Now she was laughing, nearing hysterics from what he could tell. “So, you out-ran a mob of ‘em?” Dean figured that was what she meant.
“It was the biggest flippin’ pack I’d ever seen,” she shook her head.
“Now think about it, where did this happen—
exactly
? Where did you leave the car?” He figured that would be the best place to start a search party. He needed to find the people she had been traveling with before it was too late.
They might be in a heap of trouble.
“Jeez,” she paused, “the last road sign I remember said Dixon, I think? It was pouring, and I was, well, a bit crazy.
He stared at her flabbergasted, “You mean to say you ran all the way from Dixon to Vacaville?”
“So, this is Vacaville?” she seemed stunned.
He nodded yes. “So you had to leave your car?” he prompted, bringing her back to her story.
Her eyes held a vacant look for a moment. “Car, oh, yes. Creepers were flippin’ everywhere. And faster than usual. Much faster,” her voice drifted, and she looked out the window again. He followed her gaze to a small mob of five dead-heads shambling about along the other side of the overpass.
“Not to worry, they can’t see us from there,” he offered in an attempt to comfort her. They both scooted down in their seats and waited for the mob to meander past the big rig, but to Dean’s surprise, the mob actually stopped below the cab and peered up at the cab as if the damn things
knew
the two of them were here.
“Oh please, oh please, oh please,” the woman started to panic.
He held his fingers to his lips, “Shhhh,” Dean squeezed her hand lightly in an attempt to comfort her.
Two trucks raced down Orange Drive, horns blaring.
Must be Paxton and Nate.
How many other idiots drive around purposely antagonizing as many dead-heads as possible? He watched in relief as the dead-heads made a spasmodic beeline for the intersection but couldn’t avoid wincing at the sounds of the squealing tires. It made him sick to his stomach knowing he’d have to drive over that god-awful stench of slippery congealed innards.
“What
is
that?” the woman asked.
“That will be Nate and Paxton on one of their—shall we say, Pest Control Runs. Perfect timing I might add,” Dean offered with a sigh.
They both sat up in their seats and watched the small mob head towards the commotion.
They
definitely seemed to be moving faster than usual; albeit, still with their awkward gait.
“You notice anything peculiar?” Dean thought out loud.
Her light-blue eyes grew wider, “They’re faster. More agile.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Dean contemplated.
They’re much faster today—it’s not my imagination.
“How’s that even possible?” she gasped.
“And, something tells me
they
are somehow getting smarter,” he almost whispered. The woman nodded in agreement.
“Well, if
they
are indeed evolving, all the more reason to get you back to your people. Do you know where they might be? Do you have a way to contact them? Heck, where you folks headin’? Are you traveling with the military?” Dean no longer resisted the barrage of questions he had been dying to ask.
Help at last
. He had found a place for Ella and LuLu. Now he could go back to Winters and fish his life away.
Her lovely complexion turned ashen, and she suddenly seemed cold and distant, blankly staring out the window while he anxiously awaited her response. Dean waited impatiently. Finally, the woman turned to look at him and gave him a brief, tense smile, no dimples this time.
Actually,” she paused, “there is no one else,” the words came out in a hoarse whisper.
Dean let out an uneasy laugh, “Well, that’s plain to see, but I’m talkin’ bout the people you
were
traveling with
before
you got separated?”
“Like I said, I’m Scarlett from Roseville. I’m looking for help—apparently like you are.” Her words were terse and lifeless.
“You mean to say that you managed to survive this entire blasted time—on your own?”
Impossible
. He shook his head in disbelief. But the lost-far-away look in her eyes told him more than he had wanted to know.
“Gosh-dern,” he said, slapping his knee. “Twinkle Me Mary,” it was his turn to blather.
“What,” she laughed, “Twinkle me . . . what? What the heck does that mean?” She giggled a pure silly giggle with no lingering signs of hysteria this time.
