Only The Dead Don't Die (4 page)

The next residential street looked like a scene from a hokey sci-fi flick. An airplane had crashed nose-down into what had once been a pristine, picture-perfect park: Rose Park. She didn’t know what kind of plane it was—had been. All she could tell was that it looked like the remains of a big passenger plane, like a 747—only half of it, with piles of fiery rubble and wreckage scattered everywhere.

Scarlett stepped out of the car and stood in a daze almost hypnotized by the destruction. It was overwhelming to witness a disaster of such magnitude up-close-and-personal, nothing like the indifference of watching a disaster broadcasted on television.
So this is it, ground zero.
Had the airplane been transporting dangerous chemicals? Or a deadly contagion?
She stood there pondering. The park’s swings swayed gracefully in the afternoon breeze while the lovely rose bushes swayed; it was such a paradox for only a few yards away: total destruction.

A whimpering sound from behind one of the yellow rose bushes brought her back to reality. It almost sounded like a child. Then she saw it. It nervously poked its nose around a rose bush.
What a gorgeous Golden Retriever . . .
“Poor thing, you must be scared,” she crooned to the frightened dog and knelt down to pet him, but the dog kept its distance from her.

The breeze kicked up, and she caught a whiff of that peculiar rank odor again, that sickening, putrid smell. The Golden Retriever hunched down, whimpered, and scampered back behind the rose bushes.

Where are the First Responders?
Scarlett decided to check out the crash site and cautiously made her way towards the chaotic clutter, but as she ventured closer, she realized there were dead bodies everywhere. One glimpse told her their bodies were completely charred, and even worse, the bodies seemed to have been
torn apart
. She quickly averted her eyes. Her stomached churned, and she covered her mouth; it took all her willpower to keep from puking.

Oh shit, if this is ground zero
, then she was most likely contaminated. She speculated that it could have been a terrorist attack, and the government had shutdown this area of Roseville or had even evacuated the entire town. She remembered hearing all the sirens and helicopters a few days ago.
But why attack Roseville?

She scanned the area cautiously, afraid to get any closer. Then she realized, if this had been a terrorist attack, the government would be swarming all over this place by now. That’s when something inside warned her to
leave. NOW!

The retriever whimpered again. Scarlett looked back to see a large group of people gathering around her car. They were disheveled and dirty, but as she got closer, she saw what appeared to be dried blood all over their bodies and clothes. They looked like the three injured people she had just escaped from.
That’s what this is all about. They must be the plane crash survivors—probably in shock.
Their skin had been severely burned, so horribly that it didn’t even seem possible for them to be able to walk or even to be alive, for that matter. Where are the emergency crews, the triage stations, the police, the military? This whole place should be in lockdown or in quarantine.

The hairs on the back of her neck began to quiver, and that voice from deep inside of her screamed louder:
LEAVE!
Scarlett stiffened. Slowly, methodically, she scanned the entire area like an animal that
knew
it was being hunted. That sound again, a gurgling-guttural growl made her heart stop. The people that had gathered around her car were now looking at her.
They
had spotted her.
They
looked like a ghastly flashmob of walking corpses as they staggered and stumbled towards her. “Oh, Shit!”

This time, Scarlett didn’t have her car or any car to seek refuge in. Her legs just starting running, “the fight or flight” instinct took over. She ran down the park’s sidewalk, hurdling over pile after pile of plane crash debris
until she reached the closest house adjacent to Rose Park. She banged on the front door. “HELP! Somebody, please, HELP!” No one answered the door.

She sprinted to the next house afraid to glance back at the severely injured people. But she did, and
they
were closer, and there were even more of them now, about twenty of them.
They
were definitely following her. Chasing her? She turned back around only to crash into a green tricycle, leaving a sharp pain in her right shin. She ignored the pain. She ran. No one answered at the next house or the next house. Every time she stopped to scream for help and bang on the front door—
they
got closer, much closer.
This is definitely not working.

Scarlett stopped to catch her breath, observing as
they
approached in a sort of hypnotic-like state.
They
did seem to be in a state of shock and not coherent, more like they were in a daze.
Maybe I can outsmart them
? She ran over to the next house in plain sight, making sure
they
saw her; then she ran to the side of the house and ducked behind a juniper bush. She found herself frantically scanning the area for an exit route, out of their field of vision. Her only option was to jump the fence and double back through all the backyards to get back to her car.

Scarlett managed to jump the fences with the help of lawn furniture and after running through five beautifully landscaped yards, she decided to chance it for a view of the street. She tiptoed and inched her way ever so slowly, pressing her body against the side of a house, holding her breath. She stopped. Scuffling sounds came from the street. She had to look. If she had calculated right, her car should be right there, and she could make a mad dash to the car and get the hell out of here.

Timidly, she nosed her head around the side of the house and was relieved to see her car. To Scarlett’s dismay, there must have been a dozen of
them
loitering about her car. Some were even peering into the car’s windows, pounding on the glass, waiting for it to give in. Perhaps she had outsmarted the crazies that had been chasing her, but there were more of
them
waiting for her to return. Where had
the
y come from?

Scarlett heard a dog’s frantic barking, then its warning growl. She continued to peek around the edge of the house and watched as the congregation of severely injured plane crash survivors appeared to be encircling the Golden Retriever. The dog’s growls turned into a mournful howl as
they
closed in on the helpless dog. The howling morphed into high-pitched yelps.
I can’t bear this. What are they doing to that poor dog?
She didn’t wait to find out.

