Only The Dead Don't Die (26 page)

“So, we all have
guns
,” Scarlett reminded him.

“Not anymore . . .”

“Paxton always has extra guns in his truck, and God knows what else is in that duffle bag he lugs around. Surely, all we have to do is ask; after all, it’s only common sense. It takes all of us to survive these days,” she said, thinking as logically as she could.

“I don’t think we’re here as houseguests.”

Justin seemed to be skirting around something, but she couldn’t tell what. She stared at Justin.
What is he
not
saying?

“OK, OK, OK, you don’t get it. I overheard Paxton and Nate. We are, uh—like his prisoners,” his whisper was so low she doubted his words.

Then her mind went blank, completely dark as a lucid-like image materialized before her eyes. She felt her entire body quiver uncontrollably, and she felt an overwhelming feeling of fear paralyze her very soul.

“Scarlett, Scarlett,” Justin was gently shaking her shoulders.

She felt herself come back—slowly—feeling disoriented. The vision-like spell seemed different this time; it was as if she had left her body completely. She couldn’t remember what she’d seen—if anything. No, but she could still feel that overwhelming sense of fear devouring her.
We’re in deep shit!

“You scared the crap out of me! Why didn’t you tell me you have seizures?”

She heard the panic in his voice. But it was nothing like the panic that ricocheted around in her head. She didn’t tell him about her premonition. Would he even believe her?
Besides, what would I say—I see
scary
things? We all do these days.
“Justin, I think we might be in some trouble here.” It was all she managed to say.

“I think they want to take us to Texas or something. I heard them talking about a trip,” Justin said.

Think, think—what would Paxton do?
Don’t worry about Nate.
She wasn’t stupid; she knew Paxton was in charge.
Why kidnap us? Jeez, they could have asked us to go to Texas. That’s where everyone wants to go anyway. Right?

“Actually, did Dean talk to you before he left? You know he wants us to go to Texas anyway,” Scarlett said, ignoring her gut feeling.

“I’m cool with that, but not without Dean. No Freakin’ Way!” Justin’s tone was adamant.

“So maybe things aren’t as dire as we think,” she said, still deep in thought. “I can do Texas after I check out Pinole.”

“I should tell you, Luther said it’s freakin’ suicidal to go to Pinole. Luther said you wouldn’t make it past Vallejo,” Justin said gravely.

“I absolutely have to, or I’ll never forgive myself,” she said, holding back the tears.

“Ye-ah, Dean said you’re dead-set on it. He’s planning to
attempt
the trip to Pinole with you when he gets back, just to make you happy. But, it’s a waste of time—” Justin warned.

She eyed him carefully as he crammed another handful of chips into his mouth. “I haven’t seen a single creeper,” she said still trying to come up with some sort of strategy just in case her recent vision had been a warning.
Maybe I’m just paranoid.

“No, it’s been amazingly quiet here. Like, I haven’t seen a single Z. Can you believe it? After they ridiculed Dean’s awesome Z-maze, they actually built one to secure this entire area,” Justin retorted, sounding pissed.

Suddenly, Scarlett knew. She knew it and felt it more than any gut feeling she had ever had. Dean was not in the Stockton Boys’ game plan. At the end of the residential street, a Ram truck turned the corner. She panicked, feeling every muscle in her body tensing and twinging at the same time while her heart thudded.
They’re coming. Stay calm.

“If things—bad things, start to happen, take Ella and get out of here. Don’t wait for me, get Ella and go. Maybe go to Reno, like Luther. The Stockton Boys probably won’t think of Reno. And then maybe by spring, if things haven’t returned to normal, then go to Texas,” Scarlett said, thinking out loud.

“Are you cray cray?” his voice escalated about ten octaves.

Nate and Paxton were out of the truck making their way to the porch. She forced a fake smile, waving casually to them and whispered to Justin, “If things get ugly, I’ll try to distract them, and you take Ella and run,” she pleaded.

