“Don’t say I never gave you anything,” he joked, tossing her the ugly pajamas.
“Really?” Ella wrinkled her nose. “I gotta live on the roof and wear these stupid pajamas?”
“Be back ASAP, I gotta get rid of the de-activated zombie.” He handed her a stack of plastic shopping bags from the kitchen cupboard. “Can you load these bags with all the food you can find? You can find some better clothes in the master bedroom upstairs. And don’t forget blankets, we’ll need lots of blankets and pillows,” he said as he ran out the back door humming the words to a song, “There’s a zombie on your lawn . . . We don’t want zombies on the lawn . . .” he’d completely forgotten where that song had come from, most likely one of those zombie games he
used
to love playing.
The whirring sound of an approaching engine grew louder, causing Scarlett’s heart to pound even harder. She knew it was Paxton. Paxton wasn’t going to give up until he’d found her; somehow she instinctively knew that. She gave up on the idea of going to Vacaville to find Dean. Heading westbound on I-80 would be idiotic.
That’s probably what Paxton’s expecting,
she thought.
She prayed that Justin and Ella had managed to get out of Sacramento and go east to Reno, but if they didn’t have a vehicle, then there was a good chance the two of them were still stuck in Sacramento just as she was.
Exiting the mall’s main entrance was definitely out of the question as she spied several small packs merge into a mega-horde. It had to be Paxton at the front entrance of the mall making all that racket.
So that’s what he’s doing. He’s trying to trap me. Very clever.
The freeway entrance was right there; she could see it.
But, Paxton would probably see her if she attempted the freeway, and there were too many creepers to take the chance. She drove behind the Sear’s end of the mall and continued to the back of the mall at a very slow speed, wary of any stragglers making their way to the intersection.
She vaguely remembered the back way out of the mall. She had gone shopping here last Christmas with Maggie, and they had been directed to take a side exit due to an accident blocking one of the main exits. She finally found the side exit and turned down the opposite direction—the opposite direction of the blue truck spinning donuts in the intersection.
Scarlett drove around from subdivision to subdivision until finally finding a house with an opened garage to hide the car. After turning off the engine, she sat in the car and waited to see if anything nonliving or living had followed her. She was ready to go blasting out of the garage if she had been followed.
A glance at the dashboard clock told her an hour had passed.
Time to check out the street
. She forced herself out of the car and crept to the edge of the opened garage door. To her relief, both ends of the street appeared to be empty, free of creepers and Paxton. The only sound, the only movement, came from the wind as it whipped at the scattered debris.
Scarlett needed to come up with a plan. What would Paxton do?
Hmm,
she thought: He’d try to track her down, and if he couldn’t find her then he’d try to detain her: trap her. Well, that’s a given, he’s out there searching this very minute.
Think, Scarlett, THINK! OK, so, what are my advantages?
Number one, Paxton didn’t know where she was—exactly. Number two, he didn’t know she had a car, and number three, she was pretty sure he had no idea that she was used to surviving on her own.
He probably thinks I’ll just hide in a house forever—waiting for him to find me.
Not going to happen.
No, she had to go to some off-the-wall place, a place he could never guess. A place she hadn’t even thought of yet.
That’s it.
Scarlett decided to wait until dark and head out of town towards the outskirts of the city, maybe find a place in the country, but she only knew one way out of Sacramento without going by a major freeway. It would take a while to get to the country road she was thinking of. But she could do it. She had to. Scarlett pictured her plan mentally, carefully planning every detail as if envisioning it would help manifest it.
It would be dark soon. She decided to chance going inside the house in search of food and anything else useful, although she dreaded it. She had gotten used to taking Justin along with her on scavenging hunts. Gathering her courage, she searched the garage for anything useful but was ready—if she needed to make a mad-dash out of here.
Scarlett added a tire iron to her arsenal; it was lighter than the crowbar; although, she’d much rather find a bat. She found an empty, wooden lug box and filled it with items: black electrical tape, a camping stove, a container of propane, a handful of wrenches and screwdrivers, a hammer, and a box of nails and loaded it in the back of the Subaru.
She couldn’t delay it any longer. Her hunger pangs refused to be ignored. Scarlett took a deep breath and with the tire iron in one hand and one hand on the garage doorknob; she turned the handle. It was unlocked, and she timidly yet boldly stepped inside.
