Justin lugged a case of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup. “She used to binge on this when we lived on the rooftop in Vacaville,” Justin chirped, stacking it on the dolly.
“The poor kid’s got it bad.” Luther shook his head.
“Ah, to be young and in love—a dangerous combo,” Dean reminisced. What he’d do for another day with Mary . . .
“You’d think Ella is dying of double pneumonia the way he carries on.” Luther laughed.
“They’ll keep us young at heart,” Dean jested and slapped Luther good-naturedly on the shoulder as they walked to the rod-iron gate they’d installed at the resort’s parking lot entrance.
“More good news.” Luther sifted through his knapsack. He pulled out several miniature bottles of Crown Royal. “I know your one and only weakness.”
“Libations! Now that’s what I call a dern good supply run. Propane and Crown Royal. What more can a fella ask for?” Dean smiled.
After locking down the parking lot, they walked through the fifty-yard razor wire maze they had rigged, which connected to the resort’s front entrance. The maze contraption had been an effective method of keeping the dead-heads at bay back at the hotel in Vacaville; only this one was more elaborate with five sharp turns and several dead ends. The dead ends were booby-trapped with balls of barbed wire mesh, rigged to fall on the dead-heads with the slightest bump. It was a well-known fact those dead-heads were none too savvy or graceful. Although it wouldn’t stop a mega-horde bombardment. Fortunately, they hadn’t encountered any mega-hordes like they had back in California.
Dean reached inside his jacket and pulled out the Slim Jims, casually tossing the package to Luther. “This came in for you while you were out,” Dean said as if it had been delivered by the postal service.
Luther’s eyes widened. “You know the way to my heart.” Luther bit into a meat stick, plastic and all, and stripped the plastic with his teeth. “No such thing as cholesterol these days.”
“Who bloomin’ cares?” Dean agreed, feeling his own chest twinge with what he hoped was merely a phantom pain.
Chapter 3
After a hard night’s rain, Scarlett Lewis suited-up the hunting vest. She checked the chamber of the 9mm and then tucked it inside the vest pocket. She automatically inventoried her vital supplies: a canteen of water draped over her shoulder, a compass necklace around her neck, a hunting knife strapped around her waist, and another knife velcroed to her pant leg. On a whim, she slipped a pouch of dehydrated apple slices into her vest pocket. She didn’t bother with the garlic due to her dwindling supply.
It was sunrise, and she was ready. Leaving the treehouse was nerve-racking. She missed the scavenging runs with Justin. He’d been a great partner. Had been. Somehow, he’d had the knack of making life seem not so horrible and dangerous. Zs, that’s what Justin had called them. She preferred calling these hapless victims of the Super Summer flu—creepers.
The odds of surviving this horrific new world without any help was already next to impossible. Adding a child to the equation, well, it was impossible. Almost. Last year she had lived with a group of people in Vacaville, California. Everyone had done their part. Dean, the no-nonsense handy-man, had kept them alive, running the hotel so their small enclave could maintain some semblance of normalcy while they had waited in vain for the government to regain control of the undead trolling the cities.
Everything had changed last winter. After Dean and Luther had gone on a quest to investigate possible military activity, the Stockton Boys had blindsided them and taken over. She had managed to outwit the Stockton Boys’ evil intentions but had become separated from her newly-found friends during their manic escape. As far as she knew, she didn’t have any friends or family left. These days, Scarlett only had herself to depend on.
Still, she shouldn’t complain. She and Twila were safe in their treehouse. She checked on Twila bundled under a mass of blankets. She hated leaving Twila alone, but the child knew how to make her morning tea and hot oatmeal. At least Scarlett had taught her that much.
Scarlett adeptly stepped down the spiked tree trunk. No fishing today. She couldn’t risk leaving her footprints all over the muddy riverbank. If the Ravers spotted her tracks, she’d be in perpetual alert mode for the next few days until they found a possible culprit. And it wouldn’t be her—not if she could help it.
It was a good day to gather walnuts. The apple harvest was over, and the outlying orchards should be free of Ravers. She’d keep an eye out for their not-so-stealthy patrols. There was a grove of walnut trees about a thirty-minute hike away on the outer edge of the apple orchard. Walnuts would be a great supplement to Twila’s diet.