Paxton and Nate stepped onto the porch eyeing the two of them.
Here comes the hard part. Don’t blow it!
Scarlett’s anger billowed inside of her like the flames consuming last night’s fire. It took all of her willpower to keep from confronting the two of them. Had they intentionally started the fire? How convenient to already have this place setup after Dean and Luther’s departure, none the less. Things were starting to add up. And she did not like it. She did not like it one little bit.
Play it cool.
The fact that they don’t know—that I know—is my only trump card.

She caught her breath, forcing herself to breathe slowly, normally. “Hey, you two, dinner’s almost ready,” she said cheerfully, forcing another smile and hoped it didn’t look like a grimace as she seethed.

They ate dinner in silence. She didn’t even taste the Fettuccini Alfredo Ella had prepared. Scarlett refrained from talking, blaming it on her headache. Although it had diminished for the most part, but it was the only excuse she could think of for being so quiet. After dinner, Scarlett busied herself with the clean-up. LuLu finally sat down at the dinner table while they were cleaning up, and Scarlett noticed she donned a huge, blueish-black eye.
That must have hurt like hell.
Did she get that during the escape from the fire?
Hmm, I didn’t notice it this morning.

Ella was spraying the kitchen counter with a bottled cleaner when Nate burst into the kitchen and brushed up against her, sneering an icky smile, “Hey, Justin’s girlfriend, I’m still hungry,” Nate leered.

Justin butted in, “Like dude, there’s a whole case of Pepperidge Farms cookies in the garage.” Nate continued to leer at Ella and finally stomped off. Justin gave Scarlett a knowing look.

Anger boiled inside as Scarlett’s fear reached critical mass; meanwhile, she racked her brain for the best way to handle the soon—volatile situation. Paxton was a hard nut to crack, that she knew. If she knew what motivated him then maybe she could figure out how to play him. She sure had taken plenty of psychology classes back in college.

Psychologist or profilers had a tendency to fit everyone neatly in a box, so they could say they had every person or personality figured out, labeling all personalities into a few of their so-called basic categories. However, based on her own life experience, things didn’t always go “by the book.” There was always someone with a bizarre personality quirk, someone completely off the chart. Someone like Paxton? She wondered.
He’s definitely off the flippin’ chart—a super-freak. That’s what I’m thinking . . .

Scarlett decided to play it out, to play dumb, and go along with the Stockton Boys, at least until she figured out a plan because rooted deep inside of her was a rationalization that she could be suffering from paranoia.

After they had cleaned the kitchen, Scarlett grabbed a Rachael Ray cookbook from the cupboard and decided to join Paxton and Nate in the den. They seemed to be in the middle of another one of their heated discussions, but they ceased arguing when they saw her.

Scarlett sat down on the leopard-print, sectional couch and nonchalantly flipped through the pages all the while trying to figure the best way to broach the subject:
What are we doing here
? But first, she had to stop her heart from pounding so fast.

Finally, she managed to calm down her breathing and steadied her voice, “Did you two check out the hotel this afternoon?” She hoped that would get the Stockton Boys talking and ease the mounting tension. The silence was driving her mad.

“It’s gone, nothing but smoldering ash,” Paxton said slowly.

“I think we should go there at dawn and wait for Dean and Luther,” she said, relieved her voice hadn’t quivered.

No response. Nothing. Silence. Nate twitched about in his chair and glanced over at Paxton. Nate looked like he wanted to say something, like he was about to burst, Scarlett thought.

“I hear you loud and clear,” Paxton mumbled and turned the page of a weapons’ magazine based on the front cover, which displayed an array of guns.

Scarlett got the impression Paxton was sitting there scoping out the situation just as she was. Justin and Ella joined them in the African motif decorated den. The cute couple sat on the floor at the coffee table.

“Look what I scored, sweet—” Justin drawled as he shuffled a deck of Coca-Cola playing cards.

