A knock on the sliding glass door behind her made her drop the spoon into the pot.
“Scarlett, mind if we have a chat?” Twila and Dean joined her on the balcony. “Twila, Luther’s in need of company,” Dean said gently.
Twila flashed a silly cross-eyed grimace. “What you mean is you want to talk to Mommy. Alone.”
Dean didn’t bother denying it.
“Tell Uncle Luther I’ll start the rice.” Scarlett kissed her forehead and tried not to notice the boyish-butchered haircut Twila had punished herself with.
“Beans and rice again? Boring.” Twila moped into the house.
“How’s Ella today?” Dean asked.
“Still not talking.” Scarlett measured out the dry rice. “Mateo’s succumbing to the virus.” According to Shari, no newborns had survived as if humanity was cursed.
Dean rubbed his chest. “I was afraid of that.” He lifted the cast-iron pot’s lid. He took a long whiff of the pintos and stirred the pot. “Scarlett, I know it’s still eating at you. Nonetheless, you aren’t responsible for Twila’s actions. Lord knows that youngin’ has a mind of her own.”
She wondered why Dean always made excuses for Twila’s strong-willed personality. “Twila knew what she was doing,” Scarlett rebuffed, unable to let go of her anger.
Dean gave her a reproachful look. “As the saying goes, kids will be kids. They don’t have the foresight to anticipate the consequences of their actions. Besides, it doesn’t change the tragic fact. The tea, monatomic powder—whatever you want to call it, was going to run out sooner or later. If it’s the only thing keeping the baby alive, then as god-awful as it is to accept, the baby’s been living on borrowed time from the get-go.”
Dean had a way of putting even the most despairing situations into perspective. He pulled up a rattan chair next to her, and they scanned the backyards in silence.
He cleared his throat. Here it comes. Whatever it was he came to say. “Since we’ve doubled-down on guard duty, I’ve been chatting one-on-one with the group to get their feedback on our—precarious situation.”
Tuning him out, she leaned forward and pretended to check on the simmering water. They’re giving up on Zac! Her worst fear. No, her worse fear was that she would never see Zac again. The cruel universe seemed adamant on denying her one last embrace in his arms.
Since Zac had left, her inner vision kept failing her. The Silver Lady had failed her. Twila had failed her. And she above all, had failed the Grand Plan to Save Hu-manity by letting her heartstrings impede her judgment. What had she been thinking? There was no time for love in the apocalypse.
Honestly, she had only been fooling herself, ignoring the cosmic whisperings in the back of her mind. Time to face reality. Scarlett stared into the pot of water and urgently willed an answer to mystically appear. Her astral body abruptly drifted away. She didn’t resist, hungry for any tidbits of information lucid states often revealed.
When she returned to her mundane reality, the pot’s mesmerizing bubbles roiled to the surface at a full boil. She looked at Dean with a quivering frown.
“Did you get one of those flashes of insight?” Dean asked without any skepticism in his voice.
Struggling for composure, Scarlett poured in three cups of rice, covered the pot with the lid, and then set the vintage wind-up timer for twenty minutes. “Zac’s still having legal issues,” she finally answered after she was sure she could hold back the threatening tears. The courtroom image had been vague. But the man with the brassy-orange goatee seemed to see through space and time, directly into her mind. She turned up her shielding.
Dean slapped his knee. “Hell’s bells. I knew something was going on. The fella would never leave us in a lurch. Especially, you. If it’s any consolation, he loves you more than any man could possibly ever love a woman.”
It almost made her smile until an anonymous voice invaded her thoughts and sniggered, “You’ll never see Zac again!”
Chapter 13
Luther Jones crashed to the floor with an ear-splitting boom, banging his head on the nightstand. “Good God Almighty, what was that?” One minute he had been blissfully sailing the cosmos, the next minute he was rubbing the protruding knot on his head. Vexed, he tried recalling the lucid thrill-ride that had escalated into a deadly chase.
He definitely wanted Scarlett’s take on the incident. He was familiar with astral projection, enjoying it often as a boy. Although, no one had believed him except his crazy Aunt Matilda. Supposedly, she had even protected him with a Voodoo spell, warning not all spirits in the outer realms had one’s best interest at heart.
