Only The Dead Don't Die (36 page)

Ella stood there, hand on hip, foot tapping the floor, “Really, you’re just going to let them do those despicable things to Scarlett? And what about LuLu? She so saved us.”

Justin shook his head vehemently, “Not gonna happen,” thinking how unreasonable, more like delusional, Ella was
most
of the freakin’ time.

“What if it was me?” her voice cracked.

Tears sparkled down her cheeks.
Not the crying thing.
He couldn’t stand the crying thing. Ella was sorta right. It might be Scarlett in the back cab of the truck. I did look like a woman with long hair from what he could tell. But if it was LuLu, he really didn’t think she wanted to be saved.

“Alright—already, I’m on it,” he said and peered around the side of the building. “Looks like the Z-smashing rampage is over.”

“Are they still there?” Ella asked.

“The trucks are parked behind a restaurant, The Cheesecake Factory. I’m thinking they’re going on a food raid. I’ll try sneaking up from behind them to get a better look.” How he wished he still had that awesome pair of binoculars, but he had lost them in the fire. “OK, so you can wait for me inside—”

Ella suddenly ran to him, “You can’t leave me here!”

“Like, what do you want me to do?” he asked exasperated,
OMG do this. No—do that.
Then he remembered his parents, and he realized that’s what married life was all about.
Better get used to it.

“Look, I can’t protect you and check things out at the same time,” he managed to say calmly.

“I’ll stay behind you,” she said and practiced swinging the bat. “I’m ready now.” She said, the most determined and serious he’d ever seen her.

“About freakin’ time,” he mumbled.

“What did you say?” her caps-lock voice on.

“Oh, nothing honey,” he smiled a fake-y sweet smile, and she covered her lips in a cute giggle.

“Let’s do this!” he said, trying to sound much more heroic than he felt and wondered why he was more worried, more like scared shitless, than she was.

They both crept around to the side of the building through the Best Buy parking lot towards The Cheese Cake Factory restaurant. “Isn’t this where Penny and Bernadette used to work?” he said, completely off the cuff.

“Oh yeah,
The Big Bang Theory
, I so miss that show,” she whispered.

Justin stopped behind a narrow boulevard of ornamental trees; he spotted the trucks and heard talking. It sounded like two men. Then he heard another man’s voice. They seemed to be arguing, not bothering to keep their voices down. Then he heard LuLu. He recognized the raspy voice.

“Stay here,” Justin whispered, “I’ll sneak behind the shopping cart island and scope it out,” he whispered. A ton of Best Buy shopping carts was strewn about the shopping cart island, which would provide cover
if
the men weren’t looking for him.

“You guys can go screw each other. I’m not gettin’ out of the truck. Hell no—I’ll stay right here, fuck you very much,” and LuLu slammed the truck door.

Paxton stomped over to the truck’s passenger side. “I told you to get out—NOW!” Paxton ordered.

Paxton yanked LuLu out of the truck by her hair. LuLu responded by slapping Paxton in the face. Justin heard Ella’s gasp.

“Bitch, you’re gonna pay for that,” Paxton ranted wildly.

Two other voices joined in the shouting match, confronting Paxton as if they protested Paxton’s violent behavior. To Justin’s surprise, Nate wasn’t there, and he had never seen the other two men before. The argument intensified, and Justin used the opportunity to sneak a little closer. For some reason, Ella tailed him way too closely. He didn’t dare say anything to her, afraid they might be spotted. Justin was able to creep closer, but his view was blocked by one of the trucks. He could see the men’s shadowy reflections in the truck’s window, like throwing punches in the air, and he couldn’t help but think about his younger days of shadow boxing with his dad.

Paxton and another man were apparently going at it in one heck of a fistfight. Then he heard a thud. Someone was on the ground. Justin had to backtrack a few steps to get a better view, bumping into Ella.

A nightmarish-scream pierced the air, stopping the fistfight in midair.
Holy Shit!
LuLu?
She was on the ground—convulsing. Justin was so busy trying to zoom-in on the fight that he hadn’t paid much thought to the de-activated Z with a major case of the crushed-leg-syndrome lying on the pavement next to the truck. Only it wasn’t actually dead—just temporarily e-mash-itated.

