The front screen door slammed shut. “Arm & Hammer?” the man shouted. He was outside again.
The garage was on the same side of the house as the back patio, and both the front and back garage door entrances were open. The men would spot them if they looked at the wrong moment. She waited.
“Watch and learn. See how the battery’s corroded—” One of the men said as they huddled over the truck’s engine.
She was close enough to hear the fizzing sounds of the baking soda followed by the scouring of a wire brush. It’s now or never, she told herself. She looked down at Twila and mouthed with raised eyebrows, “Ready?”
Twila nodded.
They sneaked to the opposite side of the house and darted to the boathouse. Willow stepped from side to side and pulled at her tether. Twila stroked the mare’s head and whispered something to her while Scarlett retrieved the other two packs of food she’d covered with a camouflage tarp. She wasn’t about to leave the food behind. It was too difficult to find these days. Scavenging house to house was too dangerous with Twila to protect.
After Twila straddled the horse, Scarlett handed her the packs. Then Scarlett gently hopped on behind Twila. It was a lot to ask of the aging mare; however, it was worth the risk of overburdening Willow. Scarlett’s solar plexus twinged. A silhouette flashed on the ground. Was it a bird? She flinched at the racking warning of a shotgun.
“Boys, put on your dress shoes. We’ve got company,” a man’s voice yelled. A man stepped out of the boathouse’s shadow, shotgun pointed at her.
Shit! There were four men, not three.
“Nice and easy—off the horse,” the man ordered with a cocky grin. He yelled back to his friends. “Boys!” The engines revved louder.
In that split second, the second between life or death, Scarlett didn’t think. No. Because she always over-thought everything. Instead, she reacted.
“Don’t!” Twila shrieked.
Scarlett let off three rounds into the man’s chest. She watched in agony as the young man’s eyes flashed the precise moment when he knew he’d been shot—dead. The man finally fell face-down into the ground with the expression of stunned-horror still on his face.
Twila stopped screaming. The revving engines ceased. The moment of shocking-silence shattered Scarlett’s resolve, incapacitated by the man’s death. But, she had to watch. It was her responsibility to witness his soul’s departure. Would the creeper sickness invade his body?
The corpse lurched to life! Her darkest fear confirmed—the truth she had never accepted: humans turned into creepers immediately upon their death. The metallic taste of blood overwhelmed her . . . all too real.
A barrage of shouting neared. The other men were coming. Willow cantered around, spooked by the gunshots until Twila managed to soothe her. Gunshots cracked the air. She dug her heels into Willow. They bolted off. Scarlett let Willow lead the way while she lamented over the fact she had just committed murder. What if they were Ravers? She wasn’t taking any chances. She was Twila’s Protector. And, she was taking it seriously even if a part of her thought it was a cruel cosmic joke.
“They aren’t the Ancient Bloodlines,” Twila said distantly.
Twila’s words tormented her. Maybe not, but the men were trouble, nonetheless. Willow galloped madly across a two-lane blacktop road toward a forest. Scarlett whipped her head around. A truck was gaining on them. More gunshots crackled. Scarlett automatically ducked until Willow made it into the trees. She pulled hard on the reins, forcing the mare to slow down. The over-grown forest was too thick for the truck. They had escaped.
To avoid running into the men further down the road, she led Willow deeper into the forest. It was national forest land, based on the brown signage. Carefully, she avoided reading the wooden trail signs. No trails. They needed to stay lost, for not knowing exactly where they were made it harder for the Ancient Bloodlines to find them. It gave her a bit of comfort.
***
Scarlett rode with half-closed eyes. Time slipped away. Most of the time she didn't know what day it was, the days melding into each other. Riding, walking, constantly panning the horizon for creepers and people, not sleeping when she slept, not tasting what she ate, and ignoring her aching muscles as they trekked on. The numbness replacing the pain was even harder to bear. She even dreamt of walking and riding. At least the days and nights were warmer.
But spring hadn’t arrived yet. They had finally reached Southern California. The terrain had turned rough. Despite the danger, she needed to find a main road to make it over the mountainous landscape. Checking the compass again, she led Willow east while carefully combing the area for a creek. Water was the one thing they could not do without for long, especially Willow. By late afternoon, a rocky hillside caught her eye, and she pulled on the reins.
