“Luther said you wanted to see me.” Scarlett interrupted his train of thought.
“Good morning,” Dean said to a gaunt-faced Scarlett. One could only live on flapjacks for so long. “You mind dragging the dining room table in here? It’s time we all had a chat.” Between the rotating guard shifts, sleeping, scavenging, cooking, and basic day-to-day chores, they hadn’t had a group meeting since hunkering down in the two-story safehouse.
“Is something wrong?” Scarlett asked with those fascinating aquamarine eyes of hers.
Justin slid down the banister’s railing, saving Dean from answering her for the time being. “I’m starving! Ella will be down in a sec.”
The poor gal needed all the sleep she could get. The baby had fussed all night. Dean hoped Mateo was just the cranky sort and not sickly.
“Justin, help me move the table. We’re having a meeting,” Scarlett informed.
“Close enough so I can watch the window while we chat,” Dean said as they carried the table to the carpeted living room while he kept an eye on the street through the partially closed blinds. “That’ll do just fine.”
Scarlett had finished setting the table by the time Luther waltzed in with a platter heaping with flapjacks. Not quite the regular run-of-the mill pancake recipe. Still, Luther had managed to concoct a “stone soup” variety from the expired ingredients they had scrounged. He thanked his lucky stars no one had come down with E. coli as of yet.
A pallid, bleary-eyed Ella joined them.
“How’s the baby?” Scarlett asked.
“Finally sleeping,” Ella said with a heavy sigh.
“Best you get some sleep after we eat,” Dean prattled like an overly concerned grandparent. “We need you rested up for our trip.” Everyone around the table nodded in agreement.
“So, why the quality time?” Justin quipped.
Dean didn’t bother beating around the bush. “We’re down to one day’s worth of food.” He was disappointed they hadn’t found more supplies at Quinton’s safehouse. Then again, it had been ransacked.
“Dude, I told you. I’m checking out that new place today. You know the one,” Justin said with a knowing look.
“Bro, I scouted out Sam’s Club yesterday.” Luther pinched his nose. “That place be crawling with stinking nimrods.”
“Justin—” Ella scolded. “I don’t want you to go there!”
Justin ignored her. “Guys, I’m pretty sure we left a box of MREs in the van. I can race there and back super-fast.”
A groggy Twila plopped into a chair next to him. “They know your scent. They’re looking for you.” Twila frowned at the flapjacks. “Not again.”
Scarlett flashed Twila a stern look of disapproval.
“Well,” Dean proceeded, “Zac mentioned stocking up on dried goods at the weekend market. And according to my watch, tomorrow’s Saturday.” Dean never thought he’d be relying on a thirty-thousand-dollar, day-date Rolex to tell him what day it was—thanks to Luther’s Rolex habit. Living in the Forbidden Zone gave him the eerie sensation of being lost in a Twilight Zone time-warp episode. “We need to get to that market in Zhetto.”
“Heads up,” Luther announced. “Yesterday afternoon I spotted several drones patrolling the border wall by Quinton’s.”
Ella gasped. “Why did you go so close to the border?”
“Justin and I’ve been taking shifts, watching for Zac,” Luther said between bites.
The way Dean figured it, the smuggler’s tunnel behind Boom Town had been compromised and most likely destroyed. Zac was the only one with the know-how to get them out of Last State. Problem was, what if the fellow was a no-show?
“We need a contingency plan.” Dean paused, choosing his words carefully. “Fact is, don’t think it’s safe to stake out Quinton’s. Not with drones and hordes. We need to come up with an alternate plan to meet up with Zac.”
“We could leave a note to meet us here,” Justin tossed out.
Luther shook his head. “And lead whoever vandalized Quinton’s to our front door?”
“What about an obscure message?” Ella offered.
“Duly noted. Any other bright ideas?” Dean turned to Twila. Maybe she could try her mindreading gimmick?
“I tried already. Zac’s blocking me.” Twila gave one of her silly cross-eyed faces before gulping down a tumbler of water.
Water was another issue. They retrieved it from a creek near the railroad tracks and then boiled it for a good twenty minutes. “What does your sixth sense say, Scarlett?” Dean asked with his eyes back to the window.
“I only catch sporadic glimpses of Zac. He must automatically use his mental shielding.” The lack of emotion in Scarlett’s voice revealed her despondency.
“Could be why he’s survived so long,” Dean said in retrospect.
“The note could just say Zhetto Market,” Justin suggested. “I can tape it to the fridge with a roll of hot-pink duct tape I nabbed.”
Luther let out a chuckle. “He can’t miss that.”
“That’s a great idea,” Scarlett said.
“We can sign it with our initials,” Luther added. “That way he’ll know it’s us.”
“Sounds good,” Dean agreed.
“Zac, you better make it to the market.” There was no mistaking the cynicism in Scarlett’s voice.
“He’ll figure it out. There are only three obvious options where we can meet up: Quinton’s, the bunkhouse, or the market,” Dean stated simply.
“Oh no! The baaddd ones are planning a sneaky attack,” Twila blurted out of the blue.
“What makes you say that?” Dean pressed. According to Scarlett, Twila often misread her vision-like knowings.
“ ’Cause, the X-strains are only walking at night and hiding in the day. They want to meet at this fancy tall building in the big city.”
Scarlett’s fork clattered to her plate. “The Capitol!”
