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

by Popovich, A. D.

“We still have Zac’s gold,” Luther reminded.

  “We need to save it.” Justin sifted through a pillowcase of looted pharmaceuticals. “The gold will get us out of Last State.” He rattled a handful of pill bottles. “These will work.”

  “I’ll tag along,” Dean offered, exhaustion trickling through his voice.

  She sent Dean a quick blast of energy. It must have been stressful driving a bus full of illegals through the Forbidden Zone. “Dean, you should rest.” She would do a thorough healing on him later if Twila didn’t beat her to it.

  “You can’t go—” Dean started to lose it, the way he did when he was out of ideas. Which was seldom.

  “You forget,” Scarlett gently asserted. “I lived in the lower part of Zhetto for months.” She knew what to expect after helping Shari at the Zhetto Market.

  Justin stuffed his pockets with Sudafed, Claritin, and Viagra.

  “It will give you a chance to prioritize our bulk supplies since we can’t take everything,” she said with finality. She kissed Twila on the forehead before heading to the door.

  Dean rubbed his clean-shaven chin, thanks to the razors she had surprised him with. “Guess, you’re right.”

  Scarlett checked the chamber of the 9mm Zac had gifted her at the bunkhouse. The only thing she had left of him. No. That wasn’t true. She still had his essence forever etched into her heart. She vowed, no matter what happened—never to forget.

  “No guns,” Justin warned. “Enforcers run random sting operations along this stretch between Zhetto and Tent City. A gun will get you an all-inclusive vacay at Gitmo. As in brutal interrogation.”

  Reluctantly, Scarlett set the gun on the driver’s seat, opting for one of the bats next to the door.

  “Oh, take one of these,” Ella said. “I made burritos with the leftovers.” Ella handed out foil-wrapped packages.

  Twila ran a burrito to her. Scarlett had lost her appetite, but her body would appreciate the calories.

  “You’re a godsend,” Dean mumbled. “I burned through the calories driving the skoolie.”

  “Up here,” Justin said with his hand up in the air.

  Luther tossed a burrito his way. “Pick up a bucket of extra-crispy fried chicken,” Luther yelled as she and Justin exited the bus.

  “Haha,” Justin jibbed back.

  Scarlett had claimed one of the ponchos to boost her confidence parading as a man, despite the warm afternoon.

  They tromped side by side along the shoulder, facing the oncoming traffic, and ate their burritos. Passersby sped by, staring at them, but no one stopped.

  “Is there usually this much traffic going to Tent City?” she asked. According to Shari, few Zhetts could afford vehicles.

  “That’s the thing—I didn’t want to say anything back there. Trying to keep Ella calm,” Justin said, stuck in gloom and doom. “Something huge is definitely happening. Hordes or the Resistance. Most cits are usually too freaking scared to leave the safety of the Zones. Zhetto Market is as far as they go—unless they’re defecting.”

  The quiver in his voice made her soften her focus. She peered into his ethereal body and instantly recoiled at the pain, the fear, the anger souring his heart. She had healed the old wound once before. But like any deep-seated wound, it would fester until the infection had healed, in his case, releasing his guilt over the death of Miguel.

  Quickly, she worked on clearing away the low-vibes eating away at his soul. The group depended on his quirky optimism to lighten the mood. When Justin was down, he brought the entire group down.

  Before she knew it, they reached the pop-up stand nestled under a grove of sparse, wind-beaten trees. With her braids stuffed snuggly under the hat, sunglasses on, and the grimy-face hack, she didn’t feel the least bit feminine. “So, Viagra . . .” Scarlett teased.

  Justin shrugged. “It’s on Mad Dog’s top ten list of coveted items.”

  “I didn’t realize that many women lived in Tent City—”

  He gave a sheepish grin. “Zhetto’s infamous for their cat houses. Mostly, those icky blowup sex dolls. But a few hard-core women live there. Smugglers get paid big bucks for kidnapping women from the Lost States. The hot babes get auctioned to the Elites. The others—”

  She had been on the auction block herself. “Some things never change.” Scarlett kicked a pile of pebbles someone had gathered from the drainage ditch. It was better to release the anger than wallow in it.

