Only The Dead Don't Die (21 page)

Her eyes drifted to the novel sitting on the dresser. It was a Charles de Lint novel,
Moonheart
, a wonderful, whimsical story—a great way to pass the time. Ella had mentioned she wanted to read it when she was finished. Scarlett impatiently wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. Grabbing the book, she sprinted down the stairs, hoping to catch Ella in the kitchen or maybe in the lobby, which they had turned into an entertainment room. Maybe Scarlett would join them for tonight’s movie; she didn’t even care what they watched. She just did not want to be alone.

The lobby was empty. “Ella, Justin? You guys in the kitchen?” She poked her head in the dining room. No one was there, and she went to the kitchen. “Ella, I have that book you wanted . . .” Scarlett turned the corner into the kitchen and walked smack-dab into Paxton. Her soul froze over.

Paxton seemed pleased and quickly cornered her against the cold, stainless steel refrigerator, shoving his body against her. An evil smile spread across his thin lips as he pressed his muscular body against her harder and harder. “I’ve been waiting for you,” his smile threatened.

“Fuck off,” she glared. He leered, nudging in closer. Feeling the bulge swelling in his groin, she tried to shove him back, but his broad shoulders engulfed her small frame.

“Nice tits,” he leered while groping at her breasts. “Baby, you know you want it,” he bragged.

Scarlett squirmed about trying to be free of his hands and felt his hot breath lash at her neck like the rank-searing breath of a dragon. “Damn you, Paxton—Dean will get you for this,” she threatened. It was the only thing she could think of to say.

“Fuck Dean. Hmm, you probably already did. Ready for a real man?” And he reached around her back and began unhooking her bra.

This is NOT going to happen!
With one sudden knee-jerk, she slammed her knee right into his balls. Paxton bellowed, “Bitch!” But it only came out as a croak as he doubled over in obvious agony.

Paxton peered up at her with dark piercing eyes as sharp as scalpels, “So you like it rough, just my type.” That evil smile appeared again, “Dean can’t protect you forever. One day, mark my words bitch—you’ll be begging for it,” his laugh threatened as he rubbed his groin.

“Scarlett, I heard you calling me,” Ella’s voice called from the dining room.

Scarlett quickly composed herself. Paxton hobbled over to one of the kitchen cupboards and snatched a package of Nutter Butter cookies, then slammed the cupboard door just as Ella entered the kitchen. Ella actually jumped when she saw Paxton and seemed relieved when she saw Scarlett. Paxton glowered at them both, sneered that wicked smile of his and left laughing like a demented character in a psycho-horror movie.

“Scarlett—you OK?” Ella murmured. Scarlett shook her head yes, but she felt woozy from his groping.

“Here’s the book you wanted to read,” Scarlett said, trying to sound cheerful. “Has Paxton ever tried anything with you?”

Ella didn’t answer. “Ella, if he or Nate has even touched you—you need to let me know. You know Dean will do something about it.”

Ella whispered, “Paxton scares me, but he hasn’t tried anything sexual. Nate grabbed me once when I was cooking dinner. I kinda hit him on the head with a pan,” she let out a giggle. “He left me alone after that. But, I don’t like the way he looks at me sometimes when he thinks I’m not looking. It’s OK, Justin’s usually with me when Paxton and Nate are at the hotel. Unless I’m in my room—
by myself
,” Ella emphasized.

Scarlett continued, not really convinced that Ella was telling the truth, “Ella, I’m serious, you need to let me know if Paxton or Nate have ever tried anything.”

“Don’t worry, I’m still a virgin—if that’s what you’re getting at?” Ella blushed and stormed out of the kitchen.

Now that’s just flippin’ great!
I came down here to have a nice chat and give Ella a book, and I ended up pissing-off both Paxton and Ella.
Scarlett ran back to her unsympathetic room and slammed the door. She tossed the book back on the dresser, then stared at the ugly brown and blue carpet.