“Anyone here?” she called out, hoping to draw out any creepers that might lurk inside while she was close enough to the car for a fast getaway.
Damn, why didn’t I signed-up for that Zombie Defense Class Justin was begging to give me?
Justin had taught her a few of his Fab-Five zombie moves, but she had always meant to spend more time with him.
By the time she reached the hallway, it was evident that the house had already been looted. All types of items cluttered the floor, empty food containers, dirty dishes, and a pair of sleeping bags in the dining room. Someone or something had been camping-out recently.
“Hello,” she yelled, ready to run back to the car. Complete silence. She quickly closed each bedroom and bathroom door hoping to trap any creepers. “Phew,” she let out a sigh of relief. The house appeared to be creeper-free. She frantically searched the cupboards for food and was pleasantly surprised to find an opened box of soda crackers and a nearly empty jar of peanut butter. That was it for food.
Next, she decided to brave one of the bedrooms for clothes and bedding. It would be cold tonight, and who knows when she’d find a warm place to hide. Scarlett cracked open a bedroom door and yelled “Hello?” No sounds, no creepers. She grabbed everything she could and loaded the backseat with blankets, pillows, and clothing.
The sun was setting quickly, and the wind picked up. She sat in the front seat of the car waiting for the darkness to take over the night while vigilantly watching the street from her narrow vantage point and scarfed down stale crackers dipped in peanut butter.
She had an idea. Scarlett jumped out of the car and searched through the lug box for the roll of electrical tape. Most likely, Paxton would be looking for her tonight; the taillights would give her away. She quickly taped-over all the lights on the back and sides of the car, leaving only the lights in the front uncovered, which she could use as needed.
She sat in the car so tense every tiny noise caused her to wince. Struggling to calm her nerves, she started the engine and wondered how far she could get on a half tank of gasoline. She rubbed the dashboard as if it was a magic genie.
Just get me out of Sacramento . . .
“Fuck, FUCK, F U C K . . .” Paxton furiously raced to the nearest Interstate 80 on-ramp. He and Nate had spent the last month barricading all the highway entrances and exits in the area, blocking the roads with vehicles, except for the exit by the mall, the point-of-entry they always used. If a barricade had been tampered with (which would be easy enough to do with a group of people), it would alert him of survivors on the move. He needed to recruit more men, someone more reliable than Nate. And, of course, more women to add to his collection: his harem
. A work in progress.
After checking all the barricades, he realized Scarlett, Ella, and Justin hadn’t made it this far anyway. It would require a working vehicle, and the odds of those three finding a working vehicle were slim at most. “Damn Nate,” he must have scared the shit out of Scarlett and Ella with his crazy-ass cage talk. He thought the whole cage thing was downright sick, but he had needed to placate Nate. Nate had had so much fun with the cage they had found back in Stockton with that do-anything-to-save-her-ass office girl from the Police Station.
Paxton never thought Scarlett’s group would actually escape, never in a million fucking years. They didn’t have the balls to do what it took to survive in this man-eat-man world.
Or
did I underestimate them?
“Ha, the jokes on them,” he snickered. They had underestimated his persistence. “Once I find them, I’ll make them pay . . .” He grinned. It was a thought he enjoyed—making them pay.
After not finding any traces of the escapees, Paxton analyzed the map again and decided to extend his perimeter.
There’s no f’in way they can get beyond this point,
he decided while drawing a larger red circle around the previous circle he had marked. He carefully calculated that they should be somewhere between the two circled perimeters he had marked on the map.
Time to get jiggy with it
. He headed to Bell Avenue first, and then planned to hit Howe, Arden, Fulton, El Camino, Marconi, and then hit all the smaller residential intersections in the middle according to the map. He spun about each intersection pullin’ 360’s, revving the engine, banging the horn, alerting all the Zs until he attracted enough to form a horde in each intersection. He knew from experience that once he got the intersections raving with Zs, he’d have Scarlett’s group trapped.
They’ll be begging me to take them back.
And he would—for a price. His grin grew wider.
He waited patiently for nightfall. Time was on his side. Paxton knew there was no way in hell they’d travel at night. No, nobody was that stupid or that brave, especially that scared-of-her-own-shadow Ella chick.
