Only The Dead Don't Die | Book 4 | Finding Home

by Popovich, A. D.

  Luther shook his head. “And lead whoever vandalized Quinton’s to our front door?”

  “What about an obscure message?” Ella offered.

  “Duly noted. Any other bright ideas?” Dean turned to Twila. Maybe she could try her mindreading gimmick?

  “I tried already. Zac’s blocking me.” Twila gave one of her silly cross-eyed faces before gulping down a tumbler of water.

  Water was another issue. They retrieved it from a creek near the railroad tracks and then boiled it for a good twenty minutes. “What does your sixth sense say, Scarlett?” Dean asked with his eyes back to the window.

  “I only catch sporadic glimpses of Zac. He must automatically use his mental shielding.” The lack of emotion in Scarlett’s voice revealed her despondency.

  “Could be why he’s survived so long,” Dean said in retrospect.

  “The note could just say Zhetto Market,” Justin suggested. “I can tape it to the fridge with a roll of hot-pink duct tape I nabbed.”

  Luther let out a chuckle. “He can’t miss that.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Scarlett said.

  “We can sign it with our initials,” Luther added. “That way he’ll know it’s us.”

  “Sounds good,” Dean agreed.

  “Zac, you better make it to the market.” There was no mistaking the cynicism in Scarlett’s voice.

  “He’ll figure it out. There are only three obvious options where we can meet up: Quinton’s, the bunkhouse, or the market,” Dean stated simply.

  “Oh no! The baaddd ones are planning a sneaky attack,” Twila blurted out of the blue.

  “What makes you say that?” Dean pressed. According to Scarlett, Twila often misread her vision-like knowings.

  “ ’Cause, the X-strains are only walking at night and hiding in the day. They want to meet at this fancy tall building in the big city.”

  Scarlett’s fork clattered to her plate. “The Capitol!”

  Twila nodded.

  “That’s where Zac went,” Ella whispered.

  “Let’s not worry just yet. Traveling only at night will take some time. Besides, Zac’s a resourceful fella.” Dean hoped to alleviate the terror emanating from Scarlett’s eyes. “On the upside, if Last State thinks they exterminated the horde infestations, the Zhetto Market’s most likely open. Say, Justin, will these RFID chips get us into the market?”

  Justin shrugged. “They usually only scan the vehicles. Since most Zhetts remove their CitChips. But”—he paused—“they might have upped their security.”

  “Son, think you and I ought to go,” Dean rushed through before Ella could interrupt. “You know your way around.”

  Dean caught Justin’s questioning glance at Ella as if silently asking permission to go on their field trip. A movement caught his attention. Hell’s bells! A lone dead-head staggered to the middle of the street. It sure had better be an isolated incident.

  “You should go,” Ella finally consented after an uncomfortable silence.

  Another one shambled into the road. Dean signaled the danger sign and then pointed outside. Ella smothered her gasp with her hand. He was dying to know if the two dead-heads had pinpointed their precise location despite the meticulous precautions they had taken.

  Looks like it was time to zombie-proof the house with more than the furniture they had barricaded the downstairs doors and windows with. He closed the drapes, leaving a two-inch gap. With the blinds angled just right, he had a view of the front yard and the street.

  Justin hovered next to him for a look-see. “Cool.” Justin gave the thumbs-up signal. “Not the Walmart Zs.”

  Chances were, that particular horde was still trapped in the delicatessen. Until they thought to bust through the plate glass windows. Finally, the dead-heads ambled three houses down. “We’re in the clear. Just keep the volume down,” Dean cautioned, somehow feeling everyone’s relief.

  “How ya’ll getting to the market?” Luther asked.

  That was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question rattling around his mind. “Suppose it’s too risky to take the HAZMAT van?” After all, they had stolen it.

  “Can Last State ping its location with GPS tracking—like OnStar or LoJack?” Luther asked.

  “Sure,” Justin said. “But, they have way more vans than Blue Suit Responders. I sorta doubt they’ve gotten around to reclaiming it.”

  “I’ll take a bike ride after we eat. If the van’s there, I’ll take it as a sign from the cosmos.” Luther wiggled his eyebrows at Twila until she giggled. “I’ll look for those MREs while I’m at it.”

