Only The Dead Don't Die (Book 2): The Hunger's Howl

by Popovich, A. D.

  Twila reached for the creeper-child’s hand. Its teeth snapped at the air—snapping at Scarlett with ravenous-black eyes. Scarlett thrashed at it with the flimsy limb.

  Twila’s scream pierced the air. “Run, Katie, run!” Twila shrieked. The creeper-child lurched over the bushes and went thrashing and moaning through the woods toward the river. Scarlett grabbed Twila.

  Twila tore herself away. “You are so mean! Katie’s my only-est friend in the whole wide world,” Twila bellowed and started slapping Scarlett on her hips.

  Scarlett stood there in complete shock. Twila was far more delusional than she’d ever thought. A tea party with a creeper! Why hadn’t the creeper-child attacked her? Eaten her? Scarlett grabbed Twila again. She searched her body for bite marks, still trying to fathom why the creature hadn’t seemed threatened by Twila.

  Twila raved on, lost in hysterical madness.

  “It’s all right,” Scarlett murmured over and over while eyeing the forest. They were too loud, much too loud for living in Raver and creeper territory.

  Scarlett gently held Twila by her tear-stained cheeks. “We need to go inside. Quickly, before the Ravers hear us.” This was all her fault for allowing Twila’s delusional behavior to get out of hand. Had Scarlett been protecting the child too much, indulging Twila’s unreasonable notions? She should probably be tougher on the girl. What if Scarlett didn’t make it back to their treehouse one day? In a world of cannibalistic creatures, how could Twila survive on her own? Then a flash of light bolted through Scarlett’s closed eyelids. “Leave.” A faraway voice echoed in the hollows of her mind.

  Once in the treehouse, Scarlett held Twila until the tears stopped and her breathing returned to normal. All the while she held the poor child, the warning she’d chosen to ignore whispered in her mind. They needed to leave. But how and where? Once again, the taste of blood lingered on her lips.

  Chapter 6

  Deep in thought, Dean Wormer revved the Jeep while Luther fiddled with the heater, and Justin unlocked the resort’s front gate. He’d have to walk a thin line to pull this off. He figured Father Jacob’s offer had only been made due to safety reasons. Safety in numbers. The thing was, he didn’t rightly know how this fanatical religious group might respond to rejection. Then, he needed to request their services for the marriage ceremony. A delicate matter.

  Dean regretted behaving so badly over Ella’s pregnancy news. What a humdinger of a surprise. It had stirred up old wounds, wounds he had buried decades ago. The fact was, he had been the result of a “one-night wonder” as he called it. His mother had barely been sixteen when she wound up pregnant with him. Of course, things had been different in those days. Single motherhood hadn’t been looked upon kindly; in fact, unwed mothers were often ostracized from the community.

  His mother had given birth to him in secret and then left him with his grandaddy. Raised by his dear grandaddy, Dean had only seen his mother a handful of times after that. Dad-gum-it, he refused to let that archaic way of thinking ruin Ella’s life or the baby’s, for that matter. I’ll stick by Ella, Justin, and their child, one hun-erd percent.

  “You ready for this?” Luther asked.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Dean replied.

  “What do you think our chances are?” Luther gave up on the heater.

  The thing had petered out. Something else for him to fix. “Hell if I know. Just have to play it by ear,” Dean finally said.

  “I’ll let you do the talking. Don’t think they cared too much for me. From what I saw, all their members are white.”

  Dean had noticed it as well. “Don’t you fret none. Thing is, what a stroke of luck we happened upon a preacher.”

  “He doesn’t look the Catholic type,” Luther grumbled.

  “I’ll have a talk with Ella. She’ll just have to settle,” Dean thought out loud.

  Dean turned down the narrow dirt road leading to the compound. It reminded him of one of those hippie communes from the 70s, only without all the tie-dye and weird music. The two sentries at the front of the chain-linked compound waved them through the open gate. The church’s double front doors opened when they parked. Father Jacob, donned in an array of black robes with bible in hand, stood on the church’s front porch. It was a formidable sight even to Dean.

  “Good luck.” Luther didn’t bother getting out of the Jeep; instead, he nervously eyeballed the scattered sentries posted strategically around the compound’s perimeter.

