Only The Dead Don't Die (41 page)

“Ye-ah, he didn’t make it either according to Paxton,” Justin said. “So, what happened to the people and the Zs in the No-Zone?” Justin asked, starting to feel uneasy.

“Imagine being trapped in the No-Zone with Super-Zombies. Let’s just say at a certain point we became extremely motivated to find a way out. We finally got a hold of some explosives and blew up a section of the barricade. And escaped. Not so surprisingly, the military had already deserted the area. So we all escaped the healthy and the infected . . . And then one day I was driving east, and I got this goofy message on my cell phone—some guy singing “Call Me Maybe” from some looney toon named Justin,” Luther laughed.

They all enjoyed an uneasy chuckle.

“And the Zs?” Justin reminded.

“God only knows—Coming soon to a theater near you,” Luther said in an eerie tone.

“Oh My God,” Ella was starting to freak. Justin put his arm around her and whispered, “It’s OK.”

“Still, you managed to escape?” Dean questioned.

“Somewhat, but there’s more to this story: Ever wonder why I seem to attract
them
so much? That stuff they sprayed infected everyone even though we waited damn near a week before we went back outside. Now I’m like zombie bait. It must have done something to my DNA or something. The scientist fellow tried to explain it.”

“What?” Dean asked.

“The way I understood it: The fumigation caused instant DNA mutation, which causes our bodies to exude a chemical, a pheromone I believe that actually attracts the zombies. Nah, you all don’t want to hear this—”

“Dude, tell us already,” Justin was exasperated.

Luther stopped the Jeep in the middle of the highway and turned off the engine. “When we, meaning all us that had been exposed to the contrail fumigation—when we get bit by a zombie, we’re called second generation zombies because we’re stronger, faster, smarter:
deadlier
. Damn near impossible to kill. I should know—had to kill enough of those stinkin’ nimrods before I escaped. There, I said it. It might not seem like a big deal to you all—but it scares the livin’ shit out of ol’ Luther here.”

“But, you’re OK now, aren’t you Luther?” Ella whispered.

“You bet, sweet pea,” Luther offered.

“I’m just sayin’ if I get bit, don’t mess around. And don’t wait for me to turn, neither. Shoot me in the head ASAP.” Luther’s hands shook when he started the Jeep.

“Luther, my friend, you just scared the livin’ crap out of every one of us,” Dean sighed and realized his hand was rubbing his chest. “If you want to know my opinion, it all sounds like a bunch of malarkey to me. No disrespect, but what evidence do you have . . .” Dean questioned.

Luther turned his head to look at Dean, “I get your point. I thought it was all conspiracy X-Files crap too . . . Until they sent in a Navy Seals team in hazmat suits to extract that scientist fellow,” Luther said. “They must have killed dozens of civilians until they found him. And they got him alright. Damn straight,” Luther said, shaking his head emphatically. “They took him and left us all for the zombies—”

“How about those Niners?” Dean butted in, obviously changing the subject. “Think they have a chance at the Super Bowl this season?” Dean laughed, but no one else did.

They rode in silence for a few miles as if each of them was afraid of what to say or what
not
to say. Justin felt the need to comfort Ella, and that seemed to comfort him as well. He had never been so happy and so scared. Sure he had his Ella, but it didn’t look like the government would be getting things under control soon.

“Dean,” Justin finally said. “I’m so glad you’re back. I really missed you!”

“Me Too!” Ella exclaimed, blowing kisses to him across the seat. “Everything’s gonna be awesome. We can find another hotel—without the Stockton Boys. Things are going to be way better this time,” Ella said and nestled against Justin’s shoulder ready for a nap.

A road sign blurred past, 10 miles to Roseville. It made Justin think of Scarlett. It wasn’t fair; Scarlett had been the best woman Z de-activator
ev-er
.
She should be here with us.

“Where to?” Luther asked. But, no one answered. “Reno—here we come!” Luther announced loud and clear.

No one argued.

They headed eastbound in silence . . .

It was an exceptionally quiet April morning. Scarlett sat hidden in a little alcove surrounded by overgrown evergreen bushes along the river’s edge, fishing pole in hand, waiting for a tug at the end of the line. She sat there attempting to recall last night’s dream. The dream had seemed so real, so lucid at the time; yet now, she could only remember vague flashes.

Scarlett gazed at the river, mesmerized by its rippling waves, like her subconscious flowing in an endless stream of thoughts. She shrugged, disappointed. Every time she caught a glimpse of the dream: it vanished. The dream seemed to be of significance at the time. At least it had been a peaceful dream. Today she felt more vitality and more inspiration than she had since the day the world had gone apocalyptic, or rather, since that day “what’s his face” had dumped her.
Jeez, I can’t even remember his name now.
Or so, she would like to think
.

The fishing pole casually cradled in her lap jerked, bringing her wandering mind back; she checked the tautness of the line, and the gleam of her engagement ring caught her eye. She admired the diamond’s translucent-like flash that seemed to demand her attention. Tucking the pole under her arm, she slipped the ring off and gazed into it like it was an exquisite crystal from another world. She felt awestruck, momentarily lost in a spellbound state and ignored the fish floundering on the line.