“That’s a sayin’ I made up to get one over on Justin.” He said, recalling how he’d already gotten Justin to say it a few times.
“Who’s Justin?”
“A college kid, one of the people stayin’ at the hotel. Anyhow, he has this thing of making up peculiar words and phrases. So I came up with ‘Twinkle Me Mary.’ It’s actually the name of my boat.” Dean realized that when he explained it, it sounded ridiculous. “Better than sayin’ ‘what the fuck’ all the time?” he said in defense.
“I know what you mean. These days I find myself swearing all the time. I was—
am
a school teacher. I hadn’t sworn in years.”
Until Kevin dumped me
. She looked down at her hands.
That’s when he noticed the diamond ring on her wedding finger. Had she lost her husband? Dean felt compassion surging through him, remembering what it was like to lose the person he had loved dearly: his soulmate. “I’m afraid my dear the acronym for FUBAR has taken on an actual reality,” he said matter-of-factly.
“So, tell me more about Justin.”
“He’s a real kick in the head, can’t wait for you to meet him.”
“How many people are there?”
“Let’s see, besides Justin, we’ve got LuLu and Ella. You will love Ella. She’s the sweetest thing.” He hesitated and in a more serious tone added, “Then there are the Stockton Boys: Nate, and Paxton. Might want to avoid them much as possible. I certainly do.”
A moment of silence followed. Dean fretted over the responsibility of taking in another woman. That meant another mouth to feed and another person he’d have to protect not only from the dead-heads but from the Stockton Boys.
Hmm, I can definitely see some conflicts
. So far, Nate and Paxton had been content on relieving their sexual desires with LuLu (leaving Ella alone). It could be a problem protecting Scarlett from those two; she was an absolute knock-out. Of course, he had to welcome her with open arms. How much longer could she last on her own?
Hell, it was nothing damn short of a miracle that she had survived this long.
“We’re holed-up at the Sweet Suites hotel just a hop, skip, and a jump away.” Dean pointed out the window to the tall sign barely visible from their seats in the cab. “On behalf of our small and humble group, I welcome you to join us!” Dean exclaimed with a broad grin.
She flinched and abruptly turned her head, pretending to look out the window.
Sensing her hesitation, “I see, tell you what, why don’t you sleep on it. From the words of a famous philosopher, my dear ole granddaddy, ‘sleep on it—the answer will be plain as day in the morning,’ ” Dean chuckled, trying to sound encouraging.
“Maybe . . .” Scarlett finally responded, not bothering to hide her furrowed brows. “I need to think about it. I don’t mean to insult you. Truly, I don’t. I didn’t get much sleep last night and honestly, I feel a bit strung-out. I’m really not sure . . .” her voice drifted.
“No worries, I’ll see if I can rustle-up of some clothing for you, ones that aren’t ten sizes too big,” he caught her smile and smiled back. “And, I’ll get Ella to fix you a nice dinner. You go on and get some shut-eye. I’ll set the food and clothes right outside the door on the railing here,” he pointed to the truck’s side-step railing. “Say, what size are you, anyhow?”
“Uh, size six-ish should be fine,” she answered a tad unsure.
“That settles it. I’m a man on a mission. Now you get some sleep—Scarlett from Roseville.”
“Don’t forget this,” she handed his 9mm to him.
“Why don’t you keep it as a token of good faith? And, if you choose to go on your merry way, so to speak, then we’ll get ya geared- up with a vehicle and supplies. So don’t you worry your pretty head ‘bout a thing,” Dean gave her a genuine smile and silently stepped out of the big rig.
A sense of emptiness, a penetrating hollowness, seemed to sweep over Scarlett’s entire soul the moment Dean had left the semi. She felt guilty for putting him off like that. She had avoided making the decision, mainly, because she was terrified of making the
wrong
decision. For now, she needed sleep before collapsing from sheer exhaustion.
