Ella refused the fear snaking up her tailbone. The invisible bounds gave way. She collapsed to the floor. More bloody-knobby hands reached inside the cabin. A putrid Z poked its head inside. The jagged glass sliced off the left side of its rotting face. She crawled to the baseball bat next to the front door. Scarlett always left it there in case of an emergency. The handgun was in Scarlett’s bedroom. She wasn’t a good shot. Not like Scarlett. She would probably end up wasting bullets.
Determined, Ella pulled herself to her feet. She squeezed the bat with both hands when it squirmed over the glass shard-covered window frame like a human worm. Bam! She squashed its bulbous head. Its brain exploded onto the floor in gory gobs of green and red goo. Not on her. But more hands reached inside. Howling took over. The Hunger’s Howl. Which meant, it was an X-strain horde! The worst kind.
She eyed the Grandfather clock next to the broken window. If I can just—
She shoved her back against the side of the tall clock. It scraped the bottom of the hardwood floor as she shoved it toward the window one inch at a time. Finally, it covered the window. But, the demons could knock it over if they thought to do so.
She grabbed the drapes hanging from the curtain rod. With one set of curtains in each hand, she wrapped them around the clock and then tied them into a massive knot. It was holding. For now.
She turned around to find Twila standing as rigid as a statue with one hand pressing the Merkaba crystal to her forehead. Ella half-carried and half-dragged the child to the couch, laid her down, and massaged her shoulders. The shattering of the den’s other window brought her to her feet.
Bloody hands reached in over the window ledge. The window was higher. Would they be able to pull themselves up? Really, did she think it would be so simple? Zs were relentless. Where had the horde come from, anyway?
She had to block the rest of the windows. With what? She grabbed the toolbox Scarlett kept in the hall closet. The popping of another window sent her heart fluttering. She rummaged through the red toolbox. She grabbed the hammer and a plastic cup of large nails. She needed plywood or something. She scoured the hall closet. Coats, blankets, shoes. Nothing. She closed the door. “The door!”
She could use the doors on the closets and bedrooms to cover the windows. Simple. She could handle it. She used to help Papa when he worked on the house. She remembered the time she had asked for a new white closet door instead of the old brown one. She had helped him replace it.
She grabbed a flat-tipped screwdriver. To take off the door, all she had to do was remove the pins from the hinges. “Keep the door in the frame, so it doesn’t fall on you,” she remembered Papa saying like it was yesterday. Top or bottom hinge first? She couldn’t remember that part. The pin in the bottom hinge stuck up about an eighth of an inch from the hinge. She pried the pin out with the screwdriver. That was easy.
“Crap! The doorknob!” She was supposed to remove it first. She knelt on her knees, eye level with the knob. “Agh! Different screwdriver.” Why didn’t they just make one kind of screw? She rummaged through the toolbox until she found a small Phillips.
Her fingers twisted faster and faster, letting the knob’s crazy-long screws fall to the floor. Done. She pulled on both ends of the door’s knobs and let them clang to the floor. Andale! All she had to do was remove the pin to the top hinge. But there was no gap, nothing to pry it out with. That day with Papa played back in her mind. One of the pins had been stuck then. What had Papa done? Oh, yeah. She inserted the tip of the screwdriver into the bottom of the pin and then banged the handle with the hammer.
“Yes!” The pin flew out. With one hand in the doorknob’s hole and one hand on the top of the door, she wiggled the door out of the frame.
Scuffling from the living room sent her heart beating faster. A demon-Z flopped onto the floor. She let the door fall against the wall. She snatched the bat. With a burst of rage, she squashed in its brain. More demon-Zs grappled the edge of the window frame, trying to climb inside. She stuffed the hammer in the center of her bra, bit onto the plastic cup of nails with her teeth, and hauled the door to the window. She slammed it against the shattered window and ferociously pounded in nails.
The shattering of the kitchen’s window urged her on. Quick, how many windows did the cabin have? Uh, one in the kitchen, one in each of the bedrooms, and the three in the den. The one in the bathroom was too tiny and high up to worry about.
