Only The Dead Don't Die Read Online Free PDF Page A

of the shotgun that wavered in the southern woman’s hand. “Miss Purlie?”
    Suddenly Purlie was back, “Child, now why you didn’t go with all them others?” She rested the shotgun on the couch.
    I think she’s losing it. “What do you mean ‘all them others?’ ”
    “The evacuation and soldiers . . . all them Army trucks, with them loud, godforsaken sirens, and, and guns. Reckon ‘twas the most guns I ever did see.” Purlie stood there and continued to mumble and tremble uncontrollably.
    “You need to sit down Miss Purlie.” Scarlett led her to the antique rocking chair overlooking the courtyard. “Everything’s fine. Can I get you a glass of water?”
    Purlie sat in the rocker as if in autopilot mode. The silence deafening the room practically begged Scarlett to go screaming out the front door. Finally, the familiar creak of the rocker replaced the silence as Purlie’s glossy-white, Maryjane shoes scuffed against the hardwood floor.
    “Actually, I need to use your phone for a minute, if you don’t mind?” Miss Purlie didn’t say anything. She seemed to be lost in thought as she rocked in the old rocker, eyes vacant, far away. Miss Purlie’s odd behavior certainly was not relieving Scarlett’s building anxiety. At that point, Scarlett’s already frayed nerves unraveled a bit further as she attempted to convince both of them that everything was fine—“just fine and dandy” as Miss Purlie would have chanted on an ordinary day. And today definitely did not seem normal: not in the least.
    “I’ll get you a nice, cold glass of water and you’ll feel better.” The domed ceiling light in the living room dimmed and flickered off. “Don’t worry, I’ll change the bulb for you,” Scarlett offered.
    “By the way, how’s your grandson these days?” Still no response. “How is your dear Lionel?” Scarlett asked again while she flipped the kitchen light switch several times. “Did you forget to pay your electricity bill again?” Scarlett handed Purlie a glass of water.
    Purlie finally reached for the glass, and Scarlett noticed the light had returned to her watery, bloodshot eyes. “Why, he shoulda been here by now.” Miss Purlie finally spoke. “He’s a comin’ to take me away from this madness. Said, he’d be here soon. Said, don’t answer the door or those soldiers might take me away.” She seemed to be rambling to herself more than talking to Scarlett.
    Scarlett knelt beside the rocker and asked slowly, “When was that? Miss Purlie, is Lionel visiting you today?” I should probably call 911—what if she had a stroke?
    “Lionel rang me up Wens-dee morning, said—no Bible Study today Granny. Said, pack yo bags Granny, I’m fixin’ to take you someplace safe. Only he done never showed up.” Her wrinkled upper lip pursed and quivered, and she let out another sneeze.
    Scarlett handed her a box of tissues and noticed the vintage suitcase by the couch. Actually, it was more like a trunk, a steamer trunk, made of leather. Scarlett couldn’t help but wonder how much Purlie could get for it on eBay. She could buy herself a brand new set of designer luggage. Of course, Mrs. Purlie would probably never part with the old relic.
    “It’s too late—it’s too late—” Mrs. Purlie ranted. “Only the dead don’t die. . .”
    Scarlett tried to think of something to say to ease the uncomfortable tension. Then Purlie let out a moan, “Oh, I’m a comin’ Floyd! Gimme a minute, cain’t you see we got company right now?”
    Uh, Floyd had been dead for some time. Scarlett ran for the phone. Time to call 911 . The landline phone was dead. She jiggled the receiver repeatedly and still no dial tone. Her frantic fingers traced the telephone’s cord until she found it plugged securely into the wall’s phone jack; nothing appeared to be wrong with the phone. Had Purlie forgotten to pay the phone bill too?
    Miss Purlie continued to ramble in a trance-like state, shouting to Floyd as if he was