***

The next day Scarlett loitered about downstairs furtively waiting for Justin’s phone to ring again. It seemed like Dean, Justin, Ella, and Scarlett all busied themselves doing odd little chores around the hotel. Dean didn’t go to his morning stakeout; instead, he revised an inventory list of all the food. Justin tinkered around with the entertainment center in the lobby, checking all the wires and connections. Ella was in the kitchen, baking something delicious based on the aroma, and Scarlett reorganized the first aid supplies (all five of them) for the umpteenth time and pretended to reread the Cracker-Jack-sized pamphlet that had been stuffed perfectly inside the minuscule packet of bandages she had found in the maintenance room.

But really, Scarlett knew they were all secretly hanging around, waiting for Luther to call again. He didn’t. She felt the group’s morale and hope fade into an evaporating mist of nothingness. Scarlett wondered if this was how
they
felt: the creepers, listlessly milling about. An eternity of waiting . . .

Discouraged, Scarlett went to her room, no longer able to stifle her urge to scream.
I can’t go on like this,
she thought while flipping through a Katy Perry calendar. “December, it’s time to move on.”

She absolutely could not stay at the Sweet Suits hotel forever. Apparently, they all were in denial, thinking that help would arrive any day. It had been four months since the flu pandemic and not a single flippin’ sign of the government or society. The lack of the military’s presence was definitely a bleak sign. If California had survived the pandemic, surely the military would have been here by now strutting their power.

Perhaps this part of California was in a hot zone, an area too dangerous to control. Even so, Scarlett figured that there would have been reconnaissance flyovers. Wouldn’t the military be monitoring the area, if not with planes, then with drones? But they hadn’t seen any planes or drones. According to Justin, the Super-Summer flu hadn’t just hit California. Scarlett contemplated her next move, realizing it was time to move on. And, she decided to prepare for her journey.

She ran into Dean in the lobby. “Where’s Justin?”

“Kitchen, last I saw,” Dean grumbled and stomped to the supply room.

“There you are,” Scarlett said

“What’s up?” Justin asked with a mouth full. “You gotta try these while they’re hot,” he munched.

Ella handed Scarlett an oven-hot tortilla. “Delicious.” Scarlett’s taste buds tingled with delight, reminding her of a question she’d been meaning to ask Ella for a while now. “Did you do all the cooking for your family?”

“My parents’ owned a restaurant, Dos Lunas. I used to help my mom out after school and on the weekends,” Ella smiled proudly, but there was sadness in her tone.

“No wonder you’re such a fabulous cook,” Scarlett nibbled on the tortilla savoring each bite.

“Dean went over the inventory
again
,” Ella rolled her eyes. “He said we had a shitload (she giggled, looking down while covering her mouth) of flour and vegetable shortening. He started to throw it out to make room for the canned goods in the storage room,” she rolled her eyes again. “I started telling him all the things I can make with flour and shortening. And do you know what he said to me?”

Scarlett waited for Ella to answer her own question, amazed at Ella’s chatty side.
Poor Justin, if she’s a chatterbox—he’s in for it.

“Uh,” he said, “ ‘get to it then, chop, chop.’ ”

They all three laughed, at least everyone seemed to be in better moods today, even if they were all feigning optimism. Scarlett felt relieved that Ella was no longer mad at her, and Scarlett was beginning to feel human again.

“Justin, I need your help with something,” Scarlett said, purposely vague. He followed her into the dining room.

“Ye-ah, remember the last time you asked for my help? Dean almost had a freakin’ heart attack,” he shook his head with an emphatic “No.”

“I need a few things, and you’re the only one I can trust to watch my back. I’m sure we only need to hit a couple of houses to find what I need,” Scarlett explained all the while Justin kept shaking his head no. She didn’t dare tell him she wanted a few things for her trip to Pinole.

“So what if Dean gets pissed, it’s not like he’s your dad,” Scarlett retorted childishly.

Justin continued to shake his head, “Not gonna do it, no matter what you say,” he put his hands over his ears pretending
not
to hear her. “La, La, La, La, La. I’m soooo—
not
listening,” he said, hands still clamped over his ears.

“I happen to know a secret,” she hinted. “A very special secret about your girlfriend,” Scarlett hinted tantalizingly, knowing the always curious Justin wouldn’t be able to hold out for too long.

“OK, so tell me, already,” he moaned, disappointed in himself.

“If you take me shopping for supplies, I’ll help you find a special birthday gift for your sweetheart,” she tempted. “Her birthday’s December twentieth. I saw her school ID card the other day. LuLu found it while sorting the laundry, and asked (more like ordered as she recalled) me to return it to her.”

