Only The Dead Don't Die (18 page)

“And, I do the laundry around here. That’s one of
my
duties besides Resident Housekeeper,” she practically warned as if Scarlett wanted to take the job from her. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Dean will come up with a list of duties for you too.”

“You’re set-up here kiddo. See ya at dinner,” and LuLu left without a smile or a welcome.

Scarlett plopped onto the bed, bounced up-and-down checking the springs for comfortableness as if that mattered. Suddenly she felt completely alone in the blandly furnished room. Guess the hotel had to save money somewhere. She glanced around the room and frowned,
Jeez
what is it with hotels these days—such ugly furniture and stupid pictures. There must be some “Ugly Hotel Furnishing Law.” They must all be required to buy hotel furnishings from the same place. Hmm, uglyhotelfurniture.com
, she thought dryly. If the internet still worked, she’d have googled it just for kicks to see if such a website existed.

Really, you don’t have any right to complain
, she chastised. She was safe and warm and with people.
Why does this
not
feel right
? She pondered. And why hadn’t she taken off that flippin’ engagement ring months ago? Scarlett twirled the ring nervously around her finger. She couldn’t. She wasn’t ready. The ring stood for everything that used to be—that might have been: her perfect happily-ever-after life. She refused to accept this new world . . .

Scarlett and Ella spent the next couple of weeks helping Justin with his “CFO” project, otherwise known as “Call For Others.” A phone was charged to about ten percent, and it was Ella’s job to write down all the contact phone numbers stored in each phone. Then Scarlett and Justin began the tedious task of calling each phone number and leaving messages. Justin had made a recording to save time, but that seemed too automated for the occasion—end of the world and all that. So Scarlett and Justin left live messages.

Scarlett preferred to keep her messages short and to the point: “Hello, if you’re getting this message, we’re looking for other survivors or help. So if you know of a FEMA shelter, or if you want to join our small group, please give us a call at one of the following numbers . . .”

Scarlett had to laugh when she overheard Justin; his messages usually sounded as crazy as he was: “Hello citizens of
Zombieland,
USA! No, we don’t know each other. We liberated this cell phone from someone, uh, let’s just say someone less fortunate. We’re looking for help, the government, military, or other survivors. We’re hangin’ out in cow town, otherwise known as Vacaville, here in not-so-sunny California. So, like, “Call Me Maybe,” he said, singing the title name of the song atrociously off-key, which had Ella giggling more than writing down the phone numbers.

The Stockton Boys thought both they and the CFO project were absolutely ridiculous and spent most of their days four-wheeling over creepers in the pretense of confiscating fuel and spent their nights on the mysterious second floor of the hotel getting aimlessly drunk. Dean didn’t seem to mind their reckless behavior as long as they continued to bring in a steady supply of fuel to keep the generators and vehicles running.

LuLu spent most of the time recovering from the night before and making it quite clear to Scarlett that she was the Resident Housekeeper and alpha female during the day (and perhaps the resident slut after dinner), spending most of her evenings with the Paxton and/or Nate. Scarlett made it a point never to stop off at the second floor and also warned Ella of it as well.

Scarlett spent a couple of hours every day working out in the hotel’s small gym and spent a few hours a day leaving messages on ownerless cell phones. After much prodding, Dean finally assigned Scarlett as the group’s official “First Aider.” After all, being a grade school teacher, she had undergone CPR training and knew the basics—the very basics. Dean gave her the OK to scrounge all the uninhabited rooms for first aid supplies.

Scarlett had informed Dean on how pathetic their medical supplies were and advised that she needed to go on a house-to-house hunt for more supplies such as antibiotics and antiseptics. To her surprise, he had actually forbidden her to leave the hotel, promising he would look for the needed items when he was out and about.

Every morning like clockwork, Dean ate his predawn breakfast in the dining room and then disappeared to his lookout post overlooking the interstate. Scarlett was starting to think it was more like his hideaway—to get away from all of them. And that was another thing that bugged her. Lately, Dean seemed to be avoiding everyone, especially her. Scarlett had tried on several occasions to talk to him about the group’s future plans. He’d always say something like, “Sure thing, after I do this or that . . .” She was becoming frustrated, bored, useless, and ever so lonely.

Scarlett was feeling extremely restless and trapped this morning, almost like a prisoner. Sure, the safety of the hotel was comforting; however, she needed to practice her sneaking skills (or rather her bravery skills) that she had so painstakingly acquired. She felt like she was wasting her life away here—at the “Hotel California.” How did that song go? “You can check-out any time you like, but you can never leave!”
My sentiments exactly . . .

