Page 2 of Creepy (The Zombiepidemic #1)

Mulling it over some more, I searched the wall for keys and spotted a Camaro keychain.

Bingo. The car roared to life and had a full tank of gas.

Checking myself out in the mirror, I tried on the Ray-Bans under the dash.

I put the roof down and raised it again.

I’d always fancied a convertible, but it was the red leather interior that sold me.

Resting back in the seat, I knew this was the car I wanted to own.

“I’ll take it,” I said to the dimly lit garage.

Pocketing the keys, I made a mental note of what I’d have to do to get this baby home.

I’d have to put a bit of gas back into the SUVs in the driveway and move them.

Luckily, their keys were hanging in the garage too.

But I’d have to disconnect the garage opener so I could open the door.

Ugh.

My stomach rumbled. Maybe tomorrow. I raided the garage fridge to find canned Pepsi, mineral water, and craft beer.

I cracked open one of the hot IPAs to wash the taste of gasoline from my lips.

The tastes similar, it did the trick. I crumbled the can and tossed it in the recycling, knowing it was useless, but I was no litterbug.

Combing the garage’s shelves for tools and other necessities, I found a black, steel baseball bat.

Tucking it into my pack, I didn’t dare go further into the house.

I had no idea what, or rather who, I’d find inside.

Not to worry though, zombies didn’t actually know how doorknobs worked.

Repeating the same for five more houses, I didn’t find much at all.

Not even a drop of gas. Maybe I’d gotten this street before but missed the first house so didn’t mark it off, I thought.

Surely, I would’ve remembered this street.

Walking back to the truck, I about melted in the heat.

I wouldn’t think more of it. I ventured onto the next street on my map to fill my gas cans and my brother’s truck bed with loot.

My stomach gurgled again as I drove back to town if you could call it a town.

The welcome sign in Creepy boasted a population of 565 people, but I never believed it, even before.

Passing the courthouse, the largest building in town, red, brick, and impressive, you’d think Creepy, the parish seat was once bustling, but the empty streets didn’t look much different than normal.

Downtowns were dying long before everyone started dying.

I steered down the alley in-between Zed’s Hair Voodoo and Mrs. Dean’s Dirty Rice, parking in the back.

Before I entered the back door of Miss Dean’s, I filled the generator that kept the cooler and walk-in freezer running.

Once inside, I got to work flipping on the lights and more importantly, firing up the grill and fryers.

Waiting for them to warm up, I stepped inside the freezer, relishing the cool air, and found two chicken planks, grabbed a handful of French fries and a piece of Texas toast. Thankfully, Mrs. Dean had stocked up before she left town.

I’d added to her freezer’s collection whatever I could find before the power went out.

Stepping out of the cool air, I walked face-first into a body.

I bumped into Dillon Hebert, a wall of muscle, scaring myself to death. Jumping back, I dropped my supper.

Watching the foodsicles side across the floor, he barely laughed. All I could expect of him. The man rarely smiled anymore.

“What in the devil are you doing here?”

“It’s Monday.”

I rolled my eyes. “So it is.” I thought of the Garfield mug from this morning, thinking I should’ve remembered, but the days ran together anymore. Turning away from him, I squatted, scooping up the frozen food.

“Have you forgotten?”

“How can I when you’re always here to remind me,” I said, on my knees, knowing darn well I had. Sticking my arm under the center island, I stretched to retrieve every frozen fry. They were still good. Hot grease beat any five-second rule.

Dillon tapped his pointy, snake-skinned boot, waiting for me to get up.

I stood to face him, cradling my supper. “Are you alone today?”

“No. Karl is waiting.”

Dillon’s personal bodyguard and dumb as a rock, Karl was lethal and loyal to Dillon and his crew.

“You’re supposed to come alone,” I whined.

“Things change. I tried to give you a heads up.” He slammed his walkie-talkie down on the stainless-steel island. “Where’s your radio?”

“Want some grub?” I asked, smiling and batting my eyes, trying to change the subject.

“You even left your radio...” he scolded me in a disappointed tone.

Fuck that walkie-talkie, I thought. Still, I held my nice southern grin, hoping he’d at least let me eat before I headed back to the house to get his shit.

“I leave you be, leave you here and you keep the goddamn radio on.” Dillon let his anger show.

His moods never scared me. My eyes widened. “Oh. Is that all?” If only it were.

“And you deliver the goods.” He added a goddamn wink.

That wink on top of our ridiculous deal turned my fake smile into an all too real scowl. I blew out through my nose like a raging bull. Raising my chin, I sweetened my tone. “But, Dillon, we’re practically family, you and I.”

His nostrils flared this time. He hated the reminder.

Night black hair and pale blue-grey eyes, tall enough and fit enough too, Dillon Hebert’s looks weren’t the most attractive thing about him, but they came damn close.

If those hot actors who played Thor and Loki in the comic book movies had a baby, you’d get Dillon.

The best of dark and light rolled into one hunk.

Some would call him cocky, but to me, that word was reserved for men who had nothing to back up their confidence.

Seven years my senior, he was the son of the late Dennis Hebert, a US Senator from Louisiana, back when that sort of thing mattered.

He still held himself like the well-educated, privileged man he’d been before.

After all, he’d been on his way to being essentially as influential as his father.

Problem was, not only was his dad a famous Senator, but his dad was also my Papa’s closeted lover.

Something Dillon had never been keen on, hence my stab at him.

I turned the knife, “Hell, we could’ve been step-brother and sister, if.

..” I stopped briefly when I noticed his hands turn to fists.

Fuck that. I went on. “You can’t seriously come here and take what’s mine on a weekly basis, like some kind of post-apocalyptic tax collector.

” I envisioned him as a much sexier Sheriff of Nottingham.