Running blindly, wildly, westward on the eastbound lanes of I-80, she had distraughtly searched for a safe place to hide. She had easily outrun the humongous pack of creepers and had passed many vehicles along the way, but she knew from experience that a stranded vehicle was a death trap. Luck finally found her when she had spotted the semi sitting on top of the overpass during a brief respite in the storm.
The semi seemed like the perfect place to hide and rest, for the cab sat high enough to avoid one of the creepers’ favorite pastimes: window-bashing. She had planned to leave in the morning in search of a car so she could go to Pinole to find Cyndi and her family. However, finding a vehicle with the key, gas, and a good battery—well, that might take a while.
Unfortunately, even though she had found temporary safety in the semi, she hadn’t been able to get much sleep. Her heart would not stop racing; she thought she was having a heart attack or a mini-stroke, not to mention she was soaked to the bone, freezing, and starving. After stripping off her wet clothing, she had bundled up in the cab’s sleeper unable to calm down enough to sleep until sometime late in the morning; then Dean had shown up, scaring the crap out of her.
Scarlett crawled under the warm blankets of the sleeper and found it surprisingly more comfortable than its uninviting appearance. She slept a restless sleep as invading thoughts nagged at her super-conscious, working out the pros and cons of Dean’s invitation. In and out of sleep, she caught fleeting glimpses of a younger, happier Dean, like vintage snapshots. She got the impression that once upon a time Dean had been a very happy man; the thought soothed her, and she went back to sleep thinking she rather liked the way the wrinkles creased around his eyes when he smiled.
She woke up wide-eyed and alert, pleased to find a backpack of food and clothing outside the cab’s door.
Just as he’d promised. Definitely a good sign
. At that very moment, Scarlett finally made up her mind.
I should stay with Dean’s group.
People, good people
. . . She smiled. The thought gave her butterflies in her stomach, pleasant butterflies, the kind she had gotten as a child, anticipating the opening of birthday presents. It was a wonderful feeling, a feeling she hadn’t felt in months.
Scarlett sat in the cab and enjoyed her breakfast, a thermos of beef and potato stew, savoring each sip, while she methodically scouted the area. With narrowed eyes, she focused on the different shades of darkness, flinching when a shadow flitted by; it was too quick for a creeper, maybe an owl? She relaxed.
The Levis 501 button down jeans and the light blue sweatshirt felt refreshing after wearing the huge, dirty overalls. Dean had also included a pair of size eight jogging shoes. Although she usually wore a seven, the fit was close enough and would just have to do until her comfy Sketchers dried. He had even included a blue jean jacket, which she greatly appreciated.
This is going to be a great day!
Scarlett grew impatient waiting for Dean’s arrival.
Hmm, did he say what time he’d be by?
She couldn’t remember. Impulsively, in the predawn's twilight, she stepped out of the sanctuary of the cab, armed only with a mini flashlight, Dean’s gun, and the backpack. Funny, it was all she owned.
Yesterday, Dean had pointed out the tall Sweet Suites sign to her, and she decided it wasn’t too far of a walk.
I should be able to handle that—don’t want to look like a complete wimp.
She hoped she hadn’t lost her nerve. All she needed to do was make it over the overpass then turn left, and it should only be a few blocks down. Although she couldn’t actually see the hotel sign now; it was still too dark. She could not wait in the cab another moment, and deep down she wondered if she was afraid she might change her mind and go to Pinole instead.
“I’m doing this.” Scarlett gulped a courage-booster of the fresh, crispy air. The area around the semi appeared to be creeper-free as she briefly aimed the mini flashlight towards the intersection. In a cat-like hunting mode, Scarlett slowly sneaked through the car-littered lanes, ducking and hiding at the slightest sound.
Scarlett abruptly halted. “Kghlrrr kp kp kp—phw-phwww, kghlrrr kp kp kp—phw-phwww, kghlrrr kp kp kp—phw-phwww.”
What is that?