  “Ready for this?” she muttered under her breath as they walked past several sun-faded vehicles parked on the shoulder. Shoppers in raggedy clothing combed through the wares. Scarlett and Justin casually browsed the goods. They had looted plenty of camping equipment, weapons, clothes, and food. More than they could carry. However, the buckets of freeze-dried foods really weren’t that practical to haul.

  “You need some ’em, holla,” said the scruffy black man in knee-torn jeans and a pit-stained T-shirt.

  “Gas,” Justin said flatly. “We just ran out.”

  The man hurried to them. “If you got LSCs or ration cards? There’s a gas station two miles down. You can hitch a ride with my homie for a hundred LSCs.”

  Justin shook his head in response. They were out of ration cards and LSCs.

  She headed for the carts for sale.

  Justin followed. “Nice. They upgraded the wheels. How much for a cart?” He discreetly pulled out bottles of Sudafed and Claritin.

  A spark of interest washed over the vendor’s face. “My homie modified these ones for rough terrains. See these? Ten-inch no-flat tires. With heavy-duty ball bearings. Even beefed-up the axles. These’ll get yal’s shit to Tent City—and then some,” he hinted as if guessing their intentions.

  “Sweeet,” Justin drawled, rolling a cart back and forth.

  They were quite a bit larger than Costco carts. And definitely sturdier. Twila was right, she could ride inside, although it wouldn’t be all that comfortable.

  “One or two?” the man asked.

  “Six.” Justin held out six packages each of Sudafed and Claritin. “Take it or leave it,” Justin spouted with blasé arrogance.

  The man ogled the packages. “You gotcha yourself a deal!” He held out his hand for the exchange.

  Familiar brown cases stacked near the carts caught her attention. “MREs?” she rasped in her gruffest voice. MREs were easy to stuff in backpacks and could be eaten without the trouble of setting up the stove.

  “Sho’nuff. But, these”—he tapped the box on the folding table serving as the customer counter—“just in. Survival Food Tabs! Can’t keep ’em in stock.” He slashed open the box.

  As Scarlett recalled, survival tablets had been popular at the Zhetto Market.

  “Great for when you’re on the go.” The man gestured broadly to the grassy plains. “Just pop one of these puppies every hour for maximum stamina. And you’ll get where you’re gettin’ to.”

  An unexpected scene of hiking the deserts played in the background. The food tablets were a must-have, small enough to carry in pockets. “We’ll take two dozen,” Scarlett said firmly, nodding over Justin’s shaking head. “And two dozen MREs.”

  Justin gave her the what-are-you-doing eye roll. “This is all I have.” He pulled out six bottles of Allegra.

  The man’s chin wrinkled in disapproval.

  Justin slowly pulled out another bottle. “Viagra!” He shook the bottle in front of the man’s nose.

  A broad smile took over his face. “Pick your poison.”

  Scarlett quickly selected several MRE varieties, growing acutely aware that the grungy men by the produce carts were paying too much attention to them.

  “Time to go,” she uttered under her breath and tossed the bat in the cart. They took off with three carts each pushed into one another.

  “Yo, stay off State Line Road,” the man called after them. “Rumor has it they’re sending in troops once the hordes in the inner Zones are neutralized. Y’all take care . . .”

  Scarlett rep
lied by waving a hand in the air. When they made it past the grove of trees, a spine-tingling tremor shot up her root chakra to her heart, causing palpitations. “Run,” Scarlett urged, trying to keep her stack of carts on the shoulder.

  Justin caught up to her. “What’s wrong?”

  “I think someone’s coming for us.” She turned around to see a dark-blue metallic low-rider driving on the shoulder. Pacing them.

  There wasn’t anything they could do but keep pushing the carts and hope the bad feeling was paranoia. They obviously weren’t Enforcers. Maybe they merely had car trouble.

  “Why are they still following us?” Scarlett’s knuckles had turned from white to red as she pushed the carts faster and faster.

  “Weird. I think they’re waiting for a break in the traffic—to rob us.” Justin’s jaw twitched.

  The bus was yards away, but that break in the traffic was seconds away. Her heart thudded against her chest at the revving of the engine. She and Justin glanced behind them long enough to confirm her suspicions.

  “Jump in the gutter!” Justin shrieked, taking his carts with him.

