Dead Series (Book 3): A Little More Alive Page 6

  “Why are you?” He slammed a fist down on a metal table, rattling some dirty silverware. “Did you think Rebecca was going to get in the way of your little fantasy?”

  “Fantasy?”

  “Yeah, you know, the one where you and I ride off into the sunset together at the end of the day.”

  “Paul, I don’t know what…”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about!”

  Flinching, Wendy tried pulling free and he yanked her to his lips, kissing her hard and wet. She tasted like cinnamon and it turned his stomach. Drawing apart, he stared into her blue pools, chest undulating beneath his t-shirt. “Is that what you want?” he whispered, holding her against him.

  Wendy stared up into his brown eyes, stunned and unnerved, mouth gasping for air.

  “Answer me!” He shook her by the arms. “Is that what you want?”

  “Yes,” she replied in a breathless whisper.

  Pushing her away, antipathy curled his lips at the corners. “Too bad, because that’s never going to happen between us. Never.”

  She took his hand and he yanked it free. “Paul, didn’t that night on the boat mean anything to you?”

  “Yeah, it meant that I can’t handle my tequila anymore.”

  “No.” Faintly, she shook her head, eyes misting over. “You take that back.”

  “I will not take it back! There is as much between us as there is between Rebecca and I. Which is nothing!” He cringed with his rise in volume and lowered his voice. “You just fucked up, big time, Wendy. You really did. That’s the equivalent to murder.”

  Aghast, she studied him for signs of deceit in the thunderstruck silence that came next, bottom lip quivering like the fluorescent light above the sink. “If I would’ve shot that guy, I would have hit her.”

  “Bullshit!” He stormed across the kitchen, tucking the dead woman’s gun into the small of his back and snatching a bottle of water. The gun strapped to his thigh banged loudly against the edge of a metal counter as he rounded the corner and went into the cafeteria. The mood darkened along with the lighting, slowing his footsteps to a crawl. The heavy silence left a far-off ringing in his right ear that grew steadily louder. His eyes snagged on Calvin, who was still sitting in the corner holding his dead wife, painting her bloody face with salty tears – as if they could magically bring her back to life like some childhood legend.

  Paul went closer, ignoring the eyes on him as he crossed the room. His gaze flicked from Calvin to the heavyset woman lying a few feet over. She was dead and bloated, her skin stretching her fatigues.

  “I shot both of them.”

  His eyes jerked to Calvin.

  “I killed her.” Stroking Maria’s blood matted hair, he forced a smile into his cheeks Paul could never lift. “I killed my beautiful wife.”

  Crouching down, Paul rested his arms on his knees and hung his head while Wendy and Stephanie talked about something in hushed voices across the room. “I’m sorry, Calvin.” Calvin stroked his wife’s hair, staring at her like Paul didn’t exist, tears dripping from the bottom of his glasses onto the jagged hole in her face. “It was an accident, Calvin, and nobody’s fault.”

  He finally looked up, smeared lenses magnifying the anger in his eyes. “Don’t you do that. Don’t you try to make me feel better right now because I don’t deserve that. She doesn’t deserve that.”

  Staring blankly back, Paul dropped his head and blew out a frustrated breath. “I wish I had time for a bigger speech but I don’t, so I’m going to get right to the point.”

  Calvin’s eyebrows went down.

  “I’m going to need you to come with us tomorrow.”

  He stopped stroking Maria’s matted hair. “Please tell me you’re not serious right now.”

  Paul spoke slowly, leaving zero room for misunderstanding. “I’m going to need you to get us into that armory in one hour, and then I’m going to need you to help us save that family in Colorado.”

  His face folded. “I’m not leaving! Are you insane? I’m staying here with her.”

  Paul scanned Maria’s ashen skin. She looked sound asleep and if she was lucky, she’d never wake up again. “Maria’s gone and you damn well know she’d want you to help that family.”

  “The hell I do, man! I’m done helping people because I can’t even help my own fucking wife!”

  Wendy and Stephanie stopped talking and Paul could hear his pulse banging away in the hollow of his neck. He swallowed dryly. “I’m sorry about your wife. I really am but this isn’t a request.”