“What the fuck?” the taller of the two guys yelled.

“Now we ain’t got no—” the other guy said.

“Tired of that mangy slut anyway. Let’s get out of here. We’ll check out the food joint later,” Paxton ordered. The two men hesitated when Paxton drew his gun. “Think you two forgot who the bossman is around here,” Paxton hissed, waving his gun about.

Paxton strutted over to LuLu convulsing on the pavement, the Z was latched onto her arm and wouldn’t let go as if it knew how to chomp, but didn’t know how to eat. It kneeled over LuLu’s spasming body like a pit bull with lockjaw. Justin watched as Paxton steadily pressed the gun to the back of the Z’s head, shooting it point-blank in the brains. Its brain exploded in a gory burst of reddish-goo; then it toppled over onto LuLu. Paxton tossed his head back with a heartless chuckle and hopped in his truck. The two guys stared at each other, then at LuLu, and then at the de-activated Z.

“Hey, man, you’re not going to leave her like that—show her some mercy. After all—” one of the guys shouted as Paxton started the truck.

“Shut the fuck up. And let that be a friendly reminder, I’m the bossman around here,” Paxton practically growled.

The trucks tore off and stopped at the Arden Way entrance. Justin felt something brush past him. Before he knew it, Ella had grabbed the gun out of his super-cool, cowboy-ish hip holster and shot LuLu in the head—just like that. She stood over LuLu’s quivering body, gun shaking in her hand, and collapsed to her knees, mournfully wailing “LuLu, I’m so sorry we didn’t save you in time. . .”

Justin saw the trucks’ reverse lights. “Holy Shit, they heard the gunshot,” Justin swiftly snatched the gun out of Ella’s hand and shoved her behind the stack of shopping carts. “Ella,
no matter what
happens,
do not
say a word or Paxton will do those same horrible things to you that he did to LuLu.” They looked into each other’s eyes for a fleeting instant. He begged her to listen—for once.

Ella answered him with those big beautiful eyes, shaking her head yes just as the trucks came charging backward towards him. Justin was pretty sure the men hadn’t seen Ella.
Pretty sure.
Paxton hopped out of the truck at the same instant it lurched into park.

Justin quickly calmed himself and slowed his breathing down from rapid gulps to a slow, steady breath. If he wanted to live, and even more importantly, if he wanted Ella to live, he needed to play his part convincingly, like an Academy Award winner. Maybe he could just act sorta all nonsensible like a Billy Bob Thornton character or better yet, Woody Harrelson.
That’s it. I’ll play it all crazy and shit like a Woody Harrelson character.

He started waving his hands in the air like he was glad to see Paxton. “Dude, I was trying to catch up with you. What happened to LuLu?” he dropped to his knees. “I had to shoot her dude—she got bit,” Justin mourned.

Paxton lifted him by the scruff of his jacket like he was a half-drowned kitten and tore the gun out of his hands; then, pistol whipped him across the cheek with his own gun. “Ow, what’d have to go do a thing like that for,” Justin grimaced. All the while Justin regretted,
I coulda shoulda woulda killed that psychopathic-freak.
But the other two men were there; he really hadn’t had a chance anyway.

“Where the hell you been, boy,” Paxton’s ambivalent tone remained flat and steady.

Justin noticed that the other two men kept their distance from Paxton. “You know him?” one of them said.

“It’s Justin, part of our old Vacaville gang,” Paxton said, his stone-hard eyes unwavering, penetrating into Justin’s. “Where’s your girlfriend?” Paxton demanded.

Now’s the time to win that Academy Award
, “She, she,” he stuttered, hoping it didn’t sound too fake, “she didn’t—make it,” and then he relived that gut-wrenching moment when he’d thought Ella really had died, and he actually produced a real tear.

Paxton held the gun to his head. Justin felt the cold, hard metal press unyieldingly against his forehead, bearing down on him as hard as Paxton’s piercing eyes.

“Last chance funny-boy.”

The words had a finality to them. Justin heard the cocking-click of the gun. He couldn’t say a word, his mouth momentarily numb. It took all his willpower to avoid looking back at the pile of shopping carts, hoping for one last glance of Ella. He dared not, knowing full well if their eyes met, she’d come running out to save him.
Try
to save him, he thought.