A pinkish tinge flushed his cheeks. “I’m sure Ella will be pleasantly surprised if you got her a present,” Scarlett tempted. She could almost see the thoughts whirling around in his head as that silly smirk of his lit up his face.

“You are so on! Dude, I wish I’d had you as a teacher. Let’s sneak-out tomorrow at dawn. We’ll take the car this time. I know this super-fancy neighborhood, not far from here. What do you need anyway?”

“Oh, a few things, first aid supplies and a pair of pink pumps,” she teased.

“What the heck?” he smirked.

“Really, I could use some winter clothes. And a few books to read. It’s getting rather repetitive reading the same novel over and over,” she joked, pleased she’d finally convinced him to come along. She didn’t have the nerve to go out there on her own again.

After dinner, Dean remained at the dining room table attempting to read the Tom Clancy novel Scarlett had given him. Where she had found it, he didn’t want to know, and he didn’t ask. He had given up on keeping her inside the hotel—where it was safe.

He was ready to turn in and enjoy the novel in his favorite armchair, albeit with a highball of Crown Royal. However, he felt it was his duty to keep an eye on things. So he stayed to keep the peace, making sure the Stockton Boys didn’t get all riled up like they had a tendency to do in the evenings. Meanwhile, Scarlett sat in the lobby reading while Justin and Ella bustled about the kitchen and dining room giggling about “this and that” during their usual after dinner clean-up. If he tried hard enough, they almost seemed like one big, happy family. Almost.

Paxton, Nate, and LuLu sat at the dining room table downing coffee and devouring a package of about-to-expire Oreos while arguing over which
Fast and Furious
movie was “mo’ betta,” the first one, or two, three, four, five, six, seven or eight?
How many of those damn movies did they make?
They seemed to be at a stalemate.

“What you think old man, what’s your fave?” Paxton interrupted Dean from his novel.

Without looking up from his book, Dean retorted, “Raiders of the Lost Ark. They sure don’t make ‘em like that anymore,” Dean sighed and continued to ignore their rowdy
Fast and Furious
banter.

“Justin, get yo boney ass in here,” Nate wailed. Justin came smirking in from the kitchen. “What’s yo fave
Fast and Furious
movie?”

Justin opened his mouth, most likely to spout off one of his usual sarcastic remarks; instead, an obnoxious “Ringgggg” suddenly stopped the conversation. The cell phone made its presence known and rang again. Even Scarlett must have heard the obnoxious ring from the lobby; she came rushing into the dining room with a surprised expression on her face.

“What in tarnation! Son, you promised to give up that nonsense,” Dean shook his head in disbelief.

“Ringgggg . . .” Dean recognized the annoying buzzing-ring of a facsimile machine.
Why on earth did the boy choose that blasted ringtone?
One of the few decent things about modern technology was that a fella could choose his own ringtone these days. He shook his head, irritated. Dean puzzled over that instead of the fact that there might actually be someone on the end of that annoying ring.

Ella came running out of the kitchen, “Answer it silly,” Ella exclaimed. Everyone turned to look at Ella.

“Yeah silly—answer the fuckin’ phone,” Paxton said in a little girl-like whine, a poor attempt to mimic Ella.

“Ye-ah, Justin here,” he finally answered. Suddenly the room was quiet of all their babbling chatter that had been driving Dean batshit.

“Dude . . .

Everyone seemed to be waiting, eyes darting around at each other.

“No Problemo!” Justin shouted.

Justin put the phone back in his pocket, snatched his zombie gear sitting in the corner on the credenza, perpetually ready; then he ran out of the dining room. Everyone else remained in their chairs, looking at one another as if the young man had gone completely bonkers.

Justin must have finally caught on that no one had followed him, and he poked his head back in the dining room. “Guys, come on—” he said impatiently.

“Well, son, who the hell was that?” Dean questioned.

“Luther, he’s in trouble. He needs our help—like
now
!”

Suddenly chairs screeched, raking across the floor as Nate, Paxton, and Dean rushed up. Scarlett already had her bat in hand, which she usually kept at the foot of the stairwell. Dean wondered why she always seemed to be ready for action, even here inside the safety of the hotel

“Who’s Luther?” Paxton appeared concerned.

