Only The Dead Don't Die (Book 3): Last State

by Popovich, A. D.

  “What if I want to run Boom Town?” Mad Dog nattered on.

  One by one, Dean’s men cocked their weapons in response to the egomaniac’s threat.

  He’s one cocky SOB. “Doubt that. Too much trouble. And the pay’s lousy.” Dean wiped the spittle on the back of his pant leg. “Don’t got all day. I’ve got sheriff business to attend to. Kindly state your purpose here,” Dean repeated firmly.

  “A thief stole one of my trucks loaded with goods. We tracked the fucker here. So, give him up Marshal Dillon,” he demanded. “Or else.” Mad Dog certainly wasn’t winning any congeniality contests.

  “Funny you should mention that. By any chance, was it an Asian kid? A scrawny fella?” Dean frowned, wearing his best poker face.

  Mad Dog stared him down. Dean held his glare, refusing to back down. After dealing with the likes of the Stockton Boys, marauders, and Enforcers, he didn’t let anyone yank his chain. Or show it.

  “I knew Punk Ass was here.” Mad Dog’s smile turned into a sneer.

  “Was,” Dean emphasized. “He traded the pickup for a horse from Johnny Ringo. The sucker rode off like a bat out of Hell not more than twenty minutes ago.” Dean didn’t bother to say Justin had left in the pickup since there weren’t any fresh tire tracks leading north or south. But horse tracks riddled the area. It would lead Mad Dog’s posse on a wild goose chase. Dean was starting to enjoy this. He could pull this off if he didn’t go too far. “Follow the tracks. You’re bound to catch up with him in those vehicles.”

  Mad Dog’s sneer turned into a glowering scowl. “The truck and its contents are mine. Return it. Or there will be bloodshed.”

  “Let me get this straight. You want to steal the property the kid stole, which you stole?” Dean’s men laughed right on cue, and Dean’s hunch was Mad Dog didn’t relish being at the butt end of the joke. “Who’s paying Johnny Ringo for the horse and saddle?”

  “Tough fuckin’ shit.” Mad Dog glared with the intensity of an angry bull ready to charge.

  “Looks to me we’re at a stalemate,” Dean stated firmly. Dean’s men gathered closer, encircling Mad Dog.

  Mad Dog’s beady eyes squinted narrower, unwavering despite the hardware cocked and ready to go. Sure, they could shoot the fellow, bury him in the desert. But Dean didn’t know how much firepower his gang had. In order to keep things copacetic, might be time to back down a notch and let the hot head think he had won this round.

  “Tell you what, don’t want any hard feelings. And being you’re a good sport and all. How’s about we settle this nice and peaceful like with a side of barbecue right off the spit? Hell, might as well turn the pickup over to you. Devoid of its cargo, of course, since the thief owed us.” Must be some good cargo in that pickup for them to hunt Justin down. Weaponry and ammo, he was hoping.

  Dean thought Mad Dog was about to blow a head gasket, white smoke and all. He could almost see the anger clouds of smoke seething from his freshly shaved head. “How about it? It’s a fair trade for everyone. And nobody has to die for some stupid punk.”

  “What kind of barbecue?” Mad Dog shifted from foot to foot.

  Was Mad Dog taking the bait and switch? Not that the visitor had much choice at the moment. “It just so happens, we slaughtered a cow yesterday. How many in your party?” Dean asked like a Golden Corral hostess.

  “A dozen.”

  “Say, Luther,” Dean announced into the radio, “Need an order to-go of Bubba’s B-B-Q. Enough for a dozen. While you’re at it, throw in a side of those spicy baked beans for good measure.” Dean forced back a chuckle. Those beans would come back to haunt Mad Dog and his cronies. “Krasinski, send a team to unload the pickup. Deliver it with the food. On the double!” He’d rather risk looking like a grumpy soft-hearted sheriff as opposed to the alternative: a shit-out-of-luck-and-ammo sheriff.

  “What if we want to stay at the Grand Hotel for a few nights?” Mad Dog started in again.

  “Did I mention? We’re plum full up, “Dean drawled with his best John Wayne impression. “Next time, make reservations.” Dean clapped Mad Dog on the back, well aware he treaded with danger. His gut wrenched at the touch of the man.