In cat-like hunter mode, she prowled through the forest until she reached the country road. She stopped. There was something about the other side of the road that had always given her the heebie-jeebies. Besides creepers, something mystical and eerie disturbed her like an unreasonable fear from a dream one couldn’t recall in the light of day but always lingered in the darkness.
Scarlett didn’t have time for such nonsense. Acquiring food was at the top of her agenda. If the Ravers were permanently settling in the town, they needed to find a new home. Unfortunately, they were stuck there until spring; she couldn’t risk leaving with winter approaching. Besides, waiting until spring gave her time to plan, find a working vehicle, and more time for Twila to grow up. And, perhaps more time to work on her bravery skills, which had waned since she had spent most of her time hidden in the treehouse. There were too many reasons not to leave, and yet the biggest reason, Ravers, outranked them all. There was no getting around it. They needed a new home.
She fretted about the ominous voice she had heard on her last trip to the walnut grove. Don’t think about it. Scarlett worried she’d become somewhat paranoid and delusional during her isolation in the secluded treehouse with only Twila to keep her company. Strange things were a common occurrence since the pandemic: The voices, the dream-like visions, her compelling intuition . . .
Scarlett knelt at the edge of the road behind a lone apple tree. Next came the hard part: crossing the road. After surveilling the area, she finally found the nerve and crouched across. Her heart fluttered when she spotted a horde of creepers in the distance, sprawling about the ground in their early morning half-slumbering and half-awake state. She checked the wind direction, making sure she was downwind and then snuck to the walnut trees.
Walnuts—she’d been waiting months, savoring the nutty flavor. “What?” she whispered in disbelief. The Ravers had already harvested the walnuts. She hadn’t counted on them finding her secret grove sitting on the far edge of the apple orchards. Determined, Scarlett scoured the ground. There must be some late-fallers. She almost let out a squeal of excitement when she spotted a walnut on the ground. She gently shook it and inspected it for insect damage. She found another one and another one. Soon, the bottom of the gunnysack was covered.
A blood-curdling groan rustled through the withering leaves, spooking a flock of blackbirds roosting in the adjacent tree. Its limbs quivered in their flurried departure as if warning of imminent danger. Scarlett dropped to the ground; the moist dirt chilled her chin and hands.
Creepers! The horde growled and moaned and gurgled, causing a rash of goosebump prickles. Did they see me? Scarlett silently and swiftly grabbed the knife strapped to her belt. She stayed on the ground. If she had to, she’d make a run for it. She peered between the browning grasses. Her nose abruptly stuffed-up. The all too familiar sickening odor suddenly overwhelmed her sinuses. They were close, but she had lost sight of the horde.
Heavy footsteps lurched closer. She didn’t see anything. She jumped up to make a run for it. “Goo-ga-la!” From behind, a creeper body-slammed her to the soggy ground. “Ahhh,” a scream involuntarily escaped her lips. They had been coming from the east the last she had seen them. They had flanked her, unwittingly, she prayed.
Scarlett lay face down in the soil with the creeper riding her bac
k. Its bony hands grappled her neck, ready to rip off her flesh. It had her pinned to the ground. More groans joined in. Louder. Closer. She had to kill it before the rest of the horde tackled her.
Scarlett twisted to her left side, knife in her right hand, just as a fleshless-knobby hand yanked her head back by her hair. Slash. She got it across the neck, but the cut wasn’t deep enough to kill it. It let out the most pathetic shriek, hovering over her, pointing at her. Accusing her.
The others reeled toward her in a frenzied state. “Shit!” She scrambled to her knees and simultaneously snatched the knife strapped to her leg. They had her surrounded. Panic dug into her veins. She swung wildly with a knife in each hand, not aiming, just flinging the knives around like a mad woman.
A strange sensation of calmness descended upon her. With new-found courage, she seized control of the moment. Spinning with outstretched arms, she slashed at the lunging rotting-flesh corpses. The blades kept them at bay . . . until they all jumped her at once.
