She struggled with waves of anxiety as they approached the guns pointing toward them. At least it was her angst and not something mystical. A man on the Humvee waved his automatic gun in the air in an apparent yet daunting welcome.
“Don’t shoot!” Scarlett shouted.
A man with a clipboard approached. “Dismount,” he said a bit routinely, while the other man in the Humvee pointed the machine gun in their direction. The other guards had returned to their posts. They must not be too concerned with the two of them.
“Where’re you from?” the man with the clipboard asked.
“California,” Scarlett answered as vaguely as possible.
“What part?”
“Central.”
“Seen any hoards in the past three days?”
She had to think. “Four or five days ago,” she said in a gruffer tone, trying to sound masculine.
“Who’s this?” He pointed to Twila.
“My son.”
The man had an odd expression on his face as if he were surprised to see a child. “He sick?”
“No, if he had the flu, he’d be dead by now,” she stated rather obviously.
“Show me your weapons?”
She reached into her vest and pulled out the 9mm. She only showed him one of her knives and pointed to the tire iron in the saddle slot.
“You’re clear for entry,” he said writing on his clipboard. “Thieves are shot on the spot. No trial. No jury. Sign in your horse at the corral. Go on then.”
“What if someone steals my horse?”
“Nobody steals nothing around here. That’s the least of your troubles,” he said, pointing to the Humvees posted around the perimeter.
“Is this Texas?” Scarlett wasn’t able to keep the excitement out of her voice.
The man burst out laughing and slapped his knee. “Not even close. This is Last Chance. You’re ’bout three hundred miles west of Last State.”
“Are all these people going to Texas?”
“You’ve got one guess.”
“So, Texas is safe?” She continued despite his snooty attitude.
“That’s what they say.” He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, turned his back on her, and scurried to the Humvee.
“He wasn’t very nice, huh Mommy?”
“Remember, don’t call me, Mommy. Call me Daddy.”
Twila covered her mouth and giggled. “You’re silly, Mom—”
Scarlett narrowed her eyes and frowned. “Twila!”
“Okay, Daddy.” Twila went into a bout of giggles.
Three hundred miles seemed like nothing after these past few months. An intense feeling surged through her entire body. We’re almost there! She wanted to shout. The armed machine guns quickly stifled her brief moment of jubilance.
With Twila still on the mare, Scarlett led the way through the crowd. Rather suddenly, she felt like a lone creeper relieved to finally find a horde to join. Everyone talked in hushed tones. Little sparks of electricity radiated around peoples’ heads and murky brownish-reds emitted from their bodies. “Auras,” a voice answered from within. “Protect yourself from their invasive energy.” If she was seeing their auras, she had definitely gone through a transformation these past several months. She was stunned by the energy waves darting in the air.
“Their energy is dark. They forgot who they are,” Twila said in a remorseful tone beyond her years. “Their lights should be sparkling white or bright like the rainbow.”
Scarlett ignored her off-the-wall remarks, more concerned with a clear path to the sandbagged-fenced corral. It was teeming with dozens of horses.
They waited by the corral’s gate until an older man came up to them. “Just the one horse?”
Scarlett nodded, still overwhelmed. “Does it cost anything?”
“Not a thing. Although my tip jar doesn’t exactly floweth over.” He winked at Twila. “We brush them down nice and gentle like. And feed and water them.”
Scarlett eyed the stacks of baled hay. “Where did you get hay in the middle of the desert?”
“Good question. A while back, a truck driver dropped off a big rig load of it, thinking it was his way to strike it rich. He left for another load and never did make it back. The hay became a freebie to entice customers to spend their money here instead of the other pop-up trading posts.”
“What other trading posts?” She never knew they existed.
“There used to be trading posts all over these immigrant trails. Too many hordes these days. Last Chance has made out okay, probably because of our location, close enough to haul water, and the boxcars secure the supplies from the marauders, along with the Hummers and guards.”
“Oh, I need to get Willow’s saddle.”