  “I’ll need it.” Dean shut the door. These people made him uneasy as well. Something about them. I can’t quite put my finger on it. He reluctantly walked up the porch steps. Father Jacob held out his hand, welcoming him with an expressionless face.

  “Eager to return, I see,” Father Jacob gloated as if expecting a positive answer.

  “Good news and bad news,” Dean offered with his friendliest smile.

  “Unfortunately, our group is declining your gracious offer to Texas. Thing is, we’ve got plans of our own.”

  Father Jacob’s face remained stone cold. Dean’s heart skip a beat. He’d worried how these folks might handle rejection. Not so well, from the looks of it. They seemed a peaceful lot. Would they resort to violence?

  An uncomfortable stillness settled upon the compound, making Dean’s ears ring with an inexplicable ominous warning. “Came here to offer a trade of sorts.” Dean let out a nervous chuckle. “Figured I could lend a hand riggin’ up your horses to the wagons and whatnot. I used to work on my grandaddy’s ranch. Know a thing or two about horses and cattle,” Dean explained.

  “Pray tell,” Father Jacob responded coolly.

  “The honest truth is, we’re in need of a preacher man. We’ve got a young couple who’d like to announce their undying love to God. And beings there’s a preacher shortage these days, thought we could come up with a fair trade,” Dean said as amicably as possible.

  Father Jacob stood there as if Dean hadn’t said a single word. Most likely mulling it over. Dean played it cool, waiting politely for his response.

  “A fair man,” Father Jacob finally spoke. “Yes, I’m told you have a true heart. I see you don’t mean my congregation any harm.”

  Alrighty then. Dean wanted to ask who had informed him of that tidbit of information but decided it was best to keep his trap shut.

  “This couple would like to exchange vows—so quickly. Aw, I see.”

  “Don’t run into a preacher man every day, if you know what I mean,” Dean rattled off light-heartedly, wondering how he knew the wedding was so sudden.

  “More than you know.” Father Jacob’s lips tightened, revealing decade’s of disapprovals. “I’ll need to meet the couple first—the officiant process. What denomination might they be?”

  “Ella’s a devout Catholic. And Justin, well, he wants to convert to Catholicism. Reckon it’s not in your job description,” Dean said, attempting to make light of the situation.

  Father Jacob remained uncomfortably sullen. “Bring the couple over—” He paused. “In two days, Wednesday. The snow should melt by then.” On that note, Jacob did an about-face and then walked inside the church, leaving Dean standing alone on the porch.

  Did he just say “snow”? It was a clear October day.

  “How’d it go?” Luther asked when Dean scrambled into the Jeep.

  “Better than I’d anticipated.” Dean sighed heavily. “He wants to meet Ella and Justin in two days. After the snow melts.”

  “What snow?”

  “Guess he’s got the inside scoop on the weather, being intimate with God and all.” Dean shrugged.

  “He didn’t give you a hard time?” Luther frowned.

  “That’s the peculiar part,” Dean said. “That Jacob fella is an odd one.”

  “Ya think?” Luther responded sarcastically. “A fanatical religious group armed to the hilt who just happened to survive a zombie apocalypse. He’s probably hella bent. Odd, is an understatement.”

  On the drive back to the resort, D
ean pondered the uneasiness creeping in his gut. Father Jacob hadn’t mentioned anything about his offer to help with the wagons and horses. Suppose we’ll work out the details later.

  They turned down the resort’s entrance to find Justin pacing inside the gated parking lot, apparently anxious for their return. Poor kid, he’s got a lot on his plate.

  Justin opened the resort’s front gate. “What’d they say? Will they marry us?” Justin blustered, biting his lower lip.

  “Father Jacob wants to meet you and Ella on Wednesday. Think you can get Ella to go?” Dean fretted.

  “Ye-ah, it’s all she talked about today,” Justin said.

  “Alrighty then.” Dean closed the Jeep’s door. He was a no-nonsense type of fellow, and it was high time things were back to business as usual.

  “Get this. Ella found a white dress in one of the rooms. She’s decorating it with some fancy, fake flowers she found. She’s even making a veil out of a white lace tablecloth. This is gonna be so cool. I think—” Justin stopped in mid-sentence and leaned against the back of the Jeep. “Think I’m gonna puke.”

