’s neck.
“Miguel, what are you doing?” Was he delirious from his fever? Ew! Is he gnawing on Mama’s neck? The gurgling sounds made her gag.
“Stop it.” But the words stuck in her throat. Shutting it out, she squeezed her eyes closed and clasped onto her jade rosary beads and frantically prayed. When the hideous gurgling finally stopped, she caught her breath and squinted through reluctant eyes. Little Miguel stared straight at her with un-knowing-eyes.
The gurgling started again.
On impulse, Ella jumped out of the van’s side door. Little Miguel followed. To her surprise, Papa was right in front of her. He looked at the sky and howled like a mangy, rabid coyote on peyote. There was a hollowed, bloodied gouge in his stomach. Ew! And his intestines dragged on the ground. It was the most ungodly sight.
Papa looked at her with black-blank eyes. Then, she thought she saw a flicker in his eyes. His pupils swirled and shrunk back to normal size. Papa jerked to a stop, cocked his head at her in a peculiar position, and gawked. And, for that brief, bizarre moment, a moment when time stood still, it was like every memory of her and Papa went floating by. But it was more like his thoughts, not hers. And, she felt his intense love for her—more than ever. The kind of love every child dreams of, like the days when he used to push her on the tire swing he had strung up on the old sycamore in the backyard. Words from her childhood whispered in her mind, “Don’t stop, Papa. Higher.” And he’d push her so high while she reached for the sky with one hand.
Little Miguel jumped onto her shoulder, almost knocking her down. Miguel snarled with the vicious gnarly teeth of a chupacabra. Papa’s eyes went black, dead-black, dilating like a cat’s. Papa snarled back and grabbed Miguel by the neck with his teeth.
What?
Mama was there too, her neck chewed-off on one side. Mama just stared at her and moaned. Then Mama’s whole body shuddered. It was like Mama forced herself not to attack her own daughter.
Ella screamed a soundless scream, falling to the ground in an endless fall. She tried not to faint and at the same time, hoped she would, hoped she’d wake up, and the nightmare would be over.
Gunshots.
Lots of gunshots.
More gunshots.
She began crawling to the van. At one point, she looked back to see Mama, Papa, and little Miguel squirming around on the ground. Ella felt herself collapse onto the unbearably hot pavement, but she didn’t care. She didn’t seem to have the will to go on. Nothing mattered.
Something hard pressed against Ella’s head. She looked up to see a CHP officer standing over her, his gun to her head. She screamed, “Help us!”
“This your van?” he asked.
She nodded. The CHP officer helped her into the van and ordered her to lock the doors and remain there until it was safe.
Hours later, she woke up to moaning. Total darkness. Did I die? Am I in Hell? She had never been this scared in her entire life. So scared. So alone. So forgotten. She huddled in the van and wondered why in the name of dear sweet Jesus, why the CHP officer had shot her family. Although, she thought she knew why, even if she didn’t want to understand—could never understand.
Ella lost track of time. Had it been one day or a week? She slept, picked at the meals Mama had packed, and peed in an old paint bucket Papa had left in the van. Every now and then she looked out the windows only long enough to see if it was safe. It never was—safe.
At one point she heard a human-scream. “Help me!” She stared out the window at a woman running from the demons. The woman must have seen her because the woman wouldn’t stop banging on the van. Finally, although it took all of Ella’s courage, she let the woman inside. Her name was LuLu.
Her memory glitched like an old VCR with a bad cassette tape. Think harder. You need to remember. The memory was fading. All she could remember was they had been trapped in the van for days. LuLu had kept her sane and brought her out of the dark place she had escaped to when the van had been crawling with demons. But Ella had lost her voice somewhere. She couldn’t really remember when.
At some point, a man found them. He
had seen the demon-covered van and had lured the demons away somehow. Ella only vaguely remembered driving off with the man, Dean, while LuLu held her the entire time. LuLu had comforted her and promised her everything would be okay.
Suddenly, Ella remembered it all, even the parts she had sworn never, ever to look at again. LuLu had saved her when Ella had been at her lowest point of despair. Maybe that’s why she had shot LuLu without thinking twice about it. In a sense, Ella had saved LuLu, saved her from becoming a soulless demon.
A faraway voice tugged at her soul. She twirled in a cosmic dust cloud. Her body stretched and stretched and stretched like being sucked into a black hole.
Ella landed with a thud—in the Best Buy parking lot. She was no longer in her bedroom listening to her iPod or in the van listening to her parent’s arguing and little Miguel screaming. All she heard were the demons’ bloodcurdling moans of hunger.
“Ella!” A voice in the night called. Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the dark. But she instantly shut them again. A blurry dream-like image of Justin appeared.
Justin, is that you—I can’t do this!
“OMG, I’m hallucinating.” She couldn’t stop freaking about Justin. Will Paxton kill him? She supposed if Paxton had wanted him dead, he would have shot Justin right there in the parking lot and not bothered to take him. She convinced herself Justin was okay. Probably. Knowing Justin, he’d think of some crazy plan to escape. I feel it in my heart. Justin hurry—save me!
She anxiously rubbed her beloved rosary beads while the terrifying moans of the demons edged closer . . .
32
Justin clutched the bottom of the truck’s seat so tightly his fingers went numb. Paxton skidded to a stop on the long-gone lawn of the familiar house at the end of the court, the same house where he, Ella, and Scarlett had been prisoners.