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

Dean did a double-take. “Hold your fire. That’s Luther, my partner.”

Luther approached with caution, eyeballing Lopez with obvious suspicion. “Lopez, whut up—”

“Where’s Krasinski?” Dean interrupted, anticipating trouble.

“The weasel took off for that homeless camp up north, Tent City,” Lopez practically spat. “But hey, Stanwyck offered me a security job when I told them I worked as a deputy at Boom Town.”

With that, Luther and Lopez fist-bumped.

Lopez had been a decent fellow all and all, a reliable deputy, always Johnny-on-the-spot during a crisis. After Last State decommissioned Boom Town by blowing it to smithereens during the Raver attack, Lopez and Krasinski had been among the few who had escaped with them into Last State via Zac’s now-defunct smuggler tunnel.

Stanwyck’s men made their way to Dean. “Fellas, can’t thank you enough. You got here in the nick of time.” Though his old bones were already protesting his stuntman antics.

“Anyone bit?” one of the men yelled out.

The men eyed each other warily as if waiting to see who would turn first. “Everyone’s good,” Lopez announced.

Diaz turned to Dean. “You Padilla’s partner?”

“Yep,” Dean responded without hesitation, putting on his best poker face. According to Zac, Diaz was Stanwyck’s right-hand man.

“What the hell happened?” Diaz demanded.

“I was on my way to see Mr. Stanwyck when those bastards ambushed me,” Dean explained.

“Ambushed? Impossible.” Diaz gawped. “Enforcers gave us the all-clear earlier this afternoon. Said, this place was locked-down. Tight.”

“Improbable, but not impossible,” Dean dared to dicker. “They were waiting for me.” Or someone.

“Bullshit! They would have gone for the Blue Suits first,” Diaz continued.

Dean didn’t bother debating. He spun toward the Blue Suits, wondering how they had faired.

“We’re fucked,” shouted a man with a pair of binoculars to his head. “Infecteds have us surrounded. Over there!” He gestured wildly. “And there.”

“And over here,” another voice wailed.

Dean and Luther exchanged a pensive it-ain’t-over stare.

“Men—in position!” Diaz ordered. The men backed together and formed a circle. Luther and Dean joined in.

Tuft by tuft, the grasses bent over as if a nest of snakes slithered toward their prey. “Say, Luther, can you spare an old fella a couple of mags?”

“Got you covered.” Luther handed him two mags from his pack while the men’s circle grew even tighter.

“Men, lock and load,” Diaz commanded. “Shoot without prejudice!”

Dean slapped in a mag just as the X-strain army sprang into action and charged them. Head shots only, Dean reminded himself. He had to conserve his ammo since it took a minimum of two rounds to the brain to kill these bastards. The good thing was, Diaz’s men had automatic weapons, and Luther had his M4.

They fired into the horde, firing until a two-foot pile of rotten corpses encircled them. When the last dead-head crumpled at Luther’s feet, the men held their fire. How many were still out there? Lurking in the grasses? Hesitant faces glanced at one another as the wind whipped at the plains.

“We’d better get our asses back to the big house,” Diaz yawped. He clicked on his radio. “Get Stanwyck on the line.”

“What in God’s name just happened?” the voice on the radio blasted back.

“A damn X-strain horde just attacked us.” Diaz looked at Dean with a knowing nod. “More like ambushed us. Call back the Enforcers—and tell them to do their goddamn job this time. That’s why we pay extortionist taxes!”

“Holy Mother of God! Look at that,” a terror-stricken voice prattled.

The Blue Suits who had been mopping the kill zone from the earlier incident lurched their way. Had they been victims of friendly fire, or had the X-strains recruited them? The powder-blue suits stumbled toward them like aliens unaccustomed to Earth’s gravity. Automatic gunfire made fast work of them.

“Men, secure the inner perimeter,” Diaz ordered. He turned to Dean and Luther. “Did Zac leave in the helicopter?”

“Yup,” Luther grunted.

“Why’d you leave the bunkhouse?” Diaz’s tone went accusatory.

Dean decided against the small talk. This fellow was the no-nonsense sort. “Zac mentioned Stanwyck might be able to help us with our petrol situation. I’m embarrassed to admit, the pickup’s out of gas.”

“Hey, Lopez!” Diaz shouted, motioning Lopez to return.

“Yeah, boss?” Lopez carefully stepped over the fowl, decomposing corpses.

“Take Zac’s men to the bunkhouse.” Diaz turned to Dean. “Unless you and your team want to join us at the big house? We could use more eyes ’til they get this RedDead Alert under control.” Diaz wiped his brow. “Haven’t seen this many Infecteds since my Idaho days.”

Dean went tongue-tied. Of course, they couldn’t join them. Not with the women and children. He didn’t care how much Zac trusted Mr. Stanwyck.

“Thanks, bro. We’re good.” Luther flashed his pearly whites.

“Then you’re on your own.” Diaz stomped to his off-road Jeep. “Don’t expect us to save your ass next time.”

Lopez sat behind the wheel of his pickup and tapped the horn. Dean took the front seat after Luther hopped into the back. No one said a word as they headed for the bunkhouse. They were back to square one. All the while, Dean wondered how many dead-heads were out there.

Waiting . . .

Chapter 3

Justin Chen zoomed in on Dean speeding off in the truck to the Stanwyck’s mansion. He had wanted to go with Dean, but Ella’s searing glare had reminded him how much she needed him. If only for moral support. They were parents, again. This time he was making all the right decisions.

“Grandpa Dean!” Twila shattered the silence.

“What the—” Justin quickly snapped back when a horde spawned out of freaking nowhere, flash-mobbing the truck. “Luther! Dean’s in trouble!”

Luther dropped the pack he was sorting through. “Good God Almighty!” He grabbed his M4, burst out the bunkhouse’s front door, and took off for Dean like an