Only The Dead Don't Die | Book 4 | Finding Home

by Popovich, A. D.

  “They don’t have a chance,” Zac uttered. The massive crowd rioted toward the truck like Tiananmen Square protesters running from the slaughter. But instead of parting out of the truck’s path, they ran dead-straight for the truck. They’d run down dozens . . .

  “Nyet!” Danovich shouted. “Just like Russia. Life is fuck-ing me!”

  There was no time to turn the truck around. “Back the hell up, man!” Zac shouted.

  The truck squealed to a stop. The delivery guy shifted into reverse as the first wave of citizens reached the cab. “No worries. Danovich, best backer-upper in class!”

  “Great,” Zac said blandly. The truck gained speed, losing the mob. He couldn’t stop the barrage of guilty thoughts tormenting him. He should help those people. But what could he do? He couldn’t save everyone without risking his own humanity.

  Guilt-shamed, Zac focused on his side mirror and watched for a turnout area. The truck rear-ended something on Danovich’s side. The engine stalled. The mob’s yells of elation grew louder. But the crowd had thinned out. Replaced by the multiplying zombs.

  “C’mon, c’mon,” Zac badgered when the engine hesitated. More than anything, he hated not being in control. “Floor it!”

  The desperate citizens pounded the side of the truck, pleading for help. Several thought to step onto the truck’s running boards, hanging on. Danovich activated the door’s auto-lock. A temporary relief.

  The engine faltered when more people slammed into the truck. “Get us out of here!” Zac shouted. He couldn’t take much more of their terror-filled screams. Based on Danovich’s sudden silence and gaping mouth, neither could he.

  “What to do?” Danovich whispered. “Nyet! These people. Those monsters!” He brandished his huge hairy fists in the air. They should be registered as lethal weapons.

  Zac reined in his logical mind. “Keep it in reverse ’til you hit Bronson Street.” He was surprised the truck driver wanted to help. Most people only worried about their own ass. “Can you unlock the back of the truck from here?”

  A surly grin overtook Danovich’s face. “Da!” He activated a button on his door panel before cracking open the window. “Go—back of truck!” He gestured wildly to the back.

  Zac watched the scene unfold through the side mirror. How many could cram inside? The X-strains at the rear of the crowd seemed to catch on to the impromptu rescue. They shoved through the screaming crowd, not attacking, not eating—running straight for the truck.

  The truck lurched as people clambered inside. “Time to leave,” Zac urged as calmly as he could.

  Danovich patted the steering wheel and revved the engine. “We wait”—he held up all ten fingers—“ten seconds more. Best of lucks to them . . .”

  The Russian had a set of cojones on him. No doubt big, white, and hairy, just like the rest of him. “These people are lucky you’re a decent person,” Zac remarked.

  Danovich beamed. “Best decent person in class.”

  Zac watched from the side mirror. Danovich had saved twenty, thirty. Fifty? He turned around to see the first troop of zombs reach the truck’s front grill. The anger broiling in their eyes had Zac squirming in his seat. They had to get out of there, pronto. Without any prompting, the bitmap path to safety appeared in his inner vision.

  “Time to go,” Zac stated with unfelt calmness. “Make a right on Bronson.” Where in hell were the Enforcers? They should have been there, saving these people.

  “Hold your balls.” The truck driver stomped on the gas pedal, thudding his chest. “Danovich fastest—”

  “Driver in class,” Zac cut in, resisting the impulse to laugh at the Russian’s translation. Clearly, this had rapidly escalated into a hold-your-balls situation. Unfortunately, the added cargo impeded the truck.

  Zombs ran at impossible speed like that shapeshifting Terminator in Judgment Day. With flying leaps, they scaled the truck. Zac had no idea how they held on. All the while, the truck lurched from side to side. “What the hell are they doing back there?” Zac shouted with the gut-wrenching realization the people in the back had their own battle to deal with. A zomb must have made it inside. They were turning . . .

  A balled fist busted through Danovich’s window. A zomb grabbed him by the throat.

  “The hell!” Zac double-tapped the SOB in the forehead, two seconds too late. The zomb let go.

