Jubal didn’t like these show-offs one bit; they got off on their own stench and he had trouble dealing with people like that. However they also had their own weapons and knew how to use them, which could come in handy. But they already had their own leader type, one from whom Jubal wasn’t prepared to take orders, and he was pretty sure she felt the same way about him. Yet maybe things could work out between them; maybe once he told them his group’s destination, they’d sign up with Jubal’s gang and make their merry way together to the Promised Land. Of course, the Promised Land’s denizens might not want anything to do with Salina and her crew of killers. Heck, they might not look too kindly on Jubal’s ragtag bunch either.
Decisions, decisions.
And another thing he didn’t like: the gleam in Salina’s eye when he had mentioned Luther Kemp. One thing this fucked-up world did not need was another violence-crazed megalomaniac hankering to take over the world just because some military moron at Area 51 had leveled the playing field for them. Speaking for himself, all he wanted these days was a little peace while he planned his next move. And the place they were headed was the first step toward this peace, a place that Tommy Cho had told them about when they had first met him last month.
A place with no zombies.
They must be doing something right in Iowa if they could keep the undead away. At times, Jubal wondered how they accomplished this feat and he often discussed this topic with his friends but no one was ever really sure, though they all had their theories.
He had asked Tommy how he knew about this place. The hard-working farmer told him it had been something he’d heard from another wanderer. Tommy and this other person had hung out together for a few weeks for survival reasons and one night they had been attacked by zombies. Tommy’s friend hadn’t survived. The last favor Tommy did for this fellow was to plant a bullet in his head so he didn’t rise again.
So this sanctuary was nothing but a rumor, but it was better than nothing; better than no hope at all. He hoped to hell it was true, if not for the adults’ sake, then at least for Robin’s. She was becoming too hardened for a ten year old girl. The child needed someplace to play and feel safe instead of always running for her life and jumping at shadows. And the girl’s mother, Heather, wasn’t going to last too much longer either. She seemed ready to crack at any moment and she’d been that way for a couple of weeks now. She just couldn’t take this horrible life much longer and, frankly, Jubal couldn’t blame her. He sometimes wondered why he hadn’t gone over the edge yet. But this was not the time to think of such things.
He had to do something to release the tension in the room, so he caught Heather’s attention and gave her a wink. It did his heart good to see her smile back at him, even though her lips trembled slightly as she did it.
“Hey, can I please stand up?” Salina waved a hand to catch Jubal’s attention. “I have to pee. I swear I won’t slaughter anybody on my way to the restroom.”
Robin wrinkled her nose. “The bathroom won’t work, lady. There won’t be any water.”
“It’s gonna happen soon, kid. Either in there or out here. Doesn’t matter much to me.”
Robin tugged on Jubal’s sleeve. “She really has to go, Jubal. Please don’t make her go on the floor.” Robin turned back to Salina. “You don’t want to pee in your pants, either. I did that when I saw my first zombie. Remember, Mommy?”
“I remember.” Heather’s lips were pressed together so tightly they were white.
“Go on,” Jubal said.
Salina sprang up from the booth. “Thanks. I’ll just be a sec.”
She had gone from battle-hardened tough-ass to acting like a teenager. Jubal didn’t know what she had in mind but he wasn’t inclined to take any chances.
“Hold on,” he said. “Mother, watch our friends for a minute.”
“My pleasure,” the big man said. He left his post and leaned against the lunch counter, as Jubal had. Amara moved to a position in the center of the restaurant where she could see all the windows. Jubal was pleased. He had a good team.
“Let me check out the facilities first,” he told Salina. “Make sure there isn’t a hungry zombie head in the toilet.”
“Yuck,” Robin said.
Salina frowned.
Jubal pushed the door open to the ladies room. His nose was assaulted by the smell of old urine and feces. The bathroom was all tile—walls and floor. There was a commode, a sink, a dispenser for paper towels and one for toilet paper. The mirror over the sink was a polished piece of metal. No glass to shatter and turn into a weapon. The room had no window.
