Only The Dead Don't Die (11 page)

“And you don’t want Dean to know about it until you have it all figured out. Am I right?” LuLu guessed.

“You got it,” Justin nodded.

“Your secret’s safe with me—and Ella, I’m sure,” LuLu said as Ella joined them.

“You’re like, so cool. Thanks. I’ll catch-you-up later if it works.”

“Sure thing kiddo,” and LuLu winked again.

She definitely winked,
which made him nervous, but he was so jazzed about his project that he didn’t care. Now he had his very own workroom. It was a nice size room about twenty by thirty feet. He could set up a lot of buffet tables in there.

By mid-afternoon, he was almost done setting up the tables when he heard Dean’s booming voice calling for him.
Now what?
He didn’t want to risk Dean walking in on him, so he slipped into the lobby a second before Dean turned the corner.

“There you are. Been lookin’ all over for you, son. Found a La Superior truck. The Stockton Boys are geared-up. We’re ready to roll when you are,” Dean announced, but it was more of an order.

“Dude, you mean like right now?” Justin was unable to hide his disappointment, eager to get going on his project. Besides, he was still creeped out over the close call he had this morning.

“Son, something on your mind? You know how important the food supply is,” Dean reminded him.

“Sure, OK, where are we going?” Justin asked, resigning himself. It was no use arguing with Dean; it was like trying to win an argument with his dad: it just wasn’t happening.

“Peabody Road and Elmira. The Stockton Boys happened to come across it during today’s fuel run,” Dean said hurriedly.

Justin knew the area, he and Parker used to order food to-go at the Mexican restaurant. Like they had the best nachos, ever! “Dude, what’s the name of the Mexican restaurant back in the corner?” Justin asked, as if it mattered, now.

“I know the one you’re talking about. Mary loved that place. El Azteca, I think. Haven’t been there in years—not since Mary . . .”

Justin saw the sadness in Dean’s eyes and heard it in his voice
. I guess I’m not the only one dealing with the past.
Suddenly, Justin felt like a butt-head for not wanting to help Dean. “Give me five minutes. I’ll meet you guys by the trucks.” And Justin ran to the kitchen to snag a bite to eat of whatever Ella was cooking. But really, he just wanted to see her smile. Ella always inspired him.

Scarlett sat on the balcony and played an old-fashioned game of solitaire in an attempt to forget her worried thoughts. The chilly October air was a relief after the endless, scorching-hot summer. The ocean-grey sky teased of rain, wanting to let go, yet not quite ready to release its bounty onto the parched landscape. She took in a deep breath of the cool air and shuffled the fancy, rose playing cards, then dealt out seven piles of cards, taking the time to stack each pile perfectly on the marble patio table.

She needed it to rain: today. Her water supply was nearly gone; she had managed to use what little water was left in all the hot-water tanks of the nearby townhomes. She probably should have refrained from taking those frigid one-minute showers on her scavenging days. At the time, it had seemed like the civilized thing to do, for life without a shower was unbearable. But with only two cases of sixteen-ounce water bottles left, showers or even a sponge bath, were definitely out of the question. The news media (back before society had disappeared) had promised either a mild El Nino this fall or a Godzilla El Nino next fall for this part of California; no signs of it yet. As usual, the weather had its own agenda. A wry smile crossed her lips as she uncovered her first ace, the Ace of Hearts.

Scarlett was thinking about waiting out this crisis here in Natomas until spring, recalling that the “shelter in place” plan was usually the safest and most logical plan of action. But water or rather lack of water was her biggest problem at this point. She had collected numerous buckets and cooking pots and had placed them around the complex, ready to harvest the first rains of the season. Could she wait it out? She put the Ace of Spades on the top foundation, two down and two to go.

At least I have plenty of food
. Scarlett was extremely pleased with the inventory she had collected (stolen) over the past few weeks. Once she had finally overcome the fear of leaving the safety of the townhouse, she found she was quite adept at breaking into the nearby homes and had managed to acquire an abundant supply of food and supplies, enough to last through April.

“Should I Stay or Should I Go,” who sang that song? “If I go there will be trouble, and if I stay it will be double,” she sang softly. If she left her comfort zone, there would obviously be trouble, deadly trouble.
It’s safer to stay here.
“The Clash,”
she exclaimed, remembering it had been one of Cyndi’s favorites.
Cyndi used to play that old 45 over and over all the while dancing like a punked-out rocker
.
Scarlett smiled, enjoying a moment of sweet nostalgia.

