This Would Be Paradise (Book 2) (9 page)

The next morning arrived alarmingly fast. Maybe it was because of the concussion, but I didn’t really believe that. Other than a minor headache, made bearable by a couple of Tylenols, I was ready to go. I made sure to take off the gauze swathed around my head; it certainly wouldn’t inspire confidence that I was okay to drive.

Chloe and I waited by the entrance with our bags. Roy had taken Amanda to his daughter’s grave to say their goodbyes before we headed off.

“Here, you’ll need this,” Mac said and passed me a duffel bag.

I took it and peeked inside. Two rifles were nestled between boxes of bullets—one an AR-15 and the other a M4.

I held the bag out to give it back. “I can’t accept these. You need them.”

Mac folded his arms. “Nope, there’s no way we’re letting you go out there with one handgun.”

“If all goes according to plan, we’ll have more weapons by the end of the day,” I said, lowering the bag. It was heavy.

“Well, if all
doesn’t
go according to plan, at least you’ll have these.”

“Thank you,” I said, giving in.

Mac grinned. “You’re welcome, miss.”

“You sure you don’t need any more first aid supplies?” Elaine asked.

She’d given us a final look-over to make sure we were healthy. At least our bodies were—sort of. The stitches in my scalp were still intact and the cut was infection-free, plus I hadn’t experienced any dizziness. Even my creaky elbow had gone into remission. A good sign? I’d like to think so. Chloe’s arm was well on its way to being healed, though she’d be left with a nasty scar.

“Nope, we have enough.” I didn’t want to deplete their stash any more than we already had.

They’d generously provided us with some canned goods, and Mac had packed us a lunch for the road. I found myself shuffling my feet. Their kindness was making it even harder to say goodbye. At least we were getting the chance to say it, instead of some horrible event tearing us apart without giving us the opportunity to so much as wave. Leaving was on our terms—mostly. The survivors were running Roy out, and I wanted to continue on.

The roar of an engine drew my attention to the front door. Roy waved at us from the rusted truck he was taking for the trip. He said old trucks were built better and easier to fix, so he tuned up one they’d found while scavenging the small town a while back. It looked like it was on its last leg, but then again, so did my old Honda Civic, which had carted me around for six years back home.

We got hugs from everyone, and more than a couple of faces were teary-eyed despite the way things had gone down. Not everyone had turned up, just the ones we’d become friends with, of which there weren’t many left.

“Don’t you dare be strangers. If you find yourself nearby, you better come see us,” Mac said.

I looked at all the expectant faces. “I’ll do you one better. Once we find Hargrove, we’ll come get you.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Mac crushed me in a giant bear hug. “You better get going. You’ll need all the daylight you can get.”

We walked out into the sunny morning, the rays warming my exposed skin. I was starting to really enjoy that sensation.

“I’m gonna miss ‘em,” Chloe muttered as we made our way to our parked car.

I placed my hand on her head. “Me too, but we’ll see them again.”

I wouldn’t miss what had happened here, but the people we were leaving behind. That was always the hardest part.

I pulled the car beside Roy’s rust bucket so the drivers’ sides were parallel and rolled down the window.

“You ready to go?” I asked, more as a formality.

Roy nodded. “We’ll be behind you the whole way.”

I rolled up the window and started toward the interstate. The added protection of the two rifles Mac had given us made me feel incrementally better. At least we could use them if the infected swamped us, which was probable the closer we got to New Orleans.

The guards stationed at the town’s exit ramp waved us by. I waved back and we turned down the long stretch of highway. Since we no longer had to worry about oncoming traffic, we could drive on the wrong side of the road. I’d laid the map out on the dash, the roughly estimated route drawn from my memory of the map John had marked.

We weren’t looking for the main bridge that crossed the Mississippi River, but the one on the outskirts that led to the area where we’d found that first grocery store. To find this, we’d have to get off the interstate and take some back roads. I hoped I’d recognize something to instill confidence in this plan. This trip felt kind of like a crapshoot.