  “Keep your cool.” Luther dashed over to him.

  “A fella only gets married once,” Dean offered. Or two or three times. Dean didn’t want to discourage the kid.

  “I so want to marry Ella, but I’m sorta scared.”

  “That’s standard issue. If you weren’t worried, now that’s something to worry about,” Dean joked.

  “Ella did say she wanted to marry you,” Luther zinged.

  “Ye-ah!” Justin smirked. “Like, why wouldn’t she?” Justin gagged. He dashed to the fence line and ended up tossing his cookies.

  “That’s a new one. Looks like you’ve got a head start on your Bachelor Party.” Luther’s booming laughter got Dean laughing, too.

  “Guys, this is so not funny.” Justin wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

  “You’ll be fine,” Luther reassured.

  “Let’s head inside and give Ella the news,” Dean said, patting Justin on the back.

  Well, I’ll be a son of a gun. A wedding! It was something Dean never thought possible during these desolate times.

  By morning, four inches or so of snow covered the parking lot. The sky was already clearing. I’ll be dern, Father Jacob was right. Of course, it had snowed plenty last Winter. Normally, they had hunkered down until the roads cleared.

  With the wedding and a baby on the way, might be time to commandeer a snow plow. Dean pulled out the tattered notepad from his front shirt pocket, adding it to his “to-do” list.

  That evening everyone was a bubble of joy. Ella had even cooked a homemade enchilada dinner with freshly made tortillas. It was a relief to see her smiling again, pale as she was. It got him to wondering if she was getting the proper nutrition. A garden was next on his agenda, but it would have to wait until spring. In the meantime, they’d better start scavenging baby supplies. He added it to the list.

  ***

  Wednesday morning didn’t come soon enough. They all waited in the dining room for Ella. “It’s dern near ten o’clock. You wanna check on her?” Dean asked impatiently.

  “Dude, she hates it when I nag her.” Justin paced around the dining room table.

  “Tell her you’re busy doing something. Then ask when she plans to be ready. That way it sounds like you aren’t waiting for her,” Luther offered.

  Justin took off to her room.

  “Smart man,” Dean said. “You must have been married.”

  “Twice, so basically I only know what not to do,” Luther said with a wry smile.

  “Guys?” Justin wailed from the hallway.

  “Blood!” Justin wailed louder.

  Dean was right behind Luther when they darted into her room.

  “Ella, wake up—” Justin was near hysterics.

  “It’s your call,” Luther said, looking Dean dead in the eyes.

  Dean fumbled with the keys. “Wrap her in a blanket. We’re taking her to the church,” Dean stated calmly. “I’ll warm up the Jeep. Can you two carry her?”

  “Got it,” Luther said.

  “Lay her in the backseat as gently as you can. Justin, ride up front with me. Luther, you mind stayin’ here and holding down the fort?” Dean asked from the doorway.

  “Sure thing.”

  The snow had melted for the most part, except for a few patches of ice, which had him driving more slowly than he wanted.

  “I didn’t know they had a doctor,” Justin said in a calmer voice.

  “Not sure they do. They ought to have someone who knows a thing about midwifery.”

  Justin turned around at Ella stretched out on the backseat. “She’s still unconscious. Do you think she miscarried?” Justin asked.

  “Don’t even think it. I know enough to know—bleeding doesn’t always mean miscarriage.” Dean left it at that.

  The gate to the church compound opened immediately. Dean slid the Jeep to a stop. Justin was out the door instantly.

  “We need a doctor,” Justin yelled to the man on the front porch. It was Father Jacob.

  Dean waved to Father Jacob and then checked on Ella. She was sweating profusely. “Don’t suppose you all happen to have a doctor on call?” Dean asked calmly enough.

  Father Jacob whispered to a man garbed in black clothing. The man walked swiftly to one of the cabins on the east side. Father Jacob nodded. Dean wanted to yell at them to hurry the hell up, but he was merely a guest, and he couldn’t risk alienating them. Finally, a man with an old-fashioned doctor’s bag approached.

  “You a doctor?” Dean asked as the man felt Ella’s pulse.