  Calvin jerked his chin to Paul’s coat lying on a nearby table, shaking more tears onto Maria’s sleeping face. “You think that badge gives you any kind of power? It’s not even real. I got news for you, Debbie Downer, you’re not a cop!”

  Paul flashed him a tightlipped smile and stood up, knees cracking with the movement. “One hour, Cal.” A loud thump drew his attention. Turning, he saw Rebecca lying face down on the table with her arms hanging limply at her sides. Walking over, he pulled the gun from the small of his back and sat down across from her, checking the magazine and flipping the safety off. She didn’t open her eyes when he set the gun between them on the table and that weighed heavily upon his lungs.

  Curtis came over and bent down, whispering softly in Paul’s ear. “You don’t have to do this. Let me.”

  The Jacobsen house sliced through his mind with broken claws, plucking his heartstrings until they snapped. Déjà vu settled in around him like the quiet buzzing in his ears. Paul kept his eyes on Rebecca, waiting for the unspeakable to rear its ugly head and take another swipe at his wavering resolve. “I got this.”

  A clock ticked against the wall.

  His heart pounded.

  Ears rang.

  “Are you sure?” Curtis whispered.

  Rebecca’s eyes opened.

  “I’m sure,” Paul replied, pulling the hammer back until it clicked into place.

  Chapter Eight

  DAY TWENTY-SEVEN

  Everyone always said Iowa was flat. But Nebraska was pancake flat and boring as hell to drive through. The quiet monotony sat in complete opposition with what was waiting for them on the other side. The calm before the storm, deceiving in its stillness, pulling at Paul’s eyelids with both hands. But this was their road. Their path to a new beginning. And even with the dead lurking in the shadows, it was easy to think – this time – things would be different. Because, sooner or later, no matter how bad it is, things always come back around. Pushing against the steering wheel, he cracked his back and glanced at the others in the rearview mirror. Calvin stared vacantly out his side window in the backseat, his reflection just as morose as the real him that hadn’t said two words since leaving the base. Paul turned back to the road before them and almost smiled. He was proud of Calvin. It wasn’t easy making the right decision but burying his wife in a shallow grave helped. As did the six people with shovels to make quick work of it.

  The sun calmly rose behind them, brushing a far-off speckling of westerly clouds with pink and orange swirls. Taking his hand from the wheel, Paul put on his shades and flexed his fingers, glancing at his palm in the light creeping through the windows. He could still feel the gunshot haunting his hand. Could still see the abandonment in Rebecca’s yellow eyes when she lifted her head from the table and lunged. He wiped his palm on his jeans to clear the image, tired of thinking about what in the world could be causing everyone to turn into monsters. Tired of thinking how to stop it. Tired of…

  “Are you okay?”

  He turned to Stephanie in the passenger seat next to him, tires humming beneath them. “I just had the weirdest dream.”

  She bit back a smile. “You’re not funny,” she said, uncrossing her legs. “Do you want me to drive for a while?”

  “I’m good.”

  “The sky is beautiful,” Calvin muttered to his reflection, head leaning against the glass, eyes distant and blank.

  Paul and Stephanie looked at each o
ther, silently communicating their concern, the dirt from digging Maria’s grave still under their nails. Turning back to the lonely stretch of Interstate 80, Stephanie grew quiet. The tires clicked with the cracks in the road as she twisted a ring around her finger in her lap. “What if we can’t find them?”

  Paul grimaced. The thought had crossed his mind several times since signing off with Brian this morning and, unless they stopped to find another ham radio somewhere, there would be no way to contact them for better directions. If push came to shove, he guessed there would be no shortage of maps and emergency radios in Colorado. They could probably find one of each at a police or fire station but right now they had to keep moving. Gas and pee breaks were the only stops and even then, he didn’t know if they’d get there in time. But one thing was certain, they would have no problem dispatching the corpses buzzing around the cabin like angry hornets. The armory at Camp Dodge had more than they could carry. The big stuff was long gone but there were enough M4s and handguns to go around. He wished they had time to hook up a trailer and pack every last bullet but it wouldn’t be difficult to find weaponry down the road. After all, this was America. He snorted, gobbling up the dotted white lines. “We’ll find them,” he finally replied, flashing Stephanie a tightlipped smile.

