“What were we supposed to do, let them close our borders? If we didn’t lie people like your parents wouldn’t have stood a chance.”
“But maybe that’s why we haven’t had any communication from the government. Y’all letting sick people out of the state probably killed everyone.”
“Hey, don’t blame me. Did you hear anything after they locked you in Florida?”
“No.”
“Well, it’s not our fault then. Louisiana had lots of contact with the government after Florida shut down.”
“It’s been a while now and still nothing.”
“The reason there’s been nothing since evacuation is because they just think we’re all dead or don’t care if we’re alive.”
“I suppose you’re right. Hey, I don’t want to argue. I’m only glad to see a friendly face… Hey, I’m sorry about your dad.”
Him being the first person to ever say that, I about choked up at his words. Dillon hadn’t even had enough humanity left when he found out. Forgetting the topic, I asked, “Did you see many folks coming up this way?”
“Not anyone I’d consider friendly. Everyone’s so concerned about survival and protecting themselves.”
His words made me think about how I’d been sitting in the car wasting gas. “Look, I’ve got to get going. Sorry about taking your keys. Just trying to survive.”
“It’s okay. The Camaro isn’t mine just something I picked up a few miles back. I had a much nicer ride…”
I cut him off before he could brag. I’m sure an NBA star had a much nicer everything. His large hands were still on the car. Sure, we’d had a nice conversation so far, but I wasn’t sure how I’d get out of it. Any other time, I’d be intrigued. I did not survive this long by trusting anyone but myself. “Sorry, I’m late for a meeting.” I was bluffing.
“Oh, okay.” He stepped back on instinct, his manners showing.
I took the opportunity to put the car in drive.
“You think your friends would want to meet?”
“I don’t know.” What was I supposed to say? I couldn’t pull some friends out of thin air.
He went on, “Kinda quiet here. I’m thinking of staying a while. Or maybe I can go with.”
“I’ll talk to them about it.”
“You do that because I’m tired of running. If y’all out here surviving, I could be of some help. I want to join your… group.”
“Oh, really?” I laughed.
“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve met a soul who hasn’t tried to kill me right off. You’re the first one.”
Horrible, I thought and took my hand off my gun.
“Plus, your beautiful. I want to go wherever you go.”
“Funny.” I shook my head.
“Seriously, there’s no time for holding back anymore. World has ended. Beautiful lady, smart enough to try to steal my ride, damn, baby.”
“I really have to go,” I told him, with the biggest smile on my face.
“Okay. We’ll talk later. Where can I find y’all?” He asked.
Suddenly, I thought about my stalker.
Couldn’t be him, could it? Troy was at this house the day after I’d been here. I’d only ran into him while breaking my routine. Thinking of Dillon’s crew, I quickly made up some bullshit. “We have rules. I can’t bring someone unannounced. Safety and all.”
“Hey, if you like the Camaro, you can take it.” He held out the keys, tempting me. “Really.”
“That’s mighty kind of you, but I couldn’t.” I didn’t know how I could politely get out of this precarious situation. I didn’t know this guy at all. Troy, hot as he was, as nice as he seemed was humongous. And I was a woman all alone with no friends in actuality.
“I’ve got some oranges inside, wait.” He tried to keep me there.
“See you around,” I said, before I sped off.
I drove in circles around town in case he followed me. I picked up the radio more than once, thinking of telling Dillon about the encounter but decided against it. Troy hadn’t caused any trouble for me, yet. Calling Dillon, I’d be protected. He’d told me more than once, he could be here in thirty minutes if need be. However, the call would bring a world of trouble not only for Troy who could be the nicest guy on the planet for all I knew, but for me as well. Dillon would throw me over his shoulder like a cave man and drag me kicking in screaming into his new life. There’d be nothing Troy, a big, strong, handsome NBA star or not could do about it. Maybe against Dillon personally but not against the Stayers.