  The jarring of tires grappling over the curb was as petrifying as the pain in Danovich’s eyes when he patted his neck. He stared at his bloodied fingers. The brief flicker of “Aw shit, I just got bit” transformed into that vacant zomb-eyed lust of eternal hunger. Danovich turned in seconds. And Zac sat right next to—it.

  Seconds to decide—jump out the truck or fight off the zombs? The trigger reacted first. It took three rounds to persuade Danovich’s undead body not to shred him to pieces. Zac reached over, opened the driver’s door, and shoved the Russian out.

  The freeway entrance was around the corner. Two more zombs bobbled outside the driver’s side window. A quick double-slam of the door took care of them. A thud on the cab’s roof prepared him for the next threat. The zomb leaned over the edge of the cab’s roof and punched at the passenger’s window. Zac fired several rounds. But the SOB had seen it coming. It ducked.

  The freeway on-ramp came into view. Two Humvees and four Enforcers raised their weapons at the sight of the zomb-covered truck. Well, Zac wasn’t stopping. He couldn’t. He squeezed the truck between the Humvees with gunfire peppering the truck. He ducked, praying damn hard the engine block protected him. And he busted through.

  No signs of the motley crew of hitchhiking zombs per a quick recon of the mirrors. The automatic gunfire must have knocked them off. Oddly enough, the Enforcers hadn’t followed. They were probably more concerned with keeping intruders out of the ABC Zones. Or they were calling in the coordinates now. He tromped the accelerator, expecting a fleet of Special Ops to appear in the rearview.

  The floppity-flop-flop reverberating from outside indicated he had lost a tire in the shootout. “Can’t I catch a break?” He would just grind the rim until he found another vehicle. Of course, there was a hitch to his plan. There weren’t many vehicles in the Zones. Citizens relied on the trams or car rentals when they could afford the splurge.

  “Damn! Another tire?” Caught in the No Zone with a bootleg CitChip during a RedDead Alert, driving on not one—but two flat tires. With a payload of vile zombs. What more could go wrong?

  The engine seized. “Aw, shit!” It must have taken a hit. Zac coasted to the shoulder more determined than ever.

  Time to walk it. He grabbed the electrician’s bag before stepping onto the empty freeway. The truck’s metal siding bulged where the zombs had apparently attempted to body-slam their way out. When he shut the door, their groans took over. The truck bounced and rocked. All it had taken was one zomb. Danovich wouldn’t have turned if he hadn’t tried to save so many people. That’s the shits when common decency ended up being a fatal flaw.

  He grabbed the black marker from his bag. On the side of the truck, he wrote: WARNING! X-STRAINS INSIDE in huge block letters. Without looking back, he hiked northbound, hoping it took a while for the horde to bust out.

  It was going to be a hell of a long walk to the Forbidden Zone. Step after step, another fear needled him, one he had chosen to ignore during his trial. What if Scarlett and her friends left without him . . .

  Chapter 20

  Dean Wormer sat behind the skoolie’s wheel, fretting like the Partridge family’s manager late to their first gig. After wasting several hours and precious petrol attempting to gain access to the numerous highways, they had finally concluded all highway access had been intentionally sealed-off from within the Forbidden Zone. Most likely to deter smuggler activity, he presumed.

  Driving the bus was pretty cut and dried, although the elaborate panel of switches to his left intimidated him. Familiar with Frank’s skoolie, he knew to let the engine idle until the Wait to Start light lit and t
o let the pressure build up for the air brakes. Of course, he was bound to burn out one thing or another without the proper training. As long as the ole bus didn’t conk out on them.

  With Scarlett and Justin co-piloting from the bench seat behind him, they stuck to the byroads, skirting the towns when possible. Thing was, getting from point A to point B was a tricky process. They weren’t putting as many miles behind them as he had projected. By midnight, they had accepted the fact they weren’t getting to Tent City until tomorrow.

  “We’re coming up to a town,” Scarlett said, reading the map by flashlight. “We’ll have to drive through it. This road takes us too far west.”

  “Dad-blast-it,” Dean groused.

  Scarlett clicked off her flashlight. “Take a right on County Road Twenty-one. It’s the shortest route.”

