“And let me guess. The bad guys are the Black Hats. As usual,” Luther retorted.
“Dude, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s not a racial thing. That’s just what they call them.”
“Look.” Luther pointed to the lone Enforcer monitoring the line. “Something’s about to go down.”
A disgruntled Enforcer clomped by and yelled into his radio, “You know what? I fuckin’ quit!” He slammed the radio to the ground and stomped it to oblivion. “Troops, stand down and get your asses to safety,” he shouted to the Enforcers on the guard tower.
“Getting one of those kumbaya moments.” Luther took off with the dolly. “Time to jet.” He shoved through the crowd as they rushed the unguarded exit.
“Dude, the truck’s that way,” Justin reminded.
“We’re buying that big-ass bus!” Luther thundered above the crowd.
“Amal-zing!”
They hightailed it to the bus. The sales guy must have picked them out of the crowd. He gave them a double thumbs-up.
“Bro, did you talk to the owner?” Luther shouted.
“Oh, hell yeah. He really wants to sell it,” the sales guy admitted, eyeing a customer roaming the makeshift car lot. “Make me an offer.”
“I’ve got one of these babies.” Luther slapped a CombiBar credit card in the guy’s hand. Justin had no idea the current value of gold since it fluctuated every freaking hour like the stock market.
“Elite Gold?” The car sales guy studied it for a sec. “You rock!”
Justin had a feeling the bus owner would never see an ounce of that gold in this dog-eat-dog world.
“How do we handle the DMV registration?” Not that Justin gave a shit. But he wanted the transaction to appear legit.
“Hurry it up,” Luther said uneasily, scanning the perimeter.
“You hear any screaming?” the stoner sales guy inquired calmly.
Justin looked around. “No.”
“Then, we’ve got time.” The sales guy fingered through a fanny pack full of pink slips. “Sign here.” He pulled out another form. “Sign this release form. You got ten days to complete the digital paperwork. No refunds if Last State denies your vehicle request,” he warned. “But, hey, someone will be here if you need to resell it.”
Luther started loading the bus. “Put it in your name. In case I don’t—”
“Ye-ah, sure, okay.” Brain freeze. Justin had forgotten his latest CitChip identity.
Luther happened to look back at them. “Mr. Bruce Jones, we don’t got all day!”
Justin wanted to laugh. Good friends knew what the other was thinking. Or this ESP stuff was the new norm for him.
“Thanks for making my day. When the sirens go off, it’s like Black Friday at the mall. See ya around.” The sales guy headed for the onslaught of roving customers.
Justin hoped Luther knew how to drive the bus. “It’s an automatic, right?”
“Yup, that’s the first thing I checked,” Luther said, staring into space. “Why don’t you take it for a test drive—as in to the safehouse.” Luther let out a long breath. “I’m going for Mindy!”
“Huh?” Justin stood there in jaw-dropping disbelief. “Seriously?”
“If I don’t make it to the safehouse in five hours, don’t wait for me. I’ll catch up to you in Tent City,” was all Luther said as he sprinted to the truck.
“W-T-F! Dude, there’s no way Mindy survived,” Justin shouted to Luther’s backside.
What had Luther’s crazy Voodoo aunt told him?
Chapter 15
Dean Wormer worked on the final touches of the makeshift wired-meshed gates he had rigged to the top and bottom of the stairs. The contraptions ought to keep those dead-heads at bay long enough to escape down the emergency ladder. He hadn’t risked boarding over the first floor’s windows since the hammering would alert every dead-head in the vicinity.
Just as Scarlett had anticipated, those suckers had learned to associate the bug spray’s nauseating odor to humans. And now it appeared they had caught onto his latest trick as well. He had doused the home’s perimeter with old oil drained from the vehicles in the garage in an attempt to disguise their scent. Those things were learning at an incredible rate.
Truth be known, they were running out of places to hide. Sure, they could commandeer a different home every other day if need be. But it would merely increase the odds of a roving drone spotting them. So far, lady luck had been on their side somewhat.
