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

“Honey, I’ll pick up some ’em good for dinner after work,” Luther sing-songed as Justin followed him out the backdoor.

They hopped the fence to the adjacent backyard where they had stashed a half-dozen looted mountain bikes.

“Damn!” Two ugly suckers writhed about in a restless sleepy state next to the bikes. Nothing his big-ass wrench couldn’t handle. They quickly disposed of them. He had a feeling those two had been sentries who had fallen asleep on the job. If what Scarlett had said was true, there’d be more awaiting their return.

“Follow me,” Justin whispered as they grabbed the bikes. “I know a shortcut to the truck.”

He paced Justin, cutting across yards and parking lots. Mini-hordes slept in the streets of every intersection as if staking out the area. They made it to the Forbidden Zone’s border in less than thirty minutes, thanks to Justin’s cool memory quirk. Which bothered him. What was his metaphysical gift? Could be his immunity and his overwhelming desire to survive.

They parked the bikes under the awning of an office building complex and waited in the long shadows of dawn for the first drone. After a lone drone finally buzzed by, he tested the electrified fence with a handful of debris. No sparking. With wire cutters at the ready, he snipped the zip ties they had previously secured in order to conceal their access route.

Once on the other side of the Forbidden Zone’s chintzy border wall, they quickly fastened several zip ties and trimmed the plastic ends, hoping the drones wouldn’t detect the breach.

***

After a three-hour nail-biting drive listening to Justin’s dos and don’ts, and the brief but intense interrogation at the market’s parking lot entrance, Luther’s nerves started twinging. The troops of Enforcers decked out in full-blown riot gear didn’t help either. The good news: his RFID chip had worked without a hitch. But if he were taken in for questioning for any reason, a blood test would reveal his Class-Z status due to last year’s damning Z-bite.

“Chillax,” Justin hummed under his breath.

“Phew.” Luther let out a much-needed exhale. No matter what they called it, this was still Texas. He couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there. Growing up in Texas, he had endured the implied racism of not being born white until he had saved enough money to start a new life in California.

He had sworn never to return. Yet, there he was, trapped behind enemy lines. Only there was a new enemy. It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps his deep-rooted hatred for his southern sovereignty had been because he had subconsciously known the future. I’m reading too much into this, he scolded. Scarlett and her future-self talk was making him paranoid.

Standing in the endless line, they finally made it past a fleet of gravel trucks blocking the view. Luther noted the car lot of random vehicles for sale. That must be the bus Dean had mentioned. “Hold our spot. I’m checking out the bus,” Luther said, suddenly curious.

“Why?”

“Call it woman’s intuition,” Luther goaded.

“Huh?”

Luther loved messing with Justin. “Getting in touch with my feminine side.” He took off for the bus, noting the FULLY CONVERTED SKOOLIE sign on the windshield. The heavy-duty bulldozer blade attached to the front grill definitely looked appealing. And those Mad-Max tire-guards made for a bad-ass ride.

Justin caught up to him. “Uber-cool. I saw lots of these hippy buses in Zhetto. So much better than living in a tent.”

“Thought you were holding our place in line—”

A skinny man hurried over to them. Luther wasn’t ready to endure a sales pitch. To his surprise, the young man opened the door and said, “Take a look. Let me know if you’re interested.” He was probably tired of pitching to deaf ears.

Luther stepped into the renovated bus and tried to ignore the bright-colored graffitied walls.

“Awesomeness!” Justin flopped onto a mattress and proceeded to bounce on it as if testing the springs.

Luther quickly scrutinized the full-size bus that had been gutted and turned into a house on wheels. The first thing he noticed, besides the glaring graffiti, was the compact kitchen, toilet, and shower. Although he wouldn’t fit in the micro-unit shower. He flushed the toilet. It worked.

“Are you serious about the bus?” Justin asked.

“Yup.” Something at the back of his mind told him Dean was right: it was crucial to their escape.

“It’s perfect,” Justin chirped. “Two sets of bunk beds. One for Scarlett and Twila, one for Ella and me, one for you, and one for Dean.”

He would be cramped. But it would do for a night or two. “I like the rear emergency exit and the marine hatch on the roof,” Luther noted. More than one escape route was a post-pandemic must-have. “I’ve seen enough.” Luther hopped off the bus, not looking forward to driving the monstrosity.

“So, whatcha think?” The salesman smiled from ear-to-ear, reeking of skunkweed. “Before the world went to shit, it belonged to a rock band. Check out the roof rack.” He pointed. “You can store buttloads of supplies. Great for Tent City.”

“Love it,” Justin blurted out. “But only certified, employed truck drivers can buy diesel.”

“This pup runs on regular gasoline. And the sweet part of this deal, the ninety-eight-gallon tank is topped off. Ready to go.”

The salesman continued his spiel, but all Luther could think was they needed this bus. “How much?”

“It’s a steal at ten thousand LSCs.” The salesman’s phony smile flinched. He definitely wasn’t a pro. It was probably the only job the scrawny kid could get.

“Bro, you shittin’ me?” Luther scoffed. “If I had ten thousand LSCs, I wouldn’t need no damn Zhetto bus. Ya think?”

“I feel ya.” The salesman dropped eye contact. “I told the owner he’d never get it. Between me and you, it’s been sitting here for months.”

“You get a commish?” Luther asked.

His grin returned.