A cacophonous sound squelched like a stalling jackhammer chipping away at solid iron. She ducked behind a dark-colored car and kneeled there: waiting.
Is there a pack heading this way?
She felt her body stiffen in fear.
She waited there, methodically checking every direction for any movements in the flickering shadows of the streets. She crept up behind the next car and peeked around. Nothing. But whatever it was, that horrible sound was definitely closer. She crept further, ducking behind a blue Camry. The raucous-thunderous “kghlrrr kp kp kp—phw-phwww” pattern continued. The sound was definitely coming closer.
She leaned against the Camry’s trunk, planning her next move when she noticed that the trunk, actually the entire car, vibrated in unison with the reverberating noise. “What the—?” she whispered. Nudging her head around the rear bumper to get a better view of the street, she noticed the driver’s side window was partially down, and she crept forward as the sound echoed in her ears. She dared herself to peer inside the car, and a putrid scent instantly stuffed up her nose. But, she had to know:
Is that snoring?
Human or not? A second later she knew. A huge creeper, maybe four hundred pounds of rotting-liquefying flesh, was on its back, legs and arms sprawled out in contorted positions, mouth gaped open, snoring vigorously. Was
it
trapped in the car for eternity?
Wow, it’s too early in the morning for such a disturbing vision.
She wanted to puke, laugh, and scream at the same time.
Reminds me of Kevin, he had snoring issues.
And that thought did make her laugh. She crouched down and slipped away as quickly as possible.
Finally, making it to Orange Drive, she felt instant relief. The Sweet Suites sign guided her while the sleepy sunless sky attempted to start the new day. But the clouds refused, shrouding the sun as if the sky decided to hit the snooze button for an extra few minutes of precious sleep. A chilly mist lingered in the air, and she quickened the pace, hoping to reach the hotel before the rain started again.
Scarlett was anxious to meet Dean's people.
What if Dean had changed his mind?
What if his group refuses me?
Or, even worse, what if nobody’s here and the place is infested with creepers.
All kinds of paranoid thoughts whirled around her mind.
Stop it
, she scolded and opened the crude barbed wire gate, obviously designed to keep out only the UN-living.
After closing the gate, a prickle pinched her spine as she walked through the hotel’s parking lot and made her way through the homemade maze of fencing and barbed wire that led to the hotel’s entrance. The maze concept was a clever idea, she thought. It started to sprinkle, and the safety of dawn had vanished. The morning arrived without the sun.
Scarlett waited a few minutes before knocking on the hotel’s main entrance. The crucial moment awaited—that moment of no return. She could still change her mind; she pondered while eyeing the shadowy figures that now milled along Orange Drive. Finally, she knocked on the door of the haphazardly boarded-up hotel entrance.
No one had answered after nearly five minutes of knocking. Scarlett dared not knock any louder, for the shadowy figures haunting the street would surely stampede the parking lot, barbed wire or not. She turned around to check the activity on the street; an alarming amount of creepers were gathering by the hotel's gate as if
they
knew people were here. She felt that somehow
they
did know—
they
just didn't seem to know what to do about it . . . yet. Suddenly she shuddered.
This is a mistake. A horrible mistake.
She decided to leave. That’s when the door to the Sweet Suites hotel opened.
***
It had been Ella who had opened the door and silently greeted her, a lovely Mexican girl, about sixteen. Scarlett thought the young girl looked like a pixie; she was so adorable with her barely-there haircut and lovely brown eyes. Ella hadn’t said a single word and had led her to the dining room and poured Scarlett a cup of boiling water over a chamomile tea bag.
A few minutes later, Dean and a young man entered the dining room together. The young man had a silly smirk on his face as he looked from Dean to Ella to Scarlett. Scarlett wondered what he was up to. His expression reminded her of when one of her students attempted to prank someone.
This must be Justin. Didn’t Dean say Justin’s “a kick in the head?”
