Justin brandished the flashlight around, wary of more Zs while he untangled the mess of braids caught in the handlebars. The light hit the Z’s face just right. Sheena! Had been. He kicked it in the face until its pathetic whimpering ceased. Poor Luther, how was he going to tell him Sheena didn’t make it? He was freaking about Sheena—until he realized the horrid, pathetic whimpering wasn’t coming from her.
“El-la?” He called slowly. Flashing the light around like a madman, he searched the darkness. An unexpected calmness took over. Slowly, methodically, he rescanned the perimeter. Something slithered in the sand. He really hated snakes. He straddled over Sheena’s void body to see what it was. The whimpering continued.
“Ella?”
He knew this was a super bad idea and found himself wishing he hadn’t left the bike. Because whatever it was, it definitely was not Ella. In the fading light of his flashlight, it crawled to his feet. “Agggh!” He jumped back. The flashlight plopped in the sand. Its dim light revealed the most horrific thing he’d ever seen. A baby Z. Its mouth wide-open, dripping with bloody saliva. In Justin’s moment of truth, time spun around him and then abruptly halted. This was his child. Could he kill—it? A bloodied claw reached up to him as if it knew Justin was—had been—his father. Justin was captivated by its swirling hellish-red eyes. Its red eyes dilated into mesmerizing black pools. Of death.
Mini hands clawed at the frayed hemline of his jeans. The whimpering changed into a sweet baby’s giggle. My baby! Clinging to his jeans, it climbed to his shin. Their eyes locked. All he wanted to do was cuddle his baby in his arms, and tell his son, how sorry he was that he’d been born into this ghastly world. Foam spurted from its frothing mouth. It let out a fiendish yowl. In a rage of fury, Justin kicked it off. How dare evil invade my baby’s soul. He stomped and stomped and kicked it into a mushy heap all the while screaming at the top of his lungs. “No, not my baby! Not Ella’s baby!”
“Uh, where’s Ella?” He flashed the fading light around. Another set of horse tracks. Was it the same horse? He really couldn’t tell. What if Ella’s still out there. Which would be way weird, unless she’d learn to ride these past few months. The thought gave him hope. He dashed back to the bike, all the while waving the light around searching for Ella and Zs, advertising his presence to the desertland’s predators. He slashed away at Sheena’s braids still caught in the handlebars and then reloaded his gun. He tore off, tires spinning in the sand, racing after the tracks before the desert stole that from him too.
***
Justin remembered falling into a sandbank thinking he needed to rest for a few minutes. He could never, ever tell Ella what he had seen. What he had done. That he had killed their child. The next thing he knew it was dawn. An entire hour wasted. He rubbed his eyes and then stretched his aching muscles. It had been years since he’d ridden a bike, and his tailbone was sore.
And then he heard it. It was probably what had awakened him. The Hunger’s Howl. If it was close enough to hear—it was too close. He studied the patterns in the sand, mostly small critters, lizards or whatever. Horse tracks? What was left of them. He hopped onto the bike. The brakes no longer worked, dragging his feet did.
Holy shit! The whining buzzing sounds of dirt bikes. He peddled faster. He didn’t see the horde or the dirt bikes, but a dark cloud ballooned in the west. It had to be the horde from Last Chance on their way to Zoat. Shit! Shit! Shit! He had to hide. He headed for a small grove of trees, pedaling harder and harder.
When he reached the creek bank, he jumped off the bike, somersaulted to a stop and then rolled to a tree in time to see the horde emerge from the dust cloud. Gurgling . . . Three Zs towered above him. They dove in for the kill-bite just as he rolled out of their reach. He leaped to his feet, grabbed his gun, and nailed one right between its already dead eyes.
One down, two to go. Easy-peasy. He aimed the gun. The Z did some spastic karate move and kicked the gun out of his hand. Really? He grabbed a burnt branch and fought it like a crazy musketeer right out of a freaky stoner’s cartoon. He speared it right in the neck, pinning it to a tree.
Justin wasn’t quick enough. The third one lunged for his neck. Justin pivoted. It crashed into his shoulder, missing its mark. Justin freaked at the jagged bite marks in his jacket? He spun about, fending it off. He reached for his knife. Where the hell was his knife? He must have lost it in the tumble. Justin went into a flurry of spinning moves, keeping it at bay. He was out of moves when a knife unexpectedly landed at his feet.