“We take care of that as well. The saddles are stored in the hay boxcar.” He took the reins. “Looks like your Quarter Horse has seen better days?” He led the mare around in a circle. “What do we have here? The old girl’s got a limp.” He patted down Willow’s hind legs. “Got an arnica rub that just might do the trick. After that, I’ll check out her hooves and oil down your saddle. All compliments of Last Chance.”
“You’re too kind,” was all Scarlett could think to say.
“That’s what Last Chance pays me for. Just fill out the voucher and leave your thumbprint in the box.” He handed her an ink pad. “Don’t lose your copy.” He tore out a pink carbon copy receipt and gave it to her. “You needn’t worry. I never forget a face or a smile.”
Was he flirting with her? She had to be more mindful of using a gruff voice. “What’s your name?”
“Jones is my name and horses are my game.” He held out his hand for a shake, which she returned firmly.
She turned around abruptly. Two men waited behind her. “Thank you.” She and Twila stroked Willow’s mane lovingly. “You’ll be safe here,” she whispered in the mare’s ear.
They left the corral to see what everyone was standing in line for. She followed suit and stood in the first line they came to. Though, she didn’t know what the line was for. It didn’t matter. She immersed herself in the moment of being around people, normal people who weren’t trying to kill her. What a refreshing change.
The man in front of her turned around and gave them the once-over. His eyes lingered on Twila longer than was socially acceptable. Scarlett realized as she scanned the lines, Twila was the only child there.
“What’s this line for?” Scarlett asked abruptly, attempting to stop his uncomfortable staring.
“Ammo,” he said flatly, still staring at Twila while the child tried to twist her hand free.
Jeez Louise, stop staring at Twila, she shouted silently. The man flinched and turned around. Was the ammo free? She was more concerned about food. She should probably save her money for food, enough to make it to Texas.
“Which one’s the food line?” she asked with his back to her.
“Read the signs.” He didn’t turn around.
With Twila in tow, Scarlett dashed out of line to read the signs on the boxcars. Three boxcars down, FOOD was graffitied in red paint on the side. They hurried to the back of the line. Except for the inquisitive looks at Twila, people kept to themselves. Eager with anticipation, she hoped they didn’t run out of food before her turn. The last time she had counted, she had acquired over one thousand dollars from homes and vehicles.
“Finally,” she mumbled under her breath when the person in front of her left empty-handed.
“Next,” a man in an armpit-stained T-shirt shouted.
“What are my options?” Scarlett said in a low voice, sounding as husky as her vocal chords allowed. Stacks of canned goods lined the boxcar’s back wall next to a man pointing a rifle at her head.
“Sold out of meat products by eight a.m. So, if you want meat, try back in three days. Expecting a shipment. Still got cases of corn, beans, peas—”
“Just give me a little of everything,” she said, feeling an urgency to leave. Twila was trying to twist her
hand free again.
“Show me the gold first,” he ordered.
Gold? “Cash is king.” Right?
“Paper money?” He let out a sarcastic laugh. “You’ve been in the sun too long. Ain’t nobody, I mean nobody, dumb enough to take cash. Did you just crawl out from under a rock or what?”
Actually yes, she wanted to say. She gave him a scathing glare and then realized he couldn’t see her expression because of her sunglasses. A feeling of panic took over. She’d been so obsessively absorbed in their day-to-day survival; the idea money would be worthless had never occurred to her. She had expected the government to help its citizens. But, this certainly wasn’t a FEMA camp.
“Tell you what, with the kid and all, I’ll give you a break. Sure could use a pair of shades like those.” His tone took on a friendlier note.
“Sure.” Scarlett quickly took off the wrap-around sunglasses.
He held them up to the sunlight and then tried them on. “I’ll give you five cans of whatever you want.”
“He’s scammin’ you. Sunglasses are worth big bucks in Last Chance,” an unknown voice shouted from behind.
“Shut your damn trap,” the vendor barked back.
“Try the next line,” a woman’s voice urged.
Scarlett reached for the sunglasses.
