Only The Dead Don't Die (43 page)

“So, our government actually
did
bomb our cities?” Scarlett asked, still finding it hard to comprehend. She remembered Luther had mentioned that too. Of course, she had seen the arena in Natomas, but she had thought that had been an isolated event.

“You haven’t heard about that?” he cocked a curious brow.

“I’ve,
we
,” she corrected, “have remained very isolated. How else do you think we survived?”

“I get your point. Most of the metropolitan areas have been
neutralized
as our government calls it,” he said wryly.

The little girl handed her a yellow M&M. “For you!”

“Thank you, Twila.”
What a sweet little girl,
Scarlett mused.

“I don’t hear them now,” Scarlett said, unsure.

Zac shifted his position. “They’re probably making their way down the river again.”

“What else do you know?” Scarlett was curious.

“I’ve been going from town to town, reconnoitering the outlying areas, trying to find out who’s in charge,” he seemed vague.

“And, who,
exactly
is in charge?” Scarlett asked firmly.

“Whoever the hell wants to be. It’s like
Mad Max
out there, in case you hadn’t noticed: no laws, no scruples, no morals.”

“So, how have you managed then,” she prodded.

“Lucky, I guess—just like you. Hell, how does anyone manage during these formidable times,” he sighed and looked away.

She wondered what godforsaken things he must have witnessed. Scarlett often wondered how she, of all people, had managed to survive so long without any special survival skills.

Getting back to the Ravers, she asked, “There’s much more farmland in the San Joaquin Valley. Why are the Ravers wasting their time with these little mom and pop farms?”

“Water. Another drought year for California. It only rained six or seven times the entire winter, except for here in the Sierras. The reservoirs are extremely low. With no one to monitor the water supply, anyone with the manpower can divert the water and steal what little there is. The Sierra’s western-slope watershed areas supply plenty of water with all the creeks and rivers flowing with the snowmelt. Enough to supply these small orchards and farms through to harvest time. Not to mention this is a much smaller, secluded area to defend.”

“Hmm, so how do you
really
know all of this? I mean, they just got here.” She found it a bit peculiar that he knew so much, and she found herself eyeing him suspiciously.

He turned his head to the side for a moment, giving her time to study his profile: his long nose, his sturdy chin covered with stubble, his sandy-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She had a fleeting thought that he was quite handsome under all that smeared camo-paint. His Adam’s apple rippled as he swallowed: was she making
him
nervous now?

“All right, if you’re so damn smart, why are you still here?” he spouted, obviously irritated with her question.

“Whatever,” Scarlett turned away, wondering why he was suddenly pissed.

“Look, I joined up with the Ravers about a month ago . . .” Zac paused.

Was he waiting for her reaction? She didn’t say anything, thinking it was best to let him talk.

“Call it a secret mission—if you will. I have family and friends in these counties. My family has been farming this land for generations. Anyway, when rumor got around that the Ravers were planning on confiscating farms, I
let
myself be captured and proved myself valuable to them so I could obtain intel. Sure enough, the Ravers decided to stake their claim this side of the Sierras. Right
here
in this valley.”

“So, you escaped?”

“Finally, and I would’ve been long gone . . .” he suddenly stopped and looked at the little girl playing with the M&M’s. “Let’s say, my plans changed when I found—” he nodded his head towards the child.

“Was she all by herself when you found her?” Scarlett whispered. He nodded yes. It didn’t look like he wanted to talk about it in front of her.

Scarlett thought about it for a moment; all of this must be terrifying for the girl, liked being lost in a nightmare. How could Twila tell the difference between reality and non-reality? Most of the time, Scarlett found it difficult to distinguish between the two realities. How could a child? Ella had been so traumatized that she had refused to speak for months.
I can only imagine how traumatized this little girl must be.

Zac interrupted her troubled thoughts. “I need to warn my family and the other farmers in this valley. Your people should probably leave in the next day or two because once they take over an area, they guard it well.”

“Why didn’t they kill you,” she prodded.

“I have my ways.” He gave her a charmingly-wicked smile, “The gift of gab—a great bullshitter. I learned a thing or two on how to deal with people in New York. Besides, I’ve got connections. I’m good at finding things, hooking-up people with the supplies they need. I’m quite a commodity myself,” he bragged.

And perhaps a bit conceited as well.
Scarlett didn’t respond. She contemplated on telling him she was alone here. She decided not to risk it: not after the Stockton Boys and not after that seemly innocent, young couple had robbed her and left her to be eaten by creepers. No, trust him, she would not. Still, he must be a good man to save a little girl at the risk of his own life. However, never underestimate anyone. If there was
one
thing she had learned, people did whatever they had to do in order to survive.

“So, you still have family?” Scarlett was almost jealous and sad at the same time and wondered if he was married.

“Two brothers left, with wives—last I checked,” he said. She could hear the pain in his voice as it faltered.

“Are—were you in the military?” she asked.

He shook his head no, which definitely surprised her by the way he dressed and behaved.

“One of those survivalist types? I mean before . . .”

“No. Yes, actually, come to think of it. I used to be a stockbroker, very successful. Then the crash of 2008—lost everything.”

“I thought you were a farmer?”
Jeez, looks can be deceiving.

“Yeah, I know.” He took another swig of the bottle. “I was the black sheep of the family and became an unscrupulous, spineless stockbroker in New York—” his tone was sarcastic, remorseful, almost shameful.

“Really?” She would never have guessed that.

“The whole nine yards—decadent lifestyle, high-rise penthouse, fancy yacht parties, beautiful and
expensive
wife . . .” he said with obvious regret.

“Go on,” Scarlett was curious.