“Are we lost?” Twila asked with a yawn.
“Only from the bad people,” Scarlett said encouragingly. Twila was once again withdrawn. It troubled Scarlett immensely. At the same time, the reticent child made it easier for her to focus on their survival. After dismounting, Scarlett studied their surroundings. The hill was too steep to be ambushed from behind. She checked out the base of a rocky ridgeline with a narrow winding creek just below. They’d camp between the outcropping and the creek.
Twila helped set up camp in a disturbing robotic-like state. “It’s time to wash up,” Scarlett said, grabbing the canteens. They walked silently to the creek. Willow was already helping herself. Scarlett dipped a washcloth into the clear water and then gently washed Twila’s face. “Do you feel all right, sweetie?”
Twila stood expressionless. A few eerie seconds later as if Twila had heard her after a time delay, Twila nodded. Sometimes she gives me the heebie-jeebies. They sat on the edge of the creekbed, taking in the warming late-afternoon sun. When the peculiar pinkish-orange sun reached the ridgeline, an un-earthly cold settled in the leafless, wooded canyon. The winds picked up. Must be the Santa Ana winds. The thought occurred out of the blue.
“Ca-caw . . . ca-caw.” A series of ca-caws squawked across the sky. Flittering shadows blotted out what was left of the sun. A million blackbirds swirled in unison, swaying to and fro, dipping lower and lower into the canyon. A foreboding sense of urgency pricked her nerves. The probing started.
“Get out of the forest,” a faraway cry whispered in her ears. Was it a trick? How could they have found them? She didn’t even know where they were. Willow neighed and pranced nervously.
“Let’s go to our camp,” Scarlett worried aloud, eyeing the underbrush, expecting to see a horde.
The biggest blackbird she’d ever seen, the size of an eagle with a wingspan of several feet flared its wings before it landed on a hollowed tree, blocking their path like a dark sentry. Another bird joined the dead tree’s branches. And another. The forest was engulfed with the fluttering sounds of flapping wings. They swooped around the tree looking for a space to land, pecking and shoving each other off like avian bullies.
As if the nightmarish birds had become aware of their presence, they abruptly stopped their ruckus ca-cawing. While the others battled for their perch on the tree, the largest, most ominous of the creatures stared directly at Scarlett. Its eyes delved into hers. The crackling sound of the bird’s huge talons ripped into the tree bark as it walked around the tree limb until it hung upside down with its back to her. Slowly, its neck twisted around toward her. Its knowing eyes flashed, spiraling from dead-black to blood-red, blinding her inner vision. From deep within, an undeniable primordial fear snaked up the base of her body, warning her to snap out of the paralyzing moment. Scarlett finally jolted out of the hypnotic state to find Twila slumped between her arms, her neck tilted back, mouth wide open, gasping for breath.
Winter-dead bushes and thorny briars lashed at Scarlett’s arms and legs as she carried Twila to the tent. Scarlett sang softly in an attempt to comfort the child. Willow darted ahead. When they reached the camp, she laid Twila in front of the tent opening, wanting
to tether Willow before she was spooked off by the bizarre birds. Strangely, Willow knelt down on her front legs and rubbed Twila’s cheeks with her muzzle. Was Willow worried for Twila?
Scarlett didn’t bother with dinner as the foreboding feeling intensified. She had the strange notion the forest was dead. Dead and angry. A thick odor settled in. The birds’ ca-caws faded off in the distance. And the sun forsook them to the darkness, disappearing below the ridgeline. Once in the tent, Scarlett drifted in and out of sleep with Twila in her arms. Flesh-melting faces invaded her dreams. She pushed the dreams away, only to be surrounded by more hideous creepers, towering over her, snickering her name and warning: You’ll soon be one of us!
***
A formidable howling penetrated Scarlett’s myriad of nightmares, waking her. She jumped out of the tent with gun in hand. The entire ridgeline glowed in brilliant oranges and reds. The forest is on fire!
“Twila!” Scarlett yelled into the embers drifting in a sudden windstorm. “Put on your shoes,” she screamed, tugging on her shoes. Quickly, she bundled their vital supplies. Willow neighed frantically, yanking at her tether.