Hell, she’d probably shit if she saw zombie shit.
There was absolutely no f’in way the three of them could get out of this town without first reckoning with him or the zombies.
About an hour after dark, the gas tank was close to dry. Paxton went back to check on LuLu. Besides, he needed to get some sleep. He figured Scarlett’s group was holding out someplace safe for the night and were most likely planning to make a run for it at first light. And he’d be there waiting for them.
A wicked smile lingered on his lips.
Think I’ll take the truck with the cage at dawn’s light
, he thought as all sorts of devilish ideas taunted him. “Just might have to teach them a lesson.” He felt his groin swell at the thought. Maybe Nate wasn’t so crazy after all. And if he was really good, he might even convince Justin to be his new wingman, if he threatened to harm his precious, little Ella.
It took most of the night, but Scarlett finally found the country road on the eastern side of Sacramento. She had spent most of the evening detouring around the huge hordes ruling the roads. Daring only to drive by the parking lights’ amber glow, she could barely see beyond a few feet.
Probably a good thing,
she thought. Scarlett had a spine-chilling feeling that if she could have seen all the creepers haunting the streets, she might have chickened out and hidden in a closet until she starved to death.
Paxton’s crazy antics must have alerted every flippin’ creeper in the city and to add to that, the Subaru’s dim parking lights attracted the creepers like moths to a flame. She avoided hitting as many as possible but couldn’t help splattering several with the front bumper, leaving a gory trail of smashed creepers in her wake. It was a trail Paxton could follow . . .
Scarlett spent the next few hours in the eerie darkness with only the hum of the engine to keep her awake. She must have nodded off for a brief second as the car swerved, jolting her back into survival mode. An attempt to shake-off her exhaustion, she rolled down the window, and the brisk air forced her to remain alert. Still, she needed to pull over soon.
She drove down the deserted, dark, country road and decided to alternate turns: turning right and then left at every four-way intersection, as long as it wasn’t a dirt road, in order to throw Paxton off her trail. Sure she’d be lost; hopefully, lost enough that Paxton would never find her.
The lonely roads seemed to intensify her feelings of despair, troubling her thoughts and questioning each of her decisions. Had she made the deadly mistake of demanding Justin and Ella to escape without her? She now realized how ludicrous that was. How would the two of them survive? Then there was the gunshot. Its finality kept rattling through her brain. Someone had been shot, probably killed. Murdered. And it was her fault. Still, despite the guilt, she hoped it was Nate. Nate was evil by pure choice, unlike a creeper.
Scarlett also felt remorse for leaving LuLu behind. And the fact that she may have killed her—by accident. Had she been too judgmental, blaming LuLu for her heartlessness, her jaded outlook on life, knowing that in many cultures, especially before humans became so civilized, women did whatever they had to do to survive? Apparently, that’s how life had been for LuLu before the Super-Summer flu. She had lived her life in perpetual survival mode, always taking care of LuLu first. Maybe that sounded selfish, and it didn’t make it right; however, it was human nature, no matter how uncivilized it may seem in the modern times.
Scarlett shook her head out of frustration. She should have told LuLu she’d been jilted, instead of brandishing that gaudy engagement ring around like it was a status symbol. Maybe then, the two of them would’ve been friends—instead of frenemies. But, Scarlett couldn’t let go of that ring. It was the
only
thing she had left from the non-creeper world.
And now, after everything Scarlett had been through, the only thing she had left to live for, the primary goal that had kept her going the entire time, was her never-ending drive, her personal commitment, to find her sister. A devastatingly hopeless feeling had tormented Scarlett upon the realization that finding Cyndi was just not possible. She felt like such a failure . . .
A thick, ground fog drifted in gradually along the countryside and began to consume the road, causing her to slow down to a mere five miles per hour. She lost the road and found the shoulder, nearly crashing into a sign on the side of the road. She backed up to read the sign: CECIL’S FRESH PRODUCE hand-painted on splintered, warped plywood. The gas tank warning light lit.
Scarlett contemplated:
Should I drive until I’m out of gas or pull over and wait until dawn?
She stood a much better chance of finding gasoline or a vehicle in the daylight. Taking a chance, she turned on the fog lights to find a place to pull over and rest until sunrise. She drove behind the produce building. Actually, it was more of a shack. Quickly turning off all exterior and interior lights, she felt entombed in a sinister nightmare as the damp coldness of the fog bank engulfed the car, causing a lump inside of her throat to swell and ache. Her back stiffened: petrified.
