Only The Dead Don't Die (Book 2): The Hunger's Howl

by Popovich, A. D.

  “I’ll walk. Betty’s always on my case about getting more exercise. Tell my wife to break out her best china.” He winked. “Willow, take care of them,” he said, stroking the horse’s lovely chestnut mane.

  “What if the horse goes running madly through the woods?” Scarlett couldn’t possibly ride a horse. Didn’t it take years of lessons and training? And even then, people had accidents.

  “That’s not likely to happen. She’s an oldie but goody.” He seemed rather sure of himself. “By the way, I’m Mario Padilla.”

  “Scarlett from Roseville,” she replied, not offering to introduce Twila.

  “I’ll meet you at the ranch. Get along now.” Mario patted the horse on its hindquarters.

  And so it was. Scarlett felt like a character right out of a medieval tale, riding a horse, balancing a child between her arms while holding onto the reins. Meanwhile, the mysterious stranger followed on foot.

  ***

  Scarlett was stuffed after a delicious meal of venison stew. Twila looked much better and had just finished her second bowl of oatmeal. Contented, she watched Betty fuss over the child as if she were her grandmother, covering her with a crocheted blanket and propping pillows under her head. She had even given Twila a doll to play with.

  And while Mario reminded her of someone from her past, Betty reminded her of her long-deceased Aunt Marge. Thank Goodness her aunt hadn’t lived to see this horrid world. Her dear Aunt Marge had raised Scarlett and her older sister after their parents had perished in a car accident over twenty years ago. “I miss you, Cyndi and Aunt Marge.”

  Scarlett sat on one end of the couch, and Twila slept at the other. She let herself believe she was part of the family, home for the holidays. A pang of homesickness pinched her heart. How she wished for her old life in Roseville, California, before the Super Summer flu had taken mankind to its knees—groveling for food, shelter, and hope.

  No one had talked much during dinner. Betty, an older woman with short, graying hair still seemed a bit distraught. She had just had a half dozen uninvited Ravers over for lunch and was probably tired of unexpected guests.

  “How long have you been on the run?” Betty asked as if it were a normal everyday question.

  “We left this morning.” Scarlett shifted on the couch, careful not to awaken Twila. It was time for the questions.

  “From where?” Betty seemed confused. “This is the only house in the canyon.”

  “We happened on a cottage when the snowstorm hit,” Scarlett explained.

  “Oh my, old lady Silverton’s place?” Betty gasped as she busied about clearing the dinner table.

  They know the Silver Lady? “Interesting place,” Scarlett said, sipping a cup of peppermint tea, which Betty suggested helped digest the venison.

  “It’s a shame. The place nearly burnt down some thirty-odd years ago,” Mario said, stoking the fire.

  Strange, Scarlett hadn’t noticed any signs of a fire. “Where did Mrs. Silverton go?” Scarlett wondered.

  “Afraid she and her cats went down with the place.” Mario returned to his chair by the window.

  “What?” A sickening feeling churned in the pit of her stomach. The Silver Lady is dead? “A ghost?” Scarlett bit her tongue.

  An internal flash demanded her attention. Scarlett involuntarily closed her eyes. An image of the Silver Lady mouthed, “Believe.” Scarlett broke out in a rash of goosebumps and reached for the Afghan blanket resting on the back of the couch.

  “She was an odd one. Some people said she was a, a witch,” Betty whispered in a tone ready for gossip.

  Scarlett glanced at Twila, hoping she wasn’t listening. “What do you think?” Scarlett asked.

  “She was a peculiar one, all right,” Mario answered. “We never had anything against her. One winter we invited her to stay with us for a few days until I chopped firewood for her fireplace.”

  “Pardon me for changing the subject. Where are you going?” Betty asked with a befuddled expression.

  Scarlett was too tired to invent a series of lies. “Just going, looking for a safe place.” Scarlett yawned.

  An awkward silence interrupted the conversation. Twila was fast asleep, nestled under the blanket. How Scarlett wanted a moment like that to herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Betty mouthing something to Mario. He shook his head to whatever it was. So what if Betty and Mario think I’m lying. Everyone had secrets these days. She really didn’t care.

