Only The Dead Don't Die (42 page)

She set out the medical supplies in front of the man, using a plastic tub for a table. “Not sure what you need,” she offered.

“We haven’t been formally introduced,” he said, offering his right hand for a shake. “I’m Zac.”

“It’s a pleasure, I’m sure,” she offered a wry smile, trying not to laugh at his formality. “I’m Scarlett, Scarlett from Roseville.”
Wow, it’s been a long time since I’ve said that.
So much had happened since her life in Roseville. She was no longer the same pampered, spoiled, at times self-righteous, and needy person that she used to be.
Definitively, a lifetime ago . . .

“Roseville, how did your people make it here?” Zac asked surprised.

“Just followed the path of least resistance and voila, here we are.” She didn’t dare tell him she lived here alone. No, let him think she was with a group of people.

“What’s with the bush disguise?” Scarlett asked, changing the subject.

“Pretty clever, don’t you think?”

His smile was all too appealing despite the camo-paint, and she felt her face flush and quickly turned away from his inquisitive eyes.

“Uh, maybe if you’re a hummingbird,” she snapped back, not wanting to get too friendly with the stranger. Scarlett automatically sat next to him and began gingerly cleaning the wound on his left bicep, attempting not to notice his muscular arms.

“Ouch, why’d you have to go shoot an unarmed man,” his eyes seemed to mock.

“Somehow, I don’t think you’re the type to go sneaking around the forest with a walking bush,
unarmed
,” Scarlett said, calling his bluff.

“Right you are!” He cocked an intriguing brow. “Let me get comfortable here.” He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a gun and placed it on the plastic tub.

Scarlett started to wipe the wound again. He shook his finger no, then reached around to his back and pulled out another gun. It was slightly bigger. Then he proceeded to place two more guns and three knives on the tub beside them.

“Is that all?” she grimaced.

Suddenly Zac winced and gritted his teeth. “It needs to come out. Can you do it?” he winced again, the smug smile leaving his lips.

“You mean the bullet’s still in there?” Scarlett said shocked.

“What the hell kind of gun is that anyway,” he asked, suddenly pissed.

“It’s a Derringer.” She rather liked the small handgun, compliments of the bug out’s owner. It was small enough to tuck inside her jacket or just about anywhere.

“Your people are going to need better weapons than that,” he retorted while he looked through the medical kit. He seemed relieved when he found a plastic bottle, and he immediately began applying the topical anesthetic cream around the wound.

“In case you haven’t noticed, there aren’t too many creepers in these parts,” she drawled, trying to sound like a country girl.

“Creepers, is that what you call them? My dear, creepers, are the least of your worries,” he warned.

“What do you mean?” she tensed.

“The bullet’s right here,” he pointed to the wound on his arm. He rummaged through the medical kit, “Use these to pull it out,” he said and handed her the pair of forceps.

She refused, a wave of nausea suddenly flooded over her, and she shook her head at the suggestion.

“Look, if you can’t do it—I’ll wait for someone else,” he said a bit irritated.

“OK, OK—I’ll do it.”
Jeez, what am I saying, surely I’ll pass out?

“Wait,” his voice sounded panicky. “You don’t happen to have any liquor, say tequila? I’ll pay you for it. It may help reduce my screaming . . .” his eyes seemed to plead.

“Back in a second,” she said, disappearing up the ladder again.

Scarlett returned with a bottle of Grey Goose Vodka that had been sitting in the cupboard for months.

“Wow, from France,” he twisted off the cork top and took a sip. “Not bad,” then he guzzled the bottle for a few seconds, nearly choked, and resorted to slower, longer swigs.

“How much for the vodka?” he asked between swigs.

“A special deal—just for you,” she retorted.

“My first born? Too late, already promised that,” he said sarcastically.

“And when was that, last week?” she responded in the like.

“You this friendly to everyone?” He retorted back, but she saw a glint of playfulness in his eyes as a smile slowly swept across his face and lingered a moment too long on his lips.
Jeez, I better not be blushing.

She couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like under all the camo-paint. She noticed her heart racing at the mere thought of him cleaned-up and decided it might
not
be such a good idea to know.

“I see, you got a thing for me already. Must be my Prince Charming good looks,” he continued to jest as if reading her thoughts.

“I’m only this nice to commandos I shoot the
first
time,” she hinted with a casual warning.

“You mean there’s going to be a
next
time? Damn, I
knew
it. You are crazy,” he said, handing her the forceps again.
This time she accepted them.

“OK, right here, dig in and pull out. And lady, I mean Scarlett, don’t stop no matter what I say, or how loud I yell,” his eyes begged.

“Jeez, that really sounds encouraging.” She felt her gut wrenching again, and she grabbed the vodka from him and took a drink, hoping to calm her nerves.
I can do this!
And she dug in with the forceps. She felt an object and latched onto the bullet. But the bullet slipped. She felt his entire body tense as he unsuccessfully tried to stifle a moan.

He took another healthy swig of the bottle. “Don’t stop,” he managed to say through clenched teeth. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead, and his jowl twitched, “Do it—now!” It was almost an order, but she could hear the pain in his voice.

This time, she had a better feel of the tool and the bullet, and she delved in again, determined. After what seemed to be the longest minute in the world, she finally found the bullet. “Got it!” she said triumphantly, holding the bloody bullet up like a trophy, then fought the urge to gag. He handed her the bottle this time, and she took another drink to calm her nerves.

“Now it’s time for this. A few stitches should do it.” He gave her an unsure look and handed her the needle and suture thread included in the kit.