Scarlett could tell he attempted to cheer up the room with his usual whimsical banter, and he dealt Ella and him a hand of Gin Rummy. Scarlett smiled to herself,
Justin’s playing it cool.
She wished she could feel as cool and collected as Justin appeared.

Nate was enjoying a Penthouse magazine a little bit too much; they all ignored his vulgar remarks. For some reason, LuLu hadn’t joined them; instead, she stayed in the kitchen after eating her cold dinner. Scarlett continued to thumb through the cookbook with no time to daydream over the decadent German Chocolate cake illustration that tempted her taste buds.

She had to figure out if the Stockton Boys were up to trouble, or if she was just paranoid. She needed to come up with a “Plan B” just in case Paxton and Nate had some sort of ulterior motive. But what would they have to gain by burning down the hotel; it had also served as a safe haven for them as well.

So Scarlett sat there feigning contentment, all the while analyzing the situation when all she really wanted to do was bolt to the princess bedroom to contemplate the situation in solitude. But she knew she needed to remain vigilant. What was that old saying? “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer . . .” something like that. She needed to figure out what was going on without actually confronting Paxton or Nate. A confrontation would only cause trouble. An avalanche of trouble. What she needed now was some sort of avalanche control, since she didn’t have Dean to protect her.

No Dean. No gun.

Trouble.

Justin casually tossed down an ace on the throw-away pile of cards. Ella giggled and snatched it. “Looks like someone’s about to win,” Scarlett remarked, attempting to cheer up the pensive atmosphere.

“And it’s gonna be me,” Justin teased.

“NOT,” Ella teased back.

Scarlett enjoyed the moment; it felt nice to see Ella smiling again. The screechy sound of a fax machine ringtone startled them. Justin jumped up in a flash, bumping the small table, cards spilling everywhere.

“What the heck!” Justin exclaimed and grabbed his pocket.

Paxton and Nate made eye contact as if blaming each other for something. Then the phone screeched again.

“Justin, you didn’t tell me you still had a phone,” Paxton accused.

“Wha da fuck?” Nate joined in.

“Like Dudes, it’s the same phone I’ve had forever,” Justin said as he answered the phone before Paxton and Nate scrambled out of their recliners.

“Dean, Dean is that you? The hotel burned down—we’re in Sac—”

Paxton took a swing at Justin and knocked him to the ground, then quickly snatched the purple iPhone. Scarlett saw the look in Justin’s eyes.
Ah, if looks could kill.
Ella was by his side first.

“This the old man?” Paxton asked. A moment of silence followed, “Any luck at Travis?” Another moment of silence.

Paxton laughed eerily (the way a creeper might sound—if it laughed). “You
are
soooo fucked.” Paxton threw the phone on the hardwood floor, stomped it with his army-like combat boots, smashing it to smithereens.

“Dude, that’s my phone. What the hell?” Justin tried to get up, but Nate kicked him back to the ground.

Ella screamed.

“Shut da fuck-up Bambi-bitch,” Nate shrieked.

“Whoa, everyone calm down! I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding. Ella, why don’t you go get some rest,” Scarlett said, attempting to bring the situation under control.

Paxton glared, “No one’s going anywhere!”

“That’s wha I’m talkin’ bout. Let her have it, right now. Man, show her who da boss is, make her blow you right here in front of all of us. I wanna watch!” Nate raved, staggering around the room like a creeper on crank.

“Now Nate, you’re scarin’ the children,” Paxton grinned a wicked grin.

“Do her now, come on be a man. I dare you,” Nate egged on and jumped on top of the couch next to Scarlett. He ripped the cookbook out of her hands, flinging it into the fireplace’s warming fire.

Scarlett didn’t take the time to think and slapped him hard across the cheek. He stumbled back, falling flat on his back, fortunately for him, landing on the couch. She instantly regretted the slap.
Oh, shit
! Nate flashed a knife, a switchblade, and he was suddenly by her side. The blade stung hot-and-cold against her neck.

“Justin!” she tried to yell, but the pressing blade stifled it to a hoarse whispery yell, “This is it.”