While she focused on covering the windows, she worried about drones. Justin had said they patrolled the outskirts of Zoat. If a drone reported the horde, Enforcers would arrive. And they’d find her and Twila. Scarlett, I wish you were here. She would know what to do. She mentally sent a message to Scarlett for help. She didn’t think she could do it, but from what Shari, Scarlett, and Twila talked about, it was possible.
OMG! What about Shari? She always brought them dinner before sunset. Well, Shari would see the horde. She would have to run back to the lodge until the horde went away. It was stupid thinking. Hordes never went away. But, Scarlett could save them. She always survived.
Don’t worry, mijo. We’re okay. Scarlett was due back anytime. All Ella had to do was comfort Twila and wait. There couldn’t be more than ten or fifteen of those demons. The horde attacks in Last State were nothing compared to the mega-hordes she had encountered in the Lost States of America. No big deal. Right?
Chapter 22
Shari O’Hara smiled as she rolled out the pie dough on the marble pastry board. Lost in the zen rhythm of rolling out the crust, she strived for the perfect thickness without overworking the dough. Vague memories floated around her periphery, taunting her. Most of her precious memories from before had been stolen by the same damning darkness that had stripped away her metaphysical abilities once the beginning of the End Times had claimed Mother Earth.
Shari sighed and sprinkled flour on the rolling pin. She must not waste her dwindling energy brooding over something in which she had no control. And although the faces of her loved ones had been banished from her sight, her heart still swelled from their love. The unnamed ones could never eradicate the decades of love filling her spirit. Still, sometimes flashes of their familiar faces found her in the fleeting theta state between falling asleep and dreamtime. Those were her most cherished moments.
Shari trimmed the jagged crust into a near-perfect circle, folded it into quarters, and then centered it into the greased pie dish. Roberts, her dependable delivery man, had arrived this afternoon with the usual weekly delivery of food and supplies along with a gunnysack of pecans. He was craving pecan pie. It was as good an excuse as any. And she knew Granny’s recipe by heart. Funny, how she remembered the recipe but not Granny’s face. Making the pie brought her closer to the elusive memories of her happy childhood and her loving mother, father, and grandparents.
Shari poured the sugary pecan mixture into the crust-molded dish. She spiked it with a splash of bourbon and then drizzled almond flavoring over the top. Her mouth already watered for the first bite. The impromptu request for pie was running her late. By the time she popped the pie into the oven, obnoxious laughter from the dining room interrupted her nostalgic mood. The lodge had four paying guests tonight, and they were impatient for dinner. She would just have to make the second pie for the girls after she served the men the venison stew and cornbread.
Other than Roberts, she didn’t much like the looks of her guests. They weren’t the smuggler type based on their raggedy clothing. Smugglers usually had the best of everything. After all, they pillaged through the forbidden zones, taking what they wanted from abandoned homes and businesses. Her suspicion told her they were rebels. Nevertheless, they had paid for a two-night stay.
She needed all the paying guests she could get after missing the last three Zhetto Markets. Something told her she couldn’t risk the market with three women hiding on her property. Even more troublesome, Zac’s monthly stipend had been frozen. It meant a trip to the X-zone. She would rather tough it out for another month
; Zac was bound to show up any day. Although, she was starting to have her doubts.
By the time the stove’s timer dinged for the second pie, it was nearly eight in the evening. Roberts had retired to his room for the night with half the pie while the other men bragged about their prior bigshot lives with copious rounds of whiskey. She scurried about the long dining room table, annoying them with the cleanup until they finally took the hint. They moved the party to the pool patio despite the nippy March night, probably too drunk to care.
Shari kept glancing out the window into the star-covered sky. A déjà vu sensation pricked at her nerves. It usually meant she was forgetting something. She hurried about the kitchen, angry at herself for not checking on Ella and Twila sooner. Then again, Scarlett should be back unless she had run into trouble.
She packed the picnic basket with leftover cornbread, the pie, and containers of pumpkin soup and venison stew. She threw her knitted shawl over her head and wrapped it around her, grabbed the shotgun, and disappeared under the ghostly shadows of the cottonwoods before her guests noticed she had gone. Spring had arrived early, reminding her how much she missed the glory of summer when the Earth sang with the vigor of new life.