  “I’m sorry about Rebecca,” she said in a soft voice only he could hear, staring out the front windshield.

  He glanced at Wendy in the mirror who was leaning against Curtis in the backseat, both fast asleep with their jaws dangling. Billy’s head hovered in the background, stuffed in amongst the gear in the tailgate, and Paul couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not. Returning his attention to the interstate, he got into the gas and checked the dashboard clock again. They were making good time. Outside of relocating a big ass Dr. Pepper truck several miles back, the road was mostly clear. Most everyone had heeded the government’s travel ban and stayed off the roadways and that was a break. A big one. Like scoring the guns and ammo at Camp Dodge. But they would need more breaks if they were to survive this scourge thrust upon mankind by Satan himself.

  “Did you know her long?”

  Paul’s hands tightened on the wheel, searching for a way to steer the conversation down a different road. “Just from work. She lived in Chicago and stopped in town every so often.”

  He could feel Stephanie studying his profile as he stared straight ahead, could almost see the thin lines creeping into the corners of her eyes like she knew exactly who Rebecca was and what he did with her when his wife was out of town for a long weekend just before everything changed. No, Stephanie was no fool. She could smell the guilt hiding on his breath so he tried not to breathe but his heart was beating too fast.

  “I bet you’re getting tired of people telling you they’re sorry.”

  He looked at her. “Just a little.”

  She patted the back of his hand. “Sorry.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “No, I’m not,” she replied, biting back a grin with sunshine pushing through the back windows.

  Paul intercepted an icy look from a suddenly wide awake Wendy in the mirror and turned back to the road, clearing his throat with a drink of Coke. “Have you ever been to Colorado?”

  “I haven’t.”

  “Well, after we save this family, I’m going to take you snowboarding and you will love it. On fresh powder, it’s like flying on a magic carpet.”

  She bent an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t you learn your lesson after going surfing at the beach house?”

  Longhorns began dotting the landscape and Paul wondered how the cattle managed to survive this long. How anything managed to survive this long. “Come on,” he said, “we can’t stop living our lives. Besides, what could possibly go wrong?”

  “Knowing our luck, we’ll end up with a toboggan full of stragglers chasing us down the mountain.”

  He pressed his lips together. “Good point. Let’s make it snowshoeing instead.”

  “Ha ha.” She pulled hair over her shoulders and combed it with her fingers, watching the cows stare back from inside their fences as the Suburban whizzed past at a hundred and fifteen miles an hour. “But I wouldn’t turn down some cheeseburgers on the grill.”

  Paul laughed a little too loudly, causing Billy to stir in the back. “Throw on some cheesy twice-baked potatoes and stuffed mushrooms.”

  “Oooooh, and top it all off with some apple pie a la mode!”

  He grew quiet, the wheels clacking every few yards against the tar-filled cracks separating the massive slabs of concrete while Calvin stared blankly out his window in the backseat. Paul exhaled a forlorn breath. “I’m so sick of eating candy bars and chips.”

  “Oh my God, me too.” Stephanie pulled a bag of mini Chips Ahoy! from under the seat. “If I wasn’t nearly starving to death…” she said, tossing one into her mouth.

  “The funny thing is those cookies are still fresh today but imagine what they’ll be like next year, or the year after that. They’ll be like chocolate chip dog treats. You ever try eating a frosted dog treat? Those things will crack your teeth.”

  She shook her head and sipped some Gatorade. “Gas station food. That’s what we’re left with, especially when we’re on the move. Everything cold has spoiled. All the good stuff is gone.” Her thin gaze turned to him. “What do you think will last the longest? Out of all the junk food left out there?”

  His eyebrows went up. “Beef jerky?”

  She shook her head. “I say Corn Nuts.”

  “Corn Nuts?”