  “How ’bout this?” Dean verbally thought out the plan. “If the van’s there, we take it to the bunkhouse. Then, we take off with Zac’s pickup.”

  “Duh,” Justin spouted off. “The truck’s out of gas?”

  “There’s bound to be a way to buy gas,” Dean insisted.

  “Cits need ration cards for gas,” Justin reminded.

  Scarlett finally laughed. “Shari used to horde her ration cards. She kept them in a slit in the driver’s side door panel.”

  Dean played with his stubbly chin. “You don’t say.” The plan was shaping up.

  “Ya know,” Justin said. “I’ve been scavenging mountain bikes for each of us. We can ride them to the Forbidden Zone’s border and take them in the van. In case we run out of gas or need to disappear suddenly. Uh, can you ride?” Justin’s voice went up an octave.

  “I’m not over the hill yet.” Dean winked at Twila. “Although, it’s been a while. I’m sure I’ll manage.” He certainly didn’t relish the idea of being on foot with dead-head activity on the upswing.

  “I’m thinkin’ we should leave for the bunkhouse tonight,” Dean decided. “That way we can hit the market first thing. And hang around for Zac as late as we can.”

  After hashing out their limited options, he was satisfied they had made the best decision for their situation. Although Zac’s old jalopy might peter out at any given time. A sudden sinking feeling warned it wouldn’t be easy as all that. Trouble had a way of interfering with the best-laid plans.

  “Barring any unforeseen circumstances, we should be back tomorrow by supper time.” Dean’s throat went dry. “ ’Course, I don’t want you all to get in a tizzy if it takes us an extra day.”

  Ella reached for Justin’s hand.

  “Easy-peasy,” a confident Justin retorted.

  Nonetheless, Dean sensed the apprehension lingering in the room.

  “Please, don’t buy pancakes. I never want to eat them again,” Twila burst.

  Dean couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “Twila, be grateful,” Scarlett gently reprimanded. “When you’re hungry enough, you’ll eat anything.”

  “What about roadblocks?” Luther asked.

  “We should be able to spot them long before they spot us,” Dean said with binoculars in hand. “Trust me, if we run into any trouble, we’ll abort our mission.”

  “So, we’re leaving tonight?” Panic crept into Justin’s voice.

  “If we want to eat,” Dean intoned. A strange sensation engulfed him as if witnessing the sands of time slipping through his fingers.

  ***

  By late afternoon, Dean and Justin crouched under an office building’s archway several yards from the Forbidden Zone’s border wall and waited for the next drone fly-over. Luther had confirmed the van was still there and had explained how to connect the wires to hotwire it. Their plan was iffy at best.

  “There she goes,” Dean uttered under his breath when the low-flying drone buzzed along the border wall and out of sight.

  According to Luther, the narrow breach in the fence hadn’t been repaired. Still, he tossed a handful of leaves at the fence to make sure the juice was off. Nothing. Dean chalked it up to good luck or overworked employees. They snuck into the Y-zone with the mountain bikes.

  “I’ll drive,” Justin said. “I can use my eidetic memory.”

  Dean readjusted the Bushnells. “Have at it.
I’ll scan for roadblocks.”

  They drove through the industrial section before merging onto the highway. Low and behold, for a minute it was like the flu outbreak had never happened. Traffic flowed in both directions, mostly delivery trucks, vans, and big rigs.

  “It looks like things are back to normal,” Justin marveled. “The Zones are probably running low on food supplies.”

  “Perhaps they called off the RedDead Alert,” Dean said somewhat relieved yet vigilant. “How we doing on petrol?”

  “Uh, enough to get us there,” Justin said. “I think.”

  Worst-case scenario, they’d be riding the bikes to the bunkhouse, which would turn into a two-day trip and greatly reduce the amount of supplies they could haul. They’d just have to play it by ear.

  “Say, look at all those trucks getting off the exit.” Dean zoomed in. “That’s a service station up ahead.” It was a good thing they had thought to wear those god-awful baby-blue scrubs.

  “Hey,” Justin said, “see if there’s any official paperwork in the glove compartment.”

  Dean rummaged through the glove box. He flipped through a clipboard of paperwork. A plastic credit card fell to the floorboard. He held it up to Justin.

