“Did anyone hear me?” Ella’s voice went operatic.
Here come the waterworks. Ol’ Luther couldn’t handle crying.
“The tea’s gone! Baby Mateo will die,” Ella bemoaned.
“I think—” Scarlett nodded to the window. “Twila gave the creeper child the tea. She looks—”
“Almost normal,” Luther finished.
“Nooo!” Ella bellowed.
Luther didn’t have time for this. “Scarlett, do you know where she is?”
“Uh—” Scarlett massaged her forehead. “She’s blocking me.”
It came to him unexpectedly. “The deli! The one where we trapped the horde.” It had been a faint flash. Aunt Matilda’s grating voice interrupted his thoughts. “Chérie, get off yo hiney and save dat child. Dat one’s important!”
Luther sprinted for the door. “I’m taking the Honda Gold Wing.” After swiping the van’s spare battery the other day, Dean had helped him get the neighbor’s Honda in working order with a little TLC and two gallons of gas from the van. For a worst-case scenario. And this was it. He couldn’t bear losing Twila, even if she spooked him at times. If he had the power to save one of the last good souls of this grim world, nothing was stopping him. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing!
Ella went off on him in Spanish. Based on his limited Spanish, he was apparently crazy in the head. Weren’t they all?
“The motorcycle will draw the hordes here,” Scarlett added sullenly.
That was why they would be needing a new safehouse. “It’s the only way to get to her—in time.” Gold Wings were fairly quiet, which was why he had chosen it. He stopped at the back patio’s sliding glass door. No Zs.
“Scarlett, need a diversion. So, I can open the garage door without getting mauled.”
“I’ll yell at them from the upstairs window. Oh, and thank you for going.” Scarlett thumped up the stairs.
Better not thank him until he returned with Twila was what he wanted to say. He snuck through the backyard, hopped the fence to the house next door, and entered the garage’s side door. The key fob was on the bike’s seat right where he had left it. Ready for a fast getaway.
It started right up. He heaved open the garage door the second Scarlett’s shouts took over. He tore out of there, laying rubber around the street corner. The horde floundered after him.
“Oh, Twila, Twila, Twila,” he muttered. “What did you go and do this time?” He maneuvered around the abandoned vehicles as fast as he dared. When he was within sight of the deli, his heart seized. The deli’s door stood wide open . . . He thumped his chest until the beat returned to normal.
He coasted around the parking lot’s corner. “Sweet Jesus!” Twila flailed frantically from the roof of a red EMT truck. The horde they had trapped inside the deli, the ones in the Walmart vests, jumped tirelessly for her. If they had been X-strains . . .
Vying for the horde’s attention, he beeped the bike’s horn. It took a while before the horde turned his direction. But when they saw him, they raved for him. He drove up a few yards, waited for them, and then drove up farther, luring the horde away from Twila. He kept on, leading them to the intersection.
Twila must have caught on to the plan. She slid down the EMT’s windshield onto the hood when he whipped the bike around. He dodged past the horde, braking to a squealing stop next to the EMT vehicle. He jumped off the bike and snatched her. He nearly tossed her onto the seat. He sat down behind her, and took off, holding her securely between his arms.
An intense rush of energy washed over him, giving him the shivers. He hadn’t been there for Mindy in her time of need. But Twila was in the clear . . . until Scarlett and Ella laid into her. Oh yeah, he had a barrage of questions for her. That was Scarlett’s job, though.
Luther turned onto Cardinal Way. Obviously, he couldn’t go home the same way. He’d run into the other horde. He pulled up to the house that backed up to their safehouse.
“You okay?” he finally asked. He left the bike on the side of the house next to the gate.
Twila nodded, pale as a ghost.
“Quick, we’re hopping the fence.” He had used the back route several times when returning from scavenging runs.
He made it to the back patio’s door to see an ashen-face Dean through the sliding glass door. Dean opened the door for him. “Bro, am I glad to see you.” They man-hugged briefly. He wasn’t ready to face a house full of hysterical women, surrounded by Zs. Sometimes neither made any sense.
A baffled Dean hadn’t grasped their situation just yet. “What the devil’s going on?”