“Willow’s scared.”
“Can you calm her?” Scarlett said, lifting Twila onto the mare. She handed the packs to Twila, and then Twila hung them around her neck, letting them rest on Willow.
After strapping on the ALICE pack, she slipped her foot in the stirrup and swung her leg over the saddle in a fluid movement. Willow kicked up her hind legs. With Twila between her arms, Scarlett had barely managed to hang on. Twila chanted to Willow while Scarlett leaned toward the tree and maintained her balance on the jittery horse until she finally untied the tether knot.
A fiery tumbleweed landed next to them. Willow took off. Scarlett clutched the reins, hugging Twila between her arms and hugging the mare with her legs, they charged through the forest. They needed to find a road out of this firestorm. Scarlett focused her mind, turning a vague image into a clear image—an image of a road.
She hadn’t known the old mare could run so fast for so long. The familiar cloppity-clop of the hooves told her they had made it to a road. Immediate relief followed. A red-glowing haze overshadowed dawn’s arrival. Something made her glance back. The strangest thing, the blackbirds swarmed the edge of the forest as if trapped by an invisible barrier. A fury of wings burst into flames, followed by pathetic high-pitched screeching.
“They are the bad people’s friends.” Twila’s words resonated with her own thoughts.
Once on the road, the probing intensified. Scarlett closed her eyes in an attempt to misguide the Ancient Bloodlines. They suddenly seemed more real than ever before. Deadly. Had they started the fire? Trapping them. A vision flashed. A group of people wearing black robes prayed with their arms outstretched to the sky. Except for one person, a man with intense light-blue eyes. He stared directly into hers. Seeing with her eyes! A force pulled her down, drowning her as she descended into the bottomless depths of the unknown: A cosmic void of darkness.
Scarlett snapped out of the hypnotic state. In her inner vision, she shot up a stone wall, creating a barricade. Then, she turned her inner vision into that cosmic void of darkness she had just felt, like the deepest darkness of space. Dark matter. She used the dark matter imagery as a cosmic shield of protection. With closed eyes, she dug her heels into the already panting mare. She’d risk a confrontation with people or even a horde rather than risk contact with that man. His intense stare scared the devil out of her. It was like he had been right there in front of her. And those eyes. She recognized them. They were hers!
The cloppity-clop of hooves against the blacktop faltered. Willow must be exhausted. She was running the poor mare into the ground. Suddenly, her headache disappeared. And so, Scarlett finally opened her eyes. A blue road marker was just ahead. “Shit!” We’re on an interstate. Based on the familiar mountain range, they were in Southern California, maybe on Interstate 5. She quickly dismissed the thought, not wanting the Ancient Bloodlines to see. The smoky-tinged air caused her to breathe shallowly.
The morning turned to dusk with pockets of smoke drifting like sinister fogbanks right out of a 1950s horror movie. Using her mind, she blurred the words of the green highway sign they rode under despite how desperately she wanted to know their exact location. The Santa Ana winds sent waves of heat raging through the air. The acrid odor of floating ash, melting asphalt, and charred forest clung to her lungs. It was probably a good thing Twila had retreated to her faraway place. Was the child misguiding the Ancient Bloodlines in her own way?
The mare’s gait waned as the hours passed. Scarlett snuck peeks through squinted eyes, blurring-out the road signs, which was harder than one might think. It was almost maddening. At last, the air cleared. Pockets of fog-like smoke lingered, but she could breathe deeply without her lungs spasming.
“I’m starving!”
“Twila!” It came out in a raspy cry. Tears of relief rolled down Scarlett’s cheeks. A part of her was afraid the child might have died from smoke inhalation. It was time to give Willow a break. She guided Willow to an unscorched area in the meridian.
“Can you breathe all right?” Scarlett worried.
“Willow’s trying so hard. Mommy, you have to try harder,” Twila scolded.
Uh, that’s just flippin’ great. I’m outrunning fires, mad birds, bad guys, creepers, Ravers—not to mention the Ancient Bloodlines. And, I’m the one who’s not trying hard enough? Scarlett slipped off the mare and nearly collapsed to her knees, her thighs numb from riding so long. She stretched her legs, aware of her surroundings.
