Only The Dead Don't Die (37 page)

At one point she had heard a scream, a human-scream, “Help Me!” A woman was running from a bunch of demons. The woman must have seen her looking out the window because the woman wouldn’t stop banging on the van. Finally, although it had taken all of Ella’s strength, she had let the woman inside. Her name was LuLu.

LuLu and Ella had been trapped in the van for a few more days. LuLu had kept her sane, and brought her out of the dark place she had escaped to. LuLu had held her and brushed away her tears when the entire van had been crawling with demons. LuLu had calmed her, soothed her. But Ella had lost her voice somewhere.

She couldn’t really remember when it had happened. At some point, a man had found them. He had seen the demon-covered van and had lured the demons away somehow. Ella only vaguely remembered driving off with the man, Dean, while LuLu held her the entire time. LuLu comforted her and promised her that everything was going to be OK.

Suddenly Ella remembered it all, even the parts she had sworn never-ever to look at again. It had all started to come back to her when she saw LuLu there on the ground, the demon consuming her, consuming her soul. LuLu had saved her when she was at her lowest point of despair, maybe that’s why she had shot LuLu without even thinking twice about it. In a sense, Ella felt like she had saved LuLu, saved her from becoming a soulless demon.

Ella heard someone calling her . . . a faraway voice. Something pulled at her, tugged at her soul. She felt like she was twirling around in a gust of wind, like being sucked into the vortex of a tornado, a link between to two realities: a portal through a wormhole. And suddenly she landed back with a thud. “Ella—” a voice called.

***

“E L L A!” A voice in the night called, pulling her out of the hypnotic state she had escaped to. Slowly, her eyes became accustomed to the dark, but she instantly shut them again and saw a dream-like image of Justin.
Justin, is that you—I can’t do this!

“OMG, I’m hallucinating,” and suddenly she couldn’t stop freaking about Justin.
Will Paxton kill him?
She supposed if Paxton really wanted him dead, he would have just shot him right there in the parking lot and not bothered to take him. She convinced herself that Justin was OK.
Probably.
Knowing Justin, he’d think of some cuh-ray-zee plan to escape.
I feel it in my heart.
Justin hurry—save me!

She anxiously rubbed her beloved rosary beads, but the terrifying sounds of the demons edged closer . . .

Justin clutched the bottom of the truck’s seat so tightly his fingers started to go numb. Finally, Paxton skidded to a stop on the long-gone lawn of the familiar house at the end of the court, the same house where he, Ella, and Scarlett had been prisoners.
Why did I leave Ella? What was I thinking?

The three men were already out of the two trucks, but Justin remained, afraid to leave the truck, afraid of what was going to happen next as a sickening feeling festered in the pit of his stomach. He had left Ella all alone, to fend for herself, and he couldn’t stop thinking about that.

“You can get out of the truck now,” Paxton said sarcastically. It was more of an order than an option.

“So, like, am I your prisoner or what?” Justin chided in a childish tone in an attempt to hide his fear. The three men walked to the front porch.

“Butch, take the first watch,” Paxton motioned to the taller of the two men who looked like he might have had a
not
so successful career as a boxer with a permanently set crooked-flat nose, and several scars on his forehead and cheeks.

Justin swallowed back his fear and anger, knowing he’d have to play this super-cool to outwit Paxton. Butch perched himself on the front porch, holding two guns and still managed to scan the perimeter with a pair of binoculars. Justin nodded casually to Butch and caught up to Paxton on the front porch.

“I caught a lucky break and met up with Butch and Mason the first week I was searching for you, Ella, and the babe. They came down from Tahoe,” Paxton said.

“Did you find Scarlett?” Justin hadn’t meant to ask that question until later, but he was dying to know. Paxton glared at him for a second.

“Damn Nate and LuLu. I can’t believe they fucked me over like that. Though, I finally beat the truth out of LuLu. After it was too late.”

“What?” Justin felt his body go cold, afraid of what Paxton was going to say next.

“She’s one of them now . . .” Paxton laughed, “Don’t worry, plenty more babes in Vegas, I promise you,” Paxton grabbed at his crotch.

“Dude, are you serious?” Justin wanted to puke and cry at the same time.
Scarlett’s dead? A zombie? Really?
Now he really, really, really hated Paxton.
Play it cool
, Justin kept telling himself.

Paxton pulled up a chair to the dining table and motioned for Justin to take a seat across from him. Mason had opened several cans of corned beef hash and was stirring it with the spatula. The aroma caused Justin’s stomach to growl involuntarily, and he used it as a prompt to act out his part. “Dude, I’m like starving,” Justin exclaimed.