  “We think you should come with us,” Betty nodded with determination, apparently annoying Mario. “Don’t we?” Betty said sternly. “How long are they going to make it?” Betty turned to him, frowning.

  “Don’t worry, we’re leaving in the morning,” Scarlett said, noticing the tense mood change.

  “For the love of God, say something, Mario. Convince her.” Betty was nearing hysterics.

  Mario stood up abruptly, opened the front door, looked around, and then shut it. Then he walked to the kitchen. She heard the back door open and close. He then looked out all the windows in the den. Meanwhile, Betty remained quiet, fidgety.

  “We’re leaving. There’s a camp of people hiding up north. You’re welcome to join us.”

  Uh. It wasn’t what she had expected. She thought Betty and Mario were about to turn them back out in the cold. “When?”

  “Not sure, the blizzard screwed up our plans. We’re waiting on two more families. It’s sort of like the Underground Railroad thing we’ve orchestrated. We’ve been getting people out of Raver territory since those bastards first got here. It’s high time we leave”—he looked wistfully around—“our home.”

  “I didn’t know there were so many survivors.” Scarlett was surprised. She figured most people had died from the pandemic or had turned creeper.

  “You’d be surprised. There are small enclaves here and there. The flu outbreak wasn’t so bad in the rural areas. Then the Ravers took over.”

  “Well, you seemed rather friendly with the Ravers,” Scarlett suddenly accused.

  “Ha, my husband’s got the gift of gab.” Betty laughed.

  “Like they say. ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,’ ” Mario quoted.

  Who was the last person who said that to me? “Zac! That’s who you remind me of. You don’t happen to know Zac?”

  “Depends,” Mario alluded, shifting his eyes in apparent mischief as if he were afraid of what she might say next.

  “Should have known Zac would be in on it if a pretty woman’s involved,” Betty mumbled.

  “Are we talking about the same Zac?” Mario questioned, standing by the window in the den.

  “Smooth talker, thinks he’s God’s gift to women and all that,” Scarlett said sarcastically.

  “That’s the one. Well, what do ya know? She knows Zac,” Mario said to Betty.

  “Did you know him before the—” Betty asked.

  Scarlett shook her head. She didn’t want to say too much. She didn’t want them to know Zac had been the one who had gifted her with Twila. Especially since, she was masquerading as Twila’s natural mother, according to the Silver Lady’s mysterious musings.

  “Let’s just say Zac caught me off guard. And, I sort of shot him.” Scarlett grimaced and waited for their reaction.

  “You’re the dame who shot Zac?” I’ll be a son of a gun.” Mario slapped his knee.

  “The teacher?” Betty’s eyes lit up. “Guess Zac finally got what was comin’ to him. He’s got a way with women.”

  “Or not.” Scarlett laughed. “Is he here?”

  “No. Zac makes a run to Texas and back every few weeks. No tellin’ where he is. He’s bringing us our passports this time around.”

  “Passports?” Scarlett thought it sounded odd.

  “One needs official LSC documents to get into Texas, which is the only safe place left in the entire continental U.S. of A. Word has it, Texas will stop taking refugees soon. Time to jump ship.”

  “The Raver said they’
d be back in three days for horses.” Scarlett wondered why they hadn’t left their home before. But, they were an older couple. Life on the run wasn’t easy.

  “Just feeding him a line of BS. Those bastards are in for a surprise. This place will be deserted,” Mario said, glancing out the window.

  Betty shook her head from side to side. “Don’t know where they get it. BS does seem to be a dominant trait in the Padilla men.”

  “That’s right. Zac mentioned an uncle with a horse ranch.” Scarlett thought back to the day she had first met Zac.

  “Our horse ranch is the only reason they haven't murdered us in our sleep. Ravers need horses since gasoline is scarce,” Mario said.

  “If the Ravers need your help, what are you worried about?” She was a bit confused.

  “Hell, I trust them about as much as a rattlesnake. No, they’re a murderous lot of thieves. Got to leave before R returns. Things get ugly when R’s in town. That’s why we’re not waiting until spring.”

  “What about Zac and the passports?”

  “He’ll catch up to us sooner or later. We have a network of safehouses, where we keep a fresh supply of horses, supplies, and custom-built wagons,” Mario explained.

