Only The Dead Don't Die (22 page)

“You want me and Nate to shoot the hell out of them?” Paxton said pulling out a rather large gun and ammo clips from the stuffed duffle bag that he lugged everywhere.

“Is that an Uzi? Where in tarnation did you get that? If you start shootin’ with that thing, we’ll have every zombie this side of San Francisco . . .” Dean stopped in mid-sentenced.

Dean continued in a calmer tone, “Why don’t we wait it out. You and Nate ‘take point’ on your balconies—avoid shooting. This isn’t the time to go antagonizing
them
if you know what I mean boys!”

“Got it,” Paxton said.

Paxton and Nate ran up the stairs, two steps at a time. Scarlett was surprised that they hadn’t bothered to argue as usual. They must be worried.

“LuLu, you got a room ready for our new friend?” Dean asked.

LuLu nodded, “Of course, we’re always prepared for guests,” she smiled as if she was the hotel’s proprietor.

“Scarlett,” Dean asked, “didn’t you say you found a pair of crutches—think Luther here will be needin’ them.” Scarlett nodded in compliance.

“And Ella?” Ella had been standing there quiet as a mouse. “Ella, why don’t you whip-up something for him to eat?”

Dean had made all the crucial decisions in a matter of mere seconds. Scarlett dashed back with a pair of pink crutches graffitied
with unicorn stickers that were now fading and peeling off. Scarlett showed Luther the pair of pink girly-crutches perfect for a ten-year-old girl and about one-fourth his size. She expected him to protest. Instead, the big, black man blinked his eyes repeatedly.

“Did I mention I’m allergic to certain types of antibiotics?” his voice fading.

“Quick, let’s get him to his room. He’ll be safer there anyway if
they
breach the lobby,” Dean sounded worried.

“Dude, you must weigh over three hundred pounds.” Only Justin would dare say that to a complete stranger.

“About sixty pounds less than before the Summer-Super flu,” Luther garbled.

Luther appeared to be making light of the situation, but Scarlett noticed his eyes flutter to the back of his head momentarily. He fought it and clung to the stairway railing as they all helped haul the huge man up the stairs. After they had finally hauled Luther to his room, he blacked-out instantly once on the bed, which sagged several inches under his body weight.

Dean looked at Justin, “By George, you did it son. Your cockamamie cell phone scheme paid off,” Dean good-naturedly slapped Justin on the back.

“Who’s George?” Justin quipped.

This time, it was Dean who rolled his eyes disdainfully.

Last night had seemed like an eternity.
Their
ceaseless forlorn moans had penetrated the hotel’s walls. Dean had waited in the lobby drenched in sweat, tortured by his own fears, praying the dead-heads wouldn’t breach the hotel.
No way in hell we can stop a mega-horde!

Paxton and Nate had spent the night posted on the third-floor balconies. Dean had sent Ella and LuLu to their rooms after seeing the terrorized expressions on their faces; their expressions had scared the livin’ daylights out of him. It was Dean’s job to protect them. And by God, he would do it, even if it killed him.

Justin and Scarlett had kept him company by the fading lights of their flashlights. Dean had been relieved that he hadn’t been able to see the terror in their eyes or had it been the other way around? Dean struggled with his own demons, tormented from scenes of a movie he’d seen at the drive-in when he was a teenager:
Night of the Living Dead
. At the time, the low-budget movie had scared the bejesus out of him. Of course, he and his buddies had laughed the whole thing off after an evening of scaring the crap out of each other.

But the thing was, after all these years, for some reason an unreasonable fear had continued to haunt him—something about that movie, and he had sworn never to watch that blasted movie again. Being a sensible man, he knew nothing like that could possibly ever happen.
Not in a million years . . .

It was evident that no one had managed to get much sleep if any. But everyone was already restlessly milling about the lobby before dawn, most likely anxious to assess the damage. Last night had been the first time their mini-fortress had been put to the test, and now Dean wanted to kick himself for not reinforcing the front entrance.
Honestly, I never thought it would get this bad.

Justin, hyper as usual, was the first to give the group a basic report. “Ye-ah, they’re like everywhere, crashed-out in the parking lot. And Dean, your maze-thing worked. There’s like tons of them snagged on it—they didn’t make it to the third turn. But uh, guys—the gate and the front fencing are demolished,” Justin stated.

After a quick cereal breakfast, Dean chugged his coffee, “Best we start cleanin’ that mess up before those things start waking up.” He handed Scarlett the rifle with the scope, which he usually kept locked in his room. “Scarlett, on account you’re most likely the best shot, I hereby appoint you guard duty—you are officially deputized,” Dean announced like he was Marshall Dillon, hoping to catch her smile. But, only a faint wisp of a smile swept across her lips, disappointing him immensely. The beautiful, headstrong woman always brightened his day (although he had never thought to tell her that), and it disheartened him to see her so gloomy. In fact, today, everyone was downright wretched, even Justin and Ella. Dean knew it was his fault; he had let everyone down.

