The mere thought of survivors existing in the world of the dead was almost too much to hope for. Emma had lived over a year without seeing any other survivors other than her and her grandparents. Of course, they lived in a very remote area that prided itself on being the “real Texas.”
“Where are they?”
“Ashley Oaks. There’s a walled in community there.”
Drawing in a slow breath, Emma tried to remember where exactly that town was located. “I think I recall going through there once. It has a big hotel?”
“It’s been secured. That’s where everyone lives now.”
“I can’t believe this. It’s just a dream. It’s not real. Everyone is dead. The world is dead.”
“In three days, get in your truck and head east. When you hit the main highway, you’re going to start to see signs to the fort. Follow them. There may be a few straggling pockets of zombies out there, so be careful. Those assholes are relentless fuckheads.” The woman was more shadows and air now. Even her voice was taking on a faraway sound.
“And what am I supposed to do when I get there? What’s my purpose?”
“To live,” was the simple answer.
“Who are you?” Emma tried to touch the ghost, but it no longer had any substance, if it ever had.
“A guardian angel of the loca kind.”
A flash of a smile and a sparkle of dark eyes was the last thing Emma saw before the woman simply wasn’t there anymore.
Chapter 5
The Fort on a Hill
Living in the old Airstream the next three days wasn’t easy. The generator was toast and it was sweltering hot. Emma couldn’t stand to stay inside during the daytime and spent her days sitting on the cab of her truck parked under the trees. It had survived the onslaught of the dead, but was smeared with trails of gunk that stunk to high heaven.
The old manufactured home still stood, but in pieces. The ground shocks of the stampeding zombies had literally jarred it apart. She was glad she had never had any confidence in it as a haven.
A few zombies had wandered onto her property since the barbed wire fence had been toppled, but she dispatched them easily enough. Most of the scrub brush and saplings had been trampled by the horde. The grass was pounded flat while low tree limbs were missing. It was much easier to see the dead coming now, but it felt like a much bleaker place without the thick greenery.
Using the well water, she washed clothes and laid them out to dry. She didn’t have too many usable garments left. Years of dealing with the zombies had taken a toll on her wardrobe. She packed up what was salvageable and laid out the best of the lot to wear on her crazy excursion. Her last night she packed up her meager belongings while wondering why the hell she believed a ghost she saw in a dream. Yet, she couldn’t let go of the possibility of others being alive.
On her final day at the Airstream, she cleaned herself up, used the last of her shampoo and bath soap, and used what little makeup she had left to try to make herself feel more like a human being and not a zombie killing machine. After loading the truck with her possessions, weapons and food supplies, she spent a few minutes at the graves of her family saying her final goodbyes.
Even if she was being crazy following the urgings of a ghost in her dream, she knew she wasn’t coming back. The area was no longer secure and there was nothing left for her. She wasn’t sure if she could keep urging herself to survive, but the small ember of hope within her refused to die.
Emma brushed out her long chestnut brown hair, curling the ends with her fingers while standing next to her truck and admiring the beauty of the coming day. Birds sang in the trees and the wildlife that was so plentiful now that humanity was gone wandered through the brush. She’d sealed up the well, but left an old tub full of water for them. It was the least she could do now that she was conceding her property back to the wild.
Dressed in a lightweight red t-shirt, a pair of jeans with only a few holes in the knees and her battered cowboy boots, Emma slid behind the steering wheel of her truck and exhaled.
“I’m fucking insane,” she decided, then started the engine.
The old roads wound about through the countryside before finally dumping out onto a two lane highway. Tufts of grass edged the deep cracks in the asphalt. It appeared the horde may have not wandered across this area. Turning onto the highway, Emma flipped on the old cassette tape player to listen to Johnny Cash.
She’d been driving for nearly thirty minutes when she started to feel pangs of anxiety. It had been foolhardy for her to put any faith into a dream, but it was difficult not to latch onto any bit of hope. There were no signs of the survivor encampment the ghost had spoken about.
