The cloud-covered sky churned above when he reached the mouth of the tunnel. He pressed Scarlett against the embankment’s wall to reload. He took care of the stragglers dragging themselves across the ground.
Luther came running out of the tunnel entrance like a Thunderdome action-hero, hopping over dead zombs and shooting the ones Zac had missed. “Fire in the hole!” Luther warned, pitching a grenade into the horde pouring out of the tunnel’s entrance. Luther dove next to him.
Scarlett clung to Zac as Zoat’s embankment disintegrated. She seemed coherent for the first time. She gazed up at him with her bewitching eyes, eyes that revealed the love she had for him. His heart soared. To love and to be loved in return, it was the most staggering emotion he had ever experienced. Their lips found each other’s.
“I’m thinking you all might want to make out later. I hear them trying to dig their way out,” Luther warned.
He let his lips linger on Scarlett’s.
“Hands! I see hands!” Luther shouted.
“You sure know how to spoil the moment,” Zac moaned.
“Sure, blame the zombie apocalypse on me,” Luther zinged back as they ran for the truck.
Luther started the engine while Zac helped Scarlett into the truck. “We need to get out of here pronto before the drones investigate the explosion.”
“No shit. Look at that,” Luther yelped as a huge section of Zoat collapsed into the tunnel’s entrance. “Guess we won’t be using that tunnel again.”
Scarlett sat in the middle of the bench seat. “I’m so glad to see you, Luther!”
“It was his idea!” Luther pointed to Zac as the truck lurched into second gear.
Scarlett looked like she was a blink away from passing out. “Is Twila all right? I lost contact with her after the tea ceremony.”
“She says hi,” Zac said.
“Anyone want to tell me what that crazy shit was all about? Cauldrons and catacombs and creepy ceremonies. You all with your Voodoo shit,” Luther muttered.
“Did you save me in time? I can’t remember if I’m married—”
Luther’s eyes locked onto Zac’s. “Married?” Luther croaked.
“To the King of the Undead?” Scarlett whispered faintly. She looked down at the garish ruby ring on her wedding finger. She ripped it off and then stared at it as if spellbound.
Zac threw the ring out the window. “We got there in time,” Zac reassured. What the fuck was going on? It had wanted to marry her. Had it? Well, it didn’t matter. He refused to give it any credence.
“I’m drifting away again. The tea—I can’t tell the difference between dreaming and reality.” She nuzzled her head in the crook of his arm. “Wake me in fifteen minutes . . .” she trailed off.
“No problemo.” Zac wiped the dirt smudges from her face with his shirt. Her dark ruby lips and raven-black hair gave her alabaster skin an almost transparent glow. He stroked her disheveled hair into place, kissed her forehead, and forced back his tears of relief.
Zac was mystified by the recent turn of events. How could feeble-minded zombs organize a kidnapping? Even stranger, was the fact they had held her prisoner without hurting her. It, the Thinker, had wanted her for himself. He prayed Scarlett didn’t remember that kiss. It still made his balls shrivel. Something was going on beyond Zac’s comprehension.
“Luther, you might want to hightail it back to the lodge. I’m getting a sickening feeling this isn’t over,” Zac warned.
Luther stared at him. “Yup, I’m getting that weird vibe too, bro.” Luther stepped on the gas.
“Follow the creekbed for the next few miles until you see the turnout. Then it gets too narrow for the truck.”
“And the drones? Do you think they’ll pin the breach on us?” Luther asked.
“I’m praying damn hard they’ll have their hands full. Enforcers are going to have a shitfest.” Zac kept his eyes on the side-mirror. “Hundreds are escaping.”
The truck jostled over the rutted creek bank. Zac scanned the skies for drones. Despite finding Scarlett, an inexplicable uneasiness morphed into irrational anxiety. He convinced himself it was just the release of stress hormones. To combat his angst, he thought about the first day he had encountered the blue-eyed beauty on the western slope of the Sierras in Northern California.
Although, he had indulged in unmemorable one-night stands since the pandemic, he had never been able to stop thinking about her. To his surprise, last summer he had run into her at Last Chance. Their spontaneous lovemaking had been forever etched into his heart. Some compelling force other than attraction had reunited them. And he didn’t care who or what it was. Someone was finally on their side. “Thank you,” he whispered to whoever might be listening.
Chapter 38
Dean Wormer had just sat down for a breather when Justin announced dinner was ready. Justin had spent the afternoon catering to Ella while she lounged on the lodge’s couch in the front sitting room. Dean had enjoyed their company, smiling at this and that while he had patched over the bullet holes. Twila had been out cold, lying next to Ella. It darn near spooked the living daylights out of him the way Twila’s eyes and forehead twitched when she went into what Ella called a meditative state.
Meanwhile, Mindy had refused to leave the basement after Zac had left. She didn’t want to be around anyone. Then again, if he had a newborn in a dead-head-infested world, he would probably be paranoid as well. He couldn’t blame any of them for their irrational behaviors. It was most likely the sole reason they were still alive.
After Luther and Zac had left, Dean had been antsy, anxious to know if Scarlett was all right. Instead of pacing around wasting the rest of the day away, he had taken the liberty of shoring up the lodge’s weak points. After all, Zac had said they would be holed-up there for another month or so.
Dean had boarded over the first-floor windows and doors with scrap wood from the woodpile out back except the kitchen’s back entrance. They needed one door accessible. He was confident the lodge could withstand a horde attack. What rattled him was a possible visit from Enforcers. A gnawing deep in his gut told him to stay sharp and not to rule out any possibilities. Something was going to happen, and he couldn’t tell if it was good or bad.
Dean washed up. “Say, what’s for dinner?” It was going on eight o’ clock, and Dean had worked up an appetite.
Justin sauntered into the front room with a steaming casserole bowl. “Ella’s gonna love this.”
“What in tarnation is it?” Dean gawped.
“My own creation. Top Ramen noodles smothered in queso. Garnished with jalapenos.”
Dean tried his best not to wince at the kid’s attempt. How many packages did you waste, was what he wanted to ask as he eyed it warily. “Does it come with a side of Rolaids?”
“Dude, I wanted to make something special for Ella. She loves Mexican food and Chinese food.”
“I’m sure it’s just fine.” Dean’s stomach curdled at the thought. He had a hankering for some of Ella’s home-cooking. Her pot pies and enchiladas were to die for. Naturally, Ella would be out of commission for a while.
Justin waved the casserole dish under Ella’s nose. She woke with a start.
“What is that?” Ella wrinkled her nose.
Justin stood there, holding the casserole dish with a bewildered expression taking over his face. “This morning you were craving jalapenos—”
“That was this morning,” Ella exclaimed.
“I know you love queso, so I made up this awesome fusion dish: Mexi-Chen Ramen. Get it? You know, as in our last name, Chen.”
Ella rolled her eyes. “Ew!” She ran to the bathroom, heaving.
Dean stifled his chuckle. Justin held the dish away from him like it was toxic. He had to give the kid kudos for the attempt.
Justin pounded on the bathroom door. “Ella, you are so—”
“Son,” Dean butted in, “a smart fella knows not to argue with raging hormones. Put it on the table. We’ll eat it later,
” Dean said with encouragement.
“But this morning she wanted jalapenos—”
“Don’t even try to understand.” Dean left it at that. Good thing he had put a mess of potatoes in the oven about an hour ago, thanks to Roberts’s unexpected delivery. Might as well thaw out the apple pie in the freezer, since he couldn’t stop drooling over it. It would make a great midnight snack.
He might have to broil a steak after everyone retired to the basement for the night. The aroma of meat made Ella puke. Twila flat-out refused to eat meat. Odd, the new girl was also a vegetarian. What was this world coming to when a man couldn’t eat a hunk of charred bloody-rare steak without everyone getting into a tizzy?
Dean opened the basement’s door. “Dinner’s ready,” he hollered down the stairs, not expecting Mindy to join them. He would drop off a plate later if she was a no-show.
Dean loaded the crunchy-skinned potatoes in a Corning Ware dish before joining Justin at the kitchen table. His dear ole granddaddy used to have a set of dishes with the same blue cornflower pattern. From out of nowhere, the aroma of Granddaddy’s pipe tobacco seemed to overtake his senses. Captain Black Cherry was Granddaddy’s favorite. Dean smiled, inhaling deeper. He didn’t bother contemplating the reason behind the nostalgic visitation. Some memories were just worth cherishing.
“Like, where is everybody?” Justin moaned.
“Looks like we’re it.” Dean slit open a piping hot potato, sprinkling it with salt and pepper. He opened wide for his first bite.
“They’re coming!” Twila screeched from the couch.
Justin and Dean dropped their forks at the same time. Ella screamed from the bathroom. Mindy screamed from the basement. Dad-blast-it, can’t a fellow get a bite to eat ’round here? Then he felt it—hunger pangs ripping at his stomach, only it wasn’t his hunger.
Justin made a run for Ella. Dean darted to Twila. “There, there, it’s only a bad dream,” Dean whispered to Twila, attempting to take control of the situation before things got out of hand. He didn’t like the look of sheer terror emanating from the girl’s eyes.
“Can’t you hear them? Please, make them stop.” Twila clapped her hands over her ears.
All he heard was Ella tossing her cookies in the bathroom.
“Not that. Listen,” Twila demanded.
He was used to the child’s bossy behavior, and so he obliged. Low and behold, an underlying scratching penetrated the room. Dean dashed from window to window, trying to pinpoint the location. It sounded like a horde of dead-heads had the lodge surrounded, scratching on the walls and doors, relentlessly attempting to claw their way inside. It was a good thing he had listened to his instincts and shored up the lodge’s first level.
Dean tapped on the bathroom door. “Everyone all right in there?”
“She’s okay,” Justin yelled through the door.
“Hate to interrupt, but you all might want to settle in the basement for the evening. I’ve got a hunch we might be having uninvited guests.”
The bathroom door squeaked opened. Another thing he should fix. An ashen-faced Ella waddled out.
“Oh, and Dean baked potatoes,” Justin said.
Ella covered her mouth in revulsion.
Dean gave him the idiot look. “Everyone downstairs. I’ll stay up here and keep an eye on things. I’m sure we’re fine. Better safe than sorry,” Dean rambled. A rash of goose pimples broke out on his arms. By God, something’s out there.
Suddenly Twila was standing next to them.
“What do you see?” Ella asked, looking at Twila.
“The bad-d-d ones are coming!”
Dean didn’t like the sound of it. Enforcers or a horde, either way, it was bad news. “Alrighty then, skedaddle. Everyone to the basement.”
“Aren’t you coming?” Ella stared wide-eyed.
“I’ve got to keep an eye out for Zac and Luther.” And Scarlett, he reminded himself. “Justin, please tell me you already set up a nice spot for Twila and the two of you?”
“Sorta,” Justin said without a single note of sarcasm.
“Well, it will give you something to do. Say, don’t forget your casserole,” Dean said.
“Dude, it sucks,” Justin said, void of emotion.
“You help Ella down. I’ll be right behind you with Twila.” Dean lifted the frail child’s body. She seemed lost in another one of her peculiar spells.
“Shouldn’t they be back by now?” Ella’s voice faltered as she plodded down the stairs.
“Betcha bottom dollar they’ll show up any minute,” Dean promised, hoping to relieve the mounting tension.
“What if they run into a horde?” Ella worried.
“Not to worry. The pickup can outrun it, no problem.” Maybe it was why Luther and Zac were running late.
“I should stay with you,” Justin hesitated.
“Naw, take care of the girls. I’ll give you a shout out if things take a turn for the worse.” The scratching intensified. Did anyone else hear it besides him and Twila?
After everyone had settled into the basement, Dean scrambled to the third floor with his gear. Several rooms had balconies. He would take point from balcony to balcony and keep the grounds under surveillance the best he could in the dark. If nothing else, he would be the first to see headlights, albeit Enforcers’ or Zac’s. The creepy feeling strangling his torso told him it wasn’t an impromptu visit from Enforcers that had him so jittery.