“Justin,” a tiny voice said.
I must be going cray-cray!
In an Indiana-Jones-moment, he snatched the knife. It was real, not his imagination. And he slashed at its neck, blood spurting from its jugular, splattering his jacket. “Not the eyes,” he muttered. Finally, it was dead. Super dead. Out of adrenaline, Justin stumbled backward against a tree.
“Justin! You found me.”
Were the angels coming for him so soon? It was a lame thought.
“Justin?”
He looked up. It was an angel. His head spun.
Chapter 40
“Justin—” Ella screamed, her voice lost by the approaching horde’s howling. He had found her after all these months just like her dreams had promised. She half-climbed and half-slid down the tree. “Oh, my God!” Teeth marks pierced his jacket. She ripped his jacket and shirt off praying the bite marks hadn’t punctured his skin. Had he passed out or was he turning, like her mother, father, baby brother, LuLu—
“No!” she screamed. The bloodstain on his shirt . . . the bite marks on his shoulder. But he hadn’t turned—yet. She grabbed the tin of tea with trembling fingers and packed the wound with the tea. Then she dribbled water on it, turning it into a paste. She covered the wound with tape from the first-aid kit and prayed the tea would save him, for she had never used so much of it.
She waited, clasping her rosary beads, praying harder than ever before. All the while the Hunger’s Howl grew louder and closer. She ignored it. Letting it consume the desert, not her. For some reason, she wasn’t afraid. She had finally found Justin. Together, they’d track down Sheena and rescue baby Miguel. Her thoughts drifted to last night’s dream of baby Miguel wearing a set of glittery-white angel wings. He had told her everything was all right, told her she was the best mother, ever.
“Bwaaa . . . bwaa . . . bwaaa.” The annoying buzz of dirt bikes startled her. The bikers zipped in and out of the horde, baiting them. Or, herding them? The horde and the bikers raced across the desert, beyond the creek. Justin sprang to life.
“Ella? Am I hallucinating?” Justin flashed his trademarked smirk.
“What took you so long?” She smirked back.
They embraced. Time stopped just for them. The Hunger’s Howl was merely background chatter. They were blessed. Protected. But they should hurry. They had to find baby Miguel. And get to Texas.
“Ella, you’re choking me,” he teased. “Where the heck did you come from? One minute I’m fighting Zs, the next minute you’re like, here.” His face went blank. “Uh, did I get bit?”
She nodded. “I packed it with Father Jacob’s magical tea. Does it hurt?”
“Magical tea? So, I am dreaming.” He frowned.
She gave him a long kiss. Then she girly-punched him.
“How’d you get here? Krasinski said you left with Sheena.” He winced, staring at his shoulder with bewildered eyes.
“I was at Last Chance. With Scarlett and Twila—”
“Scarlett? Ye-ah, I must be tripping.”
She smacked his thigh and grimaced. “Pay attention.”
“No comprende—”
Ella rolled her eyes. “There was a horde. Sheena ordered me to go with her. OMG, Sheena did the most godless thing. She took baby Miguel and left me in the desert.” Justin nodded at her like he knew what she was talking about. He couldn’t possibly know how devastated she was.
“Uh, I sorta found Sheena—” Justin started.
“Sh
ush!” Ella said emphatically. “We have to find them before they get to Texas.”
Justin shook his head. Tears spilled from the slanted corners of his lovely Asian eyes.
“Don’t you get it? Sheena stole our baby! Justin, say something.” She didn’t like the creepy vibe she was getting from him. Was he turning?
Justin kept shaking his head no. “All I know is, I ran into Sheena somewhere between Last Chance and—” he paused looking away, “here.”
“No. This is where she left me. She went east to Texas,” Ella insisted.
“Ella . . .” He gently held her by her shoulders. “Listen, I de-activated—Sheena. She must have run into a horde. Maybe she felt guilty for leaving you and was coming back for you. Heck if I know. But a Z got her.”