  Mad Dog’s glare sliced through his skin. Boom Town better be prepared for his next visit.

  ***

  Dean walked into the bakery used up, done posturing. The cold, hard reality of the situation settled in. We got out of it today. What about tomorrow? And the next day? It was only a matter of time before someone with more firepower and less scruples took over Boom Town for no other reason than there was nothing left to do in this wasteland west of the place he had known as Texas.

  “Smoooth,” Luther complimented.

  Dean just shook his head and clutched his heart. Luther pulled out a chair for him.

  “Justin, you’ve got some splainin’ to do,” Luther bellowed up the stairwell.

  “You’re awesome,” Justin shouted as he barreled down the stairs. “I had a front row seat from the balcony. Uh, Dean, you don’t look so good.”

  “Give me a minute. I’ll be fine.” Since his stent operation last year, he’d felt twenty years younger. Until today. Something about that Mad Dog fellow was off. His cold-blooded nature still chilled Dean’s blood.

  “Guys, I didn’t want to say anything.” Justin paused. “Do you know who Mad Dog is?”

  Luther scurried to the table with a decanter of sun tea and glasses.

  Justin waited for Luther. “He’s the el sicko zerrorist who herded the X-strain horde through Last Chance.”

  Luther dropped the tray onto the table. “You were hangin’ with those evil bastards?” Luther clamored.

  “Now, how would you know that?” Dean said perturbed.

  “Like, Mad Dog bragged about it all the time. They don’t do hordes anymore. Last State doesn’t need any more Zs in Zoat. They’re back to regular looting. He’s like a celebrity in Zhetto,” Justin quipped.

  “Question. What is Zhetto?” Dean had to ask. The kid had nicknames for everything.

  “It’s what Last State hashtagged the Texan panhandle. It’s where the homeless live. The ones who can’t or won’t conform to Last State’s regime.”

  “A heads-up,” Luther interrupted. “If I ever see the bastard again, I’ll blow-off the mutha’s head.” Luther walked away, cursing under his breath.

  “Guys, guys, you’re missing the point. I’ve got to get Ella out of Last State,” Justin blathered.

  “Now hold on a minute, son. I don’t care how bad things are in Texas. This place isn’t going to make it much longer. Naw, between Mad Dog and reports of Ravers—”

  “Ravers? The California gang Scarlett told us about?” Justin gawped.

  “Yup.” Luther nodded.

  “Dude, this is like the Wild West.” Justin slumped into his chair.

  “We won’t last another fight,” Dean fretted. “It’s too bad we never heard back from that Padilla fella. He promised us defected Enforcers, ammo, the whole shebang.”

  “You mean someone actually wants to help?” Justin seemed surprised.

  “Still some decent folk left. Padilla was pretty well connected with the Enforcers. Played both sides of the fence,” Dean said.

  “They probably killed him off.” Luther sounded unusually dismal. “Texas is starting to look better every day.”

  “Dude, you hate Texas,” Justin chastised.

  “I’m tired of sleeping with one eye open,” Luther said.

  “Guys, there’s all kinds of ammo and weapons in the truck. Weird, it’s like I knew you needed it.”

  “There’s a lot of that spooky knowing shit going on,” Luther rumbled.

  “According to Scarlett, she, Ella, and Twila are holed up in a safehouse for the time being. What’s so bad about Last State?” Dean needed the facts; Scarlett’s information had been based on dreams, visions, and intuition.

  “Texas, I mean Last State is cray-cray. It’s like some dystopian society right out of a Margaret Atwood n
ovel. They monitor everything we do,” Justin whispered as if afraid they were listening in.

  Dean rebutted with, “Well, we’ve got hordes and gunfights. Can’t you tough it out ’til we come up with a viable option?”

  “What about the job they offered you?” Luther asked.

  “They had me compiling the data of every single person’s social media clicks and keyword searches. Everyone’s likes and dislikes and choice of emoticons. You know, happy faces, winky faces, sad faces . . .”

  “Don’t tell me they’re back at that nonsense again?” Dean didn’t know much about social media; all that bullcrap had been a waste of time. “Say, what’s the harm in happy faces?”