Scarlett sat in the hotel’s dining room, all eyes upon her like she was their savior. The scene seemed utterly surreal to her. She had no words for them, at least not the words they wanted to hear. She offered no solutions or supplies or news. She wondered why she was even here.
“Mighty glad to see you made it here in one piece. Guess I forgot to mention what time I’d be by today,” Dean said rather gruffly.
The young, Asian man interrupted, “You two actually know each other?” his voice trailed off in a high pitch.
“Not exactly,” Dean said.
“Dude, why didn’t you tell us about her,” the young man chided as if Scarlett wasn’t there.
“Justin and Ella, this is Scarlett. We stumbled upon each other yesterday. And, she needed some time to muddle things over—decide what she wanted to do. Besides, you were so caught-up with your phone project, thought it best to wait,” Dean replied matter-of-factly.
“Scarlett, this is Justin, our official Zombie Expert,” Dean announced as if trying to placate the young man.
“What kind of project are you working on?” Scarlett asked.
“Check-it,” and Justin was on his feet “come on,” he motioned to Scarlett.
Scarlett looked at Dean, and Dean shook his head in agreement.
“One more thing,” Dean interrupted, “before Justin talks your ear off. Where’s your luggage? I’ll ring the bellhop . . .” They all laughed.
By lunch, Scarlett had become fast friends with the animated, extremely bright, and often silly Asian man. She had a hunch his cell phone idea might actually work.
It was worth a try.
“Do you want some help?” she offered, happy for a distraction: anything to pass the time while she waited for the rest of the world to find her.
“Awesome! After lunch—around two-ish. Be there or be square,” Justin chimed.
***
Lunch time in the dining room took on an entirely different feeling. A thin woman, in her thirties, stumbled in. She took one look at Scarlett, closed her eyes, massaged her temples and then peered again, apparently somewhat bewildered to see Scarlett sitting at the table.
“LuLu, this is our new friend, Scarlett,” Justin announced unable to conceal his enthusiasm. “She’s way cool.”
“It’s a pleasure, I’m sure. Don’t mean to be rude. I’ve got one hell of a hangover,” LuLu said and slumped into the dining room chair. “So, you just passing through?” she asked, in a raspy, cigarette-tarnished voice while Ella served LuLu a cup of tea.
“Green tea, the best thing ever for hangovers,” LuLu said, saluting her with the cup of tea. “Wish I’d known about this stuff before the world went nuts.” LuLu gingerly held the massive mug like it was the only thing of importance in the room.
Before Scarlett had a chance to continue her conversation with LuLu, two men groggily sat at the table. “Where’s my plate girl?” the bulky, white man grumbled, oblivious to Scarlett’s presence. She couldn’t help but notice the disturbing tattoos that snaked around his rather large, muscular arms and up his neck to the sides of his freshly-shaven head.
The first thought that came to mind was that the brawny man had an inferiority complex in which he perhaps overcompensated for by appearing extremely tough. Or, Scarlett worried, he
was
extremely tough. A fleeting image blinded her: a flash of fiery hell. Then the vision vanished. This time, Scarlett managed to conceal the feeling of panic that usually preceded one of her visions. Was she becoming used to these brief random flashes, these mini-visions that spontaneously materialized in her mind?
Ella scurried into the dining room pushing a serving cart full of plates, bowls, a ceramic soup terrain, and a loaf of freshly baked bread.
Yum, love the aroma of sourdough bread.
Scarlett’s stomach rumbled in anticipation.
“You’re late,” Paxton grunted. Ella almost dropped the ladle of steaming soup, spilling soup on the tablecloth as she nervously filled his bowl first. The man grumbled something under his breath.
“Paxton, what did I tell you about that? You need to work on your social skills,” Dean scowled.
“Dude, you know I found this excellent CD you can listen too. Ye-ah, like you don’t even have to do a thing. It’s all subliminal,” Justin eagerly offered.