  “People don’t drive to Texas?” she wanted to make sure she understood.

  “You got it. Horses and wagons. They take the old emigrant trails like the settlers did in the pioneer days since the hordes haunt the highways.” He paused. “So what do you say? We’ve got a safehouse we can hideout at until Zac returns for his next passengers,” he said.

  Scarlett couldn’t tell them no. Not face to face, not after everything they had done. And, she did want to go. The warning rang loudly and clearly in her ears: Stay away from groups. That’s where the Ancient Bloodlines are looking.

  “Both of you are too kind. Really, I’m exhausted. Can we talk about it in the morning?” Scarlett hoped she hadn’t sounded ungrateful.

  “Oh my, where are our manners? I’ll fix up little Tommy’s room.” Betty scurried off, drying her hands on her apron. And that was the end of the conversation.

  ***

  Scarlett and Twila were getting dressed for the day when a wild banging at the ranch house’s door nearly took her breath away. “Pack our things!” Scarlett whispered sternly to Twila.

  Scarlett stepped into the hallway to see what the commotion was about. A sense of urgency hung in the air, sending a wave of electricity through her body. Something was wrong. She tiptoed to the living room doorway unable to hear what the frantic man at the door said. When she closed her eyes, a hazy scene materialized. Three military vehicles with mounted guns raced toward the ranch!

  After the visitor left, Betty and Mario embraced in a revealing moment that said much more than words.

  Betty bustled to Scarlett. “Ravers are coming. They captured Peter’s family last night—” Betty’s voice cracked. “They tortured them. Peter talked.”

  Mario turned to Betty. “Honey, you can’t blame Peter. I know how those bastards work.” Fear lurked around the corners of his eyes.

  “You have to leave,” Betty’s voice quavered.

  Mario rubbed his wife’s shoulders, fear engulfing him. Or, perhaps Scarlett felt his fear more than saw it. She had trouble distinguishing the two senses at times. Was it why Twila was so often confused, lost between two realities?

  “They know our northern escape route out of the valley,” Mario muttered and then turned to his wife and whispered in her ear.

  “We don’t want your lives on our consciences.” Mario paused and turned to Betty. “Hon, give them the food you just packed for me.” He turned to Scarlett. “Your best bet is to go south down the Moke River until it crosses State Route Forty-nine at Moke Hill—”

  “Don’t tell them that!” Betty gasped from the kitchen.

  “That’s where we escaped from. Moke Hill is their headquarters.” Scarlett didn’t understand.

  Mario nodded. “It’s the only option. Ravers won’t expect it. When you get to their territory, wait until midnight or so. After a few drinks, they don’t see so well. I know, I know.” Mario waved his hand at Betty’s flurry of gasps. “It’s too damn dangerous to travel at night, but first they need to escape the Ravers. I don’t think you need to be reminded of their handiwork. Those bastards are butchers!”

  Distant shouting distracted her. Was it her inner ear or was it outside? Stay focused, she warned. “Where will Forty-nine take us?” A surge of energy prodded Scarlett to the back door.

  “Forty-nine meanders south. Plenty of creek crossings to keep you supplied with water. Don’t recall all the byways you need to take. Keep heading southeast to avoid the mountains. By the time you make it to Ninety-Nine South, you’re liable to meet up with Texan-bound caravans. Just remember, once you make it out of Raver territory doesn’t mean it’s safe. You’ll always be in someone’s territory,” he warned in a hurried voice.

  “They can’t go through Southern California. Too many of those things.” Betty stared wide-eyed at Mario.

  “Worst case scenario, turn east before Bakersfield. You’ll want to hook up to Interstate Forty East. It’ll take you to Arizona.”

  “What about Zac?” Scarlett asked, taking the backpack of food from Betty.

  “Zac’s not due back for a couple of weeks. Besides, Zac can take care of himself.”

  “Aren’t you guys leaving now?” Scarlett didn’t hide her concern.

  “Can’t. We’re waiting for Betty’s sister to show. I’m a bullshitter, remember. I’ll BS my way out of it,” Mario said, glued to the living room window. “Take Willow. She’ll buy you some time. There’s not much pep left in her, but she’s sprier than she looks. Stamina is her secret weapon. She’s all saddled and ready to go. She’ll tell you when she’s hungry and thirsty.”

