She exited the west end of the tunnel. Instead of returning, she continued to the stars. She had the oddest sensation of flying in the cosmos and never returning to the mundane earthy plane. Scarlett jumped out of her vision state. Wow, that was too real. She was used to vivid imagery and lucid dream states, but this had been more like an out-of-body experience. Astral projection, her inner voice answered. Had the OBE been brought on by the stone? She tucked the pendant under her jacket.
The ride was slow. Onyx took his time. How long would it take to go twenty miles in these conditions? She watched for signs of flash flooding. Shari had told her to listen carefully, and if she spotted flowing debris, climb the embankment immediately.
Onyx neighed softly in the windless night. A prickle pinched her forehead. Not the probing! She went into self-defense mode after hearing Twila’s whisper. “Onyx knows the way.” Had Twila somehow been with her? Remote Viewing, Shari had called it.
She placed the lapis lazuli stone to her third eye again. Faith replaced her doubts. The powerful stone would protect her.
Chapter 15
Dean Wormer shouted from the balcony of the bakery’s upstairs apartment. “Out of ammo!”
“Incoming!” Luther tossed a mag from the bakery’s front porch. “Last one.”
They had been shit-out of good luck since Last State’s Enforcers had bailed out of Boom Town. Dean had expected the periodic horde attacks. Those mangy dead-heads could smell fresh human flesh for miles. But, dead-heads had turned out to be the least of their problems. Marauders raided them every other blasted day. And worse, for some reason unbeknownst to him, the town had elected him the sheriff of this bunch of hooligans. His odds of dying in a Wild West shoot-out had just increased significantly. A Doc Holliday, he was not.
If I can get that sniper. He squinted through the scope. His eyes weren’t what they used to be. Dean fired away anyway, hoping for a fluky shot.
“I’m out,” Luther yelled.
“Then get the hell inside.” Dean didn’t know what he would do if he lost Luther. They’d been through some rough times together. Somehow, they had always managed to survive.
“Damn straight,” Luther roared.
The dreaded dull click in his ear told him he was out of firepower again. He followed his own advice and ducked inside the upstairs apartment to find a portly stranger in an oversized jacket and winter hat waving to him, rifle pointed down.
“Dean, what’s going on?”
The adrenaline rushing through his veins had him off-kilter. Still, he recognized the voice.
“It’s me.” The man took off his hat. Long black braids fell over his chest.
“Scarlett! Well, twinkle me Mary! You got any ammo for that rifle of yours?”
“Where do you need me?” Scarlett said with determination, ready as always.
“They’ve got us penned in. Got a sniper in the church’s bell tower and another on the Grand Hotel’s roof.”
Scarlett military-crawled to the balcony. “I don’t have a shot from here.” She rolled onto her back and eyed the roof. “I should have a clear shot on the roof.”
“Say, Luther,” Dean shouted down the stairs to the bakery, “our prayers have just been answered. A sharpshooter arrived via the angels of Tombstone. Where’s that ladder?”
Luther poked around the corner of the stairwell. “Ladder?”
“Hey, Luther.”
“Who the hell are you?” Luther shouted.
She let out a dimpled smile. “I tied a pillow to my stomach and grimed my face for that vagrant look.”
“Good God Almighty, Scarlett from Roseville?” Luther gawped with befuddlement. “Well, you picked a helluva time to crash the party.”
“Luther, where’s the ladder?” Dean asked again. “Scarlett thinks she’ll have a clean shot from the roof.”
“The ladder’s next door at Johnny Ringo’s. In the back. Follow me, Scarlett,” Luther said.
“Scarlett, be careful up there. Take cover behind the chimney,” Dean worried.
“On my way!” Scarlett said like the spitfire she was.
Not more than ten minutes later, the bell tower sniper had tolled for the last time. Damn, she’s one hell of a shot.
“Roof sniper. Gone! But what about them?” Scarlett’s voice quavered from the roof.
At least a dozen armored vehicles raced for Boom Town’s closing gates. “Might want to cover your ears right about—” Dean looked to Luther for the answer.