  He wasn’t too keen on going through a town. Nonetheless, it brought up an interesting possibility: stores. A Dick’s Sporting Goods would come in handy. They had lost their stockpile of camping equipment after their narrow escape from the safehouse. They wouldn’t last long in the Lost States of America without it. Although he supposed they could acquire equipment along the way. But a night without a tent, with two babies—wasn’t the best of plans.

  “Say, Justin,” Dean said, “are the stores in these parts looted out?”

  “Why?” Justin asked.

  “Think we should replenish our camping gear,” Dean said matter-of-factly.

  “Last State confiscated tons of products for their MeBuy warehouses,” Justin started. “Actually, MeBuy doesn’t sell camping stuff. Probably to discourage cits from bugging-out.”

  “Surely the smugglers and Zhetts would have looted the Forbidden Zone?” Scarlett questioned.

  “Not so much. The propaganda department blasted CitChat with gory deepfake videos of a virulent Ebola-like virus—”

  “Question, what’s a deepfake video?” Dean interrupted, knowing he’d regret it. A glance in the rearview mirror caught Justin rolling his eyes. “Never mind.” He had more crucial matters to ponder.

  “A new virus?” Scarlett’s voice trailed off.

  “Meh, fake news.” Justin shook his head adamantly. “Last State deemed most of Texas uninhabitable. Think Chernobyl meets Zombieland. But really, they don’t have enough drones and manpower to surveil every inch. So, they faked a virulent virus. Even bad-ass smugglers like Mad Dog don’t risk the Forbidden Zone.”

  “Alrighty then. Why don’t we come up with a list of practical items,” Dean emphasized.

  “On it,” Justin said in full hyper mode.

  “You should take a break and let Justin drive,” Scarlett pressed for the third time.

  He didn’t want to stop until they had to. “Let’s wait ’til daylight.” By then it would be time to top off the gas tank. He kept a mental tally of the mileage since the tank’s needle hadn’t budged the last two hours.

  As they approached the town, the meager parking lights captured the post-apocalyptic scene ahead like a time capsule preserving the first frenzied days of the flu outbreak. Nonetheless, he kept to the parking lights, not wanting the headlights to advertise their presence.

  Why had so many people abandoned their vehicles? Had they been on their way to get the new vaccine? Only to watch a family member suddenly turn. Infecting everyone else. Best not to dwell over such things. The vaccine had been a bunch of bullcrap. Or fake news as Justin emphatically proclaimed. He supposed the folks in charge had been manipulating society for quite some time. Only most people had been too distracted to recognize the lies. Including him.

  Dean still found it mind-boggling how the good ole U. S. of A. had succumbed to something as minuscule as a virus. Of course, now he understood so much more was at stake. This was a battle of good and evil if ever there was. Humanity must have pissed off someone. Whoever these ruthless Ancient Ones were, they were hellbent on annihilation. And dammit, he refused to let evil win. Not if he had any say in it.

  Scarlett nudged his shoulder, pointing to a rambling horde to the left. The gangling bodies flickered in the shadows like ghoulish spirits condemned to Hades’ Underworld. He sure didn’t want to end up as one of—them.

  “Hey, they’ve got a Walmart,” Justin shouted.

  Familiar logos plastered billboards of Old America, like Round Table, Taco Bell, Burger King, Motel 6, and a mess of others he had long since forgotten.

  “I could go for some chonies.” Luther took a seat beside Scarlett. “Tired of wearing the same ole crusty plush.”

  “How you feelin’?” Dean asked.

  “Like my mouth is stuffed with cotton balls. But, I’m good,” Luther assured. “Ready to kick some ass if needed.”

  “Dude, maybe they sell ugly Hawaiian shirts. In jumbo sizes,” Justin jabbed.

  “Don’t be messing with my mojo,” Luther jabbed back.

  “Scarlett, think we ought to check out the Walmart. Any premonitions?” He had learned to trust her instincts, impossible as it was to fathom.

  “I’m not getting any warnings or bad energies,” Scarlett said.

  Twila invited herself into Luther’s lap. She held Luther’s rainbow-colored glass to her head and finally said, “I don’t see anything bad. But”—she paused dramatically—“the baaad ones found the hole in the fence. They’re marching for us this very second!”

  “X-strains?” Justin’s tone went up an octave.