Aunt Matilda’s face suddenly popped into his head. “Boy, get yo hiney here ’fo dey finds ya.”
Hold on a minute. She had been in his dream. Protecting him. A coincidence? Luther couldn’t dress fast enough. Still dazed, he hobbled around the room on one foot, trying to put on his jeans.
A knock at the bedroom door nearly sent him kissing the floor again. Dean poked his head in. “Heard a crash. Everything all right?”
“I’m good. Meet you downstairs in a few.” After slipping on the first Hawaiian shirt that didn’t smell, he grabbed his duffle and hightailed it down the stairs.
Justin stood guard by the front room’s window. “Dude, you look like you just saw the Swamp Thing or something?” Justin pointed to his mis-buttoned shirt and unzipped jeans.
Luther fumbled with the zipper. “Something like that.”
“Are you serious?” Justin gaped.
“Where’s Scarlett?” he asked, anxious for her interpretation.
“She’s due down any minute to take my place.”
Luther headed for the kitchen for some quick carbs and then changed his mind. “Bro, you’re gonna think I’m nuts.” Luther paused, unsure to go on. “I think my Aunt Matilda just summoned me.” That’s exactly what it had felt like. A summons.
“Can you say, Ouija?” Justin wiggled spooky fingers through the air. “Mama LaVie scared the holy crap out of me.”
“What did she tell you?” Frankly, Luther hadn’t believed the fortune-teller, a.k.a. Mama LaVie, had been his aunt, despite Twila’s insistence. Although, Justin’s description had sounded accurate.
Justin spied the street through binoculars. “Mostly a bunch of chanting and ranting. But, she told me something I’ll never un-remember. I mean, the way she said it freaked me out.” He put down the binoculars and turned to Luther. “‘Everyone wants da new seed,’” he said with a Jamaican accent. “And that I had to protect her. I think she was talking about Ella. Oh, and she warned me about someone with Caribbean-blues.”
“As in blue eyes,” Luther acknowledged. “That’s what Aunt Matilda calls light-skin Voodoo priestesses with blue eyes.
Justin froze. “Uh, Scarlett has blue eyes.”
“Mindy had blue eyes as well,” Dean said, joining them in the front room. “Say, what happened up there? You should be sleeping.”
“I had one of those intense dreams Scarlett and Twila talk about. Only my crazy Aunt Matilda photobombed it.” Luther’s erratic heartbeat had finally returned to normal.
“Things being what they are. We better give credence to it. Here, looks like you need this more than me.” Dean handed him a steaming cup of beans and rice. “Do you recall the details?”
Luther gladly accepted it. Crazy shit made him hungry. “I was chasing someone. Or, hell, they were chasing me.” The dream was already dissipating. “Like an epic battle of souls. Next thing I know. Boom! I’m on the floor.” Luther rubbed his head.
“Dude, did you see,” Justin whispered, “blackbirds. Like swarms of them. Pecking at you. Trying to hack your brain for info.”
“Yup.”
“I get that dream-like warning more often than I’d care to admit,” Dean said with surprising acceptance.
“Why didn’t you say anything before?” Justin chastised.
Dean didn’t bother to answer.
“That’s some weird shit�
�the three of us having the same dream.” He had blown off the blackbirds, thinking it was a form of PTSD rearing its ugly head due to living in nonstop survival mode.
“What do you think it means?” Justin asked.
“Hell, if I know.” Luther shoved a heaping spoon of beans into his mouth. Without creole spices, Tabasco, and his mama’s hot-out-of-the-skillet hush puppies, eating beans and rice every day was getting monotonous. Especially since stress-eating was the only way to settle his nerves.
After downing a few bites, he felt grounded. “I’ve got to get my ass to the Zhetto Market. Today.”
“Well then,” Dean said, “best we hammer out the details.”
“Dude, I should go with you. I know the way. But I’m staying away from that witchy woman.” Justin winced. “Uh, no offense.”
“None taken.” Aunt Matilda, the infamous Voodoo Mambo Queen, used to scare him as well. To be fair, she had pampered him when he was a kid, despite her gruff persona.