As if keeping the gang safe weren’t enough to keep him up at night, Ella and the baby were. She seemed to suffer from a severe case of the baby blues: postpartum depression. Of course, it was more than that. The baby was dying. Plain and simple.
“That just ’bout does it.” Dean slipped the hammer into the tool belt hugging his hips, which he had confiscated from the garage. “It’s not much. But it will buy us enough time to escape out the second-floor window.” They kept their only fire-escape ladder in the room he shared with Luther, not tempting the ever-inquisitive Twila.
Scarlett sat by the front room’s window, taking watch. “The gates are a great idea.”
“I’ll leave a few zip ties by the gates.” He merely needed to attach the mesh to the left side of the railing since the other side was attached to the wall with molly bolts. “Any more of ’em?”
“No. They’re just loitering in the street and staring at the house.”
“That’s what gets me,” Dean said. Normally those suckers would have smashed the windows by now. He had a sneaky suspicion their behavior modification had something to do with Twila.
He glanced at her, fast asleep on the couch. Was she unwittingly communicating with them in her sleep? She knew the dangers. It would mean certain death for them all. Despite Twila’s emotional handicap, she did seem to understand the finality of death.
“Uh, Dean—” Scarlett turned to him with pleading eyes. “I’ve accepted the fact that we can’t wait for Zac.” Her words faded into a papery thin whisper. “Sorry, I should have said something sooner. It’s just that—”
Dean held up his hand. Her apparent guilt was all the apology he needed. “You know this for a fact?”
She let out a long sigh. “Staying here puts everyone at risk. But I’m not getting any messages from the Silver Lady advising what we should do. Where do you think we should go?”
Dean rubbed his itchy bearding chin the way he did when contemplating a tough situation. What he wouldn’t do for a decent razor right about now. He pulled up a chair beside her with his back against the window and pretended to admire his 4-H-club-worthy anti-zombie defense system.
It was a loaded question. If it were just him, he’d hike back to his California cabin to reminisce the good ole days via scrapbooks chock-full of washed-out Polaroids of Mary and Kyle. Until his time came. But his consciousness needled tirelessly that his new purpose in this god-awful world was ensuring his friends’ well-being. Somehow.
“My personal opinion—head back to New Mexico,” he finally answered. “For the life of me, I can’t stop thinking of this place my granddaddy sold horses to every summer.”
“What makes it so special?” Scarlett asked with sparked interest.
Besides the breathtaking views and abundance of wildlife and freshwater, he really couldn’t say. “Safety,” came to mind. “It’s not too far—”
“Wait,” Scarlett said hastily. “As a precaution, don’t tell me. Don’t even think it in your mind.”
That would be challenging. “This particular barren mountain would dissuade most folks. But the east side is a wonderment of nature. Good for trout fishing. And fairly secluded. Although I wouldn’t be surprised if we ran into a band of survivors riding out the pandemic in serenity.”
“How do we get there?” She flailed her hands in the air and let them fall into her lap in a rare moment of hopelessness.
“Trust me. I’ve been hashing it out. The lame-brain scheme that keeps coming to mind—we simply drive right i
nto Tent City.” It would be the fastest way to travel with Mateo and Twila.
“How do we cross Zoat?” Scarlett asked.
“From what Justin said, it shouldn’t be too difficult to find a smuggler tunnel in Tent City. Reckon with Justin’s connections and you and Twila’s abilities, we ought to find one. Not to mention, we’ve got an ace up our sleeve. The gold,” he said matter-of-factly.
The lone tear slipping down her cheek put his own heart through the wringer. It must be tough, finally finding Zac, only to lose him. Dean patted her shoulder. “Now, don’t you go all gloomy on me. It’s enough that I have to deal with Ella and Justin. And that youngin’ of yours.” He looked to Twila. “Besides, I wouldn’t give up on Zac just yet. He’s bound to show up sooner or later,” he reassured.
She swiveled around on the stool to face him, smiling. “He’s definitely unpredictable.”
“When the fellas return, we’ll put it to a vote.” He wasn’t taking the heat for this decision, not with so much at risk. “Did you check on Ella this morning?”