  The low-rider gunned for them. Scarlett jerked her stack of carts to the right and shoved them beyond the shoulder. A second after the carts careened into the drainage ditch with their purchases flying out, she jumped and landed beside the carts.

  Two men brandishing melee weapons jumped out the low-rider. A rifle blast startled everyone. They all turned toward the gunshot. Luther and Dean stood there steadfast, aiming their weapons at the men in a scene right out of a Longmire episode.

  “You want four flat tires?” Luther boomed while Dean swaggered around like John Wayne.

  The two men couldn’t scramble to their low-rider fast enough. Luther aimed low and followed the low-rider with the M4.

  Justin passionately flipped off the men with both hands as they sped off. “Asswipes.”

  Dean and Luther high-fived each other.

  “So much for hiding our weapons,” Scarlett grumbled to herself. If this was what it was like in Tent City, she dreaded it.

  “Meet y’all at the bus,” Luther shouted.

  Dean hurried to them. “Twila told us you were in trouble. I take it no petrol?”

  “No,” Scarlett said, helping Justin retrieve their purchases.

  “Twila says we need to leave.” Dean’s brows dug deeper into his well-etched forehead.

  When they made it back to the bus, Twila, Ella, and Mindy were handing items to each other down a human chain while Luther set the supplies outside the bus, opposite side of the traffic.

  “We whittled things down, starting with the basics: sleeping bags, fishing gear, camp stove, cooking utensils, and whatnot. Then, we’ll divvy out the food—as much as we can haul.” Dean tested a cart. “These ought to do the trick. Everyone, cover your cart with a tarp. There’s a mess of them on the driver’s seat.”

  “Twila, bring our packs,” Scarlett said from the backdoor. She wanted to see how much room they had after Twila sat inside the cart. “And bring a pillow to sit on.”

  Twila ran to her with an armful of items. “Ooh, Onyx is very sad. He misses us and wants to come.”

  Interesting, Twila still communicated with Onyx. “Tell him hello for me. Where is he?”

  Twila stuck out her lower lip. “They found him and took him back to the ranch. He hates it there.”

  “Folks, we’re leaving in three minutes flat,” Dean bellowed.

  She wanted to search the etherworlds to see what approached, only there wasn’t time. For what if she blacked out?

  “And don’t forget the canteens. Keep one on your person at all times,” Dean lectured like an overbearing summer camp counselor.

  “I’ll get them.” Twila was off again.

  Twila returned with canteens strapped over her shoulders. While she handed them out, Scarlett handed out the MREs and Survival Tabs.

  “Grandpa Dean, there’s an extra one.” Twila held up the canteen.

  “It’s for you.” Dean winked.

  “Ooh, I get my very own canteen.” Twila hugged it, silly as ever.

  Scarlett tapped the cart’s handle. “Get in.”

  She had lined the inside of the cart with a blanket. Once Twila climbed in, she handed her the Tom Sawyer novel Dean had given her along with a flashlight. Anything to keep her occupied.

  Twila sat cross-legged on the pillow while Scarlett tied a tarp over the top. “I can’t see—” Twila complained.

  “Time’s up,” Dean shouted. But everyone rushed around grabbing more supplies.

  “You can peek out the rivet holes. When no one’s around,” Scarlett added sternly.

  Jeez! She had forgotten the cloth diapers and pins. She ran back onto the bus. Unfortunately, her cart was completely full along with everyone else’s. She’d have to put them in the front basket, where she had planned to carry her pack. Well, she would wear her backpack like the good old days. Mindy, Justin, and Ella would thank her when the inevitable came.

  “People, let’s go,” Luther blasted. “Getting one of those funky vibes.”

  “Wait, I forgot the tent.” Justin ran back onto the bus. “I’ll catch up with you guys.”

  “Why don’t you gals start headin’ northwest across the grasslands. Toward that windmill off in the distance,” Dean clarified. “I want to get as far away from this bus as we can before dark.”

  Had Dean channeled the pop-up vendor’s warning about avoiding the main road into Tent City? She supposed it made the most sense. As long as someone knew where they were going. All she saw was a vast plain of dried grasses stretching into the horizon.

  “Here we go,” Scarlett said to Twila. She pushed the cart through the field. Not bad. The tires kept good traction. Although it was difficult to turn with all the weight.