“He’s a fella we heard from the other day,” Dean offered vaguely.

“Who’s driving?” Paxton asked.

“Nate, you take your truck. Paxton, take yours, and Justin—ride with me,” Dean decided as they scrambled to the door.

“I’m coming too,” Scarlett followed.

“Need you to stay here and monitor the gate,” Dean ordered.

“No, I’m coming,” she demanded.

Dean looked at her as sincerely as he could, “Scarlett I’m not trying to be an SOB. Fact is, we need you to close the gate when we leave, and open it when we get back,” he said calmly, knowing full well that it would be dern near impossible to get LuLu or Ella to monitor the gate.
Hell, they’ve never step foot outside this hotel.
Scarlett nodded in agreement, but he could tell she was none too happy about it. Scarlett sure could be stubborn as all get-out at times.
Most likely the reason she’s survived this long.

“Justin, talk to me son, where too?” Dean said, patting himself down, making sure he had his gun and flashlight; he always kept the crowbar in his truck.

“Luther took the Allison Drive exit and is trapped at a food joint on Orange Drive.”

“Which one?” Dean asked.

“He didn’t say. He had to go—things didn’t sound so good.”

“Follow me,” Paxton interjected surprisingly, “I’ll be able to track him down.”

Dean glanced in the rearview mirror as Scarlett closed the gate he had made.
What had she called it—a chintzy 4-H Club fence?
He had meant to secure the front entrance last week but had never gotten around to it. So many things to do around here . . .

Dean and Justin raced down Orange Drive, trying to keep up with Nate, who raced behind Paxton, speeding precariously in the debris-ridden road of half-dead vehicles. Paxton slowed down at each restaurant they passed, always driving around to the back of the building while the other two trucks waited for the all clear, then Paxton sped off to the next restaurant. Dean noticed that Paxton seemed to know what he was doing as he sped along, guided only by the pale gleam of the parking lights.

They were nearing the end of Orange Drive when Paxton pulled a sudden ninety-degree right turn into a Jack in the Box parking lot and turned on his headlights. Dean and Nate followed suit, turning on their headlights. Dean wasn’t prepared for the eerie scene of what looked like hundreds of roving arms, legs, and heads writhing about the building like a bulbous Medusa’s head.

“Holy Mother of God,” it was the only thing he could think of to say, and even more unbearable were their spine-chilling groans.

“Holy shit, dude. Holy shit!” Justin freaked.

Paxton and Nate repeatedly flashed their high-beams and blasted their horns in an apparent attempt to distract the motley mass of monsters. It was the strangest thing, Dean thought. Normally the dead-heads would be all over their vehicles by now. But, no,
they
definitely only wanted what was
inside
of the building, either ignoring the men in their trucks or completely oblivious to them.

“Justin, you’re the Zombie Expert, what do you make of this? They don’t seem to be obliging to your zombie code,” Dean wondered out loud.

The popping sounds of glass giving way and crashing to the ground filled the night, and the mass of roving arms and legs swarmed into the Jack in the Box.

“Poor Luther,” Justin shrieked.

If Luther’s in there, the poor fella doesn’t stand a chance in hell.
Paxton started tossing flares around the parking lot, and Dean’s hand automatically clutch his heart for an instant when he saw the mobs of dead-heads approaching them from all directions. The nightmare that threatened his dreams every night was occurring this very second.

“Time to go . . .” Paxton warned, cautiously backing his way to his truck.

“Hey!” a voice yelled, muted by the gurgling moans.

“Wait, did you hear that?” Justin shouted.

Dean squinted, trying to get a better view, wishing he had a pair of those night-vision goggles right about now. Still, no signs of anyone: human. The visible perimeter highlighted by the flickering flares reflected dozens of spastic movements.

Dean sat in the truck thinking this was not such a good idea after all. Justin kept muttering “Holy Shit,” over and over like an old forty-five with an annoying skip until Dean gently flicked Justin on the back of the head with his fingers.

Dean put the truck in reverse, “UP HERE!” This time, Dean spotted the source and jumped out of the truck a second after he shifted into park.

“He’s on the roof!” Dean shouted.