Before Luther could respond, Scarlett ran to them. “Twila! Are you hurt?” Scarlett scoured her body no doubt searching for bite marks.
Tears glistened in Scarlett’s startling blue eyes. “Luther, how can I ever thank—”
Justin strode into the room and cut her off. “What happened?”
Ella rushed to Justin, glaring at Twila. “How could you?”
“S-s-sorry,” Twila blubbered. “I promised Katy with a Y that I would save her parents. It’s your fault!” Twila pointed to Justin. “You trapped her parents. And, and, Katy was so sad. I did the right thing. Didn’t I?”
Clearly, Twila had her priorities screwed up.
“But you stole mijo’s tea!” Ella wailed.
Luther had never seen Ella so angry. Hormonal and pissed, plenty of times but not seething hot with fury.
With a shaky hand, Twila retrieved a plastic container from her Disney Princess backpack. “Here.”
Rocking the baby in her arms, Ella scowled at Justin as if scolding him for not doing anything about the situation. He felt for Justin and Dean. They had no clue what they had returned to. Not that he did.
Justin opened the container. “It’s almost empty.”
“O-M-G!” Ella bellowed.
“Pardon me,” Dean butted in firmly, “mind tellin’ me what this fuss is ’bout?” As usual, the peacemaker attempted to make order out of the chaos. But they ignored him.
“Young lady”—Scarlett’s tone went dead-serious—“did you give the tea to—”
Twila blurted, “Don’t you understand? Their pain kills me. I’m an empath, remember? I feel their misery. I had to heal Katy. I had to. I’m supposed to be the Healer of the New Hu! It’s all up to me—”
“And you think that gives you the right to steal mijo’s tea?” Ella blared. “The only thing saving him from turning into one of them . . .”
“Like, what’s wrong with you?” Justin snarked. “You’d rather save a Z than Mateo?”
“Everyone needs to ratchet it down a notch,” Dean attempted.
The pounding at the windows abruptly stopped the argument. Dean and Luther rushed to the front room to find hordes of Zs pummeling their safehouse.
“Folks, grab what you need from downstairs.” Dean’s voice went hoarse. “Let’s get upstairs. Might be time to evacuate.”
They had barricaded the downstairs windows and doors with furniture. Still, with enough time, those stinking nimrods could break through anything, was what Luther was thinking.
Twila screamed for no apparent reason and just stared at the ceiling.
“Let’s keep it down,” Dean urged. “Perhaps our unwanted guests will go away.”
“Zs never go away,” Ella quaked.
“Now, now, we’ve got options,” Dean started.
“No!” Twila shrieked. “Don’t think it! These ones are learning to see our thoughts—just like the bad ones. Katy with a Y told her mommy how much my healing and the tea helped her. Now they all want my help.”
“Huh,” Justin grunted with a comical WTF expression. “The tea actually works?”
“You know it does.” Ella seemed blown away by his statement. “Really, you’ve just been placating me this entire time?”
Not another argument. “You all need to settle down. I’ve seen enough voodoo shit for one day,” Luther muttered.
The shattering of windows sent everyone into
a wide-eyed blink-less state. It looked like they’d be taking advantage of those emergency ladders.
Chapter 11
Zachary Padilla paced the holding cell and awaited his fate, praying damn hard they didn’t pin the botched mission on him. The impromptu trial had been fast and furious. The norm for Last State. Somewhere along the way, he had definitely pissed off the wrong Elite.
Last State had accused him of treason and desertion of all things, and he wasn’t even a member of their gestapo-style military. He freelanced—simple and painless. No politics. As he quickly realized, the Elitist parliament made up the rules as they went along. No Bill of Rights. No U.S. Constitution. He was screwed up the yin-yang.
The reason behind the treason accusations perplexed him. Most accused citizens simply disappeared without a trial: to the realm of the undead. Furthermore, Elites in general revered his unique tradecraft—extracting coveted goods from the zomb-infested Lost States. He was worth far more acquiring contraband than life-sentenced to a work-farm. Hell, everybody knew that.