“Sheena’s tough. She’d never let a Z get her.” Tears stung her eyes. “Wait, you don’t even know who Sheena is.” She was beyond exasperation.
“The six-foot steampunk Namibian warrior chick with the rasta braids. Ye-ah, it was her. I put her out of her misery.” His words seemed hollow.
Had Sheena come back—for her? “Baby Miguel?” she shrieked.
Justin hung his head to the ground. His tears were the answer she couldn’t accept. And when he started to explain, she covered his mouth with a trembling hand. His words must never be spoken. Her heart writhed with the pain of knowing. Justin held her.
A cherub-like image shimmered beneath her closed eyelids. Baby Miguel’s adorable face appeared next to Mama’s and Papa’s and her two-year-old brother, Miguel, like the family portraits hanging in the hallway of her childhood home. They were all watching over her.
Chapter 41
“Can I have another one?” Twila’s chocolate-smeared lips curled into a guilty grin.
“Why not.” Scarlett decided. Afterall, this was only a dream. Scarlett forced down the last bite of the bacon cheeseburger. She had gorged on a second basket of fries while Twila drooled over her Chocolate Sundae. She gazed out the restaurant’s window, doubting their arrival to the futuristic Wild West settlement known as Boom Town.
“When we get to Texas, I want ice cream every day.”
Scarlett simply nodded and leaned back in the booth’s leather seat of the saloon-style restaurant. Funny, Twila didn’t remember ice cream. A commotion outside caught her attention.
“A parade!” Twila elated.
Soon, the wooden-planked, porched-covered walkway lined with spectators. A wave of energy rippled through her body. Happiness . . .
Twila bounced up and down in her seat with undeniable glee. “They got married!”
She ignored Twila, trying to concentrate. Reality pushed through; she remembered the doctors, paperwork, and the quarantine. She was waiting for their LSC documents; meanwhile, her heart waited for Zac. And yet another man had left her brokenhearted. Ah, she was stronger. No room for bitterness, for his essence had replaced the hollow in her heart.
What part of the nightmare was real? Snapshots flashed through her mind as if thumbing through a deceased loved one's scrapbook. Pictures of a perilous journey, Ravers, creepers—evil. But, they were her memories. It was her scrapbook! The foggy memories demanded attention; she struggled with arranging them in the proper sequence. The Super Summer flu, her trip to Vacaville, and her new friends, Dean, Luther, Justin, and Ella, the evil Stockton Boys. Lost. The treehouse and Twila. Zac. Sigh. Finding Last Chance. Sheena. The fog cleared. The horde . . .
She still had to make sense of it all, for the impossible had occurred. They had escaped. During the horde attack, she had carried Twila to the river tributary, hoping to get help from the refugees she’d seen earlier. But the refugees had left. She cashed in an insurance policy she had invested in after the gold had started rolling in. “Always have a backup plan for your backup plan,” Sheena had preached.
During her first month at the trading post, Scarlett had buried a cache of supplies under rocks in a small rocky indention in the hillside not facing the river. Mario’s trusty ALICE pack stuffed with all his nifty gadgets, including the old tent, along with dehydrated food packs and water bottles she had added, and the silver and gold jewelry she had earned in her first month.
The morning after the horde attacked, she and Twila had returned to the deserted trading post, littered with twice-dead bodies rotting in the sand. She had forced herself into the caboose only long enough to retrieve her gold. The gold was gone. Along with Sheena, Ella, the baby, and Krasinski. At least there had been survivors. Several refugees loitered about, trying to come to terms with it all. But no one had any news for her. She supposed it was time for someone else to take charge of Last Chance. And knowing Sheena, she’d probably taken off with Ella and the baby just before the attack. Well, it’s what she told herself.
After two days of walking east, they happened upon two mules harnessed to a small, wooden cart, drinking from a drying creekbed. Twila had calmed the mules, and they had spent the rest of their journey traveling in the cart, following the neverending posts promising Immigrant Station was miles ahead. Try as she might, her inner vision had failed her. She’d had the oddest feeling they had remained under the merkaba’s forcefield of protection, invisible to the Ancient Bloodlines and the lost souls wandering the desert.
They had arrived without any fanfare. The Enforcers in charge of Immigrant Station found her story unbelievable. She finally told them they came from California by wagon train and had been separated during the horde attack. That, they had believed.