  Surprisingly, Ella kept the pace, and Mindy followed. She turned around to see Luther close behind while Dean waited for Justin. It seemed impossible—walking to Tent City. She thought back to those long days trekking across apocalyptic America with Twila and their devoted equestrian friend, Willow. They had survived the trip despite hordes, Ravers, and marauders. Except then, she’d had the help of her spirit guide. “Silver Lady, where are you?” Scarlett pleaded internally.

  “She forgot about us,” Twila bemoaned.

  “Shhh, take a nap. Or read,” Scarlett scolded.

  Twila responded with a theatrical gasp of disgust. Meanwhile, Scarlett strengthened her Merkaba shielding and tried deflecting the barrage of worries inundating her. She found the not knowing what would happen next, exasperating.

  ***

  Dean and Luther waited for everyone to catch up at the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree wooden signpost, complete with colorful hand-painted destination arrows pointing in various directions. Something right out of the wild west.

  Squinting against the low-hanging sun and the pollen swirling in the vicious winds, Scarlett studied the landmark. TENT CITY—FIVE MILES, Z-ZONE TRAM STATION—20 MILES, ZHETTO MARKET—50 MILES, MEDICAL CLINIC—75 MILES. A small square sign had been nailed into the base: NO TENTS IN UNAUTHORIZED ZONES—ALL VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED!

  Justin ran to the signpost with his cart. “Guys, look, we’re almost there.”

  By the time everyone caught up, they all frowned with uncertainty.

  Ella firmly planted her hands on her hips. “No tents in Tent City?” Ella said it first. Still, it must have been on the tip of everyone’s tongue.

  “It means no tents here,” Justin said, back to his usual spunk.

  “Well, mijo can’t wait another five crappy miles. And neither can my feet,” Ella huffed. “I should have given him a bottle an hour ago.”

  Dean scanned the perimeter. “I see an arroyo up ahead. We could set up camp there for the night. I, for one, don’t fancy walking in the dark.”

  Justin gestured to the sign. “Duh, no tents—”

  “We ought to be out of the line of sight until first light,” Dean sa
id.

  “My mojo’s acting up.” Luther panned the horizon. “We sure aren’t getting in five miles before sunset.”

  Luther’s ominous statement had everyone trudging on. Ella started lagging behind. Justin encouraged her while Luther and Dean forged ahead, stopping every now and then to scan the horizon.

  Mindy kept a steady pace behind Scarlett. The young woman had more endurance than she thought. Mindy was still an unknown. She kept to herself and basically considered everyone a possible threat. The young mother definitely needed to work on her trust issues.

  Then again, Scarlett knew painfully well that constant paranoia kept one vigilant. And alive!

  Chapter 27

  Dean Wormer knelt at the edge of the ravine that no doubt served as a seasonal creekbed. The crackled, sunbaked clay showed no signs of recent rains. Although, he knew to beware of thunderboomers. Ravines, arroyos, and such have a way of fillin’ up faster than all get out in these parts.

  “Justin,” Dean beckoned. “Leave your cart. Let’s you and I reconnoiter the ravine.” No point in lugging their supplies down the incline until they confirmed it was a viable option.

  “Sure.” Justin gave Ella a quick smooch before sprinting over.

  “Hang tight,” Dean yelled to the gang.

  Poor Ella, she looked pooped, albeit determined. She had managed remarkably for recently giving birth. Which reminded him he wasn’t looking forward to camping with two babies. On the bright side, Luther had recovered from the Mindy rescue for the most part, and Scarlett, despite her undeniable sadness, was spot on again.

  He and Justin briskly policed the ravine, looking for telltale signs of two-legged and four-legged creatures.

  “It looks safe. No footprints or trash,” Justin said.

  “Yep. Let’s get everyone here.” Dean corralled the gang to the ravine and also kept an eye on a group of people heading northwest on foot.

  Once they made it inside the ravine, a good six feet lower than the plains, he parked himself in a niche on the lookout for wayward passersby.

  “Why don’t you fellows join me for the time being?” Dean figured the gals could use a breather and no doubt in dire need of a potty stop. Women liked their privacy. As he recalled, Mary had hated camping for that precise reason.