“She’s practically in mourning. She lies in bed cuddling the baby like it’s the last time she’ll ever hold him.” Scarlett hung her head low. “Mateo is unresponsive.”
“Who can blame her? To give birth to two babies in a time like this. Well, it’s a damn curse, that’s what it is!” Dean vented.
A tap at the window startled them. A doll with purple hair banged against the window. “Hell’s bells!” It was all he could do to stifle the scream begging to come out.
Scarlett gasped. “What is that?”
Dean peered over the window ledge to find a dead-head child not more than six or seven peering up at him on her tiptoes. It knocked on the window with the doll. Wait a minute. Its face was actually clean. Come to think of it. Its hair was neatly braided, not the usual greasy rat’s nest festering with lice and flies. This must be the infamous Katy with a Y. He eyed the zombie-child cautiously, knowing he would jump out of his skin if it asked, “Can Twila come out and play?”
Scarlett rushed to Twila, nudging her awake. “Are you communicating with the sick ones?” Twila hated it when they called them creepers, dead-heads, zombies, and the like.
Tears drenched Twila’s cheeks. “Katy with a Y wants to know if she can live with us. She feels better now.”
Dean pondered over why Twila referred to it as Katy with a Y. What did the Y have to do with anything? Trying to understand the workings of Twila’s rationalizing was far beyond him.
“Twila—” Scarlett started in, obvious agony surging through her, as if responsible for Twila’s behavior.
“Honest me. Katy’s better. She started drinking water. And the rest of them started drinking water too. You see”—Twila’s golden-flecked eyes widened—“water is very, very important. They forgot to drink ’cause the sickness makes them so hungry. All they think about is food. Every second. It’s very painful.” Twila held her head in her hands with the makings of a headache coming on.
Scarlett massaged the child’s forehead.
“Imagine it would be. Your Katy friend is right outside the window.” Dean nodded toward the window.
“Katy, I told you to let me ask first.” Twila dashed to the window before Scarlett could stop her.
Dean kept his hand on the butt of his Glock as the dead-head child dragged a lawn chair from the front porch to the window. It stood on the chair and pressed its clean grayish face to the windowpane. It went into a teeth-snapping fit when its eyes locked onto Scarlett’s.
“No Katy!” Twila scolded. “Be nice to my mommy.”
Beside himself on how to handle the peculiar situation, he merely watched the bizarre scene unfold.
“Tell Katy to leave,” Scarlett implored as the horde pointed at their safehouse with spastic arms.
Twila’s eyes rolled back briefly. Not a good sign. Dean quickly collected his tools.
“I’m so sorry, Mommy. I messed up. They want to be like Katy. They want the magical tea.”
Dean peeked out the window again in time to see another horde approaching.
“Tell them there isn’t any left.” Distress took over Scarlett’s voice.
“I already did. They don’t believe me.” Twila shook her head vehemently. “No Katy! You promised—”
“Promised what?” Scarlett questioned sternly.
“It’s a secret.” Twila’s defiant pout insisted.
Scarlett’s eyes narrowed. “Young lady!”
Twila looked away. “If, if . . .” she spluttered, “. . . if I tell you, you will stop loving me and make me live with them.”
“Oh, sweetie. We’d never do that,” Scarlett consoled.
“I’m a little bit—like them. See, I used to be sick just like Katy. And then the Silver Lady helped me get better. Don’t you see? That’s why I have to heal them. It’s not their fault.”
What the devil was the child going on ’bout? Dean kept his eyes lowered to avoid Scarlett’s reaction to Twila’s morbid confession. The poor girl must be delusional. Well, they had more pressing issues to contend with for the time being.
“Dean!” Scarlett yelled out.
Dean tried not to stumble over his own feet at the panic in Scarlett’s voice as he rushed back to her. The growing horde rambled to the front yard’s withered brown lawn. An eerie low growling took over.
“They want to eat Katy. Run! Katy! Run!” Twila sobbed. “They’re calling all the sick ones trapped in the Forbidden Zone. They’re going to eat us, too!”
Dean gawped.
“They think we have the magical blood that will heal them,” Twila babbled on.
On that note, Dean intervened, “Alrighty folks, ’bout time we get upstairs.”