Did I just think handsome? I parked thinking about our interaction. Troy had been lovely, and he wasn’t threatening me, yet, a bonus since the only man I’d seen in months threatened me, blackmailed me, you name it. First impression, Troy was hot and sweet. My cheeks burned with a real big smile for the first time in forever. But I needed to be certain he wasn’t a threat. I’d give him a week and see what happened. Next week, I’d go talk to him again. I’d lived in Creepy my whole life with 564 other people. I think I could handle sharing it with one or two more.
I wasn’t going to let a new person in town cramp my style. I went about my day as usual not counting the fact I was in the Buick and not the truck. After cleaning out a few driveways and sheds on the opposite side of town, I was eating some fried shrimp over instant cheese grits made from a packet at Mrs. Dean’s in no time. I checked my watch, almost on schedule. I’d missed my grocery store run but one day wouldn’t hurt. Slowly, I’d been stockpiling all I could in a secure location, somewhere Dillon couldn’t find it. The day would come that I’d have to leave my home, and I’d been preparing.
Back home I continued my routine, the one Dillon interrupted yesterday. I picked tomatoes even if they were green because the bugs got them as soon as they ripened. I took my canned goods and paper products, dried herbs and fruit, anything I’d found that would be of use in the future that I could carry, all I could carry over to my neighbor’s house. About a half mile down the road, at the end of my lane sat a huge white plantation house with a finished, waterproof basement perfect for storing supplies. Spooky and secluded, the residence sat on the list of one of Louisiana’s most haunted properties. Before the pandemic, the owner hosted private stays for those who could afford it. Even better, a tall iron gate surrounded the once lavish grounds. Having looked after the place for old man Jules a time or two, I knew the combination to the side gate. Stepping through a clearing, I took a short cut around to reach it.
The rest of the week I stuck to my normal schedule, starting with my walk to the mailbox. On Friday, while driving down main street to Dirty Rice, a black Suburban rolled by. Troy waved, and I waved, it was the only polite thing to do. Sunday was the only day I deviated from my schedule. I put on my finest for church, wondering if I should invite the only other resident in town.
Maybe next week.
Creepy’s downtown boasted three big churches, a Baptist, Methodist and Catholic. Covering all my bases I rotated my visits to all three. Saint Mary Mother Cathedral stood out in size being second only to our massive courthouse. Yellow and white brick layered up like a cake to the cross topped steeple. White medieval crosses dotted the façade. Huge arching doors and rainbowed glass made it by far the handsomest building in Creepy. A greening, bronze statue of some saint stood at the entrance. I didn’t know him. Being baptized down the street at the age of thirteen, I was no Catholic. I didn’t agree with everything Christians believed, especially when it came to my papa and who he loved, but him and I always attended church on Sunday.
“Don’t let them take Jesus from you,” my papa would say about hateful Christians.
Admiring the rows of white marble columns, I strolled up the narrow aisle to the statue of Mary. Under her, I lit every candle. I found it comforting. Just as I had them all ignited, I blew them out as to not burn the place down. Then I went to work. Back in the office, I grabbed some cleaning supplies and a feather duster. Three weeks of grime awaited me.
Sunday being t
he only day I skipped going on my scavenging hunt, I still went to the diner. I’d worked up an appetite and the generator wouldn’t fill itself. Grabbing a butcher knife, I knew what I was after. Stepping into the freezer, I pried two wieners off an industrial sized frozen block of them. What goes with bun less wieners? A rectangle of hash browns would do. Paired with a big helping of ketchup and mustard, it’d be a treat for sure. Leaving the freezer with a smile on my face I ran right into Dillon again.
“What the fuck?” I almost dropped my food.
“You forget again? It’s Monday.”
“Is not.” I was astonished.
“Sure, it is. Don’t you look nice.” He undressed me with his eyes. “Is that a new sun dress?”
“It is. Had church. So, I know it’s not Monday.”
“You’ve got me.”
“What are you doing here? There are no freebies.”
“I had business nearby.”
“You didn’t message me first… you just like to scare the bejesus out of me?”
“I love making you jump, Sissy.”
“I’ve got the radio on. Business in Creepy?”
“My crew saw a truck headed this way. I came as soon as I heard. To check on ya. You seen anyone?”
“Yeah,” I answered, automatically, before thinking twice about it. Fuck.