During her rather surreal pinwheeling rage, she slashed one in the eye. It stumbled back and grabbed at its eye, giving her the seconds she needed. In a daring move, she slashed the adjacent creeper in the eye and then dashed between the two creepers. She had just found a new weakness: the eyes.
Scarlett couldn’t risk going back to the treehouse just in case they were capable of tracking her home. It was better to lure them as far away as possible from their treehouse. She ran through the orchard and then deeper into the forest. After several minutes, she leaned against a tree to catch her breath. And waited. “What a bad day to stop using the garlic,” she uttered.
The horde tottered in her direction. Creepers were relentless. If a creeper even suspected a non-infected human was in the vicinity, it waited hours, sometimes days, for a chance of its carnivorous dinner. She could climb a tree and shoot them in the head, one by one. But, gunshots would attract more creepers and alert the Ravers.
Careful, she chided herself. She had only ventured this far north once when she had happened upon an SUV parked in the woods. It had been a lucky find. The vehicle had been loaded with children’s clothes, toys, and books. Unfortunately, its doors were wide open. The bloodstained seats told her the vehicle’s occupants hadn’t made it. A sickening feeling churned her solar plexus at the unwelcomed image of the creeper family roaming the forest. Were they among the horde tracking her?
After jogging north for a while, she ducked behind a tree. And waited. Fifteen minutes later, the horde scurried into view. They were definitely following her scent. She baited them, leading them farther north, zig-zagging around the trees, spreading her human scent all over the forest. Maybe she could throw them off. She ended up running into the northern end of the river. They’d lose her scent if she waded through the river until she reached her area of the forest. But, she couldn’t leave her footprints all over the riverbank. The Ravers were bound to find them on their next patrol.
She walked along the edge of the forest, heading south toward the bug out. They couldn’t have possibly followed me this far. But, she had an uneasy feeling. This horde seemed different, aggressive, as if they weren’t merely after food. It seemed like they were out for blood. Revenge? It was an absurd thought, a feeling she couldn’t shake. Perhaps the Ravers’ ruthless rampages had made them aggressive. For the Ravers made a sport of them, letting them roam in the forest, saving them for their monthly hunts. Massacres.
Scarlett came to the rocky outcropping she had used several times in the past. It was the perfect vantage point. After the climb, she sat on the sun-baked rock, scouring the area with the binoculars. She was safe, temporarily. Creepers couldn’t climb. It would take a bit of cognizance, and creepers had zero reasoning skills and basically no hand-eye coordination.
It was impossible for these undead beings to learn. Then again, the whole Super Summer flu and the reanimated state of zombie-like beings was impossible. Had been . . . until that August fourteen months ago. That heartbreaking August when Kevin had called off the wedding. Jilted her. That August when all sanity had jilted her.
Scarlett sat on the outcropping and basked in the sun, enjoying the flirtatious breeze playing with her long, black, wavy hair. After an hour, she was confident she had lost them. She zipped her pack, ready to leave, when the hairs on her arms tingled a warning. She quickly scanned the forest again. She didn’t see anything. Why was her intuition warning her? An unsettling sensation crawled from her spine to the back of her neck. She reached for the gun.
Scarlett found herself slipping away. A silver shimmering light swirled around, enveloping her in an invisible bubble. A sparkling silver mist parted to reveal a woman’s face. The face blurred and then came into focus and then blurred again. “Wait, don’t go—”
Scarlett panicked. She concentrated on her breathing, slowly, calmly, evenly. Her focus turned to the sparkling lights floating around her. The lights disappeared when she opened her eyes, so she quickly shut them.
“You and Twila must leave,” an internal voice warned. But it wasn’t her own voice.
Her heart raced.
“Evil lurks in this valley,” the words chimed like whispering strands of silver floating on the wind. “You are Twila’s Protector.”
How can I be Twila’s Protector? I can barely take care of myself, Scarlett tried to say but couldn’t find her voice. Scarlett gazed as the mesmerizing words took shape, like 3D words from a cosmic cartoon. The silvery words floated in front of her and dissolved into tiny, metallic flakes. The confetti-like flakes swirled around and melded together, forming an oblong crystal mirror.