Scarlett edged her way to the backyard, making sure
they
didn’t spot her. She tried knocking softly on the back door of the huge, fancy house. No one answered of course. There didn’t seem to be a single person left in the entire city of Roseville, which got her thinking about that stupid movie
Left Behind
. Actually, she hadn’t watched the movie, but now she certainly wished she had. Maybe then she’d know what to do as a dizzy-flash of paranoia encroached. Was she the only
sane
person left in Roseville? Or was
she
the crazy one?

Scarlett hastily fiddled with the door.
Damn! It’s locked.
She even peered through the kitchen window but resisted the urge to break in, knowing the sound of broken glass would surely alert them.
They
seemed almost primal, like a pack of predatory animals the way
they
had cornered the dog. If
they
found her, would
they
do the same thing to her: corner her? And then what? Had
they
killed the Golden Retriever? She shuddered at the thought.

Scarlett quickly scanned the backyard in search for a place to hide. Until it was safe—until
they
were gone. Apparently, the yard had been professionally landscaped; it looked like a full-color double page spread right out of
Better Homes and Gardens
with a redwood deck trimmed swimming pool and matching spa. Ornate Greek-style urns surrounded the deck like ancient sentry posts forgotten by time while their brittle occupants of sun-dried hanging vines disintegrated in the evening breeze. A huge built-in barbecue (like one of those expensive Fire Magic Grills they sell at California Backyard) and an elegant wrought iron set of patio furniture sat proudly on the redwood deck.
Jeez, who lives like this
?

Her nerves couldn’t handle much more of this. She needed a place to hide. She didn’t understand this irrational feeling she felt, the feeling of fear. She spotted a shed nestled amongst two overgrown mimosa trees in the far back corner of the yard.
Naturally, a fancy tool shed to go with this fancy backyard
. She tapped on the door, “Please don’t be locked,” she whispered, trying the doorknob. It opened. “Yes!” she exclaimed.

Once inside, Scarlett realized it wasn’t a storage shed but rather a “man cave.”
Wow, Kevin would love this
. It was an awesome man cave with a flat screen TV mounted on the wall, a DVD player, not one, but two gaming systems, a mini frig, microwave, and a recliner. It was even equipped with a mini-bathroom. It had everything a person could possibly want except a phone and electricity.

Guess I’m stuck here till morning.
It was almost dark, and there was absolutely no flippin’ way she’d attempt to find her way home in the dark, without a car with all those, those . . .
creepy
people stalking the streets. Creepy, that was the first word that came to mind when she thought of those poor, injured people.
Creepers
. She locked the door. It wasn’t a very secure lock or door for that matter. Still, if the deranged plane crash victims didn’t know she was inside, she’d be safe.
Right?

“Oh, shit! My purse . . . keys?” She had left them in the car. “Idiot,” she whispered in disgust. Scarlett carefully, quietly, timidly, searched the shed for anything that might be useful. She checked out a tall, metal cabinet full of sporting equipment.
Nothing here
. She closed the door and opened it again, reaching for the reddish-orange baseball bat that had caught her eye. It appeared to be made of some sort of metal. She snatched it, thinking it could do a lot of damage if needed. Surely it wouldn’t get to that.
Maybe I’m still hallucinating from those painkillers.
Am I just dreaming this?
In any case, she practiced swinging the Easton bat to get a feel for it. It would just have to do since it was the only thing around that could be used as a weapon.

S
he snatched a big flashlight off a shelf; the batteries even worked. Every few minutes she stole a quick glance out of the small window for any signs of movement in the backyard. After rummaging through a cabinet, she managed to scrounge a can of Spanish peanuts, a can of Pringles, and several bottles of Vitamin Water. “Voila, dinner.”

Scarlett quietly parked herself in the recliner; her body practically melted into the leather as both she and her muscles collapsed from sheer exhaustion and stress. She sat facing the door with the Easton bat beside her. Ready. What would she do if
they
suddenly busted down the door?

So, she sat there in dead silence, staring at the door. Every tiny sound made her jump. A guttural sound nearly sent her flying out of the recliner and through the roof.
Are
they
in the backyard now?
She heard something bump into the shed, like the sound of a tree branch brushing against the wall.
Just the tree
, she promised. She wanted to peek out the window, but her legs refused to move.

Scarlett nervously munched on the peanuts, mainly to distract her jumpy nerves and drank a bottle of Vitamin Water for the electrolytes. It was dark now; she didn’t dare turn on the flashlight, for the window was only covered with a sheer curtain. Her eyes gradually became accustomed to the darkness, and she vowed to stay awake all night.

***

Scarlett woke up with a start. It took her a moment to realize where she was. And her heart pounded defiantly against her chest then jumped to her throat. Finally, she gasped and had to choke back the bursts of air that wanted to escape her lungs. Now was not the time to have a panic attack. Now was not the time to start hyperventilating.

She took a moment to calm herself and focused on her breathing, breathing slowly, calmly. A noise? Just the tree, right? Panic threatened to take over again, but she pushed it back. She stared so hard at the door handle that it would have turned if she had any telekinetic abilities. A voice inside her head warned, “
Go Now
!” She wanted to trust her intuition. But, opening that door wasn’t going to be that easy as an unreasonable fear surged through her veins, chilling her blood to ice.

Finally, she got the nerve to chance a glance out of the small window. It was almost dawn, and the new morning light seemed to urge her to depart. Clutching the bat, she cautiously opened the door wide enough to get a better view of the backyard. She didn’t see any of
them
(creepers, she thought). Still, it took all her courage to take that first step outside. She tiptoed past the redwood deck, and to her horror realized she had just walked past two of
them
.
They
had been hidden from her view, sitting on the patio with their backs against the wall and their heads slumped over. Passers-by would have thought they were suffering from a mere hangover if it weren’t for their tattered, bloodstained clothing. And the putrid odor.