She didn’t bother to refuse and hoped he could handle the pain. After she closed the wound and cleansed it, she topped it off with several butterfly closure strips; then she carefully bandaged his arm. When she was done, he muttered something under his breath and took another drink from the Grey Goose bottle.

“Give me a minute here,” Zac mumbled. He took a few more swigs then closed his drooping eyelids.

Scarlett let out a deep sigh.
Certainly glad that’s over with.
She turned to find Twila watching bright-eyed.

“Sweetie, how long have you been awake?”

“I’m hungry!” the little girl announced.

“Sure sweetie, let’s have a pic-a-nic while Zac takes a little nap,” Scarlett said, trying to remember what it was like to be an elementary school teacher again, those days so long ago.

“I’m six years old—not two. You don’t have to talk to me like I’m a little girl.” Her golden eyes flashed.

“OK sweetie,” Scarlett had to resist the urge to laugh, not wanting to risk alienating the child. “Do you like fish?”

“Wait,” the girl started to say something and then stopped and made a funny face. “I’m supposed to say something—” The girl stopped again as if she couldn’t think of the word.

“Veggy-terry-n?” the girl said very slowly in a questioning tone, almost as if she wasn’t sure it was the right word.

“OK, sweetie, are you the type of veggy-terry-n that eats fish?” Scarlett asked carefully, trying to stay on the little girl’s level. Scarlett showed her the smoked fish.

“Aha, she said I can eat fish,” Twila finally said and eyed the fish with ravenous eyes. “Looks scrumptious, truly scrumptious!” the little girl sang.

The poor thing must be absolutely starving.
“Zac should be better soon, and then you two can continue on your hiking trip? Where are you two going?” It was Scarlett’s turn to find out some information.

“Here, I was looking for you,” the girl exclaimed like it was a formal announcement.

“Ahh.” Scarlett didn’t know how to respond to her statement.

“
You
are my new mommy,” Twila’s golden eyes remained steady and serious.

Scarlett shook her head yes, but screamed to herself:
Don’t tell me the poor little thing’s gone mad.
I certainly can’t blame her. It’s a miracle she survived this long.

In an attempt to change the subject, Scarlett said, “Tell me when you need a bathroom break.”

“OK, more juice please,” the girl said, holding up her cup in anticipation.

The little girl seemed mesmerized by the bottle of juice and watched intently while Scarlett refilled her plastic cup. She slurped down the cup. “OK, I have to pee now,” she said proudly, giving Scarlett a silly clown-like red-juice-stained smile.

Scarlett decided to take the little girl upstairs and let her use the real toilet instead of making her go outside, thinking it probably wasn’t safe to go outside yet. She checked on Zac and whispered, “You doing all right?”

Zac grumbled, “Need another minute.”

“Follow me,” Scarlett motion to Twila, and they climbed up the narrow ladder to the next level.

“Holy Cow, what a fun place!” The little girl’s red clown-smile widened as she turned around taking in everything in the room.

“How about we keep this place a secret? Let’s not tell Zac about this room. It can be
our
little secret!”

“Why?”

“It’s for girls only,” Scarlett lied, but the girl seemed satisfied. “When you’re done, we can wipe off all that grime from your face.”

Scarlett washed off the mud Zac had apparently used as camouflage. “Wow, I think there’s a pretty little girl under here somewhere,” Scarlett teased. “There is!” The cute little girl had a mess of freckles sprinkling her entire face. She was the most adorable thing.

“Do you like chocolate? Here’s a bag of M&M’s just for you sweetie.” Scarlett handed her a mini-package.

“You’re awesome,” the little girl said, “She told me you’d be the most
perfect
mommy ever.”

The statement gave Scarlett the willies. “Why don’t we get back to Zac before he finds out about our secret room?” Scarlett urged.

They hung-out on the first level, waiting for Zac to wake up. After a while, the shouting started again. She pressed her ear to the floor of the bug out. Someone was out there, near the bug out. Zac began muttering something, and she gently shook him, hoping to quiet him.

“Shhh, someone’s out there,” Scarlett whispered.

Suddenly, Zac was coherent as if aware of the present danger. He quickly turned off the light. The three of them waited in the dark with only the late afternoon sunlight peeking through the slits of the narrow windows. The little girl sat in silence and poured the bag of M&M’s onto a paper plate and began sorting the candy pieces by color.

Zac inched nearer to Scarlett. She found herself tantalizingly close to him. “I’m leaving at dawn. I need to warn my people the Ravers are in this valley.”

“You never told me about the Ravers,” Scarlett reminded.

He sat inches from her and whispered, “We first heard of them in December, once it became apparent the world had gone to hell in a handbasket. They started out as a bunch of thugs and gang bangers going from town to town, raiding stores and even raiding the residential areas. In the beginning, they could be bought off. But as their numbers grew, and they got stronger and well-armed, they just started taking whatever the hell they wanted. They systematically disbanded the small alcoves of survivors by capturing the strong men—killing the weak ones and,” he paused, “capturing
all
the woman.”

“Jeez, like modern-day pirates,” Scarlett gasped.

“More like a modern-day Genghis Khan. They have a
brutal
leader, and they have no scruples on taking or
killing
whoever—whatever gets in their way.”

Scarlett stared at him in disbelief.

“My advice, your people should go another thousand feet or so up the Sierras until after the harvest.”

“Why?” Scarlett asked.

“Unfortunately, they’ve chosen
this
particular valley. No one’s safe here until after the harvest.”

“What makes you think that?” She wondered how he could possibly know that.

“Trust me, this area is as rich as Fort Knox with all these orchards. Food’s becoming scarce. Sure, there might be plenty of food stockpiled in residential homes in the metropolitan areas. But the big cities,
if
they weren’t bombed, are swarming with the infected.”