Paxton’s hard eyes bore into him as if trying to read his mind.
Don’t underestimate him
, a voice deep within warned Justin.

“So, am I like your prisoner or
what
?” Justin boldly asked again. Justin returned Paxton’s challenging brick-wall of a stare, trying his hardest not to squirm around in the chair.

“I thought I made it quite clear, I’m into women.” Paxton turned to Mason, “Hey, Mason, he your type?”

Mason’s smiled widened, as if proud of his missing-two-teeth grin, “Fuck no,” Mason said, flipping a spatula of crispy corned beef hash in the skillet, the searing sound caused Justin’s stomach to growl even louder. The corned beef hash’s aroma permeated the kitchen. Justin wondered if the Zs could smell it. Paxton didn’t seem to be worried about it.

“No time for male prisoners, if you know what I mean. Besides, we all prefer the other persuasion,” Paxton said.

“Yeah, the kind with big tits,” Mason blurted out.

“So, like, where’s Nate?” Justin asked next, trying to find out as much info as he could while he had Paxton talking.

“We don’t have to worry about that tweaker anymore,” was all Paxton said on the subject. “You’re lucky we found you, we’re leaving for Vegas in a couple of days,” Paxton said.

“Maybe I don’t want to go to Vegas,” Justin started again with attitude.

“Why stay here? Nothing left but the dead,” Mason interrupted.

“Yes, what makes you so eager to stay here? Most people are looking to hook up with survivors, now aren’t they Mason?” Paxton nodded in Mason’s direction.

Suddenly Paxton stood up, tossing the chair aside, and it skidded sideways on the floor, crashing against the patio’s dirty sliding glass door.
Is that dried blood smeared on the glass?

“Why is it, in this FUBAR, man-eat-man world, why is it you want to stay here all by your lonesome little Asian lame-ass self, when you have the opportunity to
man-up
and hang out with the big boys,” Paxton grilled, his eyes bore deeper into Justin’s skull like a pry bar trying to catch hold of something, anything, to rip open the contents of his thoughts.

“Ye-ah, well maybe I just hate your f’in guts—hate what you were going to do to Ella and Scarlett. Ever think of
that
you schizoid-psycho-sicko-sadist.” Justin couldn’t help it; the words came rushing out in a fit of rage.

Paxton grinned that maniacal grin of his that made Justin cower back down in the chair. Paxton picked up the toppled chair and sat back down at the opposite end of the table while Mason served them each a plate of steaming corned beef hash. Mason took two plates to the front porch, leaving Justin and Paxton alone. Justin found the tension unbearable. A random thought whizzed by: he could escape if there happened to be eject button under his seat. His hands automatically felt for the button.
Am I losing it or what?

“As you recall, back at the hotel, I gave you the chance to be my right-hand man. Frankly, I can use a zombie Expert like yourself.” Suddenly Paxton’s tone changed.

“Ye-ah, but you had Nate. Dude, you were so bullshittin’ me,” Justin contradicted.

“Ah, I was dead serious. Nate was a waste of humanity. Hell, he’ll make a much better zombie than a partner,” Paxton laughed wickedly.

Justin wanted to puke. The gunshot . . .
Did Paxton kill Nate the day they had all escaped?

“It was just my luck Nate and LuLu were the only idiots I had at the time. I’m actually relieved I don’t have to waste my food supply on the two of them.” He paused for a moment, “Come to think of it, LuLu was good for a couple of things—if you know what I mean. I wanted her to teach Ella how to suck the chrome off a trailer hitch.” Paxton let out that wicked laugh again and grabbed his crotch. “Oh Ella, harder, harder—”

Justin’s plate of corned beef hash went flying across the table and landed on the front of Paxton’s red and black flannel shirt. Paxton looked down at his shirt as a clump of hash began to tumble over, and he caught the clump with two fingers in the millisecond it began to fall; then, Paxton casually plopped it in his mouth. “Now funny-boy, didn’t yo mama teach you not to be wastin’ food,” Paxton’s voice was freakishly calm, like the calmness of the Devil himself.

“I’m just messin’ with you funny-boy. It’s good to see things haven’t changed,” Paxton said lightheartedly, scraping up the last bite of hash from his plate. “For the record, you are
not
a prisoner here. But as Dean once said, ‘there’s safety in numbers.’ ”

“The government will get things back to normal soon. That’s what Scarlett said,” Justin retorted, embarrassed that he had sounded so juvenile.
And why is Paxton calling me funny-boy? It sounds so sick the way he says it.