  “A nurse,” was all the man said, staring at Ella’s blood-soaked pajamas.

  “Is she all right?” Justin mumbled.

  “We’ll take her to the infirmary.” The nurse nodded toward the building to the far left. “Stretcher!” The nurse beckoned.

  Two men garbed in black clothing walked out of the building with a stretcher. “Follow me,” the nurse said briskly while they gently placed Ella’s near-lifeless body on the stretcher.

  Once inside the sparsely-furnished building, which looked more like a hunting lodge than an infirmary, a haunting helplessness overwhelmed him. It reminded him of the day Mary had been diagnosed with the Big C. Fear seeped into his veins.

  “Pregnant?” the nurse whispered.

  Justin nodded, no longer fighting the tears escaping the corners of his eyes.

  “How far along?” the nurse asked without any emotion whatsoever.

  “Uh, uh.” Justin finally got it together. “Almost nine weeks.”

  A woman in black and white Quaker-like attire escorted Dean and Justin to a sitting area with armchairs and a coffee table made of varnished pine. “Wait here,” she said in a hushed voice.

  Dean and Justin stared at one another as if breaking the silence would somehow affect Ella’s prognosis. Dean noticed the pamphlets on the amateur-made table, and for lack of better judgment, picked one up: 33-Steps to Ascension. He happened to notice the copyright date. Shit on a shingle. It was dated one month before the flu outbreak. It sparked his attention, and he read through the introductory section. A plague will ravage the earth. No child shall be spared. Fear not, Father Jacob’s followers shall be given a second chance for salvation if they protect God’s new children from the evil-doers. Father Jacob has been invested with the Power to protect the 33 pre-selected souls blessed to seed the New Earth, at last bringing salvation to all of mankind.

  Dean wanted to say it was a crock of bullcrap; however, he instinctively shrouded his thoughts. Not the time to piss off the locals or in this case, the locos. Especially since they needed the nurse’s help. Dean didn’t offer the pamphlet to Justin, who looked on the verge of passing out.

  A timid, young woman approached, carefully avoiding eye contact. “You can see her now.” She motioned to Justin.

  Justin bolted out of the chair. “Is she going to be okay?”

&
nbsp; The nurse nodded and looked at Dean. “This way, if you please.”

  Justin went to Ella’s hospital-screened section, and Dean followed the nurse outside.

  Dean eyed the nurse, bracing himself for the news. “What’s the prognosis?”

  The nurse stared blankly. “Rest assured, Father Jacob shall inform you momentarily.” The words came out as bland and stale as ten-day-old bread.

  “Give it to me straight,” Dean pleaded.

  The nurse looked around the compound area. The sentries stood guard at their posts. Other than them, the compound was empty. “I can’t speak as a doctor, but I’ve seen young women in this state before. She’ll need plenty of bed rest. It’s in the hands of God,” the nurse said with an apathetic hollowness, chilling Dean to the bone.

  Dean’s patience gave way. “The same God of yours who unleashed this ungodly plague? It’s up to Him?” Dean ranted.

  “It’s not for me to say. Only Father Jacob is the ‘Knower of all Things,’ be it true or false.”

  Dean wondered what in hell the nurse wasn’t saying. “You must have some advice,” Dean pressed.

  The nurse remained stone-faced and tight-lipped.

  “Now you listen up. I’m not into all this Holy Roller bullcrap. Just tell me what you do know.” Dean seethed, his voice barely audible.

  “Careful. He knows all. Sees all and hears all—that is,” the nurse whispered.

  Dean thought he caught a trace of fear in the nurse’s eyes. Was the nurse referring to God or Father Jacob? Dean felt his face getting hotter. He wasn’t one for playing mind games.

  The nurse cleared his throat. “Just wait and see. When—” his eyes shifted toward Father Jacob walking down the church’s steps. “When the blizzard comes, you’ll be a Believer!” His eyes widened like bottle caps. “Try prenatal vitamins,” the nurse mumbled with downcast eyes when Father Jacob approached.

  “Evening is nigh. Will you be staying the night as well?” Father Jacob asked without a hint of hospitality. “I’m told it is too risky to move the mother and child for the next forty-eight hours.”