“Now!” Luther bellowed from the balcony.
The rigged dynamite charges went off. The desert exploded three hundred yards in front of the gates while two men finally closed the ten-foot-high, fort-like gate to Boom Town’s entrance.
Luther followed Dean downstairs. Scarlett entered the bakery’s back door looking like a cowhand who hadn’t bathed in a month. She gave him a hearty hug.
More gunshots went off. “That would be the ones who turned.” Dean held his hand to his heart. “Why don’t you stay put. Need to confirm our fatalities.”
“Uh, is that a badge?” She pointed to the star-shaped piece of tin pinned to his checkered shirt.
About all it was good for was getting shot at. “What can I say. It came with the Stetson hat and the black leather duster.” Dean tipped the brand-spanking-new El Presidente hat Luther had given him the day he had been sworn in. Those things cost dern near a thousand bucks. The hat, the duster, and a comfortable pair of Wranglers, along with his snakeskin boots were the only things making the job worthwhile.
“We’ve got our very own Johnny Law,” Luther touted.
Dean scowled. “I’m too old to be playing with guns.”
“You’re perfect for the job,” she teased.
“Feel free to freshen up. Take a shower and whatnot. Luther and I need to check on the damage,” Dean said, patting her on the shoulder as they left. What in tarnation is she doing here? Dean pondered as he stepped outside.
***
Dean and Luther hurried down the wooden-planked walkway to their unexpected guest when gnawing started at his gut, eating its way from the inside out. He had just witnessed the second deaths of six of his best men who had turned dead-head on him. His sorry excuse of a militia, more like a shoddy apocalyptic version of the Dirty Dozen had been reduced to half.
The men he had sent to Cannon AFB on a weapon and ammo run never had returned. And he hadn’t seen hide nor hair from that overconfident Padilla fellow. At least Last State hadn’t cut off the electricity. Every week Dean had the uncomfortable encounter of informing a wagon train of refugees that Texas was full-up.
“Why d’ya think Scarlett’s here?” Luther asked somberly.
“Hell if I know,” Dean pondered aloud, afraid of the truth behind it. “But it can’t be good.”
Peters waved. “Didn’t think we were going to make it through that one.”
Dean nodded. They most likely wouldn’t have, if Scarlett hadn’t arrived. He had lost two men just trying to shut the gates. “Say, Peters, why don’t you take charge of this shift. Put together a night shift while you’re at it. I’ve got things to attend to.” Peters was one of the three men he had deputized. A no-nonsense fellow all in all.
“Got it covered,” Peters assured.
Dean clapped Luther on the back. “We’re sittin’ ducks out here,” Dean muttered.
“I was talking to Krasinski on the ham radio just before the attack. They’re in Albuquerque. They should make it back tomorrow.”
“It’s cutting it close. If we get another surprise attack, we might as well crawl into a hole and hide. ’Cause we don’t have enough ammo to last five blasted minutes,” Dean reminded.
Luther stopped. “Ready for the good news? They’re bringing three machine guns and a cache of ammo. Along with M4s, grenades, and all kinds of goodies that go boom.”
“What took ’em so long?” Dean grumbled. Of course, he had sent the men on an impossible mission. He had told them not to bother coming
back if they hadn’t found any ammo. What was the point?
“No luck at Cannon AFB. They had to go to Kirtland. And get this, they hooked up with a band of eighteen survivors. All men, ready to fight. They’re hauling ass here as we speak.” Luther gleamed his pearly whites.
“Machine guns. That ought to do the trick.” If they could mount them to the towers, it would give the town a formidable appearance. Once they beefed up their militia, Boom Town could reopen for business. They were running low on food. Trade was the purpose of this town. Then again, no ammo would be a great excuse for jumping ship and leaving the fledgling town to the next set of Armageddon thugs.
They hustled back to the bakery, anxious to see Scarlett. The shops' windows were shot to hell, broken glass all over the place. There was going to be a lot of clean up. It broke his heart. Every time they got things in order, running a halfway semblance of a normal society, things went south. It made him wonder who had it in for mankind.
