A Little More Dead (22 page)

“Look, I just…”

Paul slammed his fist down on the table,
rattling their mugs. “Because the last time I checked, I’m the one who almost
got killed because you and your girlfriend were out practicing your fucking golf
swing!”

Dan’s face twisted in the gray light.
“
Girlfriend
?”

“Maybe you’re the one who needs to get
his
head on straight
.”

Dan’s baffled gaze fell to his shoes and
hid under the table like a frightened dog. Even the birds stopped singing. “We have
to get to that beach today.”

“And do what?” Paul yelled.

Dan threw his arms out. “I don’t know,
Paul.
Something.
Anything but give
up!”

Paul drank his coffee, watching a white
cat drift across the backyard like a ghost. It dashed after something, froze
with its paws locked to the ground, and then casually went on its way empty
handed.

Dan sighed. “We can’t give up.”

“Yeah, because
I’d hate to miss out on all this.”

Dan set his jaw, the breeze rustling his
curls. “I’ve got news for
ya
, Paul, the shit hit the
fan for all of us and, like it or not, we need you.
I
need you.”

Paul sipped his coffee and stared out
over the backyard, unable to be bothered with such trivial matters like survival.

“You may want to die but I don’t. I want
to keep living and I want humanity to beat whatever this is out there.”

Paul grunted.
Humanity
.
That was a good one.
Sorry, Dan, but that ship had sailed. How many people
were
left
in the US alone?
A few thousand?
A few hundred?

Humanity
.

Yeah right.

“You know what, forget it,” Dan said, getting
to his feet.

“I got your back,” Paul said softly,
bringing Dan back into his chair.
“Happy now?”

Dan blinked out a rare tear and listened
to the birds sing for a bit. “I miss her too,
ya
know.
Unlike most of my other friends, Sophia was the only spouse who actually liked
me.”

Paul refused to make eye contact,
fearful his best friend would see the tears building in his eyes. They shared
an uncomfortable moment, soaking up their foreign surroundings and sipping
their coffee.

“I can’t believe any of this is happening,”
Dan said, studying the
Chevelle
. “Stealing cars and
having breakfast with cows in Texas. How did it come to this?”

A sinister smile swept through Paul’s
beard. “Because Hell’s full, that’s how,” he said, cheering Dan with his mug.

Dan swallowed hard.

“Boys!”
They turned to
see Wendy standing in the doorway. “Breakfast is ready,
y’all
!” she said, sticking her hips out and mimicking Cora.

Dan went inside while Paul sat there and
took another drink, not even close to being hungry. It sounded like Wendy was
on vacation, having the time of her life, and he wanted to give her a piece of
his mind. He took a deep breath instead, Sophia’s beautiful lips telling him
what he needed to hear.

Calm
down, Paul, it’s not her fault. Help them get to the beach. Dan is your best
friend.

Paul was going to laugh in her ethereal
face but she pressed on.

If
you don’t, they will die.

“They will anyway,” he whispered back,
getting up before she had the chance to counter. It was time to pack up and go.
Besides, he was tired of
being lectured
to by a ghost.

Chapter
Thirty-Seven

After a hearty breakfast of chocolate
chip pancakes, water, Cokes, and blueberry breakfast bars, Dan and Paul
followed Brock out behind the barn where they pumped gas for both vehicles from
a small tank he used for the riding mowers, weed whackers and two ATV’s. With his
gas guzzling 2015 Chevy Suburban and the beefy
Chevelle
,
they would have to stop more frequently for gas, but this should get them to
the ocean no problem.

“If there aren’t any roadblocks, we
could be there in less than two hours,” Brock said, pulling his zipper up with
a hop after watering a dead bush. “We’ll pack the cars up today, have a few
more good meals, and head out tomorrow morning.”

Paul stared at Jasper’s fresh grave with
unfocused eyes, throwing in a vacant nod of the head here and there to make it
look like he was present. But he wasn’t. He was up on that hill.
With her.
The clouds had turned even darker since breakfast
and the thought of her being alone in this gloom and doom made him shudder. If
he couldn’t be there with her physically, he would emotionally.

“We might have better luck finding a
boat or a nice beach house in Corpus Christi,” Brock said.

Dan looked up, filling a large gas can. “Don’t
you mean,
Corpses
Christi?”

An uneasy laugh rolled from the cowboy.
“
Yer
probably right about that.”

“Either way, sounds like a plan to me,” Dan
replied, capping the can.

Brock pulled a fresh toothpick from his crisp
shirt pocket and stuck it between his lips. “Not
gonna
sound like much of a plan to Cora.”

“You haven’t discussed this with her
yet?” Dan gasped.

Brock hung his head and pushed the dirt
around with the toe of his boot. “She loves this house, born and raised in this
town.” He paused to survey the landscape, hands on his hips. “This is home,” he
sighed, taking his hat off and mopping the sweat from his brow. He fanned
himself with the hat, looking them over for a minute. “Y’all
wanna
see some guns?”