And although she found it amusing to watch the flirtatious relationship of Ella and Justin bloom before her eyes; in a way, it only made her lonelier. The tension inside of her continued to build. She knew she couldn’t stay trapped in the hotel for the rest of her life. Scarlett was in dire need of a friend, so when she spotted LuLu lugging a stuffed laundry bag over her shoulder, she decided to give it a shot and see if she could make peace with LuLu.

“Hey LuLu, need any help?”

“Got it covered,” LuLu quipped.

“You know, LuLu, I could really go for a cup of hot coffee right about now, how about you?” Scarlett tagged along like an anxious puppy.

“I sure miss the stuff,” LuLu sighed while sorting the laundry. “We’ve been out of coffee for months.”

“Well, coffee shouldn’t be that hard to find. I mean, almost every household drinks—used to drink coffee. Why don’t you take a ride with me? Justin told me there’s a housing subdivision close by,” Scarlett said encouragingly.

LuLu crossed her arms and stared at Scarlett like she had just said something completely taboo.

“You don’t have to do anything, just be my backup,” Scarlett promised.

“You know the rules. Dean would have a heart attack. And don’t think I can’t smell a rat. You, with your cute dimples and your sweet, little voice trying to weasel your way to the top.” LuLu gave her a long hard look. “Don’t you be messin’ with my men either.” The hatred in LuLu’s eyes flashed.

Scarlett didn’t know quite how to respond. Until today, she hadn’t realized how much LuLu hated her. Sure, LuLu had never been very friendly, but she had chalked it off to the stressful survival mode that they all seemed to be stuck in these days. Scarlett’s heart pounded furiously, and she did an about face and stormed out of the laundry room.

Scarlett happened to find Justin in the lobby taking a break from the CFO project. “Justin, what are
you
up too?” Scarlett snapped, attempting to blow-off her anger.

“Ya know, stuff,” he rattled off. “Waiting for Ella.”

“You got a few minutes?” Scarlett barely smiled, self-conscious of her dimples after LuLu’s nasty remark.

“What’s—up?” Justin asked cautiously.

“Grab your gear. I need a cup of coffee. Now!” Scarlett raved.

“Uh, sure, we are
so
out-of-here,” he dashed to the conference room, returning with his backpack, a crow-bar, and a small handgun. “You PMS-ing or something?” Justin asked timidly.

“I’m tired of being trapped in here,” she retorted, practicing a fatal swing with the steel bat Justin had given her.

“We can’t let Dean see us,” Justin fretted.

“And do you always follow his rules?” Scarlett asked a bit too caustically.

He gave one of his silly up-to-no-good smirks, “Heck no, how do you think I got all the cell phones? Even went to Best Buy a few times for supplies.”

“I see,” Scarlett nodded with approval.

“Before Dean got so super-grumpy, I used to ride with the Stockton Boys. Those dudes are freakin’ cray cray. They actually drive around herding Zs, so they can do some Z-smashing.”

“Ugh, what?” Scarlett wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Ya know, zombie smashing or more like zombie four-wheeling.”

“Dean did mention something about that, but I thought he was exaggerating. Very disturbing,” Scarlett grimaced. “Dean called it Pest Control.”

Justin rolled his eyes. “Ye-ah, Pest Control. Let’s go out the back door. Don’t let LuLu see us. She might rat us out,” Justin said.

“What’s up with her anyway? I’m starting to get the feeling that she hates me,” Scarlett asked.

“Don’t worry, she’s always moody, I guess,” Justin said.

The two of them snuck their way to the hotel’s gated entrance and crouched behind a tall stack of tires Dean had collected. Scarlett and Justin both scanned the area in silence.

“Any creepers?” she asked.

“Zombies, how many times I gotta tell you, woman? They’re zombies,” Justin teased.

“What do you think—take the car or walk?” she asked.

“Walk it. The Starbucks is down the street.”

Scarlett hadn’t realized there was a Starbucks in the area.
Of course, isn’t there a Starbucks on every corner?
She’d only been outside the hotel once, and it had been dark at the time. She was instantly relieved, for it was much better than doing a house-to-house search for coffee. She was already starting to panic in the security of the parking lot.
How did I use to do this?
Had she lost her nerve?