“All right, all right, don’t get your panties in a wad. Just bartering. What do you want for them?” he said, obviously reluctant to hand back the sunglasses.
“Twenty cans.” Her voice was firm.
He stared her down, probably expecting her to back down. She held his gaze without wavering.
“Deal!” the man shouted like an over-exuberant game show host.
“A variety of cans.”
“No peas,” Twila announced from out of nowhere, getting the man laughing.
A young man who’d been sitting in a folding patio chair toward the back of the boxcar got up and began filling an empty sandbag with canned goods. Meanwhile, the man put on the sunglasses, adjusting them just right. He pulled out a broken slab of mirror and admired himself.
“Best trade of the day! Frank, put an extra little something in their bag.” He looked at Twila. “You like lollypops?”
Twila was enthralled. “Ooh, do you have a pink one?”
“Hey, Frank, the little boy wants a pink one.” Now they had everyone laughing. So much for keeping a low profile.
“Beings you’re such a good sport, I’ll throw in the rest of the lollypops. It’s got all the colors,” he announced, still in game show host mode.
The woman behind her whispered as she walked by, “You could have gotten more. Sunglasses are a hot item. It’s the one item these vultures overlooked.”
Hmm. The gas station had an entire box of sunglasses and ball caps. I should have taken them. Twenty cans of food and one pack of fish wasn’t enough to last the three hundred miles to Texas.
Scarlett and Twila continued down the line of boxcars to see the other items. The aroma of barbecue flooded her nostrils, so enticing her stomach almost doubled over from hunger pangs. People walked around eating charred meat on a skewer like a street fair. They came to a stone-made barbecue pit: BISON BITES.
“I wanna buy you one. I know you need meat,” Twila exclaimed.
“Maybe later. We don’t have anything to trade.”
Scarlett wanted to learn more about what was going on at the primitive trading post but was afraid to engage in conversation, not wanting to blow their cover. They walked to a picnic area, where groups of people had gathered, sitting on blankets and lawn chairs. It was overwhelming—all these people, bombarded by their infinite thoughts murmuring in the desert’s breeze. Once she listened, the air was thick with angst, for deep in her inner self, she felt their heartbreaking pleas. They all waited to be rescued. A roped-off picnic area with a dozen tables was occupied by a large group of travelers. They were the only people who weren’t overly haggard. The light dancing in their auras sparked with electricity and vitality.
Scarlett rummaged through the ALICE pack and pulled out a moth-eaten blanket, spreading it on the ground. “Why don’t you pick out a can for dinner.” Watching everyone eat along with the barbecue’s aroma made her realize how famished she was.
Twila struggled over choosing a can. She closed her eyes, and reached into the sandbag, blindly pulling out a can. “Look, Mommy, we get lima beans. Yum!” Twila announced.
“Twila!” Scarlett whispered harshly. She quickly eyed the area to see if anyone was watching them. She’s got to stop calling me, Mommy. Everyone seemed to be in their own private groups. Twila was definitely the most animated. To her far left, two shirtless men sat in the sand; they were skin and bones, starving to death right in front of everyone. She could actually count their protruding ribs. Their auras were a murky-muddy color, no sparks of light emitting from their heads. The two men stared blankly into space as if minutes away from the zombie virus state. Her heart poured out to them.
Scarlett and Twila nibbled small spoonfuls, savoring the flavor. The cold lima beans were refreshing in the early evening sun. Meanwhile, Scarlett kept her guard up, observing the small groups. Everyone was inordinately quiet, but their thoughts invaded her like a flash mob of pain, fear, and loss of hope.
Scarlett had a feeling of being watched. She glanced over her shoulder to see a lone woman sitting behind her. The woman gave her a brief smile like she wanted to say something. The lights sparkling around her head were vividly bright. Rainbow-bright like Twila had mentioned. Unsure of starting a conversation, Scarlett returned the mocha-skinned woman’s smile.