Thoughts kept interrupting her solitaire game as she found a home for the King of Spades.
Yes, I might actually win this game if I can just get to that Six of Hearts.
Strange how such a silly game gave her a cheap thrill these days.

That’s it—water—or no water, I’ll just have to suck it up!
She had finally decided once and for all to wait it out until April, and if help hadn’t found her by then; she’d go looking for help. Why April? She really wasn’t sure.

“Yes, finally won a flippin’ game.” She hadn’t intended to say it so loudly, and she nervously checked the field below for any signs of creepers. She spotted several specks in the distance, no problem for now; she sighed in relief and sank back down in the wicker patio chair, sipping the rest of the not-so-hot chamomile tea. Surely California would be back to normal by April. The thought of seeing Cyndi again made her lonely heart ache. She closed her eyes, remembering . . .

“Look out! Run!” Shouting interrupted her longing thoughts. There, in the field, were two figures. Running. Yes, they were
running
—not stumbling. She counted seven creepers closing in on the right and was aghast to see several small packs across the street, and
they
appeared to be converging into an enormous pack (making her think once again that
they
communicated somehow). The two people, a man and a woman, didn’t look like they were going to make it as more stragglers joined in on the chase, flanking them as if the creepers were herding the people. Scarlett realized she didn’t have the time to get to the car and drive out there to save them. It would be too late.

The woman seemed to be having a difficult time running. She stopped, and it looked like she was trying to catch her breath, then she started running again only to trip and fall face-down on the ground. A creeper pounced on her. Scarlett grabbed the rifle next to her and fired off a shot, catching the creeper right in the head. A “headshot” was the only way to kill them. She had finally figured that out after a few days of target shooting practice.

Scarlett continued firing, methodically shooting each creeper dead in the head as
they
tried to trap the two people. She missed only once, then steadied herself and continued her target shooting. The man looked up and acknowledged her with a frantic wave, and they began running towards the row of townhouses that overlooked the field. Suddenly creepers appeared from everywhere, coming from every direction. Had all these creepers been there all along as if invisible, hiding in plain sight? It was a thought she found rather disturbing.

“Go around front!” Scarlett yelled to the man as he helped the woman to her feet again. Scarlett reloaded and continued shooting. Now there were too many of
them
to kill. Scarlett could only hope they would make it to her front door—in time.

The man and woman ran across the field and made it over the black wrought-iron fencing that separated the field from the townhouses. “To the front!” Scarlett shouted again. With rifle in hand, she dashed down the stairs, tore open the front door just as the man and woman turned the corner of her building. Another pack encroached, this time from the east and tried to head the man and woman off at the pass, but Scarlett was there in time and let off a string of shots.

“This way!” Scarlett motioned.

And, they were all safely inside. Scarlett peered out the peephole and watched in horror as creeper after creeper crowded onto the front porch, growling and jerking and moaning and clawing and pounding on the front door. The three of them stared at each other in silence. She saw the terror in their eyes.

The man was trying hard to steady his breathing and the woman collapsed. He caught her before her head hit the floor. “Sonia, Sonia!”

“Is she all right,” Scarlett gasped.

“I think so. She’s tired, still recovering,” the man gasped, trying to catch his breath.

Scarlett cringed and cautiously backed away.

“No, no, not with the flu,” the man insisted. “We need to get her to a bed,” his eyes pleaded.

Scarlett, still a bit uneasy, decided she had to help the young couple. She couldn’t deny help—not now, after actually finding people.

“All right, take her upstairs, there’s a spare bedroom. The room with the peacock bedspread.”

“Aren’t you coming?” he asked as Scarlett headed in the opposite direction towards the garage.

“I’ve got more two-by-fours in the garage. I’d better board-over the front door like I did the window,” Scarlett stated with more assertiveness than she felt.

“Great idea!” He nodded.

Scarlett glanced back and noticed the stuffed backpack the man had strapped to his shoulders as he helped the woman up the stairs.
Adrenalin.
It was like a super-hero drug. Better than steroids,
she mused.

Scarlett lugged out an armful of pine two-by-fours, dropped them on the entryway’s stone flooring and began furiously pounding huge double-headed nails into them. The pounding brought even more creepers to the front porch, but she had no other option at this point. When she was finally satisfied with securing the front door, she anxiously ran upstairs to greet her guests, choosing to ignore the feeling of caution that swept over her.

To Scarlett’s astonishment, the woman was sitting against the bed’s quilted headboard—nursing a—baby. “Dear God! You have a baby . . .” Scarlett’s eyes pooled, her first feeling of happiness in months.

An awkward moment of silence lingered; it seemed like no one knew quite what to say. What exactly
do
you say after you’ve just saved a family from man-eating atrocities?

