One morning, as a helicopter ascended into the sky, he found himself seated in the completed garden. The bench beneath him was cool and the breeze was fresh. The three little ones came and sat on the bench across from him, all three smiling. “We decided that you are now our new daddy,” the oldest informed him.
The other two nodded, smiling wide happy smiles. Flustered, Juan said, “You did? Why?”
“The lady with the black hair told us,” the eldest answered.
The other two nodded. “Which lady?” He already knew the answer in his heart.
“The lady from the mall. The nice lady who took care of us after Mommy got…” the girl hesitated. “You know.” “When did she tell you this?”
“Last night. In our dreams,” the little boy answered. “She’s pretty.”
This was so like Jenni. She was making sure the kids were fine and that he was, too. He laughed, tears in his eyes, and whispered, “Oh, Loca…”
Then the kids were leaping on him, hugging him, kissing him and he held them tight. “Daddy One! Daddy One,” they chanted.
Juan felt the shadow of pain lift from him and he threw back his head and laughed. He was so full of love he felt as if it must be bursting out of him. He leaped to his feet and danced around with glee, the kids dangling off of him.
Somewhere, he knew Jenni was smiling down on them.
3. The Wickedest Woman in Texas Returns
Patting her hair once more, the Senator regarded her image in the mirror. Armed with a teasing comb and the best hairspray on the market, she had manipulated her blond hair into a bubble of perfectly coiffed golden locks. Spritzing more hairspray onto her bouffant, she closed her heavily made up eyes, complete with false eyelashes, and enjoyed the fragrance of the spray as it fell in tiny drops over her hair and face.
Opening her eyes again, she studied her reflection in the soft, white glow of the chandelier over her head and smiled. It was her best smile. Her trademark. The pearly white freshly scrubbed teeth glistened between her bright pink lips. Perfect. Tilting her head, she fastened diamond and pearl earrings to her ears as the tranquil sounds of Frank Sinatra wafted in from the intercom.
At least Blanche had the decency to keep some good music in her old mansion.
Walking away from the vanity, she studied herself in the full length gilded mirror in Blanche’s enormous closet and turned one way then the other. The dark pink suit looked perfect and the gold sling back heels were very nice. Her nails on her fingertips and toes were freshly polished.
Nearly three weeks ago she had awakened to utter silence in that dank old museum and realized the chickenshits had run off without her. Sitting up she had studied the room while listening for sounds of any undead in the building. At least the assholes had been decent enough to shut the door behind them. “Fuckers,” she had hissed, then reached down and picked up her hunting rifle.
Now it was propped on a chair behind her. She had used it a few times since that day. After making sure that the idiots had really run off without her, she had slipped off the safety, slung her bag with the portable radio inside it over one shoulder, and walked into the morning air. Comfortable with the hunting rifle, she was a Texas girl after all, she had taken a deep breath as she walked to steady her nerves. If she remembered correctly, she had downed about five zombies before commandeering a truck standing empty in the middle of the road with the keys still in the ignition. It had taken a few tries to get the engine to turn over. She knew she had been lucky on that point. The zombies banging on the windows had been damned determined.
“Oh, shit,” she now muttered and fussed with the collar of the jacket.
The last few weeks had been hard. She had even cried once or twice. She hated not being able to fix her hair and makeup. Worse yet, forced to eat convenience store junk food, she had often been sick to her stomach. Sticking to back roads, she had slowly found her way back here to Blanche’s mansion.
When she had driven up, she had found the front door open and dried bits of bone and flesh on the doorstep. No zombies had been around and she had stepped inside and shut the door behind her. Quickly searching the house, she found nothing dead and smelly to greet her.
The water had been on, but there had been no electricity. Checking the breaker box, she had seen that the main one had flipped. In a few seconds, the mansion was lit up and the air conditioning switched on.
What had been even nicer, was that on her way to the mansion she had found a car stalled off the side of the road, full of supplies. It looked like someone had been fully stocked and making a run for safety then their car had broken down. Since there was something disgusting and dead on the doorstep, she wondered if that was the driver. Or maybe, Blanche.
Oh, well. Going over to Blanche’s dresser, she pulled on a nice string of pearls and studied her reflection in another mirror.
Yes, much better.
Frowning as the sound of zombies moaning seemed to grow louder, she walked over and turned up the music. She really had no time to deal with them and they were definitely not getting in past the heavy doors and reinforced glass.
Feeling pleased with herself, she went downstairs and into the kitchen. Her dinner of rosemary chicken was just about done and she inhaled the rich fragrance. Shooting that little shit’s head off had been fun, but eating it would be so much better. There was quite a few wild chickens now and she didn’t think she’d be starving any time soon. Pouring herself a glass of wine, she leaned against the counter and watched the decaying remains of what looked like a Mexican field worker bang on the kitchen window. She knew there was no way he was getting in, so she lifted her glass and toasted him. Stupid spics. Even dead they were annoying.
For a moment she missed Raleigh chiding her for her “bias.” Well, he was gone, that little annoying faggot, and she was still here.
Now that a few days had passed and she was feeling more sure of herself, her thoughts were once more turning to the fort. Slowly, she was making plans. Plans that would restore her to where she needed to be. Smiling, she turned her back on the moaning zombie and sipped her wine.
4. The March of the Dead
Rune slept in the hunter blind he had discovered off a back road. His parked bike was right next to the trap door and his hand grenades were in the bag next to him. The ramshackle wood blind was sturdy enough for his temporary needs, but the canvas roof was torn and not much protection from the wind and light rain. He was huddled up against the wall, snoring lightly when he was awakened by a simple touch on his knee.