Paxton shoved Justin with one hand while uncocking the gun with his other hand. “You piece of shit—in the truck,” Paxton ordered.

The two trucks raced off leaving Ella behind in the zombie-gut-splattered parking lot.
Holy shit dude, Holy shit, what have I done!
And he didn’t have Dean to smack him on the side of the head, telling him to get his act together.

All Justin could think was that he had abandoned the girl of his dreams, the girl he desperately loved, left her all alone in—
Zombieland
. Sure, his off-the-cuff scheme had worked. But, he really hadn’t had time to think it through.
How the heck’s Ella gonna survive five freakin’ minutes out here—alone?
Yet, as he thought about it—it was a super-sad world when they would much rather deal with zombies than Paxton and Nate. Of that, he was super-sure. Silently, as if telepathy was an actual possibility, he urged Ella to go back to their rooftop before the sun set.

A frigid hellish-darkness overtook the night, chilling Ella’s soul. She closed her eyes tighter and tighter. Justin had left her. They had all left her. Her body was so tense she felt as if she would snap in two while she endured the endless scuffling and moaning sounds haunting the darkness. The demons were here.
So very close.
Their rank odor, the smell of eternal non-dying-death, infused her nostrils.

Ella sat amongst a circle of Best Buy shopping carts she had somehow managed to barricade around herself the second the trucks had abandoned her. But, now she was too terror-stricken to move as the moaning sounds grew louder—closer.

***

The tears gushed down Ella’s cheeks as she tried to push back the memories. Suddenly, inexplicitly, it felt like she was propelled through a wormhole, taking her back to the exact time and place of that—hellish day.

The day had started off badly. Little Miguel had caught a cold, and mama had been convinced that it was the new flu bug that was all over the news and internet. Mama had made papa come home from his construction job in Lodi. She had even closed the restaurant; something mama only did on Sundays. Ella had thought it was a good sign that she would be able to go to Marine World (officially renamed Six Flags, but everyone still called it Marine World) the next day with her cousins after all. If the restaurant was closed, there would be no excuse to keep Ella from going.

Papa had come home in an extra-bad mood, and her parents had argued all afternoon. She could hear their voices now . . . the muted voices of their arguing seemed to whisper in her ears. How she longed to hear their voices—even if it was arguing.

She remembered turning up her iPod volume while she carefully picked out the cutest outfit to wear to Marine World. It was almost five in the evening before mama and papa had finally agreed. On what, she really wasn’t sure. But at least they weren’t fighting anymore.

A knock on her bedroom door, “Mija, we’re taking the van. I need you to put mijo’s car seat in the backseat,” her mother had said.

“Sure,” she had replied, practically ecstatic that they were finally going.
Awe-some, they’re taking the van.
That meant they weren’t expecting her to tag along. (There was only one seat in the back since papa had renovated the van into a mini-camper.)

Then papa had come bursting into her room. “Where’s your suitcase?”

“Huh?” That’s when she had found out they were
all
going but not to the hospital.

They were all going to stay the night at Aunt Rosa’s house in Concord, that way they could take little Miguel to get the vaccine first thing in the morning. Apparently, the Concord Pavilion was the closest place to get the vaccine; most places were out.
I don’t get it
.
Why does little Miguel need the vaccine? He’s already sick.

“I can’t go with you guys in the van—there’s no seat?” she reminded. The look in papa’s eyes warned her to shut up. “But, no seatbelt? Really? That’s
soooo
illegal—” she had blustered.

“Are they cuh-ray-zee?” she had mumbled under her breath.
And why do we have to take that ugly van?
It was so embarrassing, and the air conditioner barely worked. Papa always took the old 80s van to his job sites; he could stay in it all week instead of paying for a hotel. Ever since the Big Recession (“The Crash” as her parents called it), it had become harder and harder for papa to find work.

Papa was hardly ever home anymore, and he never helped mama with the restaurant either. She and mama had to do
everything
. It so wasn’t fair. Especially this weekend. Mama had promised her weeks ago that she could go to Marine World with her cousins this summer. She promised . . .