“Water? Do you need some water?” Scarlett broke the silence. The couple nodded in unison. She ran out of the room and returned with two bottled waters (worth their weight in gold until the rains came). That seemed to be the icebreaker they needed, for they all started talking at once.

“Thank you, Sweet Jesus. Thank you, Sweet Jesus,” the woman repeated while clutching the baby against her breast, her lips trembling.

“We can’t thank you enough. Where the
hell
did you come from anyway?” The young man asked somewhat bewildered. “Let me guess, you’re in the military—a sniper? If you hadn’t been there . . .” He looked down at the floor shaking his head.

“Where did you guys come from?” Scarlett asked, finally able to get a word in amongst the excitement. “And no, I’m definitely not in the military. Just have a good aiming eye. How did you guys get stuck in the field?” Scarlett couldn’t help but wonder how the young family managed to get stranded in the field.

“See, the truck broke down, threw a rod or something—” he started.

“I told you to take it easy. It’s a miracle we made it as far as we did in that old piece of junk,” the woman added.

“Yeah-Yeah,” he shrugged. “Anyhoo, I’m Sam, this here’s my wife Sonia, and this—this is our son, Sammy Junior,” Sonia proudly held up the sleepy baby as if he was the grandest prize ever, and he most certainly was.

How on earth had they managed to survive this hellish world with a newborn?
“How old is he?” Scarlett cooed, and Sammy Junior opened his eyes a mere slit.

“Nearly two months,” Sonia beamed.

“How did you guys manage? I mean, you know, how’d you survive this whole time—with a baby? Have you been staying at one of the evacuation shelters? Is everything
normal
where you came from? Oh, by the way, I’m Scarlett Lewis from Roseville.”

“Thank you from the bottom of my heart for saving us—our son,” Sonia sobbed, adding more trails to her tear-streaked cheeks.

Sam butted in, “We could really use some food, can you people spare any? I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, if you want us to leave, we’ll go right now. We sure as hell don’t want no trouble.”

Scarlett was back in a flash with a box of granola bars. “Here, this will get you started. How about a spaghetti dinner?” Scarlett proclaimed. “Then we can talk all night over Moscato wine.” Suddenly the tension in the room disappeared; the dinner invitation seemed to sooth everyone’s anxiety.

Scarlett stepped onto the balcony to light the barbecue grill, apprehensively scanning the field, not a single creeper.
They
had all bypassed the iron fence and found their way to her front door from the sound of it while she calmly prepared a lovely, Martha Stewart-apocalyptic dinner. The contrast was so absurd it almost made her giddy. On a whim, she decided to add canned corn and canned peaches to the menu. They would have a mini-feast tonight. She couldn’t believe “the moment” had finally arrived.
People at last!

Scarlett checked on the young couple: they were busy making a makeshift bassinet out of a plastic, storage carton and blankets. They both looked gaunt and haggard. Sam looked as if he hadn’t shaved since the Summer-Super flu, reminding her of Shaggy from the Scooby-Doo cartoon, except with a full-blown hillbilly-like beard, and Sonia looked in desperate need of a shower. They must have had a rough time of it these past months.

Scarlett cleared the dining room table, which was still cluttered with her latest inventory report and set out her best china: sunflower paper plates. “What can I help you with?” Sonia asked as the couple joined her in the dining room.

“Absolutely nothing, you need your rest.” Scarlett pulled out a chair for Sonia. “Sam, can you open this wine? 2016—uh, not such a good year.” They all let out a tense laugh.

Scarlett’s mouth watered when she served the dinner. Usually, she only ate a light lunch, a snack for dinner, and was always famished by breakfast. She had been monitoring her caloric intake, carefully rationing her food supply since she had searched all the homes in the complex and was out of homes to raid unless she hit the apartments across the way.

Scarlett could tell they were starving by the way they both gobbled down the spaghetti. She noticed Sam scanning the dining room.
Is he eyeing my supplies?

“I see you people have been busy,” Sam said. “How many in your gang?”

“What do you mean, gang?” Scarlett felt her brows furrowing, not understanding.

“Ya know, how many people in your group?” he repeated sarcastically.

“Just me.”

“What the hell, how’d you survive this whole time, alone!” Sam seemed astonished.

“Well, I’m not so sure, just plain dumb luck—I suppose,” Scarlett faltered, thinking over the past few months.

“I think it’s even more astounding that the three of you survived. How’d you manage that?” she countered.

“We were,” Sonia corrected “
are
with a group of people. A nurse helped me with the delivery.”