“What the ever-living shit, Sissy.”
Fuck. I shouldn’t have told him. I tried to play it off. I shrugged. “Creepy has a new resident.”
Dillon’s face twisted around.
“I should have invited him to church.”
Dillon became red. “And you didn’t radio me?”
“Why would I?”
“Who is he? Where is he?”
“How do you know it’s a he?”
“Boys saw a man driving an Amazon Prime truck this way.”
“Troy is a basketball player. He seems nice enough.”
“And?... Where is he?”
I held out my hands. “That’s all I know.”
“Sissy, I swear…”
“Fuck, Dillon. I didn’t have to tell you the truth.”
He started to leave.
“Where are you going?”
He didn’t answer that. He didn’t have to. I knew he’d be going to look for Troy.
“Keep your crew away from my house or our deal is off,” I yelled, as he was mostly out the door.
“I’ll be back.”
Back at home I noticed right away I’d had a visitor. Two twigs tied together with a blade of grass to make a cross greeted me on the porch. There was a little flower stuck in the middle of it. Like every other time I’d gotten something from my stalker, I grabbed my gun and checked the perimeter of the house. Finding nothing, I sat on the porch swing sulking. Poor Troy. I’d probably gotten him killed. If I ever saw him again, I’d invite him to dinner. Then again, maybe he was my stalker. I hadn’t seen another living soul in Creepy. I had no idea if he was who he says he was. There was no internet anymore, no way to check. And didn’t Dillon say he was driving through Alexandria, the wrong direction if you’re coming from Florida. He said a truck, not a Camaro.
Or then again, maybe the house at the end of the lane was haunted. Reminded of my routine, I went inside to gather my large pot and odd jars, a Classico spaghetti jar, some big salsa jars and glass pickle ones. Thanks to Mrs. Dean, I knew about canning. Thankfully, she’d been cheap enough to show me how to reuse old jars. I canned some tomatoes and basil and made some salsa. Dillon hadn’t come back like he said he would. Worried for Troy, I radioed him.
“Are you coming over or what?”
“You seen anyone?”
“No, no sign of Troy. You find him?”
“No. It’s getting dark… probably… heading back.” His radio was cutting out.
“Okay… see you.” I ended the call and turned the radio off.
Since Dillon wasn’t coming, and it was starting to get dark, I planned to head over to the Jules house to hide my new jars of sauce. My hands on my hips, admiring the lot of them, I counted in my head. Though they were still warm, I emptied my backpack all but the black steel baseball bat I’d strapped to the outside. Smoothing my hair, I put on my headlamp. I’d need it for the quick trip in and out of the dark basement. I stuffed as many jars as I could in the backpack and filled two small Trader Joe’s totes. Before the pandemic, I used to make a trip into Alexandria for groceries because the produce at Piggly Wiggly wasn’t good enough for me. Often wishing I had time to grow my own, I laughed at the irony.
Slinging on my heavy backpack, I grabbed the handles and vaulted down the back steps. Carrying a load, I kept a steady but quick pace, focused solely on completing my task. Every step familiar, the worn path through the overgrowth guided me to the gate. An inkling of worry interrupted my journey. The path was too worn, detectable. I thought about the cross on my doorstep. I’d take another path next time. Setting the bags down only to punch in the combination, the muscles in my arms burned. I stretched them over my head and behind me, tugging each one straight to feel some relief.
Bending to pick up the heavy bags, I centered on my chore again. Like I had a million times, I went straight to the side door, probably once a servant’s entrance, one that didn’t even lock. When I moved in, I’d be installing a dead bolt for sure. Not that it’d do anything to keep out a human who could bust in the wooden door. A zombie on the other hand would be deterred with the right lock. Leaning on the knob with my elbow, I twisted while using my foot to pry the door open. I slipped in, letting the heavy door shut behind me. The basement laid straight down the hall. Pitch black in this side of the house, I counted my steps until I almost ran into the door. At least this door locked. I’d made sure of it, installing a deadbolt when I decided to use the space. I sat down the bags and reached up to use one finger to turn on my head lamp. Even reaching up hurt. I scolded myself for overdoing it. Being sore tomorrow would cancel out my extra efforts today.