An hour later, a honk from Roy’s truck had me hitting the brakes. Before we left, we’d decided one honk was the signal to stop. I peered in the rearview mirror to see that Roy had stalled, smoke seeping out from under the hood of his truck.

“What’s he doin’?” Chloe asked as she squinted at her side mirror.

I scanned the area as best as I could from inside the car for any immediate threats, but the highway remained a testament to the lack of life.

“I’m guessing his old truck is hooped.” I sighed. “So much for old trucks being built better.”

Nothing ever went smoothly. Was safe passage too much to ask for?

I grabbed my handgun from my backpack loaded in the back seat and told Chloe, “Stay in the car. I’ll signal for you to come out when I’m sure the area’s safe.”

I hurried over to the truck, waving at the smoke and steam to clear my view.

“What’s wrong?” I asked Roy. He was already in front of the truck, with the hood propped up.

“Not sure, but I think there’s a leak in the radiator. The temperature’s too high and the engine is struggling. I just need ten minutes to tinker with it.” Roy hunched over the engine, wrench in hand.

“I’ll give the area a once-over to make sure nothing’s right by us,” I said.

He looked up from the guts of the truck. “Stay close and don’t be a hero. Yell if you get into trouble.”

“I have no intention of playing hero. That only gets you dead.” I left him with those words and backtracked down the road.

Though the highway had been clear during our drive, the noise could’ve attracted some unwanted attention. I kept the vehicle in sight as I made my way down the interstate. I checked the ditches in either side of the highway and when nothing even so much as moved, I headed back.

Amanda stuck her head out the passenger window. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything looks good so far. And it seems like your dad knows what he’s doing.”

Roy had crawled under the truck, his feet sticking out like the witch from the Wizard of Oz who’d had the house dropped on her.

“Yeah, Dad used to fix up old cars all the time. You should have seen all the tools he had!” Amanda said in a rush.

“Good th—”

A car horn blasted.

Chloe
.

I took off like a marathoner toward the car. She knew what the noise could draw in and wouldn’t have dared risk it unless there was danger. As I approached the car, I could see the outline of a body against the passenger side of the car. I could tell it wasn’t the groping hand of an infected, but the intent hands of a living person jingling the door handle. Chloe must have hit the lock button before the man could get in. Thank God.

“Step away from the car or I’ll blow your head off,” I ordered, a couple paces from the person.

He turned around, hands in the air. He looked at the gun I was aiming right at him and stepped back.

Roy had gone around to the driver’s side, where Chloe was huddled.

“Stay inside and keep the doors locked,” Roy told her when she was about to get out.

“I wasn’t gonna try anythin’. I just need a ride,” the shaggy man said.

He lowered his hands, his ragged shirt sagging past his shoulder, revealing a bloodied bandage.

Too late, he pulled the neck of the shirt up and cast me a pitiful look. “Please.”

I pointed the gun to his shoulder. “You get that from an infected?”

“This? No, no.” He waved it off. “This is just from some scrap metal. Been tryin’ to salvage items.”

“For what?”

“Umm.” His breathing became shallow. “You know, for radios and armor.” He took a step toward me and I took one back. “Please, miss. I ain’t no problem. Just need a ride. Been lookin’ for this Hargrove place. You heard ‘bout it?”

Without warning, he charged me. I fired off a shot before he tackled me to the ground. I lost my grip on the gun, and it skidded away from all the wrestling. I kicked and thrashed at the man.

“I didn’t want to do it this way!” he yelled desperately. “You made me! We could’ve gone together!”

He was certifiably insane—and possibly infected.

With a loud cracking sound, the man stopped his screaming. His jaw went slack, and he toppled over. Roy stood over him, bloody wrench in hand. I scrambled to my feet, fighting off a wave of dizziness, and scanned the interstate for my handgun. Once I found it, I rejoined Roy, who was standing watch over the crumpled heap that was the insane man.

