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

at her in wide-eyed awe. That girl had the unique ability of finding safety when all hell broke loose. Scarlett was right behind with her cart. Poor Twila was probably bouncing all over the place under the tarp.

The howling grew so loud Dean couldn’t think straight. He didn’t need binoculars to see their terror as people ran for their lives. Justin urged Ella on faster. Dean and Luther stood their ground at the east end. If need be, they’d run interference with some damage control in order to buy the gals the time they needed to get to the enclosed courts.

The horde fanned out, herding its prey toward Tent City’s congested entrance. X-strains zeroed in for the kill. One by one, two-by-two, four-by-four . . . Their victims staggered back to their feet with crazed excitement.

“Notice, they’re not stopping to feed,” Dean nearly whispered.

“Recruiting—” Luther graveled.

What a god-awful notion. But it was self-evident. “All the more reason to get to those courts.” Dean shoved his cart as fast as it would go. Luther kept his pace, although Luther could run three times faster than him. Mindy made it to the tennis courts first. Scarlett made it in with her cart next.

Something sparked beyond Dean’s field of vision. “Hell’s bells! Fire!” Someone must have started a grass fire. To escape the horde? It was all fine and dandy for the people upwind.

“Luther, go on. Find a way to secure the gate. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Scarlett can handle it.” Luther fired into the horde. “I got your back!”

Dean pushed on, somehow finding the inner strength he needed to keep his feet moving faster and faster, not ready to ditch their vital supplies. But he would when the time came. He wasn’t stupid.

“Grandpa Dean—Uncle Luther, hurry!” Twila’s pleas spurred him on.

They gunned for the gate with dead-heads on their six. Once they made it to the cracked sidewalk, the going got faster. Dean and Luther hurried onto the courts. Scarlett and Justin slammed the gate closed. Scarlett zip-tied the gate as the fastest ones body-slammed the fence.

The fire raged closer. Wouldn’t you know, the tennis courts were in the horde’s path. The people behind them raced for the courts with dead-heads and flames at their heels.

“Open the gate!” Their yells morphed into pitiful shrieks.

Dean and Luther gestured to the gate at the opposite end. There was no way in hell he’d open this gate. Not with X-strains. The men would just have to run to the other gate on the north end.

The men, six of them, huffed and puffed, fear exuding from their gaping mouths as their lead dwindled with each step. It was impossible to outrun X-strains. Dean had witnessed it with his own eyes.

The men raced head-on for the zip-tied gate with no signs of detouring around. Or stopping. Upon reaching the fence, they leaped, no doubt as high as the adrenaline pumping through their veins allowed. Struggling for a foothold, they hung on and then attempted climbing the fence that buckled from their weight.

The grassfire gained on the X-strains as it swept toward the courts. The hordesmen spontaneously ignited, their raggedy clothing a tinderbox. But, not even that stopped the X-strains. To Dean’s horror, fiery X-strains climbed after the men, latching onto their feet. The men kicked feverishly—their screams excruciating.

Scarlett and Luther aimed for clear shots, waiting. Scarlett nicked one of the bastards, causing it to lose its grip. The lucky man toppled over the top of the fence and slid down onto his butt. The rest of the men were goners—the grisly scene had Dean’s heart shuddering in agony.

The flames swept closer, licking at the fence in retaliation. Surely, the fire would stop at the fence. There wasn’t much left to burn, although the asphalt might get awfully hot and toxic. The burning sensation of his nostrils and lungs warned the smoke was their next threat. “One god-awful thing at a time,” Dean rasped.

The smoke whirled around the fence, creeping closer and closer. He hoped the children were doing all right. Embers flittered across the courts. He pulled his crew T-shirt over his nose and shouted, “Wet down your shirt. And cover your face!” Luther had already done it. He sure wished he had thought to grab a pack of those N95 masks at the Walmart the other day.

The survivor, a white-collar man in a sweaty soot-covered suit, who looked like he had been to hell and back, made his way across the courts, waving away the embers. Dean headed for him when the tennis net burst into flames next to the girls.

Scarlett took off with the cart where Twila hid. No doubt the child was lost in a meditative state. Luther hustled to Mindy and Ella and gathered them to the northern end of the courts as the ominous smoke slithered about.

“Can’t see a damn thing!” Luther wheezed, struggling to fight back a hacking spell.

With no time to greet the visitor, Dean grabbed a blanket from his cart and started beating down the tennis net’s flames. It was pointless.

“Good God Almighty!” Luther’s cry of desperation.

Ella screamed.

Scarlett aimed the M4.

“Now what?” Dean twisted toward their wild-eyed stares. He about had a heart attack at the horrific sight. A swarm of flaming bodies climbed the fence. Their shrilly cries stabbed at his eardrums. Was there no end to those bastards?

Scarlett and Luther fired into the horde. Dean caught a fiery skull in the crosshairs of his Glock. One down, a hundred to go. Damn it all to hell! They needed their ammo for the Lost States.

Dean made the tough call. “Save your ammo. Only get the ones that make it over the fence,” Dean shouted.

The heat and the toxic stench of melting asphalt was getting the better of him. But the fear of not making it kept him