She stuffed a suitcase with the usual items and on a hopeful whim, included the cool outfit she had picked out, thinking Concord wasn’t that far from Vallejo, maybe one of her cousins could give her a ride. There was still hope. Besides, no one had actually said she “couldn’t go.” She found herself praying to Archangel Michael while she made herself comfortable on the mattress at the foot of the van with a mini-fan blowing directly on her face and all the portal-like windows opened to the max for the fresh air.

Poor Miguel, his crying had turned into screaming. He was pitchin’ a fit, and Ella was still too pissed to care. She just cranked the volume to the iPod. Between songs she heard her parents’ arguing again; their occasionally hushed argument had turned into a full-fledged shouting match.

“I told you to register with the DMV—” her mama was scolding again. It was one of their “usual arguments,” and Ella was tired of it.

“The whole ‘Undocumented Worker’ bullshit is a scam. They just want to track
us
so they can tax
us
. That way when they no longer need
us
,” he mumbled a bunch of words in Spanish, “they can ship
us
back to Mexico,” papa’s tone was full of hatred and anger.

Ella wanted to scream. Her parents were so paranoid about every little thing.
I’m so never getting married. EVER!

“If you had the cojones to marry me—you wouldn’t have to worry about being an illegal—” her mama cried back.

“You know why I can’t,” papa interrupted.

What?
They aren’t married?
Ella quickly removed the earbuds.

The van suddenly swerved off the highway, and papa slammed the brakes while muttering every Spanish swearword ever written. Ella couldn’t stop herself from rolling forward off the mattress and onto the grungy floor as the van came to a skidding stop. Now more worried about her “unmarried parents” than her Marine World trip, she quickly made the sign of the cross, clutching her rosary beads and whispering a string of Hail Mary’s. And that was another thing that bothered her, papa
never
went to church anymore.

Papa stormed out of the van. Apparently, it had overheated, and papa was trying to fix it. And little Miguel was screaming again, his eyes bloodshot from crying, and his face was as red as a freshly-picked habanero pepper, sweat dripping down his drenched face.

Mama turned around in the front seat and gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry mija, everything’s all right. Hold mijo while I help your papa.”

Ella took poor, little Miguel out of the car seat and tried to comfort him, all the while thinking that mama just said, “Everything was all right.”
Does that mean I get to go to Marine World tomorrow?

“Me gotta pee,” Miguel gasped between tired sobs. He really wasn’t a baby anymore. He was two and potty-trained, so at least she didn’t have to change his diapers anymore.

Ella stepped out of the van with Miguel’s clammy hands clutched around her neck. He seemed to be doing better. At least he wasn’t screaming. To her surprise, the highway was at a total standstill, and there were people milling about everywhere, like at a street faire.
How bizarre.

“What’s with all these people?” she asked.

“Get back in the van,” papa yelled.

“He’s gotta pee,” Ella insisted but made sure papa didn’t see her rolling-of-the-eyes.

“Babe, take mijo to that tree over there,” he yelled to mama.

“Can’t we stop at a gas station or something?”
I mean really? That’s so ghetto.

“Estella Marie Vasquez! In the van. Pronto!” Papa yelled. He didn’t even look at Ella; instead, he seemed to be eyeing an approaching group of people.

“It’s all right mija, go back in the van,” mama promised, and mama unlatched little Miguel’s hands from Ella’s neck and took him to the tree.

OMG
, she was sooo embarrassed. “It’s too hot,” she spouted, but Papa flashed his
warning-look
. Then a group of people ran passed her screaming and pointing back towards a crowd of drunks staggering down the shoulder of the highway.

Is everybody cuh-ray-zee today?
She stomped in the van and plopped on the mattress holding the battery-operated mini-fan to her cheeks until the sweat dried, leaving a cooling sensation to her skin. It felt so good; she cooled down the back of her neck and then the inside of her shirt as well. She felt much better. She heard yelling outside, so she cranked the iPod’s volume and whispered the next song with a guilty pleasure, “. . . What if God was one of us? Just a slob like one of us, just a stranger on the bus trying to make His way home . . .”