Roy looked at me. “He’s not dead. I just knocked him out.”

I stretched out my arms and legs. He hadn’t done any damage, but getting tossed to the ground hadn’t done my head any favors. I took a few deep breaths through my nose to clear the dizziness.

“Did you figure out what was wrong with the truck?” I asked, switching topics.

“Ah, yeah, I think so.” Roy looked like a doctor delivering bad news. “The engine coolant reservoir bottom is completely cracked. I can’t repair it with the things we have.”

“I guess it’ll be a cramped drive. I’ll back up the car and we can toss in everything that’ll fit.”

“What about him?” Roy motioned to the unconscious man.

Blood welled from the wound in his head and leaked onto the asphalt.

“We leave him.”

Chloe unlocked the door so I could get back in and Roy returned to his truck.

“I’m sorry I honked the horn! I know it was loud, but I didn’t know what to do.” Chloe said in a rush.

“Are you kidding? How else would we have known there was a crazy drifter?” She needed to understand that she hadn’t done anything wrong.

“A what?”

“Never mind. It’s all good. Besides, that shot I fired off was just as loud, so we have to get going, ASAP.”

Before we took off, I swallowed a couple more pain relievers to decrease the dull ebb in my head that had returned thanks to the crazy man. I put my arm on the back of the passenger seat and craned my neck to see out the back window as I reversed the car. I maneuvered away from the man, careful not to run him over. That was the last thing I wanted to hear: bones cracking.

Roy was already piling their meager supplies beside the truck by the time I reached them. I popped the trunk and he started throwing items in before I even got out of the car. We had to squish the trunk hood closed using our combined weight. Roy made sure the trucker’s radio was safely stowed on the dash.

Chloe and Amanda would have to take the backseat, since they were the smallest. They had about one and a half seats between the two of them, as the rest of the back was piled to the roof with bags and supplies.

No one had better open the door behind the driver’s seat. Otherwise, everything would come pouring out. Roy took up the passenger’s seat, the map already on his lap. He smelled faintly of gasoline, since he’d syphoned the remaining gas from the truck.

“Okay, let’s try this again,” I said, turning the engine back on.

We drove passed the drifter, who was now sitting up, rubbing his head.

“Hey! Wait!”

At his screams, I looked back to see him chasing after the car, but once the odometer hit fifty, he collapsed on the road. Chloe and Amanda peered out the back window, standing on their knees, as he got smaller and smaller in our dust.

“I think we’re lost,” Roy said and held up the map.

He cocked his head as though he were examining a painting at an art gallery. Navigating the interstate had been easy. Once we turned off, however, things got tricky. We managed to cross the bridge we’d been looking for and were technically in New Orleans, or at least on the very cusp of the city. I remembered using side streets to get out of the city, but unfamiliar one ways were all we had to go on.

I let out a harsh breath and parked the car, turning off the engine. No point in letting it idle; it would just burn gas.

“Did you happen to catch that street sign back there?” I asked Roy, since I’d been more focused on driving than navigating.

“Yeah, but I don’t see it on here,” he muttered, pulling the map in for a closer inspection.

I looked around our parking spot. The street was more residential than the others. Unkempt green grass surrounded the paved road and ate away at the cracks. A couple of scattered infected wandered around in the immediate area and would undoubtedly make their way over to us. I was about to get out of the car to dispatch them, when Chloe yelled, “Look!”

She pushed her head between the front seats, pointing to some signage on the side of the street.

“Ho-ly shit.” I gaped at the giant poster pegged into the ground.

The camo-themed sign read: “Bobby-Joe’s Gun Shop. Three miles. Take left at intersection.”

“I take it that’s where we’re heading?” Roy asked, setting down the map.

“Good eye,” I said to Chloe and she sat back with a big grin on her face. “This makes things a lot easier.”