Heart sinking, she kept driving. In the bed of the pickup, the gas canisters rattled around noisily. If she didn’t find any survivors in Ashley Oaks, she’d just keep driving until she was out of gas. After that...
She glanced at the pistol and Remington Rifle next to her on the passenger seat. With a sigh, she kept driving.
The blowout occurred when she was coming around a curve and down a hill. One second the truck was sailing along the highway, the next it was lurching across the road and straight into a field. Keeping her calm, Emma gripped the steering wheel with both hands and tried to guide the pickup onto the shoulder. The bad condition of the asphalt made it difficult to maneuver. Emma gently tried to slow down, but the truck slid into the ditch. The front end smacked into the embankment, bringing the vehicle to a crushing stop.
“Shit!” Emma exclaimed.
The seat belt had jerked her painfully, but she was okay. She’d managed to slow down enough that the impact hadn’t been too bad, but she sighed when she saw steam curling out from under the hood.
“Great.”
Then she saw it through the rising hot vapor. A tall hotel loomed above the trees. It was several miles away, but the sight gave her hope. Checking her surroundings, she was relieved that there weren’t any of the shambling dead in sight. It took her a few minutes to gather her weapons, ammunition, and her backpack. As long as she didn’t run into a big pack, she should be able to make it to the town. Slinging the rifle over her shoulder, she lifted the pickaxe out of the truck bed.
The first mile was uneventful. Deer wandered along the side of the road and a roadrunner dashed back and forth in front of her a few times as it chased bugs. She was more physically fit than she’d ever been in her life, so she kept a brisk pace in spite of carrying a heavy load.
The second mile started to give her pause. There were definite signs of the horde having come through. Most of the foliage was trampled into the ground and fence lines were destroyed. Even a few small trees were knocked down. As the zombies had traveled, they had dropped bits of themselves behind: strips of cloth, bits of flesh, clumps of hair.
When she finally crested another hill, the sight made her wary. The hotel was now in clear sight. It appeared to be surrounded by a high wall. Before it was a vast open area that was cleared of all buildings and foliage. The wasteland was ringed by what looked like a smoldering fire line.
The stink of burning wood still drifted in the wind.
“What the hell?”
Then the roar of machinery reached her ears and she pulled her rifle off her shoulder. Using the scope, she was shocked to see bulldozers clearing the area around the wall. Huge mounds of zombie bodies were already piled up.
Emma’s mouth dropped open.
It was real.
The survivors existed.
A flash of movement drew her attention. A zombie was meandering toward her out of the remains of a thicket. Its teeth snapped when it reached out a gnarled hand to grab her. Swinging her rifle onto her back, Emma charged the zombie. The pickaxe arced through the air and neatly took off its decayed head. She followed the tumbling object into the field and smashed in its skull with the pickaxe.
“Well, that was impressive,” a voice said in a thick West Texas accent.
Emma whipped about to see a c
owboy staring at her from a few feet away. Sitting on a pretty pinto, the man tilted his head to one side as he regarded her. Long, curly brown hair caught in a ponytail fluttered on the wind and he had very vivid green eyes. She was unnerved that she hadn’t even heard him approach.
“It was coming for me,” she said, her voice sounding raw, her hand nervously tucking a bit of her flyaway hair behind one ear. She flinched, realizing she had blood on her fingers. After not speaking to anyone other than herself or ghosts for the last year, she felt horribly awkward. To make it even worse, the guy was incredibly good-looking.
“I was going to shoot the fucker in the head, but you beat me to it.”
“Are you from there?” Emma asked, pointing.
“Yep. I was checking the perimeter when I saw you on the road. How’d you get here?”
The horse chuffed and pawed at the ground, clearly wanting to continue their patrol.
“My truck tire blew out. I went off the road a few miles back.”
“Shit.” The cowboy twisted around on his saddle studying the trees. “We need to bring these down. We keep widening the perimeter to make sure we can spot survivors, banditos, and zombies coming up on us.”
“Banditos?”
“Yeah. They’re still assholes in the world.”
“I haven’t seen anyone but you in about a year,” Emma confessed. “I’ve been on my own back in Bensonville.”
“That town is overrun! We didn’t even try to go in there!”
“Not anymore. I kinda killed them all.”
The man’s green eyes widened in surprise. “Damn, girl. You’re hardcore.”
“They killed my boy.” The words were said simply, but sorrow ate at her. “I put him down a few days ago. Buried him.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m really sorry.”
Emma could hear the sincerity in his voice and appreciated it. “I’m Emma Russell, by the way. Sorry to be so rude. I’m just...I didn’t think anyone was still alive!”
“Juan De La Torre.” He leaned over to shake her hand, then saw the blood flecking her fingers. Drawing a kerchief and a small bottle of hand sanitizer out of his back pocket, he handed them to her. “There are a lot of us down at the fort.”
“Fort?”
“It’s what we call the town now.”
“Oh.” Emma wiped at her hands, removing the zombie blood. When she finished cleaning her hands off, she deposited the kerchief into a plastic bag he had pulled out of a saddle bag. “You’re so organized.”
Juan shrugged. “Kinda, but we should have been better prepared. You know, before the zombies actually rose.”
“But no one believed in them before,” Emma pointed out.
“Ah, speak for yourself, Em! I was a believer long before this shit went down!” Juan reached down to her again.
It slowly dawned on her that he expected her to go with him. Nervously, she wiped her damp hands on her jeans. She left the pickaxe lying on the ground and clasped his hand. It was a strong hand, rough from hard work, and his thumbnail had an odd shape due to a previous injury. He easily hoisted her up behind him, backpack, rifle, and all.
“I’ll take you to the fort and set you up with Peg – I mean Yolanda. She’ll get you a room.”
Emma saw his profile flinch.
“We lost some lives in the recent battle,” Juan explained, seeing her concern. “But we won.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Emma tried to figure out where to place her hands. It had been so long she’d ridden on a horse, and never with someone else.
With an amused smile, Juan gripped her fluttering hands and placed them around his taut waist. “Just hold on.”
The ride to the fort was exhilarating, though a bit jarring. Juan rode the horse with ease that she envied. He barely seemed to move in the saddle, while she bounced all over the place and had to cling to him for dear life. The horse was obviously pleased to be able to run, even with the extra weight, and pounded over the hard earth at top speed. The closer they drew to the fort, the more impressed Emma was by what she saw. The wall was concrete block, but looked quite sturdy. Sentries patrolled the walls and other guards on horseback tipped their hats to them as they passed.
“How long did it take you to do all this?” Emma asked.
“Not done yet. Still working on making it better, more secure, more hospitable.”
Emma laughed. “Dude, you have got to be fuckin’ kidding me. I’ve been living in an Airstream trailer.”
“Okay, you have got to be fuckin’ kidding me! An Airstream? What are you? Crazy?”
“As a fox, my grandfather used to say.”
Juan’s shoulders tightened slightly, but he cast a smile at her. “Crazy is good.”
Rounding a corner of the wall, they approached large metal gates. A wide-set black girl stood on guard at the post near the gate with a tall lanky redheaded guy with lots of freckles.
Juan called out, “Hey, Lenore, stop flirting and open up. Coming in with a newbie.”
“I’m not doing the flirting. Arnold won’t leave me alone.”
Lenore scowled, but Emma saw a hint of amusement in the woman’s eyes. She could spot when a girl was playing hard to get, and Lenore was definitely putting the boyishly cute guard through the ringer.
“I keep asking her out and she keeps refusing me! Me? I’m cute! I have the whole Ron Weasely thing going on!” Arnold protested as the gates slowly opened.
“I liked Harry Potter,” Lenore said in a firm voice. “The glasses are hot.”
“I’ll wear glasses for you.”
Lenore harrumphed.
The horse trotted through the opening into what appeared to be another entry area. The gates closed behind them and Juan waited for the second set to open.
“Juan, you gotta help me here!”
