Only The Dead Don't Die | Book 4 | Finding Home Popovich, A.D. (any book recommendations txt) 📖

and let him sweat it out?” Dean chuckled. “We’ll make like we’re shootin’ the breeze without a care in the world on a lazy Saturday afternoon. Meanwhile, we watch for Zac. What are you in the mood for? My treat. I still have LSCs.” His taste buds had a hankering for a burger with grilled onions.

Justin let out a long hungry groan. “I’m dying for tacos.”

He supposed they could do for a splurge. After all, they didn’t need money for petrol thanks to Scarlett’s tip. They had found Shari’s gas ration card stash.

They sat at the far end of the community tables and ate. He would have relished his bloody-rare, flame-broiled burger more if Krasinski wasn’t across the way downing hot links.

“Such a dweeb,” Justin snarked. “Does he actually think he’s that sly?”

Dean had never liked Krasinski. Shortly after a horde attack had decimated Last Chance, New Mexico, Krasinski had strutted into Boom Town with the deed to the Grand Hotel. The townsfolk had argued that the fancy hotel belonged to a fellow named Skeeter. Nonetheless, Checkpoint Charlie’s officials had declared Krasinski the legal owner since no one else had shown up to claim the hotel.

The heart of the matter was, how were they resolving the Krasinski conundrum? They blew another hour waiting in the ice cream line, eating it, and then nursed a round of Dr. Peppers. As the sun dipped toward the horizon, the crowd of avid shoppers thinned out quickly. Still no Zac.

“Best we get going,” Dean said abruptly. “Zac would have been here by now.”

Justin glanced around warily. “What about el dweebo?”

Dean rubbed his chin. “Well, if he doesn’t have a vehicle, he can’t follow us.”

“Riiiggghhhttt . . .”

Justin pushed their laden cart toward the guard-lined security fence. Two Enforcers manning the exit glanced down at their cart and waved them through. Once in the parking lot, Dean tried his hardest not to look back.

When they made it to the pickup, Dean husked, “Why don’t you load the camper while I watch from the driver’s seat.” Dean wanted to retrieve his Glock. Just in case.

“Sure.” Justin’s voice wavered.

From the driver’s side mirror, Dean spied a checkered shirt in the distance. The man jumped into the cab of a long-bed pickup. Damn!

Dean bustled back to Justin. “That’s him in the black pickup,” Dean informed as they finish loading the camper.

“So, now what?” Justin kicked at the cart’s wheels.

“I’m thinking we’ll be pulling another all-nighter at the bunkhouse. If Krasinski shows up, he’ll have a hell of a surprise waiting for him.” Dean grappled with his cold-hearted decision. But the facts spoke for themselves: Krasinski could have bumped into them any number of times. And he hadn’t. Meaning, Krasinski planned to cash out on a big payday at the expense of his friends.

Dean wasn’t about to let that happen on his watch. He was down to his last option, and he sure as hell wasn’t looking forward to explaining it to his maker—when his time came. As Scarlett had once confided, killing a man in cold blood was a grisly task.

Chapter 10

Luther Jones leaned forward in the recliner he had parked by the living room’s front window. I’m tired of this spookly shit. He closed his eyes and shook his head before looking again. Yup, the Z-girl in the frilly pink dress just waved at him. Maybe it was a muscle spasm? And why was it carrying a doll? Zs didn’t lug shit around.

He had seen enough. Scarlett was due to take over his shift any minute. When she wasn’t on watch or sleeping, she meditated. Ella was minding the baby, and Twila was upstairs coloring or communicating with her spirit guide, or whatever the hell she did. As for Justin and Dean, they were MIA, due back yesterday. Ella was a wreck.

“Mr. Big Man,” a whisper of a whisper invaded his thoughts. “Twila needs your help. Oh, please, you gotta hurry!”

Luther broke out into a cold sweat. Was that—thing—communicating with him? He zoomed in on the child in the fancy dress. That dress looks brand new. If it was the same Z-girl who’d been hanging out there the past couple of days, it had showered and changed clothes. Even its hair looked like it had recently been washed and braided with pink ribbons.

She—it, he reminded himself—stood on the front lawn of their Bluebird Lane safehouse away from the horde meandering the street. Its bulging eyes bored directly into his brain, begging for help while its shriveled mouth twisted around like a toothless person trying to eat. It was definitely trying to talk. To him?

Since their stay at the safehouse, weird shit had been happening. Every night Sheena visited his dreams, relaying important messages, only he never remembered them. All he remembered in the light of day was the intense bond they’d had during their brief and passionate love affair. But talking zombie children? Uh-uh. That’s where he drew the line.

The Z-girl threw the doll to the ground. “You have to believe me. They want to eat my only friend!”

Luther clutched the chair’s armrest. Before realizing it, his fingers punched through the faux leather upholstery. He tried shaking off the jitters when Scarlett walked into the room.

“What’s happening?” Scarlett gawked.

“Look at that one.” Luther pointed. “The little girl.”

Scarlett stared long and hard. She gasped and slowly turned to Luther with a trembling hand over her mouth. “They have Twila . . .”

He dropped his canteen. “Good God Almighty!”

Ella came running into the room. “The tea’s gone!”

Luther’s eyes darted from Ella to Scarlett to the little zombie girl on the lawn. It waved again. Scarlett doubled over in obvious agony. Ella tried to comfort her. Only one thought came to him; he had to find Twila before it was too late. He stuffed his tactical vest