Paxton practically snarled, “And where’s your precious Scarlett now, and your precious girlfriend? You better think about that. We did pretty well for ourselves back at the hotel. All of us working together—doing our part.”

“The hotel that
you
burnt down . . .” Justin accused.

“Things were getting too comfortable there. Everyone was too afraid to leave. Me, I got plans—big plans,” his sadistic grin made Justin squirm in his chair.

“OK, OK, I get your point,” Justin caught himself, his desire to save Ella finally pushing aside his anger and the overwhelming hatred he felt for the man.
Paxton is so whacked-out.
How did he
not
notice how evil Paxton was when they lived in the hotel?

“Think it over. We leave in two days. If you wanna play on Team Paxton, that’s cool—you wanna stay here and play house with your zombie girlfriend, that’s cool too. I ain’t no babysitter. No time for that—not in this mad world.” And Paxton left to join the men on the porch.

Ella sat shivering on the pavement, huddled in the middle of the Best Buy shopping cart barricade she had created. The demons were so, so very close. In the pale moon’s light, she watched their eerie shadows grow larger as she peered through the plastic and metal grids of the carts.

But why hadn’t
they
found her yet?
Maybe the bug spray thing really does work?
She sorta thought it was another one of Justin’s tricks to build her self-confidence.
Who’d a thought bug spray could fake-out demons.
What rule was that, anyway?
“Yo smell tells.” She tried desperately to remember all of Justin’s whacky rules, his Z-COS, Zombie-Code of Survival.

She knew the smartest thing would be to make a run for it. Just go running as fast as she could inside the Best Buy and lock herself in the restroom. And, after Justin had left her, she had tried to do just that. But her knees had given out on her, refusing to work. Then she had thought of the barricade idea.

Ella shifted position in her tiny perimeter and bumped one of the carts. A new wave of groans started. Closer and louder.
If I’m perfectly still, I can stay here until sunrise.
What rule was that?
They don’t spawn at dawn,
she reminded herself. She felt around for her pack Justin had made for her. She didn’t have the slightest idea what was in it except for the handful of CDs she had stuffed in it.

She vaguely recalled Justin explaining everything in detail about the survival items, but she had chosen to ignore him as if ignoring him meant there were no such things as zombies. If she pretended those ungodly creatures didn’t exist: she was safe. She knew it was a mental game she played to kid herself, to get through the days and nights. She was unable to face the reality of—zombies.

She quietly placed all the items in front of her and examined them in the moonlight as the light waned and waxed with the drifting clouds. Besides the CDs, there was a small flashlight (with batteries) and a dangerous-looking knife in a leather sheath. The knife reminded her of Justin showing off his Fab-Five moves. It made her want to laugh and cry at the same time, remembering all those days of goofing around on the rooftop with him.

Except, Justin had been so serious with his zombie training; she had all thought it to be silly and gross.
Like yeah, I’m so not “Ella the Zombie-slayer” typ
e.

Ella was glad for the bottle of water, which she opened with trembling fingers, then sorted through a bunch of candy bars, a tiny first aid kit, bug spray, a plastic tarp (still in the package), paper, pen, and little tablets of something. She clicked on the flashlight, using her body to shield the light to read the package.
What?
Leave it to Justin to find dehydrated toilet paper tablets. “Just add water” the package stated. Before or after you use it, she wondered.

A long, agonizing, moaning-like groan pierced her ears. Once again, she froze: unable to move. Another groaner started, and another, soon a chorus of agonizing groans reverberated in the darkness while she huddled in her secret space in the center of the carts.
They know I’m here: somewhere.
She could feel their pain . . . feel their hunger.

This might help
, she thought. She silently and slowly opened the camouflage tarp package and draped the tarp over the inner ring of carts, tying the stringy things (where ever she could) to the carts, creating a makeshift tent. Then she self-consciously sprayed another dose of anti-bug spray to disguise her smell and nibbled at a candy bar.

She sat there for hours and concentrated on Justin’s Z-COS in an attempt to focus on something other than the zombies that patrolled the parking lot. What is number five again, she racked her brain. One of the carts moved ever so slightly.
The wind?
Suddenly all the carts began rattling.
They’re here
, at least three or four based on what she could see from her view under the carts—shadows stumbling in and out of the moonlight. She whispered like a magical mantra, “No spawn at dawn, no spawn at dawn.”

Ella glanced frantically at her watch. It would be dawn soon. Would all the demons go to sleep? Could she talk her legs into running? Could she hold out another forty-five minutes or so . . .