☠

Downstairs in a basement office – decorated
with a longhorn skull hanging above the doorway, tiny horse statues, and a
framed poster of
The Good, the Band and the Ugly
– Brock unlocked a tall black safe.

Dan’s eyes nearly popped out of his head
when he saw the handguns, shotguns, rifles, knives and enough ammunition to
keep Phil
Spector
happy hiding inside. “Holy shit,
you have an M16?”

“M4,” Brock corrected, taking the weapon
from the safe.
“Got this from a friend a few years back.”
He ejected the long clip, showed them it was fully loaded, and slammed it home.
“Guy was a U.S. marshal and a hell of a drinker.” Racking a round, Brock shoved
the stock into his shoulder and stared down a black scope aimed at Clint
Eastwood’s face. “This’ll make a mess of things real quick, brother.”

Dan couldn’t shut his mouth. “
Dude, that
is some serious gun porn! If we each had one of
those bad boys we could do some real damage.”

Brock handed him the weapon. “Feel the
weight.”

Dan weighed it in both hands. “Damn,
that is light as hell.”

“Has a shorter barrel to ease close
quarters combat, telescoping stock, and is capable of mounting a grenade
launcher.”

Dan and Paul turned to him with the same
looks branded into their faces.

Brock laughed and laid the weapon on an
enormous wooden desk with a tiny laptop on it. “Unfortunately, I don’t have
that attachment and this is the only M4 I got.” A toothpick dangled in the
corner of his mouth.
“Don’t have much ammo for it neither.”

“Oh great,” Dan murmured.

Brock rubbed the hair riding his lip,
studying the guns inside the safe. “
These’ll
do some
damage as well. We should split
em
up in both cars in
case we get separated or have to take off in one vehicle in a hurry.”

Dan and Paul looked at each other.

Brock shrugged his broad shoulders.
“Just in case,” he said, shooting Dan a wink and grabbing two nylon duffel bags
from a closet on the other side of the room.

After filling both bags and storing one
in each vehicle, Paul left Brock and Dan standing in the driveway, where Brock
gave Dan a crash course on operating the M4. Back inside the house, Paul caught
Cora gazing fondly at a picture of Chuck propped up on the mantelpiece. She
stared at it dreamily with a drink in her hand, not noticing Paul standing behind
her. He almost said something, but continued upstairs instead. Gingerly closing
a spare bedroom door with a light click, he leaned against it and soaked in the
silence. The room was a perfectly normal spare bedroom, but felt perfectly
strange at the same time. He draped his gun belt over a white rocking chair and
back flopped onto the bed, rubbing his puffy eyes until he saw stars.

All those guns.

Was it even worth it to try?

What was Sophia’s favorite song?

Was
this
his family now?

He couldn’t see her face.

Yawning, he decided he would go back to
Des Moines and get their photo albums as soon as it warmed up. That was all
there was to it. He couldn’t see her face again and it twisted his insides into
wet ropes. His eyes were heavy and he couldn’t remember Sophia’s favorite
restaurant. Was it Centro?
Or Americana?
A gunshot
jolted him awake. Throwing back the bedspread he didn’t recall pulling on, he
peered around the room with sleepy eyes for a moment before snatching his gun
belt and strapping on.

Wendy screamed when he stormed into the
hallway and pointed the Beretta at her face.

He lowered it. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, I was in the bathroom,”
she said, fastening her belt.

 
He ran downstairs, careful not to roll an
ankle which would be a death sentence in this world. The echo of Wendy’s shoes
slapping against the hardwood floors followed him into the kitchen. It was
empty so they bolted through the French doors and spilled out onto the deck. A
faint sobbing drifted around the corner of the house, drawing them down the
steps and into the brown grass. They ran around the corner and found everyone
gathered around a young girl lying in the driveway. Paul and Wendy lowered
their guns, squinting at the girl’s blood-stained lavender dress.

Wendy threw a hand over her mouth while Cora
stood crying beneath one of Brock’s arms. Paul looked from what was left of the
girl’s head to a purple bicycle with training wheels turned on its side next to
the
Chevelle
, tassels swaying with the breeze.

“Lindsey Wagner,” Brock said in a husky
voice, holstering his .357.
“Lived down the way.”

“This isn’t right,” Cora mumbled.

Brock pulled her closer against him and glanced
at Paul. “I played poker with her father, and Cora was tight with her mom.”

The lines around Paul’s eyes tightened
when he saw the claw marks running down the side of Lindsey’s face. The only
side left. He looked to Dan, who still had the M4 tucked in his shoulder like
this shit wasn’t over yet. Paul looked all around, brushing his hand against
his sidearm.

“She was only five,” Cora said, her
words muffled by the fist pressed to her lips.

“C’mon,
lil
lady,” Brock said, ushering her back to the house. “Everything’s
gonna
be fine.”