After scouting the grounds for the tell-tale signs of a horde—groaning, howling, and their putrid odor—he hadn’t found any evidence of dead-heads. “They’re coming . . .” By God, Dean swore someone was sending him messages, raising the hackles on the back of his neck.
He damn well better be able to fend the bastards off with all these women and children to protect. He had taken care of many a horde since the world had gone batshit crazy. Why did today seem different? He positioned himself on the balcony with the most strategic view of the property, lying in wait like a seasoned sniper. He peered through the crosshairs of the M4’s scope, aware of every sound.
The intermittent lightning in the west revealed low-hanging steel-gray storm clouds. Fine time for a thunderboomer. Something caught his eye. He waited for the next round of lightning. There, by the cottonwood trees, he kept seeing movement. It would make the most sense. Attackers, living or dead, could sneak up along the creekbed instead of the open plains. Rifle cocked, he fingered the trigger, ready to shoot. The sky let loose. Rain pelted him.
When the hail started, he retreated inside. Better change into dry clothes. He browsed the closets for menswear. He didn’t want to come down with pneumonia, of all things. According to Luther, Texas had ferocious thunderstorms in the spring. The lights flickered right on cue, followed by a flash, followed by a long crackling boom. The good news was, Enforcers most likely wouldn’t risk a trip to the boonies during a volatile storm.
Dead-heads were somewhat complacent during storms. “Not the X-strains,” his granddaddy whispered. He shook it off. He was starting to think Granddaddy’s spirit was guiding him. It didn’t sound like Mary. No, he had a feeling her spirit had moved on. It was just as well. He wouldn’t want his late wife to witness his grief-stricken existence on what remained of this hellish Earth.
“Damn it all to Hell!” Luther and Zac should have returned by now. Must have had trouble with the pickup, he decided. He wished he’d had more time to tinker with the temperamental starter. Of course, they could be holed up somewhere, waiting out the storm. He refused to believe Zac and Luther had failed.
Rain and hail pounded the lodge. He went back downstairs to eat even though he had lost his appetite. He spent more time staring at his potato than eating it. He forced himself to stop jumping at every little sound. But, that incessant scratching rubbed at his ears like proverbial sandpaper.
An inner darkness befell him. He found himself drowning in the depths of a thick black ocean. Black oily-like blood seeped from his eyes. From his mouth. His nose
. The next thing he knew, he was blind and deaf. His senses finally took hold; he realized it was merely a hallucination.
“There’s more than one way to skin a cat.” This time there was no doubting it. It was Granddaddy’s spirit looking out for him.
He wasn’t going down without a fight whether he used the hard-cold steel of a bullet or the power of his mind. Mentally, he shot up a shield of mirrors around him. As the invisible malevolent attack intensified, he visualized it reflecting off the mirror, right back at the psychic assailant.
Dean’s vision returned seconds later. Strange as it was, he was starting to understand what Twila, Scarlett, and Ella had been talking about.
Chapter 39
Scarlett Lewis gasped for air. Her eyes opened to darkness. She shivered in the cold seat. Disoriented, she struggled to find herself. Was she dead—undead?
Once her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she made out the lights on the dashboard. She was inside Shari’s truck. Alone. A myriad of bobbling lights approached in the darkness. It was a horde! She screamed.
The truck’s doors flew open. Luther and Zac rushed to her.
“What happened?” It was Zac. Next to her. Alive! Was she in an alternate reality? Was she seeing her future-self or a past-self? She was more confused than ever as shadows of her various selves weaved in and out of a dreamy focus.
“You think she’s having one of those spells like Twila has?” It was Luther’s voice.
“Where are we?” She had tried to say it aloud, but her lips had gone numb.
“She must be dreaming. We better finish changing the flat,” Zac said.
“The sooner, the better.” Luther quailed at the lightning fragmenting the tumultuous clouds. The sky rumbled back ominously.
The truck’s doors closed. Scarlett was alone again. The King of the Undead made a shocking appearance. She shoved his intrusion away, willing him to dissolve into a million particles. But he stayed there, snickering and gawking. She imagined herself inside the center of her own Merkaba of translucent energy, blending in with the cosmos. Hidden from all.
Only The Dead Don't Die (Book 3): Last State Page 33