“Your destiny awaits . . .” The silvery words spun around Scarlett’s head. The crystal mirror shimmered to life. Scarlett peered deeply into the mirror. The image of a young girl with honey-golden hair materialized. The girl was trapped inside a translucent capsule, bombarded with bolts of lightning. The lightning bolts pierced the capsule, and water rushed inside. The child pleaded for help. The golden flecks in the girl’s eyes were unmistakable. Scarlett gasped. It was Twila. And, she was drowning right before her eyes.
“Leave. Before it is too late!” The silvery words ignited into flames. Its afterimage singed her eyes. A breath of air blew out the flames. The words changed color and shape like the fluid swirling motion of a lava lamp. The crimson-colored words ballooned in size until they burst, leaving droplets of blood splattering the air and her face. She tasted the blood on her lips—the taste of death.
Poof, the vision vanished. Scarlett opened her eyes. It took a few minutes to remember where she was. How long had she been in the lucid dream state? It had only been a dream. Right? Usually, her bizarre dreams occurred at night—not during broad daylight. Commonsense finally prevailed. She scanned the forest with the binoculars. All was quiet. Still disoriented, she wondered why the sun was on the wrong side of the sky until she realized it was afternoon. She had lost track of time for hours. It was something Twila often did when she was overwhelmed.
Oh no, Twila. The child had been alone in the treehouse all day. Before the Super Summer flu, she’d never even considered leaving a young child on her own for most of the day. Being a grade school teacher, made it even more unconscionable, especially with creepers and Ravers on the prowl. How strange times had become when leaving a child on her own was the wisest decision, for she certainly couldn’t take Twila on her food runs.
What if Twila comes looking for me? She had warned Twila numerous times not to leave the treehouse. A déjà vu feeling took over her senses. “Leave. Before it’s too late!” The words tormented her. The same face and voice often invaded her dreams. Scarlett could no longer deny it; it was time to find a better home for Twila. But how? How could she escape both the Ravers and creepers with a child to protect? She bit her lip. The metallic taste of blood lingered.
***
“Were you scared?” Scarlett asked.
“I knew you were okay.” Twila smiled and sat down at the small dinette table.
/> Twila’s peculiar behavior was a bit unnerving at times, yet who was she to judge. “I’m glad you weren’t scared.”
“She told me you were all right,” Twila said between sips of tea.
Scarlett’s eyes locked onto Twila’s. “Who told you?” Scarlett played along, used to Twila’s imaginary friends.
“The Silver Lady.”
Scarlett left it at that. It wasn’t the first time Twila had mentioned the Silver Lady, the same mystical woman who had visited Scarlett on the outcropping. Twila giggled the way she did when she was up to something. “What’s so funny?” Scarlett grinned back, happy to be home.
“Mommy, I have something very, very important to ask,” Twila said in an unusually grown-up voice.
Scarlett pursed her lips, trying not to laugh. Hmm, here we go again. Twila was an eccentric child. “What are you up to?”
“I want a kitty!” Twila burst, followed by a bout of giggles.
Scarlett had never seen the girl so giddy. A cat? I certainly wasn’t expecting that. “Maybe after we find a new home,” Scarlett offered vaguely. Pets were nearly extinct, one of the first casualties of the Super Summer flu. Not that pets had become infected with the flu virus; no, pets had become victims of the creepers’ insatiable appetites.
“I can’t wait until September. I want my kitty now!” Twila spouted.
Uh, it was October. Why did she say September? Sometimes Twila came up with the craziest ideas. She was about to explain all the reasons why she couldn’t have a pet when she noticed the determined gleam in the child’s golden eyes. When Twila insisted on something and didn’t get her way, a tantrum usually followed. After her close call, she was too burnt-out to deal with a tantrum.
“Let’s wait and see what happens,” Scarlett agreed, hoping to appease her. “What were you up to when I was gone? Did you brush your teeth like a good, little girl?”
“Mommy, I’m not a little girl anymore. I know what to do.”
The Hunger's Howl Page 2