Once they were out on the main street, Scarlett felt fear gnawing away at her; she had gotten lazy these past few weeks hidden away in the hotel. A part of her wanted to run right back up the stairs and into the refuge of her boring and safe room. But, she couldn’t stand it anymore. It was more than just a cup of coffee. She needed to get out of there. She needed to face her fears and keep up her survival instincts if she planned to survive until they found the rest of civilization.

Slowly, they crept their way down Orange Drive, pausing at each vehicle to take cover and scan the area.

“Your two o’clock,” Justin whispered, pointing to a group of four creepers in the road ahead of them.

Scarlett gasped when she spotted the group of scabby-fleshed covered creepers juddering about.

“You want to go back now? It’s OK you know,” Justin started.

“Justin, are you wimping out on me?” she scolded.

“Who, me? Not a chance.”

They waited a few minutes, hiding behind a burnt-out vehicle until the pack wandered across the street to a Chevron gas station.

“OK, we’re good to go,” Justin said as if Scarlett needed prompting.

Scarlett was grateful to find the Starbuck’s glass door wide open, which meant they didn’t have to waste time figuring out how to break in; however, at the same time, it was a bit unnerving, anything or
things
could be lurking inside.

“OK, so, I think I should go in first since I’m the guy—” Justin started lecturing.

“Whatever,” Scarlett mumbled and walked passed him, leaving Justin behind in amazement. The expression on his face was priceless.

The inside of the Starbucks was trashed like a tornado had blasted through it. Scarlett was still in sneak-mode when a creeper lurched from behind the register’s counter, only inches away from Justin’s back. She clenched the metal bat tight as ever and knocked it down with the first swing. Justin jumped up in bewilderment and finished the thing off with his zombie-slayer knife that he bragged about so much. It was a quick fatal move, and Justin didn’t even flinch.

“Wow, I sorta like this side of you. I bet a woman’s survival chances are much better when they’re PMS-ing,” Justin said, giving one of his trademark smirks.

“Hey, watch it,” Scarlett teased. “Anymore?” she whispered. They hid, waiting for the telltale signs of any other creepers lurking around.

“They’d be all over us by now,” he said, but they waited in silence another minute.

“Jeez, what happened in here?” she exclaimed.

“Looks like we weren’t the only ones wanting a caffeine fix. You know, there was a lot of looting in the beginning . . .” Justin said while combing the shelves.

“There has to be coffee in here—somewhere,” Scarlett headed for the back. “Let’s check out the back.”

“OK, you open the door. I’m hella ready to do some Z-smashing,” he sat down the backpack and braced himself in a full zombie-killing stance. “OK, so watch closely—I’ll show you my latest move,” Justin said, completely serious.

Scarlett slowly opened the door to one of the back rooms. Justin raised his zombie-slayer knife ready for action.

Justin let out a disappointed whine, “Dude—no Zs,” he sounded disappointed.

“Woo Hoo!” Scarlett gasped. The back wall was stacked with boxes and boxes of coffee.

“I’ll load the backpacks. You want to stand guard?” Scarlett didn’t wait for Justin to respond. She started ripping open the boxes and loaded their packs.

“Next time we bring the car,” Scarlett proclaimed.

“Next time it’s Pete’s Coffee—like
nobody
does Starbucks anymore,” he chided.

“Rrr RRRrrrrrrr RRRrrrrrr!” a series of wails warned Justin and Scarlett, and they exchanged frantic glances.

“Ye-ah, sounds like a horde. Time to go,” Justin winced and covered his ears.

They left out the back door and peered around the corner of the Starbucks. The littered parking lot appeared to be creeper-free.

“Come on,” Justin motioned, and they crept their way back to Orange Drive.

Scarlett didn’t see any creepers, but from the sound of it, there was a pack of mighty vocal creepers closing in on them. She could almost feel their hunger pangs as if it were her own stomach starving for food. Slowly, Scarlett and Justin crept back to the hotel down Orange Drive, darting from vehicle to vehicle to take cover. She was both surprised and relieved to see there were no creepers in sight; however, it did seem extremely odd.

Scarlett started to dart to a smashed-up Toyota when Justin tugged on her backpack. He held up his index finger to his mouth, pursing his lips then pointed to the Chevron station across the street. There, encircling an island of pumping stations was a pack of about fifteen creepers. Their abnormal behavior caught Scarlett’s attention and rather disturbed her. Instead of their usual lackadaisical rambling about, the pack seemed to be searching the area: methodically. The pack of creepers staggered about like Mick Jagger on Quaaludes, jerking from one set of pumping stations to the next row of pumping stations and then the next, until they had completed what appeared to be a search of the gas station’s perimeter.