After herding a reluctant Twila up the stairs, Scarlett helped him haul their meager supplies to the second floor. He stretched out the wire-mesh and then started zip-tying the mesh in order to block the stairway access.
“Twila, tell Katy we’re making more tea. Then we’ll share it with them,” he heard Scarlett say.
“You said lying’s bad,” Twila countered.
“Sometimes, little-white lies are better than the truth. Besides, I think Uncle Luther found some tea,” Scarlett said.
“Think of it this way,” Dean cut in. “If they think more tea is on the way, maybe they won’t hurt Katy.”
“Exactly!” Scarlett gave Dean a thankful smile.
“Okay, that’s not a bad lie.”
“Tell her in your mind.” Scarlett escorted Twila to the bedroom.
“Okay.”
“Hurry, before they hurt Katy,” Scarlett pushed on.
Dean and Scarlett waited on the landing for that first crackle of shattering glass. Justin and Luther better return from the Zhetto Market before they were forced into finding an alternative safehouse. A pixilated image of a renovated bus appeared in the depths of his mind. Was it merely wishful thinking?
Chapter 16
Justin Chen anxiously pedaled through the Forbidden Zone’s deserted neighborhoods, wondering how the heck the shard of glass Luther had left in his care would save his son.
One block to go, he cheered himself on. He couldn’t stop stressing over Luther. What a ballsy move. Going to the lodge. On his own. But really, Justin was ashamed of wimping out on his friend. He braked hard, skidding to a stop. I should have gone with him. He slammed his hands on the handlebars. Or stopped him! But, his job in this undead world was to protect Ella and their son. Right?
He guzzled down the last swallows of water from his canteen in contempt. Contempt for himself. Reluctantly, his feet found the pedals again as he recapped the events at the Zhetto Market. Talk about coincidence. Running into Joe DiNozzo had been so random. What would Scarlett say? That it had been cosmic fate . . .
He coasted around the corner onto Skylark Street. Not a single Z. At first glance, it could have been a quiet Sunday afternoon—if he overlooked the dried brown lawns and ocean of leaves drifting the streets. Neighborho
ods like this brought back memories of his once hunky-dory life when his biggest worry had been Wi-Fi speed and nomophobia.
A wave of gloom hit him at the sight of the empty neighborhood: no skateboarders or people washing cars or mowing lawns or tending flower beds. A lone scraggly white rose daring to bloom next to a broken mailbox seemed to call out to him. Was it lonely? There was no one to admire it but him.
“Hold on to hope. At times it’s all one has.” His mother’s voice echoed into the far reaches of his mind. He shook his head vigorously, feeling like a Scooby-Doo meme.
Mom, Dad, I so miss you. Sorry I flaked out on our family vacay that summer. The summer of the Super Summer flu. It had been the crucial decision in a long chain of events as to why he had survived. Fate or luck?
His thoughts raced to Ella. She wasn’t doing so well. Physically and emotionally. This Andara better not be bogus. Otherwise, he didn’t think she’d have the heart to go on. Not if Mateo died.
Their latest safehouse was on the next street. Movement in his periphery startled him back into hyper-alert. A mini-horde stumbled through a thorny hedge up ahead. No problem. He could easily outrun Zs on the bike without leading them to the safehouse.
He cut across a corner lot, passing an RV. “Big yikes!” Justin almost wiped-out. A hella-horde rushed him. The leader of the pack floundered for him like a cadaverous bobble-head while the rest awkwardly followed. Still on the bike, he kick-boxed it with one foot, and sent it careening to the asphalt right onto its bloated face. Splat! It gave him time to force-stop the spinning pedals.
Justin pulled a U-ie and sped off. Simple. He’d go around the block and coast in from behind them. By then, the horde should have ambled around the corner—out of sight.
He braked at the intersection of Whippoorwill Way and Robin Road before riding willy-nilly down the street. The hinky thought he was about to run into another hella-horde sent a rash of goosebumps bubbling up his arms. It was like he felt the fanic oozing into his DNA.
Only The Dead Don't Die | Book 4 | Finding Home Page 15