He stepped out into the restaurant, happy to be away from the smell. “It’s not clean, but it will get the job done.”
Salina glared at him as she passed. She went into the bathroom.
Jubal felt the level of tension in the restaurant drop. Salina’s three men were lunkheads. She was the brains of the outfit, and the dangerous one.
Jubal realized he hadn’t checked the toilet tank. There was a chance she would break the lid and attack one of them with a jagged piece of it. It would be suicide, but Salina seemed like the type who wouldn’t mind as long as she could cause some serious damage on her way out. It was a crazy notion, yet the past several months had made him a most careful man. He stood far enough away from the bathroom door so he could shoot her before she threw a chunk of ceramics at him.
In a few seconds, Salina emerged from the restroom, wiping her hands on her pants.
“Much better,” she said. “You don’t buy beer, you just rent it. Right, Jubal?”
“Get back in the booth.”
“Okay. Geez.” She raised her hands. “You can’t blame a girl for trying to lighten the mood.”
She slid back into the booth next to Philly.
Jubal followed her to the table while Mother and Amara returned to their posts. There had been no need for Jubal to issue instructions.
The door to the kitchen swung open, and Nestor emerged carrying a tray of white china coffee mugs. He set the tray on the lunch counter.
“Hot cups of joe. Come and get it.”
Jubal nodded at Heather. She picked up a cup and held it under her nose, her eyes closed with pleasure.
“Oh my God,” she said. “This smells wonderful.”
“Don’t say that until you try it,” Nestor said. “I was working with primitive tools, like a caveman.”
She took a small sip, flinching as the hot liquid touched her tongue.
“It’s the best I ever had.”
“Mother, Amara, you want coffee?” Jubal said.
“I’m always up for caffeine exposure,” Mother said.
Jubal looked to Amara. The tall woman merely shook her head.
Mother grabbed a mug. On his way back to his post, he sipped it. “That’s so damned good I just popped a boner,” he said.
“Mommy, what’s a boner?” Robin said.
Heather was in mid-sip. She choked on the coffee.
Mother grimaced. “Shit. I mean, my bad. Sorry, Heather.”
Robin frowned at her mommy. She was well aware that the conversation had taken a turn into grown-up talk, and she didn’t like it.
“Mommy, is a boner a bad thing?”
Heather had to clear her throat before she could speak.
“Um, not always, honey. We’ll talk about it later.”
“Sure we will. You always say that.”
This time, even Salina and her men laughed.
Nestor held a cup of coffee in one hand as he stared wistfully at Heather and Robin. Jubal couldn’t imagine the memories that played out in Nestor’s mind. Jubal took a cup of coffee for himself and set it on the counter. The tray held four more mugs. He carried it to the booth.
“Drink up.”
The three men grabbed the mugs as if they thought Jubal might snatch them away.
“Thanks,” Salina said. She sounded sincere. As he wondered if there was a chance he had misjudged her, Mother shouted.
“Jubal! It’s Amara.”
“Watch them,” Jubal ordered. Mother moved to cover Salina and the others.
At the rear of the restaurant, Amara was down on one knee. She held her rifle in one hand. The other hand was flat against the window. In the fluorescent light, her shaved head looked sickly. But Jubal knew well that the woman was not fragile. However, she had other gifts which made her vulnerable.
He spoke softly, so Salina and her men would not overhear them. “What is it?”
“Just…just a flash. A fleeting impression.” Amara’s voice was faintly accented, light and musical, in sharp contrast to her Amazonian build.
“What did you see?”
Amara shook her head. She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again and gazed at Jubal, the light brown irises looked like whirling liquid pools.
“I saw nothing,” she said. “I felt…”
“Felt what?”
“I felt something out there. Something that is hunting.”
“Hunting?” Amara’s visions were occasionally so vague, they were frustrating. “Hunting what?”
She took his wrist in her free hand and squeezed.
“You, Jubal Slate. Whatever is out there is hunting you. And it’s getting close.”