Dean checked his Rolex. “It’s going on five a.m. Beings you’re bypassing the Stanwyck’s ranch, shouldn’t take more than three hours to get there,” Dean pointed out. “The pickup’s got enough petrol to get you there. And there’s one ration card left to get you back.”
“Like, you’ve got a thousand LSCs on your CitChip.” Justin pulled out the bag Zac had given him. “I’ll re-chip myself with one of these. And I’ll have another thousand LSCs. I’m super sick of beans.”
Luther ducked when a swarm of vicious-looking blackbirds buzzed his periphery even though he knew they weren’t real. Not in the physical sense.
“Dude?” Justin smirked.
“That dream must have stimulated that kunda-thang the girls go on about.” He was seeing all sorts of shadows swooping down on him.
“Your kundalini awakened?” Scarlett asked when she and Twila walked in.
“Yay for Uncle Luther! I told you it would happen,” Twila said with a vocal yawn.
“So, what is it—exactly?” Luther was embarrassed to ask. Twila and Ella had explained it when Zac had gone through it at the lodge. At the time, Luther hadn’t been ready to deal with that new-agey nonsense. Now, he didn’t have a choice. It was happening whether he believed in it or not.
“It’s nothing to be afraid of,” Scarlett assured. “We all have access to this primordial energy at the base of our spine. Once it’s activated, cosmic energy uncoils upward through your body, igniting your chakras like a spiritual serpent.”
Colorful waves of energy emanated around Scarlett and Twila. So that’s what auras look like. Now and then a spark of white light glinted around their heads. All that was—interesting. But he couldn’t tolerate the intense sense of evil flittering just beyond the fringes.
“But what good is it?” He had difficulty grasping its actual purpose.
“Silly, Uncle Luther,” Twila butted in with a cute grimace. “It activates the pineal gland. Which activates your spiritual and psychic gifts!”
Scarlett nodded in apparent agreement. “Think of it as your lifeforce. It constantly flows through your body, cleansing and empowering you. Which in turn stimulates your intellect, creativity, mental clarity, and conscious awareness. But I know how you feel. The psychic part is difficult to decipher.”
A mist of blackbirds descended upon him. He punched at the air. “Damn!” He couldn’t go around ducking and punching at everything. “How do you switch it off?”
Justin’s eyes dramatically swiveled from side to side. “Is something—here? Inside the house?”
“Bro, these evil-looking blackbirds keep divebombing me.” Luther refrained from ducking this time when a swarm circled his head. Bloodlets dribbled down their solar-red LED eyes, splattering his face with the burning sensation of acid. He wiped his face. No blood. It was a damn powerful illusion. Or Voodoo?
Scarlett’s eyes widened. “You can sense evil!” Her hands flew to her forehead as if in sudden agony. Twila went into her peculiar blank-staring state that always gave him the heebie-jeebies.
“Everyone! Concentrate on your mental shielding,” Scarlett pleaded in a terrifying low tone. “The Ancient Ones are probing for us.”
Not wanting to feel even more stupid, he didn’t admit that he hadn’t grasped the mental shielding concept. However, he did understand the phenomenon of manifestation—using mind over matter. He had trained on the “quiet eye,” during his pro football days. Using laser-sharp focus, he had perfected the skill of eliminating all distractions and slowing down his thinking to strategically plan the next move to get into The Zone.
Scarlett collapsed into a chair next to the window and exhaled heavily. “They’re gone.”
“We just lost twenty minutes,” Dean griped, rubbing his eyes.
“Mind-blowing,” was all Luther could say. He wished that damn kunda-thing hadn’t woken up.
“Say, what do those zany blackbirds mean, anyhow?” Dean asked.
They all turned to Scarlett for the answer.
“I think they’re trackers. The Ancient Ones’ minions followed Twila and me all the way from California. They’re easy to lose once you disguise your thoughts.”
How do I disguise my thoughts? “You mean make-up shit?” Luther asked.
“Something like that. Or sing a song in your mind.” Scarlett carried Twila to the couch. The girl was still out cold in apparent meditation.
“This is insane,” Justin babbled on. “I’d never believe it if it wasn’t happening to all of us.”
“Yep.” Dean tugged on the beginnings of a beard. “Dead people reanimating into cannibals is beyond my comprehension. And yet”—Dean pointed outside—“there they are.”