“You’re on your own, Arnold. I don’t fuck with Lenore. She’ll kick my ass!” Juan shouted back. Lowering his voice, he said to Emma, “Five bucks say they’re hooking up in a week.”
Emma nodded. “Oh, yeah. Definitely. All the signs are there.”
Again, the faint shadow of pain floated over Juan’s features. “Yeah. I remember that song and dance.”
The next thirty minutes were a bit overwhelming. There were so many people hurrying about Emma was completely stunned. With a wide smile plastered on her face, she felt like a big goofball. A nurse named Charlotte checked her for bites and cleared her while Juan stood nearby looking somber. Emma was surprised when he stuck around, but also relieved. He was the first person she’d met since the outbreak, and that made her feel unexpectedly attached to him.
“Clean. Healthy. Healthier than most who come in,” Charlotte said, patting Emma on the shoulder. “Slightly underweight, but that’s to be expected when food is scarce.”
“That’s good news. She’s a fierce zombie killer. I saw her take out a zombie with a pickaxe. Impressive.”
Charlotte gave Emma a wry smile, her eyes studying her thoughtfully. “Really? Interesting.”
“You just have to kill them anyway you can,” Emma said, shrugging.
“C’mon, Em. Let me show you around, get you a room, and get some grub in you.” Juan waved at her to follow before striding toward a wood stairway.
Following the tall cowboy, Emma tried not to notice his finely-toned body. She always was a sucker for muscular arms, which was why Stan had caught her eye. It felt odd to even be around another human being, let alone find one attractive. After a year of mourning, depression, and being alone, she felt refreshingly alive again.
“This is amazing,” Emma kept saying as Juan escorted her through the fort’s sections as they made their way to the hotel.
“Eh, it’s okay.” He shrugged, but looked pleased with her compliment.
A lanky biker with long white hair tilted his head as Emma passed. She met his gaze, curious. Slowly, the biker grinned, looking very pleased. “Good to see ya, Emma.”
“Do I know you?” Emma asked, slig
htly unnerved.
“No, no. Name’s Rune. We just have a friend in common.” The biker shook her hand, then lightly bumped fists with Juan. “Good to see you brought another family member home, Juan.”
“I found her killing a zombie. With a pickaxe.” Juan winked at Emma. “Bad ass zombie killer, right here.”
“Ah,” Rune said, nodding his head slightly. “It’s all making sense now.”
“But you’re not,” Juan said. “You doing that John Edward’s shit again?” Juan cast a nervous look around him.
“That man was a fraud. I’m legit.” Rune winked, and strolled away.
“John Edwards shit?” Emma asked, thinking of the ghost in her dream.
“Rune sees things.” Juan nervously tugged on his ponytail. “But there’s weirder folks around here. And here comes one.”
“Oh, my Lord! That’s the old coot from public access!” Emma gawked at the familiar face she’d seen many times on her grandfather’s television.
“Otis Calhoun may be paranoid, but he’s brilliant at times.”
The skinny old man, who smelled worse than a zombie, dashed past them clutching a small Chihuahua under one arm. “Can’t talk! Pee Wee has to go!”
Emma raised her hands to her face and laughed. “Oh, my God. Am I dreaming all this?”
“Nah. It’s real. I promise you. It’s all real.” Juan gave her a wide grin, then became aware of a young boy walking toward them. The small one had broken away from a group of kids playing in a sandbox. “Emma, this is my youngest boy, Troy.”
“My shoes light up,” the little boy said, his big brown eyes staring up at her.
“They do!” Emma smiled in spite of the sharp pain piercing her heart. It was difficult not to think of Billy while looking at the child. Squatting, she admired the shoe the boy held up for her to see.
“I do this and it lights up.” He jumped up and down, the lights flicking off and on. “They’re magic.”
Emma pressed her hands to her heart, her voice catching when she spoke. “They really are! Those are so cool. Mine are just boring cowboy boots.”
“Daddy One wears boots. He’s a cowboy.”
As The World Dies Untold Tales Volume 3 Page 15