“I have to pee,” Twila whined.
“Sure, sweetie,” Scarlett said, lifting her off. “Give me a minute to find a safe spot.” She scanned the area. They were in a patch of fresh air like the eye of a hurricane. Beyond a hundred feet or so a thick haziness lingered in the air. Zero visibility.
“Stay here,” Scarlett warned while withdrawing the gun from her vest. Two vehicles were in their patch of fresh air. The closest car had its doors wide open, the seats splattered with dried blood. She knew the scene all too well from the early days of the pandemic. “You can go here,” Scarlett said, pointing to the area by the driver’s side door. Meanwhile, Scarlett took guard.
“Your turn,” Twila said, grimacing at the ground.
“Thank you. Tell me if you see anything move.” It was unnerving trying to urinate before checking out the entire area, but after Twila had gone, she couldn’t hold it any longer.
“I’ll check out the SUV. Then we’ll eat.” It was the only other thing visible in the meridian. She cocked the gun and crept to the SUV. Its closed doors made her nervous. She peeked inside the Subaru’s rolled up windows. No bodies. No blood. She let out a sigh of relief and tied Willow to a road construction signpost in the meridian, so she could rest and munch on the clover patches.
“Do we have any nuts left?” Twila asked with a note of enthusiasm.
“Sure, get comfy in the backseat.” Scarlett dug around the pack for the last plastic baggy of nuts she’d been saving. “Chew each one slowly.” She was thankful Twila was back to her normal self.
Scarlett eyed the sky suspiciously, watching the smoke whirl around them. With closed eyes, she focused on the center of her forehead, willing for a message. It came. “The merakba’s forcefield will shield you temporarily. Leave at first light.”
Scarlett found herself doubting the message. B-e-l-i-e-v-e the letters reminded. She had to believe. What else could they do? They were all exhausted. Willow was already lying on the ground, casually grazing. She realized how much they depended upon the mare for their survival. They had abused her. Scarlett sat next to Willow, stroking her lovely chestnut mane. “I’m sorry we push you so hard,” Scarlett said and laid her head on her.
“She’s thirsty!” Twila yelled from the backseat.
They’d been relying on creeks, streams, and rivers. Since the forest fire, they hadn’t stopped. Scarlett walked the
circumference of their circle of clear air. She came to a culvert where a small stream of water flowed from the canyon and under the interstate. She sniffed it and then tasted it. The water seemed fine. Another break. Although, she’d definitely take advantage of the LifeStraw water filter bottle she had liberated from the lake house before they refilled their canteens with it. Somehow, starting a fire to boil the water didn’t seem right after their narrow escape.
Scarlett emptied two plastic tubs of tools from the Subaru and filled one with water for Willow and one for them. After they had taken much-needed sponge baths, they changed into their spare set of overalls. Then she washed their grungy, smoke-infested clothing. Twila watched intently while Scarlett strung a cord from the vehicle’s side mirror to Willow’s signpost. She draped their clothes over the cord, hoping they’d dry by sunrise.
By nightfall, Scarlett and Twila had folded down the vehicle’s backseat and turned it into a slumber party bed. Twila lay on her stomach, propped on an elbow, and colored. Scarlett took the opportunity to carefully repack their precious supplies.
***
A series of moans besieged the morning. Scarlett woke up in a cold-and-hot sweat. Twila sat crossed-legged, facing the Subaru’s back window. Her entire body trembled.
“Did you have a bad dream?” Scarlett worried.
“I hate it here!”
Scarlett felt the urgency in the air. “Put your shoes on.”
Scarlett pulled on her hightops and suddenly worried about Willow. She opened the door, squinting into the surreal blazing-red sunrise. The fire had jumped the other side of the canyon! “Hurry,” she shouted. She rolled the sleeping bag and then grabbed their nearly dried clothes. She dumped the water out of one of the tubs. It would come in handy, she decided. Besides a pair of sunglasses, it was the only thing she had managed to scavenge from the Subaru.
Only The Dead Don't Die (Book 2): The Hunger's Howl Page 15