“Post yourself on one of the balconies on the second floor. Give us a shout-out if you see a mob headin’ our way. And keep an eye on those sleepers in the parking lot—might have some early-risers if you know what I mean,” Dean said and patted her shoulder.

“Paxton, what do you figure is the most efficient way to clear the parking lot—before they all wake-up, hungry,” Dean asked rubbing his chin.
It’s goin’ to be a long day . . .

“We’re on it.” Paxton motioned to Nate, and the two tiptoed around the twisted, slumbering creatures cluttering the hotel’s parking lot like remnants from a ghoulish, paper-mache, masquerade party left out in the rain to rot.

Dean watched as the two men left the hotel on foot. “Now for cryin' out loud where do you suppose those two are off to?” Dean wondered.

Justin shrugged his shoulders, his usual “I don’t know answer.”

“Follow me,” Dean said, “the basement’s chock-full of scrap metal and whatnot. Best we getta a move on it—need to reinforce the fencing before the rest of Vacaville shows up for breakfast,” Dean said, trying to say something funny in an attempt to encourage Justin.

“Whatever you say,” Justin mumbled.

Dean and Justin made their way to the parking lot with as much scrap metal as they could carry. “You hear that?” Justin asked.

“What in tarnation?” Dean gawped. In the predawn's light, he saw Paxton riding around the lot in a big ole yella bulldozer with Nate riding shotgun, swinging wildly with a machete.
They’ll wake up every blasted one of ‘em!
He started to panic as he watched the ghastly sight of body parts flying about as the bulldozer shoved the massive mess of gory gunk out of the parking lot and across the street.

“El sicko,” Justin gagged and almost puked, the stench lingering in the air.

Dean realized it was actually the most efficient method to clear the area.
Why didn’t I think of that?
Of course, the dead-heads were starting to meander about but were no match for the bulldozer in their half-slumber state. Meanwhile, Scarlett began firing away, picking off the light-sleepers one by one.
Damn, that woman’s one hell of a shot.

This time Dean and Justin built a stronger fence and gate, reinforced with steel pipes from the hotel’s basement. Still, he worried if it was strong enough. If a horde as big as the one that had trapped Luther decided to storm it, Dean prayed his jury-rigged five-and-dime security system would keep
them
out.

Scarlett was right; it was definitely time to find a better stronghold for the small group of people he had somehow managed to become responsible for. He could sense the group’s restlessness and their need to find their way back to society.
Whatever that is and wherever that is? It’s time to find it.

The past few days Dean had heard chatter on the short-wave again. Usually, it sounded like a bunch of gobbledygook; however, yesterday he had distinctively heard Travis Air Force base mentioned several times. He was thrilled at the possibility that Travis AFB was up and running and may be gaining control of the situation. And it was high time he found out.

Although, he still had the same problem; he needed to take someone to watch his back. The Stockton Boys were completely out of the question. The last time he went on a supply run with those two, they damn near killed him off. Oh, they had played all nice like they hadn’t heard his call for help when a mob of dead-heads had him cornered in the Walmart. But he’d seen Paxton’s reflection in a window. Yep, he’d seen Paxton’s evil grin and Nate’s shadow jumpin’ all over the place. Fortunately, Dean had managed to escape by way of the Garden Center, and that was the last time he had gone out with those two sons of bitches—without Justin.

Scarlett had practically demanded to go with him when she had found out his plans to search for help. And, although Dean felt she could most likely handle herself in a tough situation, he’d never be able to forgive himself, if God forbid—she became one of
them
while on his watch. He had considered taking Justin with him but decided against it, because that would leave the Stockton Boys unsupervised with the three women.
Bad idea.

But now, now they had Luther, once his leg was better.
Luther looks to be mighty tough—reckon’ he can hold his own in a street fight.

***

“It’s two fuckin’ o’clock. Justin, get your woman to bring us some lunch,” Paxton yelled.

Dean gave Justin a knowing glance, “Let’s call it a day, shall we?” Dean announced as he double-checked their handiwork.

“Paxton, I’m sure Ella has lunch waiting for us inside. She always does. You’d know that if you two weren’t always out gallivanting around God knows where, doin’ God knows what,” Dean said as politely as he could.

“Then, why don’t yo woman bring it on out to us?” Nate ranted.

“Like you know, Ella and LuLu
never-ever
leave the hotel,” Justin retorted as if they should have known that by now.

“Shit man, that’s gonna change,” Nate mumbled.

Dean noticed that Paxton gave Nate a scalding “shut-the-fuck-up” glare. Despite the sudden flare-up between Nate and Paxton, the clean-up went faster and smoother than Dean had expected.

