Better Late Than Never. A Zombie Horror Novelette

All the hotels and motels for fifty miles around were filled. Most of the people would go west soon. And meanwhile, Ross and Karen had to share their room with a young Puerto Rican man and his toddler son, who slept on a futon. The man was not much of a talker. The kid, on the other hand, was an untiring chatterbox, but everything the boy said sounded like gibberish to Ross and Karen, as all of the words were in Spanish.

«What’s your name?» Ross asked the young man.

«Pablo Rubio,» he said. The question was easy. Must be the easiest question in English.

«I’m Ross,» the old man said, pointing at himself. Then he pointed at Karen. «And this here is Karen, my wife.»

Pablo nodded and looked at his son, who was sleeping quietly at the end of a restless day.

«Alberto Carlos,» he said with pride and smiled.

«Nice kid,» Ross said and smiled, too.

«Where’s your wife, Pablo?» Karen asked.

He looked at her and shook his head. «No espeak ingles.»

«Mrs. Rubio? Where’s she?» Karen asked.

Pablo looked at the floor for a spell. «No Mrs. Rubio… Maria… Maria esta muerta.»

Muerta. Dead.

Karen shook her head with sympathy and went quiet. That evening they didn’t ask Pablo any further questions.

Ross walked out of the room to the porch to catch some fresh evening air. He strolled along the sidewalk to the parking lot. Pablo had a panel van parked in the parking lot behind the bathroom block. It was a navy blue Volkswagen Transporter Kasten. Good choice. Less cargo space. Good maneuverability. Particularly suited for heavy traffic. He looked at the front plate. Seven digits. The vehicle was from Texas, for sure. The Lone Star State. The guy and his kid had made a very long trip. The terrible things they must have seen!