Can creepers see in the fog?
Something deep inside shouted, “NO,” but they could still smell her human scent. She needed an hour of sleep, wanting to be ready at first light and fumbled through her bag of goodies until she found the mini alarm clock. One hour of sleep, that’s all she dared risk, thinking a little sleep would do her some good—that is if she wasn’t too scared to actually fall asleep. She reclined the driver’s seat, snuggled under a blanket and thought of a time long ago when she was a little girl when there were swing sets and butterflies and snickerdoodles and Power Rangers and life was perfect . . .
***
Scarlett ran to the porch of an old country house, the sky thick, dark: threatening. She made it inside the old house before the rain. The walls started to shake, the windows rattled, and suddenly she was flying inside of the house, and the house seemed to be flying too, tumbling about like a helpless tumbleweed in the sky, lost to the ravages of the wind. Suddenly she was in—Kansas.
An irritating beeping sound startled her; Scarlett couldn’t remember where she was, what time it was, and for a second—she couldn’t even remember who she was.
Wow, that was an intense power-nap.
She yawned, remnants of the Wizard-of-Oz-like dream already dissipating. How she wished this was only a horrid nightmare, and all she needed to do was click her heels three times and chant, “There’s no place like home . . .”
The morning sky flashed a lovely crimson “good morning” as the clouds played peek-a-boo with the sun. Rolling down the window, she listened for sounds: an early morning wake-up call of a rooster cried off in the distance, but other than that, there were no sounds of civilization. The fog had receded back into the countryside, leaving the morning air crisp and fresh, so much fresher than the lingering foul odors of the city where the stench of the undead that had never been buried had overwhelmed her senses.
Parked behind the roadside produce stand, she decided to check out the area. With weapon in hand, she sneaked to the front of the stand hoping to find something to eat. But there was nothing left in the bins that once contained loads and loads of fresh produce, according to the various handwritten signs that made her mouth water. How long had it been since she had eaten a fresh tomato or an apple? Then she noticed the deep-red chili ristras and strands of garlic bulbs dangling on the back wall. On impulse, she grabbed an armful of the red chilies and garlic bulbs, tossing them in the back of the car.
Scarlett continued down the country road and searched for any signs of people and vehicles. She passed several farms and old country farmhouses, the kind of houses that always looked in dire need of a fresh coat of paint. She passed one after another, so wanting to drive down their inviting gravel driveways to seek sanctuary but also wondering how many of those homes were inhabited with the undead.
Finally, she approached an intersection; her dreary eyes squinted in an attempt to read the road signs of Lucky Lane and Ridge Road. And there on the corner, stood a run-down country gas station with a mini-mart beside it. The front screen door to the mini-mart blew open in the early morning breeze and then slammed shut, bouncing back open and slamming shut again, repeatedly.
Surprisingly, several vehicles were parked in the gravel lot. The vehicles were definitely out of place for this run-down rural area. A Cadillac Escalade with the driver’s door open was parked with its nose butted against a tree as if someone had jumped out of the moving vehicle at an extremely slow speed.
On the other side of the mini-mart, was a silvery-blue Honda sports car, windows bashed-in, with what appeared to be dried blood trailing down the driver’s door. And next to the Honda was a white Lexis convertible, top shredded (as if torn apart), with dark stains smeared on the caved-in convertible top.
Is that blood?
Unfortunately, her imagination envisioned the possible events that had occurred once the creepers had stormed the people in the car. Then she saw the pile of bones, and she quickly turned away from the unspeakable sight. These people had stopped here just like she had, perhaps for gas or food or the restroom, maybe just to ask for flippin’ directions. She shuddered.
The opened car doors and shattered windows an all too familiar scene as she recalled the early days of the disaster back in Roseville. Scarlett drove to the back of the mini-mart, turned off the engine, and remained in the car to watch for any signs of life: human or not. After a few minutes, she grabbed the tire iron and crept her way to the back door of the mini-mart. The door was unlocked.
She whispered, “Anybody here?” She dared a little louder, “Hello, anybody here?” Surely if a creeper lurked inside, she would have heard it shuffling about. All was quiet.