I could picture him in a black ruffled pirate shirt, billowing open.

With his new beard and his old stuffy attitude, he could pull it off.

“Protection is the new currency. Just making groceries, Sha .” He stepped in close, way too close for as angry as I was. Pee-yew. He stunk like he used to when he was out golfing all day. He didn’t golf anymore. “You smell like gasoline. You drinking the stuff? All out of wine?”

“You know good and well why...”

His deep-set eyes met mine and for a moment, my body relaxed. Memories of cuddling on the couch at his apartment flooded me like they weren’t a world away.

“Creepy...” he started.

The word broke my stupor. I lowered my eyes. “Don’t call me Creepy.” I started to turn away from him.

He snatched my upper arm, stopping me. “Sissy.” Dillon ditched the name he used to tease me with for one I, in fact, went by. “You wouldn’t have to do all this if you’d come with me.”

Having refused his offer to move to the next parish over, live with him, many a time, I huffed and turned hard, breaking away from him to drop my food in the fryer. Dillon’s drama or not, I couldn’t wait anymore and waste the power. I told him, “I’ve got to eat.”

“What happened to you being a vegan?” He spoke to my back.

“That was years ago, and I can be when the time comes.”

“And what about my payment?” He cut to the chase.

Without turning around to look at him, I slid my toast onto the grill, and said, “I left it back at the house.”

“I can do without the vegetables this time. I’ll look at what’s in the truck.” His voice lowered. “I’m here for Miss Mary. I know you didn’t leave her at home.”

I spun around. Dillon had crossed his arms, a clear sign he was itching to fight about this. “No. It’s ALL at the house.” I emphasized the word all.

Getting my drift, he smirked. “I’ll wait and follow you back to the house then.”

“Deal was you don’t come to my house, ever again. Especially if you’re not alone.”

“Deal was you bring the goods here every Monday... and then some. You breakin’ our deal?”

I crossed my arms this time. “No.”

“Because I’m fine if you do. Means I get to take you back with me. You and Miss Mary.”

“No. I’ve got ALL of the payment... as usual, but ALL of it is at the house. And you aren’t bringing Karl along. And I’m eating first.” I stomped my foot like a child and hated myself for it.

“Damn straight you need to eat.” He shook his head, saying something about my mood under his breath. “And you’re making me a drink, woman.”

I knew what Dillon was talking about. He wanted something on the rocks, anything.

He’d get it thanks to my freezer. I didn’t share the fact, I just put some beer in the walk-in, afraid he’d take it.

I grabbed a bottle of bourbon, one that he’d let me keep.

Bottom shelf stuff he wouldn’t have dared order back in the day.

He certainly didn’t care for the frozen food I’d stored.

All junk, he’d say, even back in the day.

Nowadays, Dillon and his crew of Stayers had gone in a different direction when it came to survival.

Sure, they liked the finer things and alcohol, but they were also primitive, living off the land, hunting, and building fires. Real Lord of the Flies’ shit.

“What did you eat this morning?” I asked while I poured his drink.

“Eggs and deer meat,” he answered.

God, what I wouldn’t give for some eggs. “Don’t you mean, venison?”

“Whatever.”

Boy, mister prim and proper had changed.

While he sipped bourbon and savored the ice, I enjoyed my fried food, knowing it wouldn’t last.

Dillon swirled the ice around in his glass. Echoing my thoughts, he said, “This won’t last forever. You need to get used to it.” He thought trying to keep some electricity running was useless.

“I’ve kept it going this long,” I rebutted, my mouth full.

While I was proud of it, Dillon belittled it. “It’s a waste of time.”

“Time. It’s all I have.”

When I finished eating, I saved the dishes and powered down the kitchen.

Dillon’s eyes followed my every move. After all, I was armed, but I wouldn’t dare shoot him.

For all I knew, he was all I had left in the entire world.

I locked the back door and tucked the keyring in my backpack.

Before letting Dillon join me in the truck, I filled the generator again.

“I’ll drive.” He took my place. I didn’t argue because I figured it kept up appearances in front of his man, the appearance I was somehow subservient to dear leader. We stopped around front to let his lackey know he’d be back.

I didn’t want any of Dillon’s crew knowing where I lived. “Tell him to stay put,” I insisted in a whisper.

Dillon complied.

At his word, big ole Karl waited on his motorcycle in the heat like it didn’t bother him any. The three-hundred-pound guy could’ve been a linebacker in his former life for all I knew.

Once we got out of earshot, Dillon started talking. “Karl’s not all bad. None of the crew are as bad as you believe.”

“You’re not gonna sell me.”

“Sissy, you’ll have to change your mind soon. Word is survivors are migrating east, coming back here, trying to stake a claim.”

“And how do you know?”

“We’ve got our ways.”

“No one wants Creepy. No one wanted Creepy before. Who in the hell would want to live in this town now?”

“It’s not just Creepy.”

I gave him an evil glare.

“You may be off the map for the time being, but even I can’t control my own people forever... Now if you came with me.”

“Not happening. I promised I wouldn’t leave.” Before he could get the next word out, I added, “My word means something.”

That shut him up.

We rode the next ten minutes to my house in silence.

He didn’t even turn on the static-like I did.

I drummed my fingers on the door. The window down, I took in the scenery.

Fall was by far my favorite season, but it was nearly ninety-five degrees in Louisiana in September.

In normal times, festivals would be starting, tamale, gumbo, beignet, meat pie.

Most festivals were food-based. I missed pumpkin patches, haunted houses, and corn mazes, too.

Typically, by the first of October, it being cooler, I’d take a trip north to Homer, to the lake to see the best orange and red foliage the state had to offer.

Leaning back, I relaxed. The cooled air hitting my face, I imagined myself out in the middle of Lake Claiborne, lily pads floating by.