  “Think about it. I mean, what are they anyway? Because they’re not nuts. I can tell you that.”

  “I think they’re genetically mutated pieces of corn.”

  “See?” She twisted in the seat to face him. “I bet if we find a bag of unopened Corn Nuts hiding in some glovebox ten years down the road they will taste exactly the same as they do today.”

  He grunted, bouncing with a bump in the road. “That sounds like wishful thinking.”

  “Why? They already taste stale.”

  “No, I mean the part about us still being alive ten years down the road.”

  Stephanie couldn’t stop a laugh and the playful sparkle in her eyes kept pulling his attention from the road. Smiling, they shared a comfortable moment of silence, absorbing the unfolding scenery around them, something unseen stretching between them. Something that gave him butterflies. Something that managed to live in a world with no light. He shifted in his seat and nodded at her. “Can I have one of those cookies.”

  “What cookies?” she smirked, taking one from the bag and bringing it to his mouth. Jerking it away just before he bit down, she laughed and then gave him the treat. “Good boy.”

  “Hey, when you two are done slobbering all over each other up there, put in some GB.”

  Paul stared dully at Curtis in the rearview, jaws grinding the cookie as he mulled it over. “Mmm, I guess not.”

  “Come on, Paul, I’m tired of listening to your stories about drinking blood with Marilyn Manson.”

  “That really happened!”

  Curtis leaned forward. “Look, just grab one of the CDs from the console and put it in. Okay? It’s not that hard.”

  “Dude, those CDs aren’t even in here anymore.”

  “Bullshit. Pull back the console and let me see.”

  Paul leaned an elbow on it and traded a coy look with Stephanie. “Somebody must’ve broke in and stolen them while we were inside the base.”

  Curtis sighed and lowered his voice. “Paul, come on, man. I need it.”

  “Oh, you need it?”

  “That’s right. Just a little somethin to take the edge off.”

  Paul and Stephanie shared a good laugh. “And Garth Brooks is going to take the edge off?” he said. “You’ve lost everyone you know and love. The world has fallen to the living dead. And Garth fucking Brooks is going to take the edge off?”

  Curtis sharpened his gaze. “That’s right, Paul. Some people do crack, I do Garth.” />
  “I tell ya what, I’ll put on some Chris Gaines. How’s that sound?”

  “It sounds horrible! Chris Gaines isn’t even a…”

  The words died on his lips and Paul’s heartrate accelerated into overdrive. Hitting the brakes, he slowed down and squinted against the sunshine reflecting off two brand new pickups parked nose-to-nose across the interstate ahead. Three men with cowboy hats leaned against them with shotguns and rifles cradled in their arms like they were about to embark upon a leisurely day of pheasant hunting.

  “Everyone get frosty,” Paul yelled, stopping fifty yards out.

  Billy’s head popped up in the back. “What the hell is this?” he said, snatching up an M4 and blinking the sleep from his eyes.

  “Ambush,” Paul answered, watching the men watch him back. His mind raced. The engine idled. The ditches on both sides were too steep to risk going around and the bullets the men would surely unleash if they did would be even worse.

  “Let’s go back,” Wendy panted, drawing her pink gun and checking behind them.

  “I’m not going back,” Paul replied, locked in a stare down with the men coolly leaning against the trucks. “There’s no time. We’ll get lost for sure.”

  “Paul, don’t be…”

  “I’m not going back,” he shouted, making everyone shrink. “That family doesn’t have time for us to go fucking back. I am tired of going back. From here on out, we only go forward!”

  “What do you think they want?”

  He glanced at Billy in the mirror and lowered his voice. “Everything.”

  “Fuck em,” Curtis said, drawing a new M4 from the back. “There’s six of us, and they only have shotguns.”

  Open fields surrounded them on both sides and there was nowhere for anyone to hide. These pricks were terribly bold to set up a roadblock like this and obviously desperate. Paul’s eyes flicked to Calvin in the rearview mirror and anger was quick to follow. “Calvin!”

  Slowly turning from the side window, he blinked softly like he just woke from a long nap. “What?”