  “It’s what they do with the info,” Justin continued. “They created a social credit score, rating and profiling every person in Last State. They tell us who we can be friends with—have to be friends with. They only have one social media platform. CitChat. One news media, CitNews. And one Intranet and search engine, History of Everything. They have actually rewritten history.”

  “How’s that?” Dean puzzled.

  “Like, uh, Nikola Tesla doesn’t even exist. You can’t find the Bill of Rights or the Constitution of the United States anywhere online.”

  “That’s messed up,” Luther interjected.

  “I know, right? It gets scarier. They offered me this promotion. Organizing and analyzing the Human Factor in the big data—”

  “Hold on,” Dean butted in. “The human what? And what exactly is big data?”

  Justin rolled his eyes. “The point is everyone is placed into categories. Medium to high-risk cits are required to undergo therapy. For example, Anger Management, Racial Acceptance, Religion is a Myth, Anxiety Relief, Pitfalls of Politics . . . But it’s more like they are reprogramming us to be docile cits.”

  “Who cares about a social credit score?” Luther scoffed. “It’s just a number.”

  “Not so much. It’s like everything. If you don’t have enough social credits, you can’t buy food or pay rent. If you don’t go through the mandatory therapies, you get kicked out to Zhetto.”

  Dean didn’t understand how everything had gone downhill so fast. It reminded him of East Germany. Fear had kept everyone in their place. History was repeating himself right in the heart of the good ole U. S. of A.

  Justin shook his head. His smirkless expression revealed more than Dean wanted to know. “The worst part—” Justin looked around the room. “Guys,” Justin whispered. “They take the babies from the womb.”

  The ugly truth cold-cocked Dean in the face upon confirming what Scarlett had said. “Son, what exactly do you know about this.”

  “I did some hacking around. Last State’s scientists, people from all over the world, experimented with a vaccine to cure the Z-virus. Instead, they discovered a Fountain of Youth serum.”

  Dean and Luther gasped at the same time.

  “Don’t you see? That’s why I have to bring Ella here.” Justin’s eyes clouded over.

  “What kind of crazy-ass Voodoo shit is this?” Luther bellowed and walked to the window.

  “Scarlett said they’re safe for the time being,” Dean said, hoping to calm the kid while his own heart pounded with ferocity. He had to think of something. He could send a team to scout out the northern states for a new stronghold. He would have to sleep on it and see what came to mind. One thing was certain—Boom Town was hanging on by its toenails.

  “Well, I’m leaving for Ella. Today!” Justin jabbered on. “Uh, do you have a bicycle I can borrow?”

  “You are not bringing Ella here where the likes of Mad Dog and the Ravers can obliterate us. Not to mention other despicable things.” Dean’s voice was louder than he had intended.

  Luther took over. “Honestly, bro, Scarlett says they’re safe in Last State. But, you should get to her. We’ve got our own tunnel out back.”

  Dean forced himself to calm down a notch. “Johnny Ringo has a couple of bikes in his stable. I’ll take care of the trading part while you rest,” Dean reasoned. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week. You should leave just before sunrise. I don’t want a soul knowing about the tunnel. There have been more drones patrolling lately. If they spot you, they’re liable to seal it off. Then, there’s no getting to Ella and Scarlett.”

  Justin nodded. The poor kid looked scared shitless. To have a wife across the border, pregnant nonetheless, with flesh-eating creatures roaming the land and dystopian dictators harvesting fetuses. How had the kid kept it together? Dean steadied his racing heart. Things were much worse than he had ever thought possible.

  Dean pointed to the register’s counter. “Say, is that what I think it is?”

  Luther eyeballed the package with suspicion. He strode to the counter. “Yup.” Luther gaped.

  “You guys are freaking me out?” Justin rattled.

  “Justin, for the record,” Dean inquired, “did anyone know you were coming here?”

  “No,” Justin said, just as befuddled as they were.

  Dean rubbed the four-day stubble on his chin, not used to shaving once a week due to the lack of razors. “Well, the package arrived sometime between the time we closed the bakery and Mad Dog’s visit,” Dean reasoned.

  “So, what is it?” Justin asked with exasperation.

  “Father Jacob’s special tea,” Luther whispered eerily.

  No one said a thing. The tension so tight it could have been an inexplicable scene right out of The Twilight Zone, only they were the victims of the mystifying episode. Dean could almost hear the opening credits playing in the background.