The ring was the only thing she had left to remind her of her old life. Had she even been happy? She had been engaged two times, and each engagement had not ended well. She held the ring up like an offering to the sky gods and watched it glint, catching the sun’s rays.

Perhaps it was Scarlett’s destiny to be alone—forever. She did find it quite peaceful; still, the loneliness, the emptiness, seemed to consume her. Impulsively, she flung the exorbitantly priced diamond ring into the middle of the river.

“There, that’s over with.” She rubbed her hands as if wiping off an annoying powdery residue and was pleasantly surprised to feel a surge of refreshing energy sweep through her body from head to toe.

I should have done that months ago.
Maybe LuLu and I would have been friends if I hadn’t behaved so, so self-important.
As if being engaged made her important. LuLu had made it quite clear that Scarlett acted as if she were better than everyone else with her college degree, her teaching career, and her oversized engagement ring.

Why didn’t I tell LuLu that the wedding had been canceled—that my fiancé jilted me for the boss’s daughter so that he could become a partner in the firm
? Scarlett huffed.
I was too busy trying not to feel worthless about myself that I came across as an arrogant bitch.
I hope you’re all right LuLu—wherever you are.
And dear sweet Ella and Justin and Dean and Luther . . . Please let them all be safe.

The pole jerked again, reminding her of more pressing matters. Scarlett reeled in the small fish easily enough, finally getting the knack of the whole fishing thing. It had been somewhat of a disaster in the beginning. She had managed to get the hang of it after reading the
Fishing for Dummies
book that had been conveniently included in the bug out’s minuscule library.

She had quickly given up on the live bait method and had resorted to using the jar of bubblegum-pink eggs (fortunately for her) included in the tackle box. After all, if she were a fish, she would obviously go for “something pink” and
not
a squiggly worm. It made perfect sense to her. She had also given up on the fly fishing technique because she couldn’t stay hidden in the alcove. After the trials and errors of the learning curve, she found that she rather enjoyed fishing; it gave her time to be still with her thoughts.

Spring had finally arrived, and she had smoked plenty of fish the past few months. She was ready for the journey. But to where? Where should she go? Every week she had made it a habit of hiking to the two main roads for signs of civilization. She had remained hidden along the roadside for hours but hadn’t seen any signs of humanity. Oh, she had seen an occasional creeper—creepers still existed.

From what Luther had said, it was quite dangerous and downright impossible to try to find her sister in Pinole. It was on the edge the No-Zone. She thought about heading to Los Angeles and if no luck there, maybe attempt a trip to Texas, but that would be a long, dangerous journey: an impossible trip to make alone.

She unhooked the fish, its scales shimmering silvery-rainbow colors and flopped it into the net.
That makes three, time to get back.
She had made a deal with herself to always stop by ten-thirty or three fish, whichever came first. She didn’t want to be greedy, besides the little smoker couldn’t smoke more than three fish anyway.

She hiked her way back to the bug out through the green-budded forest, thinking about where she should go. Surely society had reclaimed itself somewhere in California. Surely there must be other survivors . . . A rustle in the bushes startled her. Without hesitating, she drew the small gun tucked in her jacket pocket, feeling like an old-western schoolmarm turned gunslinger. She laughed when the spooked jackrabbit went darting by. “Well, you ain’t no daisy,” she drawled to the rabbit letting the gunslinger thought linger in her head. “Oh Scarlett, you need to stop talking to yourself.” She didn’t restrain herself from giggling.

Uh, did that bush just move about two feet
? Was her peripheral vision playing tricks on her? From out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn a small, evergreen bush about four feet tall had actually changed its physical location. She faltered, gun still in hand, aware that her hands had the shakes and noticed the tiny, thin hairs on her arms stick straight-up as a gentle spark of electricity ran down the back of her spine.

“Excuse me,” a man’s voice jolted her from her paranoid thoughts.

Scarlett’s head spun, searching for the direction of the voice. She reeled around upon realizing that the voice had come from the opposite direction of the peculiar bush. Maybe she had finally gone loco? She had noticed lately that reality seemed to be unraveling around her, often hearing voices whispering to her in dreams, voices floating by on the river, and now, voices in the forest . . .

“Can I have a moment of your time,” the voice said a bit too politely. It was a man’s voice, not the faint whisperings she usually heard.
And, and that bush is definitely scurrying about.

Suddenly a man stepped out from behind a tree. He actually blended into the scenery, decked-out in complete camouflage attire, including a small tree branch on his green hat, like a Vietnam soldier with a camo-painted face. She aimed the gun at him: warning.

“Lady, I can assure you—I mean you no harm.”

She heard his words but still doubted that her senses were fully functioning. It didn’t seem possible for a man, a soldier, to be standing a mere six to seven feet in front of her.

“I’d like to have a word with you if I may,” the imaginary man said.

Jeez, so polite, this has
got
to be my imagination.
She struggled with the illusion. “OK, I’ll close my eyes, and the vision will go away,” she chanted three times.

“Lady, I can assure you, I’m no hologram,” the voice sounded amused.

“Go away vision, or I’ll shoot you,” Scarlett announced to herself while cocking the gun.