“Don’t be too hungry,” my papa would say anytime I bit off more than I could chew.
“Pace yourself,” I said, under my breath.
I dug in my pocket for my growing ring of keys. I flipped through until I found the ancient one and the newest one. Unlocking the knob and the dead bolt, I gained entry to my secret stash. I picked up the bags and treaded down the wooden stairs carefully.
Basements were scary in general. This one was no different, no matter with the proper lighting it was quite cozy, being finished out and all. Regardless, I ignored the tingles climbing my spine as I descended the stairs, even as I broke a few cobwebs with my face. I didn’t even bother knocking them down anymore. Spiders, the little workaholics they were, quickly replaced them. I stowed the jars away on the high shelves of the built-in bookcase that lined the whole wall. I left the basement a hundred pounds lighter, bounding up the stairs. Taking the keys, I locked the doors and headed down the dark corridor until something stopped me. A sound. I froze.
“Hhhrr…” and thump.
A motherfucking zombie.
Not wanting to blast a hole in the wall, I unstrapped my bat and swung it over my shoulder. Dreading the cleanup of killing a zombie, I tiptoed farther into the house.
“Hhhrr…”
I followed the sound, rounding each corner, anticipating an undead monster to scuttle toward me. Halfway through the mansion, I’d come into the light, out of the shadows, where the large front windows illuminated the rooms. Fuck. I’d have an even bigger mess to clean up with the melting zombie oozing goo all over these beautiful floors.
“Hhhrr…” Thump. Thump. Whack.
I peeked around the corner for a shock. A young man crouched, his arms out in a fighting stance. His face serious, he made the, “Hhhrr,” I’d heard. In one swift motion he spun around, jumped up and kicked.
Holy fuck. He’s being attacked by a zombie.
I acted quick. Busting into the room, aiming to right where I anticipated his enemy to be. Pinching my
eyes shut tight, as to not get any zombie splatter in my eye, I swung the bat like it was the ninth inning, and I was hitting a home run. Only I missed my mark. My eyes sprung open. No one was there. In my surprise, the weight of my bat, not making an impact, propelled me around as it continued its motion. I hit the man in his stomach.
He doubled over.
I dropped the metal bat, making it clack on the floor.
Cradling his stomach, the man held out his other arm, his hand palm out. “I’m unarmed.”
Rushing to him, I helped him to the floor. “I thought you were being attacked. What the hell are you doing in here?”
“Name’s Arlo, nice to meet you too.” He sat up on his elbows and held out his hand again.
I took it but let go of it quick. “What were you doing in here?” I tried again.
“It’s called Kar..a..te.” Channeling Mr. Miyagi, he pronounced the word totally different than I would. His accent dripped surfer dude. Handsome, he reminded me of a young Matthew McConaughey circa Dazed and Confused. But he sounded like Keanu Reeves’ Ted.
“I thought there was a zombie. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”
“Yeah, I taught self-defense, and now I’m down on my ass. Hey, do you need a lesson?”
“Karate, no, what good will that do me?”
“The zombies. You wouldn’t have to use a bat.”
“What good would it do me to beat up a zombie.” My hand going to my pistol, I pulled up the fabric of my legging to show him. “I’ve got a gun, a Rugar, a nine-millimeter. And more where that came from.”
“There’s no need to kill them. They’re not amazingly fast. They used to be people, our loved ones.”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t believe it.” I hadn’t been talking to him but myself.
He replied, anyway, “Really if you’re immune, even if they bite, you’re okay. Clean the wound though.” Arlo yanked up his t-shirt to reveal a beautiful set of abs, an eight pack I didn’t know was possible. “Here.” He took my hand, having me feel a scar.
Impressive, but more impressive, I brushed my fingers along the muscles, feeling heat rise in me. It’d been a while since I’d had any contact with flesh that hadn’t been Dillon’s. Snapping out of it, I remembered we were talking about zombies. I asked him, with a laugh, “What do you do with them then? Just let them eat you?”
Wicked Souls: A Limited Edition Reverse Harem Romance Collection Page 165