Zac brooded away in the cell, plagued by unrelenting survivor’s guilt. In all actuality, he should have been on that helo when the Ravers downed it with a projectile. He had relived the mission in question over and over, unable to wipe the exploding helo from his mind. It still boggled him why his devoted team had violated the regs and abandoned him without proof of life, or reanimated life as it were. Horde or no horde—his team had always adhered to the Soldier’s Creed, “Leave no man behind.”
Sure, he had gone solo that day, for no more than a few minutes. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have found Mindy. Although, he had carefully omitted the Mindy incident from his cross-examinations, which would have only trumped up the charges. Women and children were priceless.
Paradoxically, Mindy had ended up saving his life. Despite his efforts, she and her newborn hadn’t survived the horde attack on his Ghost Creek Hunting Lodge. Damn! He slammed his palm into the wall. What a waste of humanity.
The night before the mock military trial, the answer had found his dreams, more like nightmares. The words Ren Cremmonty had flashed like a strobe light before morphing into the word: Demon. The mind-bending image had been replaced with a silvery goddess who warned humanity was in the death throes of extinction. Scarlett, Twila, Ella, and several other faceless beings remained humanity’s last hope. Provided they survived the malevolent force dead set on destroying the last of the Starseeds and Lightworkers.
A shockwave of terror had nearly made him lose his Steve McQueen façade of coolness upon finding out the bizarre-looking prosecuting attorney with a burnt-orange goatee and wayward eyebrows went by the name: Ren Cremmonty. It had become dubiously clear. Zac was dealing with something . . . supernatural.
Stuck in the shabby cell room, he mentally re-examined every aspect of the trial. The courtroom had turned south quickly like an implausible apocalyptic cyberpunk screenplay: The Third Reich meets The Hunger Games as Rem Cremmonty flamboyantly presented a pack of bold-faced lies.
Zac hadn’t known what the hell was going on until the questioning had turned into an inquisition demanding the whereabouts of a white powdery substance that restructured damaged DNA. Then, it had clicked. The elaborate escapade was actually a witch-hunt for Ella’s mysterious healing substance. Which to be honest, wasn’t feasible. But hey, neither were zombs. One thing was evident; they would stop at nothing to obtain it.
During his intense interrogation, Zac had profusely denied knowledge of such a miracle cure. He had thrown the preposterous snake oil claim back in Cremmonty’s face, using his cocky charisma to make the prosecutor the laughingstock of the courtroom. Pandemonium had ensued.
The question remained: how had Cremmonty known about the powdery cure? It left only one possibility—Cremmonty worked for the Ancient Ones, just like his dream had foretold. But if they knew of Ella’s healing tea, why bother with this elaborate trial? Why not tail him until he led them straight to Ella? Perhaps, Cremmonty and his conniving cohorts presumed his friends were dead.
The cherry-picked jury had been deliberating his case for two days. With his ass nailed to the wall, Zac didn’t know how much more of the “not-knowing” he could withstand. At least it had given him time to sign-off on three annulments and sign the divorce papers for his remaining two wives. What a relief. Cruelly ironic to have all these wives, as if cosmically condemned to live without the one woman he truly desired. Loved. With every aching heartbeat.
Zac finally acknowledged his tour guide days across the Lost States had been that of predestined fate: rescuing women from the auction block. His numerous marriages had been in name only with the promise of annulments once they found suitable partners. Until then, he had merely offered the wives sanctuary in his fancy K-zone penthouse.
His buttocks stiffened when a pair of Enforcers unlocked his cell. They cuffed him and then escorted him to the courtroom without uttering a word. As he entered the courtroom, he searched for his attorney. For assurance. But the greedy son of a bitch refused eye contact.
Zac stood in the courtroom in front of the judge, jury, and Elite spectators, all eyes upon him. He strategically blocked his thoughts of Scarlett and her friends and sulked over living the rest of his life in a brutal work camp to throw off whoever might attempt eavesdropping into his thoughts.
He remained in such a state of cerebral focus until applause and the Not Guilty verdict registered. Whoa, not what I expected. He wanted to shout with vindication until his eyes met the gray-steel beady eyes of Ren Cremmonty.