Dean had his hand on the bakery’s door when Bates Senior yelled out, “Good job.” Bates Junior hadn’t survived the last gunfight. He had lost too many good men. Dean wasn’t cut out for this sort of life. He felt like a washed-up, over-the-hill John Wayne who didn’t know when to cash in his chips.
They walked inside to find a damp-haired Scarlett sitting at the bakery’s table just as fetching as ever. After another round of hugs, the three of them sat at the only booth with an unbroken window.
Before Dean realized it, he blurted, “It’s Ella, isn’t it? Something’s wrong.”
Scarlett’s aquamarine eyes flickered with secrets.
“Are Ella and Justin all right?” Luther probed.
“And that youngin’ of yours, Twila?” Dean asked.
Luther held up his hands. “Before you start—” Luther darted to the kitchen. He returned with a tray of shot glasses and a bottle of Jose Cuervo. “Been saving this for a special occasion.” Luther’s hands trembled as he poured them a round of tequila.
“Perfect,” Scarlett said.
Dean could use a drink. His nerves were shot. “To the best of friends,” Dean toasted. Although, not necessarily the best of times.
After the clinking of glasses and the downing of tequila, an uncomfortable silence followed.
“Ella’s pregnant again,” Scarlett finally spoke. “She’s not doing well.”
“How far along is she?” Dean asked.
“Six months.”
“She’s doing better than last time.” Dean looked to Luther. “During her first pregnancy, she had problems from the get-go. We wound up taking her to Father Jacob as I recall.” How could he forget the fanatical cultish group?
“Yup. Pardon me, but gunfights and pregnancy give me anxiety,” Luther drawled, pouring himself another shot. “Anyone else?”
“No thanks,” Scarlett said. “So, that’s when she met Father Jacob.”
“Yes, and yes.” Dean pointed to his glass.
“Uh, this is going to sound bizarre,” Scarlett continued in a tone above a whisper. “Ella said she traveled all over the country in Father Jacob’s wagon train in search for expectant mothers. But, by the time they reached each enclave, the mother had died before giving birth. How had Father Jacob known where they were? I mean it’s not like they had cell phones and GPS.”
Dean merely nodded. “Father Jacob was a knower of . . . things.”
“The Sacred Thirty-three,” Luther uttered ominously.
“What?” Scarlett’s eyes widened.
“Father Jacob received a calling to seed the new Earth just before the outbreak,” Dean explained. “He was on a mission to save humanity’s new children.” Dean had a sudden notion the new generation of children were somehow different. Suppose they would have to be in order to survive. Survival of the fittest. Only those immune to the Super Summer flu had a chance.
“Did you know he saved Ella?” Scarlett asked.
“Father Jacob was full of shit.” Luther seethed through clenched teeth.
Dean poured Luther a shot this time. “Father Jacob was definitely demented. But more on the Biblical side. Though, I wouldn’t put anything past him.”
Luther downed the shot of tequila.
“Scarlett, why are you really here? And don’t tell me you came here by your lonesome?” Dean scolded, knowing the answer.
“Just me and my handsome stallion.” Her smile was slight—no dimples. “Do you happen to have a package for me?” she blurted.
“Hey, how’d you know?” Luther slid across the booth’s leather seat. “I left it under the counter.” He rummaged under the register’s counter.
Luther set the brown-paper package bound in string onto the table. They all stared at it as if it held the answers to the unknown. Scarlett slit the strings with a knife. She opened the package to find an antique-looking tin inlaid with colorful stones and crystals.
She carefully opened the lid. “This is why I’m here. The magical tea,” Scarlett announced.
“Did you just say what I thought you said? Magical tea? Man, I must be dreaming this shit up,” Luther scoffed.
“I know it sounds crazy. Ella swears the tea will save the baby. And if it doesn’t, I think if she miscarries, she might die.” She sniffed the powder. “Is this all there is?”
“The stranger said he’d return with another package,” Luther said in a bewildered tone. “I didn’t question him. I thought he was a wack job. I wanted him to leave before he started kumbaya-ing me to death.”