Her superconscious needled she had neglected something of importance. Perhaps her Sight was returning. She was awestruck by the idea. Shari couldn’t deny the profound love that had replaced her loneliness once she had resumed the mystery school teachings. Further-activating the girls’ kundalini awakenings in order to access the innate gifts embedded in their DNA had inspired her as well. Watching Ella, Twila, and Scarlett bloom had given her a sense of purpose. A reason to live!
Sinister howling rustled through the cottonwoods’ spring-budded limbs twisting into the darkness. She dreaded those nights when the wind blew just right, and their howls swept across the plains. And that terrific odor. It was impossible to get used to. How could the celestial Gods and Goddesses succumb to such evil? Who—what had sold out humanity?
Shari followed the faded pathway to the cabin, guided by the faltering light of her flashlight. She trodded toward the creek like Little Red Riding Hood with her basket of goodies. Above the constant prattle of crickets and frogs, an unworldly murmur took over, rendering her death. Her root chakra involuntarily clenched. Her sacral chakra churned, and her heart chakra shriveled. The clattering of a thousand crunches. Chattering teeth. Munching.
And then, she knew. The prior vision of her future-self was no longer a premonition. It’s happening! She had caught up to her future-self. But her innate survival instinct wasn’t ready to call it quits. The basket landed on the path in mid-step.
In one fell swoop, she racked the shotgun. She let off three blasts before they mauled her. The darkness—their darkness—belied their numbers. Where was the moon’s light when she needed her the most? The full moon would have warned her. Aw, but the moon can be a harsh mistress . . .
Smothered in their bedlam of un-dying hunger, Shari struggled through the first bites as if overtaken by a carnivorous swarm of hornets.
All I have to do is run . . .
Ragged teeth ripped into her tender flesh. Bite by bite, her flesh disappeared. Dear Spirit, have mercy! She could not turn into one of those soulless creatures. She surrendered her body, no longer enduring the pain.
And so, she watched from above her physical body as they devoured her. Her light body ascended higher and higher with each beastly crunch . . . until they had suckled every trace of marrow from her brittle old bones.
Alas, Shari accepted her mission on this godforsaken planet had been accomplished . . .
Chapter 23
Justin Chen scouted the sky for drones while Luther Jones pulled back a metal panel reinforcing Zoat’s outer embankment. The sunrise dazzled the high desert’s light coating of frost. But it wasn’t why he shivered with a rash of goosebumps. The thought of going through the tunnel. Alone. Scared the “crapola” out of him. He tried rubbing the goosebumps away.
“I don’t envy you one little iota,” Luther muttered.
Justin shined the flashlight into the tunnel’s mouth. He guesstimated a gradual ten-foot descent before the ground leveled out. The tunnel’s walls weren’t reinforced with anything. It looked like it could collapse any minute. It was narrower than the one Mad Dog’s gang used. That tunnel was wide enough for vehicles and was braced with rebar. It even had torches mounted to the walls like a scene from an Indiana Jones movie. This one, uh, it’s just creepy.
“I checked it out once. Bro, it be spooky,” Luther admitted. And Luther wasn’t afraid of anything except Texas, tornadoes, and Voodoo.
“Did Scarlett say how long it takes to get to the cabin?” What he really wanted to ask was how long it took to cross the tunnel. But he didn’t want to sound wimpy.
“Eight hours on horseback. You’ll be fine,” Luther encouraged.
Justin adjusted his backpack. “Please talk to Dean. I have to bring Ella here.” He straddled the bicycle, getting a feel for the seat, the pedals, the handlebars—anything to delay going inside.
Luther gave him a questioning frown of disapproval. “Think about it. Ella’s already having troubles. How’s she gonna ride a bike or horse in her condition?”
“Dude, she’s not due ’til May. We can’t wait that long,” Justin started. Luther and Dean didn’t understand the urgency. They had to get Ella across the border before the 6G rollout in Zhetto. After that, every square foot of Last State would be under twenty-four-hour surveillance, including facial recognition.