  “We’ll be in Tent City before they see hide nor hair of us,” Dean interjected, not wanting to change the mood. Nevertheless, his heart twinged at her statement. X-strains were inhumanly fast. Then again, those things weren’t human. Anymore.

  Chapter 21

  Scarlett Lewis sat at the bus’s dinette table and organized everyone’s wish lists by departments while Luther and Justin reconned the back of the Walmart they had parked in. She left off things like Ella’s request for Gummy Bears and Justin’s request for an Xbox. Surely, they had included them in jest. Twila had only asked for a pair of shoes that didn’t hurt her feet and a pretty coloring book.

  Dean studied the map spread out over the stovetop while Mindy and Starla slept. The twilight of dawn so serene that Scarlett couldn’t help but smile at Mateo’s suckling sounds as Ella nursed him. Life had a way of persevering despite the Ancient Ones’ wrath.

  Mateo and Luther’s miraculous recoveries had her thinking about the crystal-like glass Luther had been entrusted with. It must contain monatomic properties within its crystalline structure. She supposed it was conceivable. According to Luther’s aunt, Andaras were created when lightning struck volcanic ash. Scarlett had detected the powerful lifeforce resonating within the crystalized glass.

  According to the Silver Lady, Prima Matra (the First Matter of Humanity’s First Born on Earth) nourished the etheric body and regenerated damaged DNA. Apparently, it had been revered by many cultures since the beginning of mankind. This mysterious alchemy substance went by various names such as mono atomic gold, monatomic gold, Etherium Gold, white gold, ORMUS, and Philosophers’ Stone. Even Mana—The Bread of Life from biblical times.

  Even more intriguing, Luther’s aunt was apparently a Lightworker like Shari, waiting to impart her knowledge to rescue humanity from the End Times. According to the Silver Lady, the Galactic Council had strategically positioned Lightworkers decades ago, preparing for this event in humanity’s history. Each obscure piece of the intricate puzzle was safeguarded so no one being, good or evil, could overthrow the Grand Plan to Save Hu-manity.

  Hmm, Mindy’s baby didn’t need the tea. Starla must have the New Hu DNA the Silver Lady had told her about. A population dependent upon medications wouldn’t survive long. Survival of the fittest. More like survival of the sickest—where the dead ruled the earth, she reflected sarcastically.

  Justin crept onto the bus, sweeping open the drawn blackout curtains that separated the driver’s cockpit from the rest of the bus. “Luther will let us know when the Zs go into slumberland.”

  “Here.
” Scarlett handed the rewritten list to Dean for his approval when he sat down beside her.

  “I’m just saying—I’m grabbing all the disposable diapers I can carry,” Justin declared.

  It was no secret Justin hated changing diapers. What did he plan to do when they ran out? He couldn’t exactly fit two years of disposable diapers into his backpack. Although, she wouldn’t put it past him.

  “Oh, and paper plates,” Ella said.

  Dean scanned the list with his finger. “Allegra, Sudafed . . . Viagra?” He side-eyed Justin.

  “Ye-ah,” Justin said. “It’s worth more than gold in Tent City.”

  “A valued barter item. Makes sense.” Dean nodded with approval. Twila yawned all the way from her bunk to the table. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Dean said as she cuddled into his lap.

  The bus rocked when Luther stepped inside. “It’s time. The six nimrods casing the rear parking lot just hit the pavement. You want me to take care of them?”

  “Naw, the ruckus will alert their fellow hordesmen,” Dean pointed out. “Besides, fresh kills leave a trail for Last State and X-strains to follow.”

  Scarlett wasn’t looking forward to a shopping spree. Large buildings took a while to secure. In the early days, she had developed nerves of steel after countless supply runs. Survival had been easier without Twila and babies to stress over.

  “We’ve got one shot at this,” Dean said. “So, get in and out as quickly and quietly as possible.”

  Justin kissed Ella on the cheek. Her eyes grew rounder in recognition. “Why do you always have to go—”

  “No worries.” Justin handed her his Glock and gave her a kissy face.

  Ella accepted the gun with a funny fishy face. “Remember the last time you said that?”

  “I’ll look out for him,” Luther assured.

  “What do you want me to do?” Mindy called out from her bunk.

  “You and Twila can help me sort through the dehydrated food buckets for something breakfasty?” Ella said.