I couldn’t believe our luck. I knew John had at least one billboard for the store, but it looked like he’d put out signs as well.
Thank you, John.

Roy looked at me, smiling as much as Chloe was. “Guess we just follow the sign.”

I turned the ignition, the engine grumbling to life, and hurried down the road before the infected closed in on us. They chased us for a short distance until we turned left at the intersection. We continued down the road for almost three miles, until the familiar gravel pit of a parking lot came into view.

“This is it!” Chloe squealed from the backseat.

My heart rate elevated along with my excitement. Finally, something was going right.

I parked out front, no other vehicles in the vicinity.

“I’ll go in first and check it out. You stay here with the girls. I’ll come get you when it’s clear,” I announced.

“I don’t think you should go in there alone,” Roy said.

“Then what do you suggest? We can’t leave Chloe and Amanda in here by themselves. What if another crazy drifter comes along?”

Roy looked kept looking between the girls and me. “Not like we have boatloads of options.”

I filled up the magazine with what was left of our ammo stash and grabbed my trusty axe. I was reaching for the door handle, when Roy grabbed my arm.

“Wait.” He peered out of the car at the empty parking lot and then got out. “Pop the trunk.”

I did and followed him out to see what he was doing. He was rummaging through the overstuffed pile.

“It’s in here somewhere, just give me a second,” he mumbled.

I waited for whatever rabbit in a hat he’d produce. Roy pulled out a duffle bag and slid open the zipper. After more rooting around, he pulled out a long, yellow string. On the end of it was a whistle.

“You’re kidding me. A rape whistle?” I cocked my hip.

Roy looked at the whistle dangling from his finger. “Think of it as a trouble whistle. You run into something more than you can handle, blow it and I’ll come running.”

“You think you’ll hear it all the way out here?”

“I’ll roll down the window a smidgen.” He wiggled the whistle in front of my nose.

“Fine.” I took it from him and stuffed it in my pocket. I glanced around the area. “Looks like the area is okay. I’ll be quick.”

I headed toward the back entrance. The lawn behind the shop was even more overgrown than before. The worn footpath was hard to see through all the dense foliage. The back door was now secured by a chain and lock, since Ethan had destroyed the deadbolt. I lifted my axe and swung. The chain rattled but didn’t fall off like I had hoped it would. I decided instead to chop at the wooden doorframe to free one side of the chain. After a good couple of whacks, the chain came off the frame and hung on the door like an overcooked noodle.

I opened the door wide and waited to see if anything would pop out. That hadn’t been the quietest of entrances. When nothing appeared, I went inside. Last time, the lights had been on, but now the only source of illumination was the sun coming in through the front windows and backdoor. With my axe at the ready, I prowled down the short hallway that led to the display floor. I cursed the creaky floorboards as they creaked from my added weight.

On the positive side, there was no one in the display area. The negative side was that there wasn’t a single gun in sight, and scavengers had picked the bullet shelving clean. I lowered my axe in defeat and leaned against the wall, taking in the empty room.

This trip had been all for nothing. We hadn’t found our friends or any weapons. And now I felt even more lost than before. I retraced my steps, heading back out, and stopped at John’s office. I twisted the door handle, but it was locked. With the backdoor chained up, why would John also lock his office? It wasn’t locked the first time we had come here.

I wedged my axe in between the door and frame and heaved. The splintering sound of wood giving way spurred me on, and I leveraged the axe until the door broke open. I was getting good at this whole breaking and entering thing. The small space was lit thanks to the skylight. Metallic red caught my eye as I entered the room.

On the desk in the middle of the room was a Beretta with a red bow on top and two boxes of 9mm bullets. I picked up the gun and examined it. The piece was exactly like the ones I’d lost. This couldn’t be random. I smiled as I spotted the paper underneath. Unfolding the note, my smile grew bigger and I laughed aloud. Ethan, in his messy scrawl, had written:

Bailey, I hope you get this. We found Hargrove. We left you a map with directions. