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

by Popovich, A. D.

  “Oh ye-ah,” Justin said, “now that we’re in Zhetto, we need to remove our chips before we get inside Tent City’s walls.”

  “I’ll let you be in charge of that,” Dean noted. He had enough things on his plate. “Don’t forget to use the antibiotic cream—”

  “Yes, Dad,” Justin groaned.

  Justin stared intently at the sky. “Guys, you know how the girls get these cray-cray ESP warnings? Well, I’m getting this freaky feeling we have to cross Zoat. Tomorrow! No matter what . . .”

  “Yup. Getting a bad vibe myself.” Luther wiped his brow. “Then again, it could just be this oppressive humidity.”

  “It’s this god-awful wind. Zoat can’t be more than ten miles away.” Dean found the concept of Zoat downright cringeworthy. What type of government would dig a moat around its borders where feasible and fill it with rotting dead-heads?

  Luther inhaled long and hard. “Phew! I can smell those stinking nimrods from here. Or, there’s a horde in the vicinity.” He pivoted from side to side as if expecting to see a horde tumbling into the ravine.

  “We’ve been known to handle a horde or two,” Dean said as upbeat as he could stomach. “Let’s rotate guard shifts through the night. Might not want to mention the possibility of hordes to the gals. Except Scarlett.” Ella needed a good night’s sleep if she were to handle what tomorrow had in store for them.

  “It sounds like the best game plan,” Luther replied amicably, although the unsettling look in his eyes kept Dean on edge.

  Luther’s stomach let out a long, loud rumble. He responded with a startled big-eyed look. “Damn, I can’t stop thinking about food.”

  “Dude, you look like you lost twenty pounds since breakfast,” Justin ribbed.

  Luther patted his broad belly. “I’m practically anemic.”

  Dean found it comforting, listening to their banter. The gals stood around and kept glancing their way. They must have finished their business. “Justin, best we set up that tent while we have some daylight,” he decided, planning the night’s agenda. “Luther, you mind keeping watch?”

  “I’ll be right here,” Luther affirmed.

  Dean took the longer route and cautiously hiked down the gradual slope used for the carts while Justin jumped into the bottom of the ravine. To be young again. Why had fate seen fit to make an old fogy like himself responsible for the lot? Not that he was their official leader. Though, it sure seemed that way at times.

  “Guys, I snagged this awesome tent from Wally World.” Justin lifted up the package. “It’s got four rooms. Plus, a room in the center. Only a twenty-minute setup.”

  Dean reached for the box. The darn thing weighed a good fifty pounds. “And you plan on luggin’ this all the way to—” He stopped himself. Sometimes he wondered where the kid had left his wits. That’s why fate had selected him; plain-old common sense was his forte.

  Justin and Dean set up the tent while the mamas nursed their babies. Forty-five minutes later, the tent was ready.

  “Twenty minutes, my ass,” Dean scoffed.

  “It would have been way easy if we could have watched the vlog,” Justin defended. “Anyway, we know what to do next time.”

  Would there be a next time? Dean wasn’t looking forward to breaking it down in the morning. Nonetheless, he had to admit it was a snazzy tent, providing the gang privacy.

  “See . . .” Justin gracefully gestured his arms around the tent like Vanna White. “Each room zips up. There’s one for Ella, Mateo, and me. Mindy and Starla, Scarlett and Twila. And you and Luther can share one if you alternate guard shifts. We can even put our stuff in the center room.”

  Ella looked too exhausted to be impressed. “What do you want for dinner?” Ella asked, rubbing her feet.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Scarlett said. “Why don’t you and Mateo take a quick nap.”

  “You’re so sweet.” Ella didn’t argue. She grabbed her pack and claimed a compartment.

  Scarlett rifled through the carts, looking at the freeze-dried buckets. “How do black bean burgers and mashed potatoes sound?”

  “I wanna help,” Twila chirped. Twila had been unusually obedient. It was another plus.

  For a moment, Dean envisioned they were on a family camping trip. The thought made him miss Kyle all the more. There wasn’t a day he hadn’t kicked himself in the butt for not getting back to his cabin in California. Oftentimes, he indulged in the notion Kyle was out there somewhere bunkered in tight with an enclave of his Army buddies. Better than the alternative. Heaven forbid his son shambled the streets as a soulless dead-head.