Why am I getting this menacing feeling this ain’t over? The bastard would wait in the shadows for him to screw up. Well, Zac wasn’t hanging around Last State long enough to confirm Cremmonty’s suspicions.
Zac forced a smile and shook hands with his slimy attorney. The retainer had been one million LSCs. He had officially lost his status in the millionaire’s club. After reclaiming his personal effects, less his confiscated weapons, he indulged in a celebratory round of drinks with several Elite clients, already schmoozing for his next job. No luck there.
He checked into the Sheraton in the C-zone. Time to roll the dice. Bolstering his bravado, he called his handler on his newly purchased MeDevice. He’d be back on mission in a matter of days. An Elite always lusted over something left in the Lost States of America, a case of rare whisky, a famous piece of artwork, Cuban cigars, gold coins stashed in a safe . . .
“Hey, Marco. It’s me, Zac. I’m free and clear of all charges.”
A long silence . . .
“Marco, you there?”
“Hey, Zac. Must have been a bitch.”
“Ain’t no big,” Zac retorted. “Although, that slimy attorney set me back bigtime. I’ll take the first mission you can get me.”
A long silence . . .
“Marco?”
“You’re too hot. Try me in six months. After this fiasco fizzles out.” The MeDevice went dark.
Damn! Zac threw the MeDevice on the bed. He combatted the anger and fear threatening to take over by downing a bottle of Patrón from the room’s minibar.
He continued down his mental list of contacts. Everywhere he turned, the calls disconnected without so much as a goodbye. Someone was putting on the heat. Still, he knew his clientele—Elites would not shut him down. Not after everything he had acquired for them. And not with everything he knew about them.
Then it hit him. He was no longer an asset. But a liability. Would a hitman off him in the middle of the night?
He played it cool and ordered a bottle of the most expensive tequila on the menu in pretense of celebration. It was going to be a hell of a long night staring at that bottle. Waiting for the hit. That was the message coming to him from the cosmos.
Scarlett, my love, don’t give up on me . . .
Chapter 12
Scarlett Lewis stirred the simmering pot of pinto beans Luther had started this morning. They had set up the propane camping stove on the upstairs balcony of their new saf
ehouse. Due to the increased horde activity, cooking on the back patio was no longer a safe option.
She leaned over to inhale the onions and garlic. Despite eating beans and rice for the past few days, the aroma sent her stomach growling with anticipation. They were down to two meals a day. As of yesterday, they had halted scavenging runs due to the hordes inundating the neighborhood. It was only a matter of time before the creepers found the two-story, four-bedroom house on Whippoorwill Way they had claimed.
Scarlett sat on the balcony’s rattan chair and panned the surrounding backyards for creeper activity, wondering if the undead noticed the enticing aroma? Dean had volunteered to stay with Twila for a while since she was no longer allowed to be by herself. Jeez, I’m a horrible mother. Twila, the precocious child that she was, thrived on constant stimulation; she was too ambitious for her own good.
She was still appalled by Twila’s selfish act. Ella and Justin had kept to themselves since the creeper-child event. Cooped inside the house, the tension mounted. Danger seemed to be inching in from every corner. Encapsulated in a forgotten part of the world left untouched since the pandemic’s onset—as if she and her friends existed in an alternate bubble of reality. That was about to burst. What would they do when the food ran out . . . or when Zac didn’t find them?
Scarlett had gone over a rather rudimentary Merkaba visualization with the guys. Even if they hadn’t quite grasped the concept, their combined energy added to the shielding’s effectiveness. It had to be the only reason the house hadn’t been invaded by the restless hordes pleading for Twila’s healing in Scarlett’s distressing dreams.
Twila had definitely opened a Pandora’s Box with her attempts to heal Katy. Which brought up a perplexing issue. Ella’s tea had healed Katy somewhat. From what she had noted before leaving their prior safehouse, the creeper-child had appeared healthier than the others: its skin pigmentation closer to normal along with better coordination. With enough of the monatomic powder, would creepers return to normal?
Only The Dead Don't Die | Book 4 | Finding Home Page 11