She shoved him away. “It’s not going to
be fine, Brock! She was just a little girl,
goddammit
!”
Cora swatted teardrops from her cheeks like they were pestering flies. “Who
would do something like this?
Who?”
Slowly, she turned
her grief-stricken gaze on Paul as if maybe he had something to do with this.
“You think flu shots did this?”

His eyes fell back to the dead girl,
heart breaking all over again. The satin bow holding back her yellow locks
matched her dress and tassels. No one was safe and it wouldn’t stop until they
were all dead. Whatever
it
was,
it
was out for extinction.

“Answer me,
dammit
!”

Paul looked up, meeting Cora’s watery
eyes. “I don’t know what did this.”

She swung her pointed glare to husband
next. “What’re you going to do about this, Brock?”

“I’ll take care of it; you just go back
inside and calm down.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

He sighed and removed his hat, running a
hand through his thick head of hair. “What do you want me to do, Cora?”

“I want you to fix it! All of it!
Everyone’s dead, for Christ’s sake. What’re we going to do?”

“We have a plan,” he told her,
struggling to maintain his composure.

She threw her hands up and feigned a bright
smile.
“Oh, a plan?
How delightful!”
Her eyes gravitated back to Lindsey, voice lowering. “Well, it looks like your
plan is a little too late.”

“Let’s go back inside, honey, and I’ll
tell you everything.”

Cora covered her mouth, tears smearing
her perfectly painted mascara.

Other than their deceased dog and neighbor,
Paul guessed she hadn’t seen much action up to this point.

“I just don’t get it,” Cora said,
turning the corner with Brock and disappearing behind the house.

The breeze ruffled Lindsey’s dress,
exposing Dora the Explorer underwear and a bite mark on the back of her left
thigh. Paul rubbed his face, whispering an expletive into the wind. He wanted
to shoot someone for this because somebody needed to pay and he was just the
man to deliver the bill.

Dan did a double take at the show car,
eyes thinning. “
Sonofabitch
” he muttered, rubbing the
driver’s side door. “She rode her bike right into the side of the car.” His
fingers traced a small scratch in the door. “Car show guy’s probably rolling
over in his grave right now.”

Wendy arched an eyebrow. “First of all,
who cares about the stupid car? You can get any car you want now, and
second of all
, we didn’t bury the car show guy. Remember?”

Dan turned his attention back to the
little girl, his voice dropping to a whisper. “She rode her bike.”

Wendy squatted down like a detective
analyzing a body found by a dog walker in a wooded park. “They can’t ride
bikes.”

“No?” Dan looked up with a drawn face.
“Why do I get a bad feeling about this?”

Paul blew out a long breath and scanned
the area for more unwanted guests, envisioning a dead farmer riding up on a big
green tractor next. Could these things adapt? Learn? He took one last look at
Lindsey before going back inside, cursing himself for the gruesome peek. It
pissed him off and Cora was right...she was just a little girl who deserved to
grow old and experience all that life had to offer. Back in the spare bedroom, he
could hear Brock and Cora arguing in the master bedroom downstairs. Mostly Cora,
crying and yelling things Paul couldn’t quite make out. He turned on his side
and curled up on the small bed, staring at the white rocking chair across the
room.

He shouldn’t be here.

This was all wrong.

He shut his eyes and tried to see
Sophia’s face but couldn’t so he tried to remember the last TV show they
watched together. Maybe that would spark something inside. His lips curled up
at one corner of his mouth.
Parenthood
.
She loved that show and he hated it but it made
her laugh so he didn’t mind. God, he missed her laugh.

Someone tapped on the bedroom door.

His eyes cracked open, bringing the
rocking chair back into focus. It was almost dark now and Paul rolled over.
“Yeah?”

“Dinner is ready,” Wendy said through
the door.

Paul checked his watch. “Okay,” he said,
amazed three hours had passed by so quickly. Silence took root and began to
grow. He could feel Wendy still standing on the other side of the door. “I
said, okay.”

She stood there not taking the hint
while Paul realized his wife was dead all over again. Waking up was the worst
part. He gritted his teeth, anger rising inside. Why wouldn’t she just leave?
Was she really that fucking stupid? They aren’t the
Bradys
.
He’ll be down when he’s good and fucking ready to come down.

“Okay,” she said, finally reading his
mind.

He listened to her footsteps fade down
the hallway, Sophia’s nosebleed springing into his mind from left field. He
swung his legs out of bed and caught a glimpse of his reflection in a freestanding
mirror in the corner of the room. The wind fled his lungs like a punch to the
gut. On shaky legs, he stepped closer to the man staring back. Paul didn’t
recognize him and reached out to touch him. To see if he’d really lost that
much weight over the past two weeks, to see if those sunken eyes were really
his. He threw on a ball cap to hide his messy hair before massaging the two
week-old scruff itching his face and neck. It wasn’t him. It was a bad
impersonator, like you’d see at some small town tulip-festival. He left the
room on heavy legs, taking one least look back over his shoulder. That wasn’t
Paul
Hessler
. That man, much like his wife, was gone
and never coming back.