The grocery shelves were tossed on their sides, and what remained of the product was scattered about on the floor. Upon closer inspection, the products were actually empty containers. Scarlett looked about the store nervously. She needed food and water, but the store had already been raided, and even the stock room was empty. She made a run for restrooms: no water. The faucets were bone dry.
Great, now what?
She peered out of the front screen door and latched the metal hook lock to stop its perpetual slamming. That’s when she spotted it, one of those old-fashioned soda pop machines, the kind that actually required coins. But she didn’t have any money. She didn’t even have a purse.
Purse!
She dashed to the graveled parking lot, feeling the crunch of the gravel conform under her feet, and she snagged the abandoned purse that had been there for months by the look of it. The Coach bag was soiled and mildewy from the winter rains, and she hastily dumped the contents on the gravel in search of coinage: No wallet. “Damn!”
Nearing hysterics, she wondered if people still left change in their cars, or if that had become an outdated habit since the takeover of debit cards and—creepers. Well, she certainly didn’t want to check out the bloody caved-in comfortable. The Escalade appeared to be her best bet, mainly because there were no signs of blood.
Scarlett cautiously peered inside the tinted windows, tire iron in hand, arm slightly raised, ready for a swift swing. The Escalade appeared to be safe, and she scooted behind the driver’s wheel, the keys still in the ignition in the on position. She realized that whoever had bailed out of the SUV left the engine running, and the SUV probably had run until it was out of gas. She turned the ignition off and on again; the clicking noise didn’t surprise her.
Sure enough, in the cup holder, was a handful of change just waiting to be found.
Jackpot!
She greedily counted the quarters like an old miser.
I can get two sodas. Must be my lucky day!
She calmed herself, afraid she was on the verge of going looney. “You need to get a grip.” So what if it’s the end of the world. “I still got to keep my wits.”
Uh, did I just say that out loud
?
I really am going looney.
She turned around to head back to the front entrance of the mini-mart and noticed the front-end of what looked to be an RV on the other side of the mini-mart, hidden behind a broken down fence. Another stroke of good luck, she thought.
The RV might have food.
But her parched throat begged for attention first. She practically drooled over the vintage soda machine, hoping it actually worked and wasn’t just for show.
Despite the chilly January morning, the quarters were already sweaty from clutching them so tightly. “Huh?” The odd selection of sodas the old boxy-style vending machine offered had her puzzled. The top part of the sign had been hand-painted over with the words GRANDMA’S FAVORITE SODAS.
Cute
, she thought and wondered if it had originally been a Coke or Pepsi machine.
Wow, do they even make these sodas anymore
? Had she entered the
Twilight Zone
? Her eyes quickly scanned the soda labels, Fresca, Tab, RC Cola, Fanta.
Who drinks this? Ah, Dr. Pepper.
She clumsily fed the quarters into the coin slot. A clanging noise jangled the silence for each quarter she fed, except for the fourth quarter, which had gotten stuck somewhere along its way down. She ignored it and pressed the square tab for a Dr. Pepper, but nothing happened.
Does it need electricity?
She impatiently shoved another quarter in the machine. Nothing happened, and she repeatedly pressed the square tab harder and harder, lusting over the Dr. Pepper.
“Holy Mother of . . .” she caught herself, her voice much too loud, and she smiled thinking she sounded a bit like Dean. She tried jiggling the machine, ignoring the PLEASE DON’T HIT ME. PLEASE SEE THE CLERK sign taped to the side.
Yeah, right.
In a burst of frustration, she kicked the side of the machine and to her delight out tumbled three Dr. Peppers. “Thank you, Mr. Soda Machine.” And she curtsied to the machine. She took several long gulps, pausing only for air. A belch involuntarily squelched-out breaking the silence. Old habits prevailed, and she looked around embarrassed, hoping no one had heard her burp. “Really? Get a grip,” she scolded and sat on the concrete front porch of the store enjoying the soda while keeping an overly-anxious watch. She felt punchy after hardly eating and getting by on such little sleep. A scene from an old Star Trek episode panicked her overworking imagination. She felt like a pack of creepers might suddenly materialize right in front of her eyes. “Beam me up, Scotty,” she found herself whispering. But, the place was deserted. No creepers, no people. Only her . . .