  While Scarlett and Twila fussed over the cooking, he took the opportunity to retrieve the sleeping bags. He soon realized that storing the carts in the tent’s middle compartment wasn’t feasible, moreover, there was only enough room for one cart, which he rolled over a tarp so as not to rip the tent’s floor.

  An hour later, he sat in front of the tent with a full belly, wondering how they were crossing Zoat. It was so close. He could almost feel the dead-heads’ hunger pangs gnawing at his own belly. Is this how Twila feels as an empath? No wonder the child’s a wreck.

  The gals were tucked away in their sleeping bags when Dean handed out the guard shift schedule. He wasn’t too keen on sleeping, dreading what dreams might come. That was if he managed to get any sleep whatsoever.

  ***

  Dean woke up with a start to find Luther nudging him.

  “You gotta see this.” The anguish in Luther’s eyes sent Dean scrambling out of his sleeping bag.

  Worry had led him to sleep in his clothes. He quickly slipped on his boots before joining Luther outside.

  “Would you look at that . . .” Dean stood there, flabbergasted. In the dawn’s hazy glow, hundreds of people trekked northwest, stopping at the wooden directional sign. “It’s a bloomin’ exodus.”

  “Think they know something we don’t?” Luther muttered under his breath.

  “Yep, all the more reason to get going.” Dean tucked his plaid shirt into his pants. “What’s everyone up to?”

  “Scarlett and Twila are on the east side of the tent fixing breakfast. The rest are probably still sleeping.”

  The aroma of food—that’s why he wasn’t nauseous from Zoat’s penetrating stench. Dean hurried to the center of the tent. “Everyone, up and at ’em. There’s a situation brewing. Pack it up. I want to be on the road in fifteen minutes.” It was an unreasonable request, but it ought to get them moving. He didn’t stop nagging until he heard the unzipping of their compartments.

  Dean rushed outside and took in the scene with binoculars. “It seems to me they’re in an awful hurry for this hour of the morning.”

  “What’s up?” Justin asked with a yawn. He snapped to when he noticed the exodus. He gave Dean and Luther a knowing look.

  “Son, please tell me this is normal. A sporting event or swap meet?” Dean tossed out there.

  “Are they Zoners or Zhetts?” Justin grabbed the binoculars. “Holy shit! I’ve never seen that many defectors. Definitely Zoners. Dressed like they’re going to their desk jobs. And they’re dragging suitcases. How lame is that?”

  “What’s your take on this?” Dean asked. Justin knew more about Last State than he did.

  Justin stared in awe. “Seriously, we’re actually witnessing the collapse of Last State. My co-workers used to dream about saving enough LS Credits to buy a one-way ticket through a smuggler’s tunnel. It’s like the new post-apocalyptic American Dream.”

  “What took them so long to rebel?” Luther asked.

  “See, cits were safe from the hordes—until now. They’re giving up their cozy apartments,” Justin said.

  “Your rebel friend’s tactics must be helping as well,” Dean theorized out loud.

  Scarlett and Twila came out with steaming plates of biscuits and gravy. “Eat it while it’s hot.”

  “Uncle Luther, Mommy says you get to have two plates!” Twila exclaimed.

  “Thanks, cu
tie.” Luther tapped her upturned nose.

  “Twila, do me a favor,” Dean asked. “Make sure Mindy and Ella are getting ready.”

  “Okay.” She skipped to the tent.

  Justin gulped down a bite before saying, “Ella was feeding Mateo.”

  “Not bad,” Luther admitted. “If you eat it fast enough.”

  Twila came bouncing back. “They’re almost ready.”

  Dean was rolling his sleeping bag when Mindy peered out the tent hesitantly. Scarlett handed her a plate of food.

  “Folks, listen up,” Dean broadcasted loud and clear. “We’re leaving as soon as we break down the tent. Not a second later.” Scarlett followed his gaze to the northwestern horizon. “Scarlett, Twila, getting any of those premonitions?”

  “Everything went dark for me last night,” Twila bemoaned. “The Silver Lady doesn’t what me to see something—something scary!”

  “It’s strange,” Scarlett said. “I woke up an hour ago with an urgency to cook breakfast.”

  Screaming from the tent sent Justin’s plate flying into the air. Dean was right behind him as they darted into the tent. Justin whipped open the unzipped flap to Ella’s compartment.

  Dean cocked his Glock. Ready for trouble.

  “What—I don’t see anything.” Justin spun around, brandishing his knife.

  Ella’s lovely Hispanic complexion had turned pasty white. She stared blankly at the shattered mirror at her feet, which must have broken when it landed on her bat. There was no evidence of any physical danger.

  Scarlett dashed between them. She looked at Ella and then at the mirror shards reflecting back at them like a mystical puzzle. Pure fear emanated around the gals. They must see something I don’t. Something ominous.

  “Chop, chop.” Dean clapped his hands, the tension so tight he thought his lungs might spasm. “Let’s get everything outside. Justin and I are breaking down the tent.”

  Justin comforted Ella while Mindy and Scarlett emptied the tent. Dean jaunted to Luther to check the migrate status. Twila ran past him with a second plate of food for Luther.

  “Can’t talk now. Mama wants to show me the right way to pack the cooking stuff.” Twila scampered back before Luther could thank her.

  “Wish I had her energy,” Dean commented. “Any changes in activity?”

  “Nope. But I’m getting the jitters.” Luther shimmied like a startled dog.

  “I’ll be breaking down the tent. Give me a shout-out if there’s a problem.” Trouble brewed, and Dean didn’t much like the looks of it. He left Luther to his second helping.

  Mindy and Ella packed their carts, stealing looks around the ravine as if expecting company.

  A somber Justin helped him roll up the tent. “Son, you mind tellin’ me what that was all ’bout?”

  Justin shrugged. “Meh, the superstitious broken mirror thing.” His voice trailed off higher.

  Dean gave his best disgruntled look, hinting for a better explanation.

  “You know how Ella is.” Justin shirked it off.

  “Yep, she has a habit of snubbing unwanted truths,” Dean stated bluntly. Who was he to pass judgment? They all had their idiosyncrasies. Nonetheless, they must heed their intuition.

  Dean bound the fiberglass poles together with a bungee. “Two-minute warning,” Dean announced firmly, kicking himself for not leaving fifteen minutes ago. He hurried back to Luther.

  “I’m not liking this.” Luther shook his head repeatedly. “Look at the hairs on my arms.”

  It looked like Luther suffered a severe case of static electricity. Dean automatically looked at the sky as if expecting a flock of those mangy blackbirds to come swooping down. The hazy burnt-orange sky had turned to a golden haze. No birds.

  “Time to go!” Dean badgered. They wouldn’t have any trouble finding Tent City. All they had to do was follow the crowd. By the time they set off, hundreds more had joined the migration.

  “Never follow the pack,” Dean heard his grandfather say as if he fell in step beside him.

  Ella and Mindy remained steadfast, determined to take their carts. Though, Dean found the notion of trudging carts across the desert preposterous. They maintained a safe distance from the growing crowd, which had bottlenecked in the center as the faster ones passed the slower ones.

  Gradually, a vague outline of the city came into view. “We’re almost there!” Justin flashed a thumbs-up to a gloomy Ella.

  Did they have enough gold? It had Dean wondering about Zac. Zac, wherever you are. I’m rootin’ for ya. That’s when he realized they hadn’t updated the note at Quinton’s, telling Zac they were going to Tent City. It explained Scarlett’s glumness.

  The crowd ahead funneled into the sandbagged-wall entrance. Must be the main corridor into the city. More and more people joined from the east. If all these people were attempting to escape, why wasn’t Last State stopping it? They weren’t exactly clandestine about defecting.

  The brisk winds whipped at the high plains. And his nerves. The howling wind soughed through the trees. Until he realized there were no trees in their vicinity. They all stopped in their tracks at the same time. There was no mistaking it. The Hunger’s Howl!

  Dean scanned the horizon. Luther and Scarlett followed suit. The exodus broke into a run, screaming and shoving to the front of the mob. That’s when he spotted the horde. X-strains gained on the immigrants from the east. He frantically sought out shelter. Anything. But they were in the middle of a bunch of nothing. They’d never make it inside Tent City’s walls.

  Then Dean saw it.

  Their salvation.