  Mario’s words weren’t registering. All she was thinking was, she couldn’t possibly take their horse and leave Betty and Mario for the Ravers.

  Betty bustled over with an armful of winter wear. “I gathered these from our supplies last night. This should fit you.” Betty bundled Twila in a child’s parka and then handed her a pair of mittens.

  “Ooh, thank you. I love it,” Twila said.

  “This is for you. Complete with matching gloves and ski mask,” Betty said, handing Scarlett a parka and gloves.

  Scarlett thanked her automatically, still dazed at how fast things were happening.

  “You’ll be needing this.” Mario lifted a rather large backpack from the floor. “I was just leaving for a day’s ride to see if Peter made it to the safehouse. My ALICE pack is fully-equipped,” he said, stuffing the package of venison into one of the side pouches. “It goes on just like so.” He adjusted the straps, cinching them. “You’ll get used to the weight. It has a lumbar adjustment you can play with later.”

  “Really, we can’t take your supplies and your last horse.” Scarlett was surprised at the generous offer.

  “We’ve got plenty of supplies and horses hidden at other sites. We always have a supply ready for Zac’s next caravan.”

  “We can’t—”

  “Go!” It was a voice in her ears, not Betty or Mario’s. The roar of the vehicles approached. Betty was already scuttling Twila and her to the back door.

  “Willow’s in the small outbuilding five acres behind the horse stalls.” Mario pointed from the back door. “Be good to Willow, and she’ll treat you right. The old gal’s sweeter than Betty’s blackberry pie.”

  Betty patted Twila on the head. “You mind your mama, and everything’s gonna be just fine.” The terror swirling around Betty swirled into Scarlett’s heart. The smokey-black waves—was it fear or death?

  Twila smiled faintly. She hated being treated like a seven-year-old. Scarlett grabbed her pack. “How can I ever thank you?” Scarlett muttered in shock as they snuck out the back door. A series of rapid-fire shots shocked the early morning. She and Twila made a run for it, the weight of the two packs slowing her down.


  “Betty, you have to come with us!” Twila screamed. Her plea was lost amongst the gunfire.

  When they made it to the outbuilding, Willow seemed to be waiting for them.

  “Hi, horsey. Take us away from the bad people.” Twila nuzzled Willow’s muzzle.

  Scarlett lifted Twila onto the horse. “Hold on to the horn of the saddle. I’ll tie our pack around your waist, and it can sit in front of you.”

  How was she going to mount the horse with the forty pound ALICE pack weighing her down? She eyed a wooden crate. Standing on the crate, she slipped her foot in the stirrup and then stumbled about until she managed to straddle the horse, ALICE pack and all.

  “Take us to the river, horsey,” Twila urged. Willow obligingly trotted out of the building in the opposite direction of the ranch house.

  Scarlett hated leaving Mario and Betty like that. A single gunshot went off. The metallic taste of blood lingered on her lips. Someone’s dead! She urged Willow faster with the heels of her feet. Willow seemed to know the way to the river without any guiding. Finally, the murmuring sounds of the river overtook the chaotic screaming in her mind. And so, they followed the river south all the while Scarlett recited the directions Mario had given her.

  After several hours, she felt confident they hadn’t been followed. Scarlett chose a spot where they could sit hidden amongst the underbrush to break for a late lunch. Twila had been extra quiet since their escape, and Scarlett didn’t risk starting a conversation. She needed time to think, to listen to her inner guidance, or for any messages from the Silver Lady.

  No messages came, so she thought logically. Her next worry: how much weight could the mare take? She roughly calculated. She was down to maybe a hundred and ten pounds, Twila probably weighed forty to fifty pounds and both packs about another fifty to sixty pounds. Hmm, the average man weighed about 180 to 220 pounds. It might be all right.

  She didn’t know a thing about horses: How long they could be ridden, how long they needed to rest, how often they needed food and water. She tied the reins to a trunk of a small tree near the river’s edge, giving Willow the freedom to drink and graze on a patch of greenery.