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

It made him think of the unlucky Russian who had turned zomb on him. Zac brushed away the incident. He couldn’t hold on to death. Thinking of all the people he hadn’t saved . . . Couldn’t save. It tore him up inside. All he could do was keep moving, staying one step ahead of death. Knowing if he slowed down, death would surely catch him. And if anyone could outwit fate—he could. He was living proof of it. So far.

Unfamiliar with the street, Zac leisurely puffed on a cigarette and strolled toward the maze of industrial streets, acting like he belonged while he thought up a cover story in the event a cit reported a vagrant.

Last State leaned hard on its citizens. It reminded him of China. The Elites had modeled their dystopian dictatorship on the Chinese Communist Party, complete with social credit scoring, rewards for snitching on fellow cits, along with blasting propaganda across the Jumbotrons found on every corner of the Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex.

When he let himself reminisce, he missed the glory days of Old America. Meeting with friends for a night on the town, catching an action movie, and midnight sushi. Man, do I miss sushi. During his stint in New York, he could have had anything, any time of the day as long as he had the dinero to pay for it.

Keeping to the sidewalk, Zac took a right on the four-lane road that continued beyond the Forbidden Zone’s border wall. He did a double-take. Is that my—

Aw shit, it is. His truck had collided into a utility pole. So, Scarlett and friends had made it this far. Finally, some good news.

He made a beeline for the truck to investigate. Until a tow truck pulled up behind it. Zac ducked into the shadow of the bakery’s awning in pretense of another smoke. While he waited, the reflection of a Frito-Lay sign in the window told him he was closer than he thought. The tow truck driver prepped to haul the truck away. So much for clues.

It suddenly dawned on him that Scarlett was minutes away. Time to get to Quinton’s safehouse. The anticipation of seeing her eased his twitching jaw. Now wasn’t the time to lose his nerve. His brazen plans to use mission assets to escape Last State had turned out to be delusional.

What was I thinking? He had tiptoed a tightrope, negotiating with Elites, Enforcers, and smugglers. It had unraveled on him in a blink of an eye. Furthermore, Last State had seemed impenetrable. Now he realized its vulnerability. Citizens could only be controlled with the assurance of safety and food. Take that away. All it would take to topple the draconian government would be as simple as a hurricane, crop failures . . . an unstoppable strain of zombs. And the government would lose control of the populace.

Zac made it to the defunct Frito-Lay distribution center without incident. He fished around for his binoculars and reconned the Forbidden Zone’s electrified border wall to study drone activity. He zeroed in on a large gap in the fence. Interesting, it looked like a large vehicle had smashed through. Over a horde. What a disgusting mess. The border wall hadn’t been repaired. Another sign Last State had hit its limit. He scrambled to Quinton’s with a sinking feeling he wasn’t finding Scarlett today.

By the time he made it to Quinton’s safehouse, it was almost dark. Not wanting to catch a bullet in the head, he tapped on the door with a common catchy-knock. No one answered. He let himself in.

“Whoa, what happened?” The place had been turned upside down. Supplies—everywhere. Someone must have come looking for Quinton. Or me. No signs of bloodshed much to his relief.

Next on his agenda, the hidden weapons room. He and Quinton kept a cache of weaponry and survival equipment that would make any hardcore SHTF prepper envious. After numerous smuggler gigs in the Lost States of America, they had pillaged what they wanted, saving it for a rainy day. And, he was in the eye of a hellacious storm.

He slid open the false wall in the back of the closet. Nothing had been touched. He kicked himself for not mentioning the supply room to Dean. M4s, Glocks, 9mms, ammo, grenades, surveillance equipment, and cases of high-caloric power bars greeted him. “Here we are.” He selected a military tactical vest. He considered them lifesavers in the field, enabling vital items at the ready.

Famished, he slashed open a case of power bars. There might be something in the fridge, he decided. He’d weapon up after he had some calories in him. He waded through the pillaged-covered floor to check the fridge. Quinton usually kept the freezer loaded with steaks.

Although Quinton’s place was tapped into the power grid, he wasn’t sure how long the grid had been down in this quadrant. On second thought, he wouldn’t chance it. The stench of rotten food would linger for hours. “What the—” Bright pink duct tape? A note stared back at him. All it said was ZHETTO MARKET with the letters, D J L S E written on the bottom. It had to be from Scarlett and friends.

“Good to know.” Zac considered the alternatives. They must be nearby. He could scout the area on the dirt bike he had seen earlier and follow the trail of dead zombs. Fresh kills would be a dead giveaway. Still, he had to remain vigilant, knowing an unfriendly had raided Quinton’s recently.

Lost in contemplation, his thoughts wandered to Quinton. Damn, he missed him, a true friend. Visions of the helo bursting into a fireball still haunted him. He hadn’t been there when Quinton had needed him most. If I had, I’d be burnt to a crisp. He exhaled heavily. Remorse was a wicked pill to swallow.

He finally let his mind wander to Scarlett. She could be minutes away. Or, had they