By the time Scarlett turned back around, Twila had darted over to the two men. “Shit,” Scarlett muttered. Did Twila just give the men some of our food? Scarlett scrambled to her feet, ready to give the girl a talking to when a guard with an automatic gun began making his way through the picnic area. She quickly stifled her words, waiting for the guard to walk by. He stopped at a group adjacent to her and went through their supplies.
He made his way to her next. She held her breath while he stood over her. He dumped her bag of canned goods on the blanket. “You can’t do that,” the words rushed out when he took five cans.
“You’re new here, so I’ll let it slide—this time. Consider this your rent. My men gotta eat, too,” he said, pointing the gun at the guards stationed about the perimeter.
Scarlett nodded in compliance, not trusting what she might say in her anger. It was nothing short of thievery. There was not a thing she could do about it. She waited for him to go to the next group all the while keeping her eye on Twila. Shit. He stopped at the woman behind her. Their words hushed. They were talking too long. She needed to get Twila. All she heard was “Don’t disappoint me,” and he finally walked to the roped-off picnic table area.
Scarlett was on her feet when Twila came bouncing back. “Twila!” Scarlett grabbed her arm. “Why did you do that? We need our food,” she scolded.
Tears streaked down Twila’s muddied face. “How can we eat when they’re dying? They’ll be dead—tomorrow!”
Scarlett felt like a horrible person. She knew the two men were on their deathbeds. Shouldn’t she think of Twila first? They didn’t even have enough food for themselves. There was a point where one had to be selfish, in the name of self-preservation. Before she could respond to Twila, the mocha-skinned woman set her short lawn chair next to Scarlett.
“Hi, I’m Twi—”
“Shh.” The woman smiled and looked around cautiously. “I’m Sheena.” She gave Twila a slanted grin, which was overshadowed by the dead-serious look she gave Scarlett.
“I’m Lewis from Roseville,” Scarlett said, deciding to go by her last name.”
“You did a beautiful thing.” Sheena glanced at the two emaciated men. Then she frowned when she looked down at their meager food supply on the blanket.
Scarlett grimaced at the food, not sure what to say. The woman unwrapped a foiled package. It was a loaf of bread. The woma
n divided it into three portions and made them an offering.
“Oh, no. We can’t, really—” Scarlett started.
“I insist. I work in the bread boxcar. I get bread every day.”
“How long have you been here?” Scarlett wondered, amazed at her generosity.
“Off and on, going on two months.” Sheena sighed.
“So long— What about Texas?” Scarlett asked.
Sheena looked away and took a bite of bread, avoiding the question. Scarlett admired her exotic beauty, the way her Reggae braids gracefully swung around her lovely skin. Her brilliant green eyes lit with more vitality than anyone else’s at the camp.
“Why won’t they let you?” Twila burst.
Scarlett narrowed her eyes at Twila, warning her to be careful. The child was going to blow their cover. Sheena offered a faint smile and rolled up one of her denim shirt sleeves, revealing a horrid scar on her forearm.
“You were bitten—by a creeper—and lived?” Scarlett hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but she was astounded. She thought a bite was fatal.
Sheena shrugged. “Evidently, some of us are immune.”
“So, you aren’t infected?” Scarlett was still a bit wary.
“Worse, I’m branded as a second-class citizen for the rest of my shitty life.” Her bitterness dimmed the light in her emerald eyes.
“Sorry. I mean, you didn’t turn. It’s a miracle. There’s hope!” Scarlett was relieved.
Sheena looked away again. “The cold hard fact is, they don’t accept my type. Class-Z citizens aren’t permitted in Last State.”
“Surely, it’s not that bad. If you’re not contagious—”
“Not a chance in hell. I tried everything a woman can do if you know what I mean. Look, I think we can help each other.” Sheena stopped when the guard walked by again and leered at Sheena as he made haste to a group having a vocal disagreement. There seemed to be a situation brewing. “Keep it on the down-low,” Sheena said. The women nudged up to Scarlett’s ear. “Woman to woman, stay in my tent tonight. Otherwise, I’ll have to jerk-off that bastard.”
Only The Dead Don't Die (Book 2): The Hunger's Howl Page 21