  “Woo-hoo!” Justin exclaimed. “Government employees don’t need ration cards.”

  “Alrighty then. See if they sell gas cans.” They could siphon the van’s remaining gas and transfer it to the pickup.

  Justin pulled up to an empty gas pump. “I’ll go inside. I gotta pee.” He slipped on a blue HAZMAT cap. “How do I look?” He held up the clipboard with a stern look on his face.

  Dean chuckled. “Like a professional.” Hope we aren’t pushing our luck.

  Dean sat in the van and tried not to arouse suspicion by looking over his shoulder every time a vehicle pulled up to the pumps. From his view, it looked like Justin was chatting up the clerk. Easy now. His butt cheeks tensed tighter.

  Justin came out with a bag under one arm and two ten-gallon jerrycans. Well, what d’ya know? The kid had hutzpah.

  “You buy up the entire store?” Dean jabbed.

  “I got us dinner and breakfast. The clerk let me charge the junk food, and he didn’t even charge me for the extra cheese and jalapeños. Oh, and the market is scheduled to open tomorrow. Anyway, I told them we’re on Zoat patrol and need extra gas to monitor the border. I even bought some Cokes.”

  Dean’s stomach curdled at the thought of extra jalapeños as he released the gas cap latch. “Fill ’er up. Along with the cans.” He wanted to hit the road. They were dead meat if an Enforcer scanned the stolen van’s plates.

  Justin merged between a convoy of truckers while Dean studied the map. Ah, a frontage road. It would take them to the far west side of Stanwyck’s property. From there, they could sneak to the bunkhouse after sunset.

  Dean grabbed a hotdog smothered with runny nacho cheese sauce, picking out the jalapeños. The ice-cold Cokes were the kicker. “Guess they got one of the plants running.”

  “Ye-ah, the Elites can’t go without their pre-apocalyptic addictions,” Justin garbled with a mouthful.

  Dean savored the moment while he tried his hardest not to wolf down the two hotdogs and a bag of Gold Star potato chips, despite the bout of indigestion bound to avenge him.

  The miles flew past. And they hadn’t run into any trouble. When they turned onto the frontage road, the sun greeted the horizon in a burst of golden-tinged clouds. Afraid Stanwyck’s men might spot them, Dean suggested they park behind the maintenance building next to the irrigation ditch.

  “Let’s get our bearings straight while we have daylight,” Dean said. “Once it’s dark enough to see the lights in the big house, we’ll drive the pickup to the backside of the bunkhouse.” He certainly wasn’t looking forward to siphoning the remaining gas from the van and sneaking to the pickup. In the dark.

  Last State better have taken care of the dead-heads. They needed a long winning streak to pull off this foolhardy scheme, he hinted to the universe in the off chance someone up there listened in.

  Chapter 8

  Twila Lewis woke up so excited she could hardly stand it. Had it just been a vivid dream, or was it for real? She couldn’t wait to tell Mommy. “Mommy, are you awake?” She gently nudged her.

  “I’ll get up in a little bit, sweetie.” Mommy rolled over to her other side.

  Bummer! But Mommy needed to rest, or she’d be grumpy all day. She and Uncle Luther had been working hard and had to take turns guarding the house since Grandpa Dean and Justin had gone to the Zhetto Market.

  Ella had promised to help, but the baby kept her busy and tired. Twila gently knocked on Ella’s door. No answer. She needed to talk about her dream. This very minute! Uncle Luther wouldn’t understand. He stubbornly refused to accept his metaphysical side. Besides, he thought she was coo-coo most of the time. But she loved him anyway. One day soon he would understand . . .

  Twila crept back to her room to put on the boring boy’s clothes she was supposed to wear. Then she took care of her bathroom stuff. One of the new rules since living together in the big house was to get dressed, wash her face, and brush her hair before going downstairs.

  She wedged the rubber-pluggy thingy into the sink’s drain and then poured water into the sink from one of the plastic jugs they kept in the bathroom. At least she didn’t have to brush her teeth until after breakfast. Oh please, oh please, no more pancakes.

  She hurried downstairs to Uncle Luther. He made the perfect uncle because he gave the best hugs, the kind that tingled her heart chakra with happiness. She liked to pretend Mommy’s friends were her very own special soul-family.