  A sports park.

  Beyond the basketball courts, the tennis courts appeared larger than life in his mind. But the fenced-in courts were in the direction of the horde. They had to reach the courts before the X-strains. It was their only option.

  “Get to the tennis courts,” Dean clamored. They had a decent lead on the horde, provided the gals made good time.

  Mindy raced ahead. Justin stared at her in wide-eyed awe. That girl had the unique ability of finding safety when all hell broke loose. Scarlett was right behind with her cart. Poor Twila was probably bouncing all over the place under the tarp.

  The howling grew so loud Dean couldn’t think straight. He didn’t need binoculars to see their terror as people ran for their lives. Justin urged Ella on faster. Dean and Luther stood their ground at the east end. If need be, they’d run interference with some damage control in order to buy the gals the time they needed to get to the enclosed courts.

  The horde fanned out, herding its prey toward Tent City’s congested entrance. X-strains zeroed in for the kill. One by one, two-by-two, four-by-four . . . Their victims staggered back to their feet with crazed excitement.

  “Notice, they’re not stopping to feed,” Dean nearly whispered.

  “Recruiting—” Luther graveled.

  What a god-awful notion. But it was self-evident. “All the more reason to get to those courts.” Dean shoved his cart as fast as it would go. Luther kept his pace, although Luther could run three times faster than him. Mindy made it to the tennis courts first. Scarlett made it in with her cart next.

  Something sparked beyond Dean’s field of vision. “Hell’s bells! Fire!” Someone must have started a grass fire. To escape the horde? It was all fine and dandy for the people upwind.

  “Luther, go on. Find a way to secure the gate. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Scarlett can handle it.” Luther fired into the horde. “I got your back!”

  Dean pushed on, somehow finding the inner strength he needed to keep his feet moving faster and faster, not ready to ditch their vital supplies. But he would when the time came. He wasn’t stupid.

  “Grandpa Dean—Uncle Luther, hurry!” Twila’s pleas spurred him on.

  They gunned for the gate with dead-heads on their six. Once they made it to the cracked sidewalk, the going got faster. Dean and Luther hurried onto the courts. Scarlett and Justin slammed the gate cl
osed. Scarlett zip-tied the gate as the fastest ones body-slammed the fence.

  The fire raged closer. Wouldn’t you know, the tennis courts were in the horde’s path. The people behind them raced for the courts with dead-heads and flames at their heels.

  “Open the gate!” Their yells morphed into pitiful shrieks.

  Dean and Luther gestured to the gate at the opposite end. There was no way in hell he’d open this gate. Not with X-strains. The men would just have to run to the other gate on the north end.

  The men, six of them, huffed and puffed, fear exuding from their gaping mouths as their lead dwindled with each step. It was impossible to outrun X-strains. Dean had witnessed it with his own eyes.

  The men raced head-on for the zip-tied gate with no signs of detouring around. Or stopping. Upon reaching the fence, they leaped, no doubt as high as the adrenaline pumping through their veins allowed. Struggling for a foothold, they hung on and then attempted climbing the fence that buckled from their weight.

  The grassfire gained on the X-strains as it swept toward the courts. The hordesmen spontaneously ignited, their raggedy clothing a tinderbox. But, not even that stopped the X-strains. To Dean’s horror, fiery X-strains climbed after the men, latching onto their feet. The men kicked feverishly—their screams excruciating.

  Scarlett and Luther aimed for clear shots, waiting. Scarlett nicked one of the bastards, causing it to lose its grip. The lucky man toppled over the top of the fence and slid down onto his butt. The rest of the men were goners—the grisly scene had Dean’s heart shuddering in agony.

  The flames swept closer, licking at the fence in retaliation. Surely, the fire would stop at the fence. There wasn’t much left to burn, although the asphalt might get awfully hot and toxic. The burning sensation of his nostrils and lungs warned the smoke was their next threat. “One god-awful thing at a time,” Dean rasped.

  The smoke whirled around the fence, creeping closer and closer. He hoped the children were doing all right. Embers flittered across the courts. He pulled his crew T-shirt over his nose and shouted, “Wet down your shirt. And cover your face!” Luther had already done it. He sure wished he had thought to grab a pack of those N95 masks at the Walmart the other day.