Twila pressed her face against the window pane. “Look, Mommy, look.”
In a gap between the crowd, the rather big-boned black man proudly holding the bride’s elaborate taffeta train glanced her way. Do I know him?
Scarlett rushed to the crowd with Twila in tow. “Luther?” she gasped from the walkway. Their eyes met; he let out a gleaming smile. Scarlett darted into the street.
“Scarlett?” Luther shook his head in obvious surprise. “Good God Almighty. Scarlett from Roseville!” He dropped the taffeta train.
They hugged.
The bride and groom turned around. “OMG, Scarlett!” Ella exclaimed.
Ella was breathtaking in the strapless, champagne-laced gown. The groom turned around.
“Justin?”
“Scarlett! Where the heck did you come from?”
His quirky grin was just as she remembered. The next thing she knew they were intertwined in a group hug that she never wanted to end. Hope and love prevailed despite the harsh blight inflicted upon mankind. She meant it for the Silver Lady, or had the Silver Lady just informed her?
Scarlett wanted to ask, How? It no longer mattered. For how had she and Twila survived? “Where’s Dean?” Their sad eyes said it all, and she certainly didn’t want to mar their wedding day.
While Justin and Ella posed for pictures, Luther whispered in her ear, “Justin and I were inside a boxcar when the horde blasted through Last Chance. We went back for Dean early the next morning. The vehicle he’d been hiding in was demolished. No sign of him. And,” Luther paused. In a low tone, “Ella won’t talk about it. The baby died. And Sheena—didn’t make it.” Luther seemed to be battling a loss of his own. He looked at the ground. “Well, that’s history. Let the newlyweds enjoy their day. This barbaric world will find them soon enough.”
Luther was right; life had a way of leaving plenty of time to lament the loss of loved ones. “Enjoy the cosmic gift of the Now,” the Silver Lady whispered. Twila jumped up and down, demanding attention while the bride and groom were caught in a paparazzi of old-time camera flashes.
“And what is your name?” Luther scooped her up.
Before Scarlett could answer, Twila burst, “I’m Twila, silly. Don’t you remember me? I’ve known you all of my lifetimes.”
Luther’s expression was priceless. Twila had a way of being unpredictable, the precocious, loving child that she was. Once we’re in Texas, I think Twila will be fine, Scarlett thought.
“You’re just in ti
me for the reception.” Luther picked up the train and shook out the dirt.
Scarlett joined the crowd and followed the growing parade with Twila skipping along. To her surprise, they walked inside the Grand Hotel. This must be the place Skeeter had been building before his death. It was magnificent, decorated with elegant chandeliers and antiques. After Scarlett and Twila signed the gold-foiled guest book, they walked by a table overflowing with gifts.
“Jeez, how many people did they invite?” Scarlett exclaimed.
“All of them!” Justin quipped as he rushed to the bride.
Scarlett lost track of Twila and turned quickly, bumping into someone. “Pardon m—” Scarlett stopped. Speechless.
“Heard there was a shindig in town?” Dean drawled in his really bad John Wayne imitation. “Scarlett? Where the devil did you come from. Thought you didn’t make it.”
“We all thought you were—dead.” Scarlett stood there in shock. If this is a dream, I don’t ever want to wake up.
Twila ran up to Dean. “And who might this pretty girl be?”
“Jeez Louise, I’m Twila,” she said rather emphatically. “Why doesn’t anyone remember me?”
Dean and Scarlett exchanged uh-oh glances.
“I see you’ve got a handful with that one.” Dean chuckled and shook her hand when Twila extended her arm for a formal handshake.
Justin and Ella bustled back. “Dude, like what took you so long?” Tears lingered at the corners of Justin’s eyes.
“I was registering at the Town Hall when come to find out, there’s a wedding going on. Sorry, I’m late. Had to get all gussied up and whatnot,” Dean said, looking down at his snakeskin boots.
Ella was choked to tears. She silently hugged Dean. Luther must have overheard. The next thing Scarlett knew, he was there, giving Dean a hug.
Only The Dead Don't Die (Book 2): The Hunger's Howl Page 37
