Only The Dead Don't Die , Popovich, A.D. [best mystery novels of all time TXT] 📗

patted down his pockets. “They didn’t find all my weapons.” He reached into his sock with wiggling eyebrows, pulling out a dangerous-looking knife. He quickly tucked it back.

The truck drove behind a high school and stopped in a football field. When the engine turned off, her peacefulness gave way to anxiety. The driver got out of the truck, dragged a crowbar along the side of the cage, and then walked away laughing.

Justin whispered into her ear, “During the Z-fight, if you get a chance to run, wait for me at that pink building on Zoat Street. It’s, uh, you know, a house of ill repute, as Dean would say.”

“I’m absolutely not leaving without you.” Ella crossed her arms firmly.

“Just saying, that’s the rally point if we get separated.”

“Now, you really do sound like Dean.” Would Mad Dog let them go after the Z-fight? She doubted it. He’d probably turn them in for the huge rewards. Justin was on the most wanted list. Now that Last State knew she was fertile, they would probably send her off to one of those clandestine medical labs for lifelong testing. The Super Summer flu’s wrath had left the population infertile. Except for the few LifeGivers.

Three men strode toward the back of the truck.

“I got this!” Justin’s eyes sparkled with hope.

“Stand back!” A hard-looking man in leather chaps unlocked the cage’s door.

Justin squeezed her hand before rushing the gate.

“Not so fast, Punk Ass. Mad Dog wants both of you.”

Piercing anger shuddered through Justin’s body. “Are you insane?” Justin screeched with flaring nostrils. If looks could kill.

The man laughed in their faces. “Mad Dog certainly is.”

Ella went willingly before they hurt Justin. The HOME OF THE TIGERS scoreboard stared back at her from the end zone. For reassurance, she stole a glance behind her long enough to see the other two men escorting Justin behind her.

A Jeep barreled across the field, acting like it wanted to run over the men setting up the field. The driver “ye-hawed” and honked, careening around like a total idiot. Finally, the Jeep stopped. The driver jumped out and strode for her and Justin. Mad Dog! The toxic, blackish, evil energy radiating from his aura made her want to double over and puke. But she refused to give in to his wickedness. Instead, she held her head high, bracing for whatever was coming.

“Time for some fun, Punk Ass.” Mad Dog grabbed Ella’s hands and zip-tied them in front of her. She stared up helplessly, bewitched by his black marble eyes, the soulless eyes of a demonic being.

Another truck with a cage parked near the end zone. “Got a dozen hungry ones,” a man yelled from the truck.

Could Justin de-activate that many with only a knife?

“The betting starts—now,” Mad Dog announced into a bullhorn to the small crowd gathering on the bleachers.

Who’d do such a thing? Bet on people’s lives. She forced herself to stop thinking about it. Shari had explained that obsessing over negativity only created more negativity. A vicious cycle.

“Send the bitch in!” Mad Dog practically snarled, curling lips and all.

“You sick fucker!” Justin thrashed and kicked. “Send me! I’m the one you want!”

“Exactamundo!” Mad Dog yowled. “I wanna watch diaper boy shit his pants.”

Wait?

I have to kill the horde?

By myself?

Ella’s heart fluttered to her throat. Quickly, she tried unscrambling her brain to remember the Z-slaying techniques Justin had taught her that winter on the rooftop in Sacramento. One of the best times of her life.

“Betting stops in five minutes.” Mad Dog’s acidic glare ate away at her.

Five minutes. What does one think of during the last five minutes of their life? Love you, she mouthed to Justin as one of the men led her to the center of the football field. She wanted to cry out to Scarlett, to Dean, to Luther, to Mindy. Give Mateo a loving life.

“Guys, guys,” Justin blustered. “Let’s make a deal. I’ve got vital intel—”

Mad Dog and his gang ignored him.

“Guys. I’m serious. Last State’s shutting down Tent City. For good,” Justin implored. “Like, any freaking minute!”

“You don’t think I know that?” Mad Dog crowed. “You’re lookin’ at the official host of the Zhetto Games—coming soon to Zhetto Market.” Mad Dog flashed her a disgusting smile. He must have given up brushing his teeth for Lent. “They appreciate my killing personality.”

“There’s this stash of gold—elite Gold. Tons of it!” Justin went on and on.

She blotted out his pleas for her own peace of mind. As she stood in the middle of the football field, lost in time, her senses amplified: the dampness of the soft ground from a recent rain, the sweet aroma of wild roses trailing across the fence in the background, dragonflies dancing across the field, and the familiar calls of robins—all totally unaware of Ella’s apocalypse.

Memories of Mama and Papa rushed through her mind like the vintage slide show they used to watch every Christmas Eve. Her baby brother, Miguel, flashed her inner vision. How she had loved him. Then, baby Miguel, her first son. His face morphed into Mateo’s. Were they really the same soul?

Then there was Justin. She’d never forget the first time she had laid eyes on him at the Sweet Suites hotel in Vacaville. He had been the one to give her the hope and strength to crawl out of her shell. To live again. Love again.

“Time’s up,” Mad Dog shouted.

More spectators had arrived. She frantically searched for Justin. There he was, on the sidelines. A man brandishing a medieval mace strutted directly for her. He dropped the mace at her feet. Then, he held up a black bandanna for all to see. The crowd applauded. He placed it over her face and tied it to the back of her head.

“Blindfolded? Really? How is that fair!” Justin bellowed.