Luther clapped him on his shoulder. “You’re about to be a daddy. When the time comes, I’m sure you’ll make the best decision for your situation.”
Justin had been a dad for a few months. Had he made the right decisions then . . . Don’t even go there.
“Stay safe, bro.”
“Thanks, dude.” Justin coasted into the entrance.
Luther replaced the metal panel. Darkness descended. Justin fiddled with his nifty headlamp until it lighted the path. He coasted down, braking his pace until the ground leveled out. Then, Justin pedaled as fast as he could without crashing into the walls.
He had to think of a way to get Ella there. He thought about the camping trailer he had left in upper Zhetto. Maybe he could buy another one at the market, one strong enough to carry a person. That might work.
“What the heck?” The tunnel made a sharp right turn and seemed to go in the same direction as Zoat, instead of intersecting it. He had a sickening feeling he was riding directly under Zoat. The groans so close Justin thought he was heading straight for a hella-horde. He was, only it was twenty feet or so above him. Could the Zs smell him?
The scalloped-shoveled walls narrowed, closing in on him. The wheel hit something. He crashed to the ground. His head landed on the handlebars. Dazed, he forced himself up. A sudden excruciating headache pounded the center of his forehead, making his eyes tear.
“Holy shit!” He couldn’t even hear himself. Their groanings radiated from the dirt walls and into his bones. He illuminated the ground to see what he had crashed into. It was a shredded backpack, the kind with the metal back brace.
He shined the light farther down. It would be his shitty luck to run into Mad Dog’s gang. Although, he doubted they used this route since it wasn’t wide enough for vehicles. He walked the bike, stepping over destroyed items from someone’s pack.
Justin reached down to pick up a flashlight. “Gross!” A gooey substance coated it. And the stink. Someone must have killed a skunk or something. He shook it off. Just keep going. If Scarlett could do it, so could he.
The constant howling drove him cray-cray. He hummed a random selection of songs that had been popular before the Super Summer flu, trying to ignore the groaning. Was that a growl? He grabbed the Glock from his cool hip holster. A movement, a shadow in the shadows of his periphery made him cock the gun. His headlamp caught something blue, like a curtain billowing in the wind. But, there was no wind. What just happened? It dis
appeared into the wall.
A guttural voice stood out above the groans. “Who’s there?” Several small dirt clods tumbled down the wall to the ground. There it is again! The swirling of a blue curtain. I get it, another route. Someone was definitely there. Around the corner. And he didn’t want to know who or what. He jumped on the bike, and pedaled the hell out of there, and he did not look back.
After what seemed like forever, the tunnel changed direction again, heading the direction he expected—the other side of Zoat. Finally, Justin reached what appeared to be a dead-end of rocks and washed-out tree limbs. It turned out to be a mini-maze of debris disguising the Zhetto side of the tunnel’s entrance.
Like a vampire blinded by the sun, he stumbled into the overpowering sunlight. He had never been so relieved. The opening led to the banks of a creek in a ravine below the plains. No one would have ever noticed it. He had scoped out Zoat’s inner perimeter with the drone footage before and hadn’t spotted anything out of the norm.
He shook his entire body, attempting to slough off the creepiness sticking too him like cheap plastic wrap. How the heck was he ever going to get Ella through the tunnel? He barely had. He let out a nervous laugh as he randomly replaced the debris. Justin paced the muddy bank of the wide roaring creek, walking off his angst. He kept glancing back at the entrance, expecting to see a horde of ghost-Zs floating with outstretched arms—toward him.
He checked his watch. It was almost eleven in the morning. Four hours in the tunnel? Impossible. Had he passed out when he had fallen, or had he been so focused on getting through the tunnel that he had lost track of time? Either way, something weird was going on.
Justin closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and visualized the map he had uploaded to the hard drive of his mind. The rest was easy-peasy. All he had to do was follow the creek. The cabin was at the fifth grove of trees. It didn’t look like he would be riding the bike much. The bank was muddy and rocky. He would keep it in case he had to make a fast getaway on the plains above the creek.
Only The Dead Don't Die (Book 3): Last State Page 21