The door to the van slammed shut, and mama was in the driver’s seat. Ella jerked up from her comfortable position in time to see mama practically toss little Miguel to the front passenger’s seat. Then mama took off driving down the shoulder.
Little Miguel wasn’t even in his car seat?
He didn’t even have a seatbelt on—

Where’s papa?
“OMG, did you just leave Papa?” Ella screeched.

Ella fought to keep her balance while she dashed to the window. Papa was on the ground surrounded by the drunk people. The drunk people were leaning over him.
Is papa hurt?

“Mama—”

“Stop! Go Back!”

“Mama?”

Little Miguel, started making really weird sounds. Growling? She did a double take as she watched little Miguel actually leap through the air from his seat onto mama’s shoulder, causing her to crash into the back of a truck. Ella fought for her balance and landed on her butt after hitting her head on the front seat.

Stunned, Ella stared in total disbelief and watched as her little brother’s face burrowed into mama’s neck. “Miguel, what are you doing?” Was he delirious from his fever?
Ew!
He seemed to be gnawing on mama’s neck. The gurgling sounds made her gag.

“Stop it,” but the words only came out as a hoarse whisper. Shutting her eyes, she clasped onto her jade rosary beads for comfort and frantically prayed. When the hideous gurgling sounds finally stopped, she caught her breath and squinted through reluctant eyes. Little Miguel was staring straight at her with un-knowing-eyes.

Staring—at her . . .

The gurgling started again.

On impulse, Ella jumped out of the van’s side door, and he followed. Suddenly she came face to face with papa. Papa stood in front of her and howled like a mangy, rabid coyote on peyote. There was a hollowed-bloodied-gouge in his stomach and what looked to be the remains of his intestines dragging on the ground behind him. It was the most ungodly site.

Papa looked at her with black-blank eyes. Then, she thought she saw a flicker in his eyes, and suddenly his pupils swirled and shrunk back to a normal size. He jerked to a stop, cocked his head at her in a peculiar position and gawked. And, for that brief, bizarre moment, a moment when time stood still, it was like every memory of her and papa went floating by. But it was more like his thoughts, not hers. And, she felt his intense love for her—more than ever. The kind of love every child dreams of, like the days when he used to push her on the tire swing he had strung up on the old sycamore in the backyard. Her own words seemed to whisper in her mind, “Don’t stop papa, higher,” and he’d push her so high she felt like she was touching the sky.

Little Miguel jumped onto her shoulder, nearly knocking her down, and he snarled at her with the vicious gnarly teeth of a chupacabra. Papa’s eyes went black, dead-black, dilating like a cat’s. Papa snarled back and grabbed Miguel by the neck with his, his—teeth.

What?

Now mama was here too, her neck nearly chewed-off on one side. Mama just stared at her and started moaning, and her whole body shuddered. It was like mama was forcing herself
not
to attack her own daughter.

Ella screamed a soundless scream and found herself falling to the ground like she was floating. She tried not to faint, and at the same time, hoped she would, hoped she’d wake up, and the nightmare would be over.

Gunshots.

Lots of gunshots.

More gunshots.

She began crawling her way back to the van and at one point looked back to see that mama, papa, and little Miguel were all squirming on the ground. She felt herself collapse onto the unbearable hot pavement, but she didn’t care. She didn’t seem to have the will to go on. Nothing mattered.

Something hard pressed against her head. She looked up to see a CHP officer standing over her, his gun to her head. She screamed, “Help us—”

“This your van?” he asked. She must have nodded. The CHP officer helped her inside the van and ordered her to lock the doors and warned her not to leave until it was safe.

Hours later she woke up to pitiful moans and darkness. Total darkness.
Did I die? Am I in Hell?
She had never been this scared in her entire life. So scared. So alone. So forgotten. She huddled in the van and wondered why in the name of dear sweet Jesus, why the CHP officer had shot her family. Although, she thought she knew why. Even if she didn’t want to understand and could never understand. EVER!

Ella lost track of time. Had it been one day or a week? She slept, picked at the meals mama had packed, and peed in an old paint bucket papa had left in the van. Every now and then she would look out the windows only long enough to see if it was safe. It never was—safe.