Note to self, find this man some razors. Some people just shouldn’t have beards, Luther thought. Zombification wasn’t all that new to him. He had witnessed it with his own eyes that summer he spent with Aunt Matilda when he was barely ten. It had taken years to clear her Voodoo theatrics from his head. He had finally convinced himself that it had been an elaborate hoax. When all else failed, denial was a damn good tool to carry in one’s mental toolbox.
“So, Scarlett, I had this disturbing dream.” Luther looked to Dean, asking if he should go on. Dean nodded. “My aunt sent me a message. She wants me to meet her at the Zhetto Market.”
“Interesting.” Scarlett didn’t appear shocked.
“You think it’s safe for him to go?” Dean turned to Scarlett.
“I’m not getting any warnings about the market.” Scarlett’s brows creased. “It’s the Forbidden Zone that has me nervous.”
That was good enough for him. “Then, we’d better jet.” As an afterthought, he slipped two gold CombiBar credit card sheets into his shirt pocket.
“Luther, you’re not gonna wear that?” Justin pestered.
Dean turned away, chuckling.
Luther pointed to what he called his Too Much Wasabi shirt, a hilarious, not to mention politically incorrect, comic book scene of a sushi bar. “Hey, don’t be shirt-shaming my exceptional taste.” He had lost his coveted Hawaiian shirt collection several times since the pandemic. Still, he had acquired more novelty prints along the way.
Justin mumbled, “Whatev. Remind me to social distance when we’re in public.” He grabbed his pack from the foot of the stairs. “Ella’s gonna get pissed if I leave without saying goodbye.”
“Reckon she’ll be all the more agitated if you wake her just to tell her you’re leaving,” Dean interjected.
“Probably.” Justin shrugged it off.
Luther scraped the cup for the last bite of beans and rice.
“Leave your hardware,” Dean said. “Last time, Enforcers searched the camper.”
Justin strapped on his pack by the window. “Holy crap! They found us.”
Everyone rushed the window. Through the blinds’ narrow slits, Luther spied a horde of stinking nimrods gawking in their direction. Unbelievable! How had they found them so quickly?
“Say, Luther, something just came to
mind.” Dean tugged on his beard. “There’s a renovated bus for sale at the market. I haven’t been able to stop thinking ’bout it for the life of me. Do me a favor. Check it out if you find the time. Somehow I think it plays a part in the grand scheme of things.”
Begrudgingly, Luther set the M4 against the wall. “Will do, if it’s still there,” Luther said. Although, he didn’t know why they needed a bus.
“Think we’ll be spending most the day upstairs.” Dean picked up Twila. “I’ll take her upstairs.
“How do they find us so fast?” Justin blurted in obvious amazement.
“Remember, they have the ability to tap into their tribe’s collective consciousness,” Scarlett reminded. “When one of them finds a food source, they mentally report to the rest of their tribe.”
Dean nodded. “I’m done denying it. It’s happened too many times.”
“Dude, can you ride a bike with that huge duffle?” Justin’s voice went up an octave.
“Damn straight.” After losing his belongings countless times, Luther felt more comfortable with his well-stocked go-bag nearby.
Scarlett hugged them. “Be careful.”
“Oh, hell yeah,” Luther whooped, trying to tap into his positive vibes.
“Don’t let Justin talk you into those wicked burritos at the service station. They’ll burn you both ways.” Dean chuckled all the way up the stairs with Twila in his arms.
Luther gave Justin an annoyed look as he pulled out the industrial-size wrench from the duffle’s side pouch. “Honey, I’ll pick up some ’em good for dinner after work,” Luther sing-songed as Justin followed him out the backdoor.
They hopped the fence to the adjacent backyard where they had stashed a half-dozen looted mountain bikes.
“Damn!” Two ugly suckers writhed about in a restless sleepy state next to the bikes. Nothing his big-ass wrench couldn’t handle. They quickly disposed of them. He had a feeling those two had been sentries who had fallen asleep on the job. If what Scarlett had said was true, there’d be more awaiting their return.
“Follow me,” Justin whispered as they grabbed the bikes. “I know a shortcut to the truck.”
Only The Dead Don't Die | Book 4 | Finding Home Page 12