  After all, Mommy wasn’t her blood-mother; she was her soul-mother. Dean was like a grandpa, and Ella was like an older sister. As for Justin, she still wasn’t sure he liked her. He was sort of scared of her. But, he was trying—to understand. Ella was always explaining things to him. Some people were slow learners, she decided.

  “Hi, Uncle Luther.”

  He sat in the big comfy chair next to the window in the living room. Uh, why did they call the front room the living room and the big room by the kitchen the den? There were so many things she didn’t understand.

  She was about to jump into Uncle Luther’s lap for one of his chakra-spinning hugs when he shushed her with his finger to his lips. She followed his gaze out the window. A bunch of sad, sick ones moped around the dried-brown lawn just like her dream. Ooh! There’s Katie. Not her Katie friend from California. A new Katie!

  In her dream, she and Katie had talked and talked about all the things they missed. Like chocolate cake and presents and swing sets and music. No one ever sang anymore. Katie couldn’t really talk. When she tried, the words sounded like Mateo’s silly gurgling. So, Twila had promised to heal her. Today! If Mommy says it’s okay.

  She needed something fun to do. She was so bored with coloring. And everyone was always too busy for her. Even the Silver Lady hadn’t talked to her lately. What if the Silver Lady felt so bad for ignoring her that she had sent her a friend? It could happen.

  “How’s my cutie?” Uncle Luther whispered. Finally, they hugged. But it was a short one.

  “I’m hungry.”

  “There’s a few MREs left on the kitchen counter,” Uncle Luther whispered to her ear.

  Yay! She was so glad Luther had found the box of MREs. She darted to the kitchen to pick through them. Though, most MREs were yucky. Better than flapjacks, as Grandpa Dean called them. Such a funny name. Ooh, this one. She snatched the Creamy Spinach Fettuccini and took it to the dinner table next to the living room’s window.

  Uncle Luther was about to ask if she needed help heating it. “My bad, you’re a pro. You must be the smartest eight-year-old girl on the planet,” he said with a big smile. “Use my canteen.” He kept his eyes on the window.

  After she filled the bag to the line with water, she put the brown plastic thingy back in the cardboard and then set it against the wall while it heat
ed like magic. Pretty smart invention, she thought. But the package was stupid-looking. She would have made it way prettier with colorful fairies and rainbows and unicorns.

  The whole time she waited for her breakfast to heat, Uncle Luther didn’t say a single word. He was worried and tired like everybody else. It was going to be another boring day. Unless . . .

  Katie’s voice popped into her head. “Do you still want to be my friend?”

  There’s Katie! Walking to the house. Right there, in front of Uncle Luther. He reached for the gun on the table.

  “Katie, no! Go back to the street—right this very minute!” Twila screamed in her mind. “I have to ask my mommy. Be patient.”

  Katie limped back to the street. She just stood there, so lonely. Uncle Luther put the gun back on the table. How could such a huge man be afraid of an itty-bitty girl? Even if she was a Z. After that, Uncle Luther was jumpy. She tried to see why he was upset, but he started blocking his thoughts.

  They sat in silence while she hurried through her breakfast. Twila couldn’t wait to tell Mommy about her Katie dream. “Can I go upstairs?” she asked, slipping the MRE’s chocolate chip cookie into her jeans, which were so big she had to use a rope to tie them around her waist.

  “As long as you’re quiet. There’s more of them today. They know we’re here,” he said. “And your mother needs her sleep.” It was his way of telling her to be extra-extra quiet.

  She decided not to tell him even more were coming. A vague image revealed hundreds of sick ones searched for their house on Bluebird Lane. They weren’t the scary mean X-strains, just the sad and lonely ones. Katie tried to wave to her. Uncle Luther turned to Twila with a puzzling look. Uh-oh. He was starting to listen to his innate abilities. She better be more careful around him.

  “Gotta go brush my teeth now.” Twila gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before he said the Z-child creeped him out.

  She quietly slipped into the bedroom to check on Mommy. Still sleeping. Twila considered not brushing her teeth. I better do it. Mommy might ask. Besides, Mommy could see her thoughts if her Merkaba shield wasn’t strong enough.