“Don’t leave me!” a voice bellowed from the roof.

A dull thudding sound followed as a huge dark mass crashed on the dead flowerbed by the Jack in the Box entrance. Dean, Justin, and Paxton rushed to the man and carried him to the back of Dean’s truck all the while stealing quick glances at the approaching horde lurching closer and closer.

The massive mob swarming the restaurant must have heard the crash, for the colossal horde immediately twisted around. Their convulsing cockeyed bodies dropped off the building and began snarling towards the men. Now, they were surrounded by the ravenous creatures.

Nate, still in his truck and seemingly unaffected by the sheer madness of it all, started ramming over the dead-heads as
they
evacuated the building in their frenzied state. Paxton and Dean followed suit, and the three trucks rammed their way through the approaching walking-corpses.

***

Scarlett waited restlessly in the dark. When she heard the roar of the trucks’ approaching, she scrambled to open the gate. She watched in disgust as the trucks rolled in like tanks after a bloody battle, having to plug her nose with her fingers, the stench unbearable. The front grills looked like they had been drenched in spaghetti sauce, the extra-meaty variety. “I’m never eating spaghetti again,”
she gagged.

Scarlett ran up to Dean as he scurried out of the truck. “Did you find Luther?” She had to know.

He nodded, “Hell, found someone—better be Luther,” he motioned to the back of the pickup.

“Lord Almighty,” a voice wailed. “You all are about the craziest Muthers . . .” the man in the truck bed hobbled out. “And thank God for that, or I wouldn’t be here.”

Justin looked up in wonderment at the black man; the huge man loomed like a giant compared to Justin’s relatively small frame.

“I’m Luther Jones, the guy on the phone?”

“Dude, like what took you so long?” Justin chided unable to control himself.

“Couldn’t figure out what to wear,” the huge, black man wearing a rather bright Hawaiian shirt busted-out laughing.

The man winced, his jeans ripped at the knee, and his left leg was bleeding. Dean ran up to him to steady the man as he hobbled about.

“You bit?” Paxton yelled it like an ominous warning.

“Yeah, he be bit!” It was Nate making the accusation this time.

“Now, now, you all cool your jets. That’s an old injury. I banged it again jumping off the roof. I don’t suppose you all have any medical supplies you can spare,” he seemed almost embarrassed to ask.

“Holy Shit, the front gate,” Justin yelled, “There’re here!”

In all of the excitement, they had completely forgotten one of Dean’s golden rules: silence in the parking lot. They knew all too well that if a horde decided to storm the gate, the creatures would be everywhere in minutes.

“Turn off those headlights,” someone yelled.

“Everyone inside!” It sounded like Dean’s voice.

Behind her, Scarlett heard the clinking sounds of bodies slamming into the chain-link fencing. She dared not look back, afraid of what awaited as their forlorn moans transmuted into high-pitched wails, piercing the night and her soul. LuLu opened the lobby door with a wild-eyed expression, expressing Scarlett’s anxiety—exactly.

Once inside, Dean and Paxton set
Luther on the stone-floor entryway and feverously examined his body for bite marks.

“He’s clean,” Paxton seemed disappointed.

Scarlett rummaged through the first aid kit and selected the items she needed. The man had a six-inch gash running down his calf that appeared to be nearing the infected stage. After dousing the wound with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, she gingerly coated the gash with a layer of Neosporin. However, she wasn’t sure if the ointment was strong enough to keep the infection at bay. She decided to use the antibiotics she had snagged on the last scavenger trip with Justin. Although, she really wasn’t sure if amoxicillin was the right type of antibiotic for Luther’s wound.

“Here, take this,” she handed him a pill and a glass of water, hoping that the amoxicillin would kill the infection before it was too late.

Justin grabbed Dean’s arm and in a whisper that everyone heard, “I don’t think the fence is going to hold.”

Scarlett saw the panic in Dean’s eyes, but he remained calm.

“Turn off every dadgum light in the place. Use your flashlights. Everybody’s got a flashlight—right?” Dean presumed.

It was another one of Dean’s golden rules: Always carry a flashlight at night, which most had velcroed to their pant legs for convenience. Scarlett automatically reached for hers and hoped the battery still had some juice left.