“Not much to say. After the bottom fell-out, I was up to my ass in debt, upside-down mortgage . . .” He flicked his hand in the air as if in disgust. “You know, the same story for so many Americans, living beyond my means. Then I woke up one morning, and the economy had tanked. I lost everything, including with my wife,” he grimaced. “I pulled a Jack Kerouac for two years, hiked and camped about this side of the Sierra’s avoiding society. In actuality, I was just avoiding myself and all those illicit stock trades and sub-prime mortgage loans I was a part of. It didn’t seem like such a bad thing at the time . . . who knew?” He stopped as if deep in thought. “Payback’s a bitch.”

“Well, that was years ago, did you ever go back to being a stockbroker?”

“Hell no, I couldn’t stomach it. No, I’ve spent the last few years helping my brothers with their farms in exchange for room and board. Had four brothers—in those days. The ironic thing is, back when I was in New York, I was ashamed of my family being simple farmers. I was so full of myself thinking how I had pulled myself out of the gutter and made it bigtime. I was
such
an ass,” he paused for a moment. “Since then, I’ve learned so much about life, what’s really important and how to appreciate it. Then, then this shit happens,” Zac shook his head as if in disbelief.

“This whole Super-Summer flu disaster taught me a lot about myself too. There’re so many things I’d do differently,” Scarlett sighed heavily. Silence seemed to paralyze the moment. She thought it extremely strange that he was confiding in her until she noticed that the bottle of vodka was nearly half-gone.

Scarlett watched as Twila stacked the M&M’s by color, something she thought to be rather odd.
How does she keep them from falling over?

“So, what do you think
really
happened? How can a simple flu virus wipe out humanity?” It was the million dollar question, and she really didn’t expect him to know the answer, but she had to ask it.

Zac didn’t say anything. Instead, he grabbed the bottle and took a long drink, as if contemplating something. He handed the bottle to her. “Might as well.” And she took a long drink herself.

“Chemwebs . . .” he said in a low, eerie tone.

“What?”
Sounds like he’s drunk
. She didn’t know what he was talking about.

He reached for the bottle again. “The metropolitan areas were like human incubators and swe,” his words were starting to slur. “We were the test subjects. They used planes to disperse this spidery-web substance over the big cities. Chemwebs,” he said again, looking at Twila.

“You mean contrails from airplanes?” She remembered Justin talking about contrails. She found it to be a farfetched theory, something always good for a laugh on YouTube.

Was he avoiding eye contact? Suddenly he seemed distant and aloof, not charming. Finally, he looked at her, and Scarlett saw fear in his eyes. Something she hadn’t noticed before, not even after she had shot him, not even when she had removed the bullet, and not even when they’d heard the Ravers outside. But she saw the fear in his eyes now—heard the fear in his voice.

“Chemwebs . . .” he said again, the word fading like the sunlight.

“And, what are
chemwebs
?”

“They look like ordinary spider webs floating in the sky, drifting in the wind. But it’s a façade. Oh yeah, we thought the Banksters were corrupt. Hell, that was nothing, compared to . . . Have you ever heard about the New World Order conspiracies?” He asked, taking another drink.

“Sure,” she said, not liking where he was going with this.
Jeez Louise, not another paranoid conspiracy theory.

“More, like New World Disorder!” he let out a demented laugh.

Great, he’s drunk
. She didn’t want to listen to him anymore.

“See, they embedded optic-like fibers with protein molecules to mess with our DNA and RNA. Why, you may ask? I see your disbelief.”

Scarlett waved him off to “hush-up” and pretended to check on Twila.

“
They
purposively infected us so they could get rich—”

Scarlett had heard enough, “Nevermind, how can anyone get rich by killing off the human race?” she retorted.

“Obviously, they didn’t know what the fuck they were doing.
They
infected us,” he said rather emphatically while waving his unbandaged arm and ended up knocked over the Grey Goose bottle sitting on the plastic tub. He stared at the bottle and didn’t bother to pick it up, letting the vodka spill all over the place.

“I think
you’ve
had enough,” she chastised, grabbing a T-shirt from a bag of clothing and began cleaning the mess.

“They designed the perfect DDS!” he ranted.

“DDS?”

“Unofficially known as a Disease Delivery System—”

“And who’s—they? Are you saying our government
intentionally
created the Super-Summer flu?” Scarlett asked.

“No, no, no, no . . . The global corporate elites,” he slurred.

“Like the Illuminati,” she replied, playing along with him since he obviously wasn’t shutting up.

“Far scarier than the Illuminati,” he said.

“And why would
they
do such a thing?” she frowned.

“A biotech/pharmaceutical company. A ‘get-rich-quick’ scheme that backfired: bigtime. They infected us with the flu virus
they
created. And only
they
had the vaccine. A vaccine that everyone needed. Which, they so conveniently provided to everyone for a small price. Only, somewhere along the line the virus mutated and the vaccine no longer worked.”

“Wow,” the words slipped out in a mere whisper. She didn’t believe in conspiracy theories. And yet, after he had said it, it seemed plausible. Not only plausible, it seemed to be the only logical explanation for such a thing—for the human race to turn into cannibals.

He rubbed his forehead. “Sorry for my outburst. I don’t do so well with alcohol. I don’t mean to sound so pessimistic,” he said as if suddenly aware of how irrational he’d sounded.

“You got any proof of this?” she said and handed him a bottle of water.

“Not me, but a colleague of mine knows a bio-scientist, who knows another scientist . . . and so on,” he shrugged. “Anyway, that’s how I heard about it back in the early days of the pandemic,” he said rubbing his head. “You got any Tylenol?”