***

Scarlett rushed down the stairs and into the dining room, glad the parking lot was finally cleared of all the creepers. She was absolutely famished.
Please don’t tell me we’re having Spam again
. The dining room table was arranged buffet style with stacks of cute finger sandwiches, bowls of black olives, green olives, baby corns, and artichoke hearts.

“Ella, this is a fabulous spread. You’re such a doll,” Scarlett complimented, pleased that there was something to eat other than Spam.

“I for one, don’t eat no rabbit food shit,” Nate rattled off. Nate and Paxton grabbed most of the sandwiches and took off.

“Ella, did Luther come down for lunch?” Scarlett asked. Ella shook her head no.
Jeez Louise, I hope she’s not resorting back to “not talking” again.
“Luther didn’t come down here at all today? Did you check on him?”

Ella’s big-eyed expression told Scarlett all she needed to know. Scarlett rushed up the stairs, Dean followed. In their frantic rush to secure the hotel, they’d forgotten about their guest. The poor man tossed about in the bed shivering and babbling; his body was drenched in sweat.

“I should’ve checked on him earlier. It’s all my fault if he dies—” she lamented. “It never even occurred to me that he might be allergic to antibiotics.”

“Don’t you worry none, the sweating is a good sign,” Dean promised. “For now, all we can do is wait it out and hope his body fights off the infection and the allergic reaction.” Dean nodded in reassurance as he left the room.

Scarlett pulled up a chair and decided to wait for Luther to wake up. She needed a break anyway and was ready to relax and enjoy a few chapters of a book she had snagged on their last supply run:
Eve, the Awaking
. Instead, she found herself dreading the future confrontation with Dean. She could see it now.
He’s going to be flippin’ mad!
Why was it that during a crisis, Dean was calm as a cucumber, but when it’s business as usual and someone does something he doesn’t like—he explodes?

Nevertheless, the time had come. She could not postpone it much longer. Would Dean understand? Did she even understand? Of course, she knew it was idiocracy; this farfetched idea of hers that Cyndi and her family had somehow survived and were alive and well—still living in their pristine home in Pinole. Still, this urgent desire of hers seemed to be intensifying every day; sometimes she wondered if her desire to find her sister was really just a façade to get her to leave the hotel. An uneasy feeling plagued her every day she remained here, like an ominous warning whispering in her dreams: it was time to go.

Scarlett sat at the edge of the room overlooking the balcony but not seeing, lost in thought as she relaxed to the sound of Luther’s deep breathing when angry voices from the hallway brought her back to reality. It sounded like the Stockton Boys were at it again. They seemed to be getting on each other’s nerves lately. Although she had to admit, the two had been a lifesaver, clearing the creeper infested parking lot with the bulldozer had been an amazing idea, despite the disgusting mess.

Voices intensified as Paxton and Nate stomped down the hallway outside Luther’s room.
That’s just flippin’ great.
Scarlett prayed they didn’t decide to check on Luther now while she was in here. That last confrontation with Paxton and given her the willies. A door slammed, muffling the argument. A sigh escaped her lips, glad to be alone with Luther and her thoughts again.

***

“Wha da fuck, Paxton! You said Ella was mine, man. All mine! And you promised me sloppy seconds with the sexy teach,” Nate howled, having another one of his psychotic fits. It was the kind of fit he threw when he needed another fix. But Paxton’s supply of coke and crank was running low, and he needed to save what little he had for dire emergencies, the days when it was f’in near impossible to control the ex-tweaker.

“Lower your voice,” Paxton warned. “I told you, got it all worked out,” Paxton assured.

“You know what I think—think you’re full of shit, man. You be all acting tough back in that holding tank in Stockton. Now I’m thinkin’ you’re just a pussy-wussy,” Nate practically hissed.

“Like I said,” (y
ou dumbass
), “It’s all under control. There’s no need to push it. We’ve been doing good so far, right?” Paxton turned the question into a statement.

“I be tired of that same ol, same ol LuLu-bitch. My pecker wants something fresh. I want Ella while she’s still a virgin—‘fo Justin gets her. Man, I want her something bad!” Nate practically drooled.

“Ooh Baby,” Paxton moaned, grabbing his own crotch, “you’re gonna be in pussy heaven. The thing is, we got to wait it out. The timing’s got to be right if we’re going to pull this off.” Paxton reined Nate in slowly, for Paxton and all of his small-time grifting years knew how to manipulate people when he wanted to.

“So how you goin’ to pull off this plan—now that they got the new guy?” Nate went on.

Paxton resisted the surge of anger pulsing through his temples and clenched his jaw even tighter to avoid punching Nate in the nose. All he wanted to do was shut Nate the hell-up, but he didn’t dare risk pissing Nate off. Not now, he needed Nate. He needed Nate more than he didn’t need him, if that made any sense at all in this new fucked-up world.