“Say, don’t they have doctors in Texas?” Dean interrupted.
Scarlett’s calm exterior eroded. “We have to escape before they find us.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Why’s that?” All that trouble to get into Last State and they already wanted to leave. Scarlett had been known to be irrational at times, but she wasn’t one to fly off the handle. There had to be a reason behind the fear emanating from her.
“Can you believe they take the babies—before they are born?” Scarlett’s voice went hoarse. “For the stem cells or something. I think they concocted a Fountain of Youth elixir. But it’s only for the Elites.”
“What kind of crazy Voodoo shit you be talking about?” Luther exclaimed.
Scarlett threw up her hands. “I know, I know. I don’t understand. Something beyond our comprehension is occurring. They are meddling with the fate of the human race. If this actually is the monoatomic tea, someone is on our side,” Scarlett said vaguely.
“What the hell is mono-something tea?” Luther boomed, still refusing to accept the impossible.
Not that Dean comprehended it. But things were what they were. The impossible had run rampant ever since the mysterious flu bug had brought mankind to his knees in the grisliest way imaginable. He had learned to trust his gut when it warned him about this or that. And he had begun listening to his frequent pesky dreams, which was the only reason they had outwitted the last attacks.
Dean had always seemed to know exactly where to lay down the dynamite charges and had always known precisely when the attacks would occur. He hadn’t told people these warnings had been the whisperings of dreams that remained vivid in the light of day. Who’d believe such a thing? He sure as hell didn’t. And yet there he was, still alive, sitting across the blue-eyed beauty in the unlikely western town in what was left of the Lost States of America.
“Who delivered the package?” Dean inquired.
“A man in a robe. Wait a minute—Father Jacob’s people.” Luther had that aha recognition in his eyes. “I’m good with faces. But the man’s face is a blur. All I remember is something about saving it for the blue-eyed one. But I wasn’t expecting you to show up,” Luther admitted.
“I’ve witnessed many mystical events since . . .” Scarlett’s voice wandered off. “It’s a miracle. And Ella needs a miracle. So, I take it Justin isn’t here?” Scarlett said with tear-brimmed eyes.
It was the unknown question Dean had been waiting for. “Is he supposed to be here?”
/> “What’s going on?” Luther started to pour another shot. He hesitated. “I thought everything was hunky-dory in Texas.” He decided against another round and banged the bottle down on the table.
“It’s not what we thought. Texas is ruled like a dystopian dictatorship by a small group of people known as Elites. Everyone else is just a worker bee. Me, Twila, Ella, and Justin—we’re all trying to defect.”
“Why you?” Dean puzzled.
“All women, sixteen and up are required to be wives. Can you believe it? They auctioned Twila and me to the highest bidder. Only a few children survived the pandemic. Here I was excited to start teaching again. But, they don’t need teachers.” A tear fell perfectly onto her lower lip. “Humanity is dying out.”
Luther’s wild-eyed expression gave away to sadness. “How’d you and Twila escape?” Luther asked.
“I trusted my, uh, inner vision and just went with it. Twila helped as well. She’s a remarkable child.”
That part Dean understood somewhat. The child was different, and that was putting it mildly. “Now let’s backup. What makes you think Justin’s here?” They were skipping around all over the place. He needed to put things into perspective. Then he could assimilate it all and sieve out the impossible bullcrap. At least give it a shot, anyhow.
“Justin was sent to an undisclosed location to work in a Think Tank. Apparently, he started finding out disturbing things. He sent Ella a cryptic message in November. She thinks she’s supposed to meet him here. But it’s February. Something must have happened to him.” She frowned. “Actually, I had planned to bring Ella here if the tea stabilizes her. But, it doesn’t look like it’s all that safe.” Scarlett let out a long breath and stared out the window.
“Say, how’d you cross Zoat?” Dean asked.
“Smuggler’s tunnel. Despite Last State’s perfect New World Order, the Elites still want the niceties of our old world. It’s an unsaid policy that smugglers are tolerated as long as they keep a low profile and provide the wanted contraband.”
Only The Dead Don't Die (Book 3): Last State Page 16