Suddenly the mobile bush sprung to life and crashed into her. “Mommy!” the bush cried. The thrashing bush clung to her, knocking her to the ground. And even more startling was the bang of a gunshot. She had somehow managed to fire the gun in the middle of the commotion.

The animated bush seemed to be hugging and kissing her and screeching, “Mommy” repeatedly, while she overheard mumblings in the background.

“Damn lady, you shot me! Can’t believe the crazy lady shot me! That’s the third time I got shot at today!”

“Twila that’s enough. Leave the
crazy
lady alone,” the soldier scolded and swooped down, scooping up the amorous bush with one arm.

A series of rapid-fire gunshots ripped through the air, followed by the roaring sounds of engines, big engines, and a series of urgent shouts abruptly turned the quiet forest into a combat zone. It sounded like an entire army of tanks was invading her forest.

“Lady, we need to get the hell out of here, ASAP. Ravers are approaching the bridge and after that gunshot, they’ll be all over this side of the river.”

Scarlett stood there in utter disbelief as the bush shed its leaves. To her amazement, the masquerading bush revealed a child. The engines revved closer.

“You hear that? We need to hightail it out of here. You happen to have a safehouse nearby?” His tone had gone from politeness to amusement, to bemusement, to disbelief, to urgency all within the first few moments of their encounter.

Scarlett shook her head “no” in response to the craziness of it all.

“Fine, take the girl, Twila. She’s a sweetheart. I’ve got to haul ass,” and he started to run.

“Wait,” Scarlett yelled, her voice nearly drowned out by the approaching vehicles. “You can’t leave me with a child,” Scarlett responded in complete shock.

“They’ll be here in seconds. I can’t keep her—she slows me down. She’ll be much safer with your people.”

The man ducked back into the woods.

“I know a place—” Something from deep inside of her heart compelled her to call out to him, and before she even realized what she had said, the words had come out. Was she making a huge mistake by breaking her own rule? Trust No One.

The roar of an approaching off-road type vehicle plowed along the deadwood covered riverbank. She led the way; the three of them ran until they reached the bug out. The soldier in camo-paint gave her a quizzical look when she nodded at the tree.

He looked up at the tree, “Perfect,” he said, searching the tree for a way up. They made it to the first level of the bug out when a series of shouts echoed closer. The man turned off the LED light she had left on and only responded by whispering, “Shhh.”

The three of them huddled in the room waiting for the engines, shouts, and sporadic gunshots to fade away into the forest. The little girl was surprisingly quiet and calm, unlike Scarlett. Scarlett’s heart pounded with the ferocity of a violent thunderstorm. The girl wasn’t even crying; instead, the little thing cuddled in Scarlett’s lap and actually fell asleep.

“Sounds like they’ve moved on, probably making their way down the river. But they’ll be back once they don’t find what they’re looking for,” the man warned.

“What
are
they looking for?” Scarlett asked boldly.

“Me, the girl,” he said casually.

Scarlett turned on the light and gasped when she saw the blood pooling onto the floor.

“It looks much worse than it is,” the man winced, unable to hide his pain.

“Do you happen to have medical supplies? Had to stash my gear when I found the girl.”

“I thought she was yours,” Scarlett said, confused.

“No, found her two days ago. We’ve been on the run since. It’s been, shall I say—challenging, trying to find food, protecting her, and outrunning the Ravers.”

“Ravers?” Scarlett asked, not liking the sound of it.

“You haven’t heard of the Ravers?” He seemed surprised.

“Let’s get your arm bandaged, and then you can tell me about the Ravers. I can’t believe I actually shot you. I am
so
sorry.”

“That makes two of us,” the man said with a smile that seemed genuine.

Scarlett shifted the plastic storage tubs around to make room for them. She quickly rolled out an extra sleeping bag and gently set the sleeping girl in it. The poor thing looked like a ragamuffin, dressed in a pair of tattered overalls and a worn-out sweater, like a little vagrant from the depression era. Her face was coated with layers of muddy grime. She definitely needed a bath.
A three-day bath to get rid of all that muck.

As if he sensed her thoughts, “I know, dressed her in boy’s clothes and camouflaged her face with mud.”

“I see,” Scarlett replied hastily.

“As you probably know, it’s not so safe for the female gender. In some circles they are considered valuable property,” he said as if feeling the need to explain.

Scarlett certainly knew that to be true. She nodded in agreement.

“Perfect safehouse, how many people in your enclave?” the man asked.

She didn’t answer. Afraid to tell him she was alone. “The medical kit’s in the attic. Don’t go anywhere.” She hoped he would think it was only a small storage area above. She couldn’t risk him knowing how supplied and how big the bug out actually was.

He let out a laugh, “Lady, I’m sure as hell not going anywhere just yet.”

She grabbed the deluxe-sized First Responders medical kit, compliments of the original bug out owners and filled a bag with yesterday’s smoked fish and a box of crackers and a bottle of juice, along with plates and napkins. We can have a little picnic later. Maybe it won’t be too scary for the little girl if she turned this into something fun. Suddenly Scarlett felt a strange sensation. It reminded her of—happiness?