  Chapter 20

  Twila Lewis focused on Ella’s aura. Ooh . . . Ella had the prettiest and sweetest energy she had ever seen in her entire life. Pinks and silvers glittered around her body. She wished Ella were her sister. “When can I have a sister?” she asked. But the Silver Lady didn’t answer. She hadn’t heard from her all day.

  Ella lay on the sofa in a semi-meditative state with the shimmery selenite towers gridded around her. Twila peered beyond Ella’s ethereal body and into her physical body until the shadowy shape of the baby came into view. She held the image as long as she could, checking for bad energies.

  An unknown force zapped through Twila’s protective shield. With tear-stinging eyes, she mentally shoved back the invading energy. The black cloud bubbled over the baby. Anger rushed over Twila. Stay peaceful. Don’t get mad at the bad energy, she reminded herself. She always did really good until that part. Both Shari and the Silver Lady had said she was getting better at controlling her anger.

  The way Shari had explained, the dark energy didn’t know it was bad. It just was. And it took light and dark energy to make the world go around. It powered the galactic multiverse. But, when there was too much dark energy, bad things happened to a person’s soul. The body weakened and turned sickly. Which made people do bad things. Things they never would have done if they hadn’t let the darkness take over them.

  Focusing her mental abilities, Twila encased the black cloud with silvery-gold strands of light. She flung the bad energy into outer space as she had seen Mommy do before. Twila could only do a little bit of healing until she learned to control her negative thoughts.

  Mommy had been too busy for her since Ella had been living with them. What if Mommy loved the new baby more than her? Had Mommy seen the dark secret Twila had buried under layers and layers of pretty lights? She didn’t think so. If Mommy had, she wouldn’t love her anymore. Twila had promised never to talk about—it. She didn’t want to think about it anymore. She was excited about the baby. A boy! She couldn’t wait to play house and pretend she was a mommy.

  Ella jolted out of her meditative state. “What was that?” Ella gasped, tears rolling down her cute chubby cheeks.

  Twila gasped, clutching for her chest as if invisible claws had slashed out her heart. Her head spun like a merry-go-round zooming to the cosmos.

  “Use all your strength.” It didn’t sound like the Silver
Lady.

  “Mommy!” Twila screeched. Something was wrong. They took Mommy! The only mother she remembered after the multiverse had awakened her from a galactic-sleep and plopped her into a child’s body to begin her next mission. To heal the beings of this ugly world.

  Ella scrambled to her feet. “Is the door locked?” Ella cried out with eyes as round as the moon.

  Something crashed against the cabin’s front door. Something was outside . . .

  Ella was afraid, frozen with fear. The dark cloud of fear oozed from Ella’s aura, turning her beautiful energy into ugly yucky energy. As if hypnotized, Twila stood transfixed and watched the cloud grow bigger and bigger. Darker and Darker. It was suffocating Ella.

  “No!” Twila slung the evil cloud through the window next to the front door. The window burst. Glass everywhere. More spooky-dark clouds seeped in under the door. Too many for her to stop. And the whole time Ella stood there stuck in a frozen scream. It, the bad energy, wanted the baby.

  Bloody hands reached inside the broken window. Twila had to do something. With the Merkaba pressed against her third eye, Twila concentrated harder than ever. She would protect Ella as long as she could.

  “Mommy, we need you! Hurry, Onyx!” Twila pleaded into the etherworlds.

  Chapter 21

  Ella Marie Vasquez-Chen struggled to find her voice, struggled to move her feet. Struggled with the terror of what might be behind the front door. What she knew was behind the door. “Nooo . . . This can’t be happening.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Ella caught a glimpse of Twila. The child seemed stuck in the same paralyzing time warp as she. Stupefied. The only thing moving was the Grandfather clock’s second hand. It spun like a broken compass needle. When her eyes focused on it, it stopped as did her heart. The concept of time seemed to race by and cease at the same time, and they were stuck somewhere between.

  An unseen darkness seemed to slither under the cabin’s front door. Eerie waves of blackness took over her mind. That’s when Ella knew they wanted her baby. “No, not my baby!” She retaliated with her mind. The window next to the door shattered. Blood-stained hands reached inside the broken window. She had to cover the window. If only she could find her feet.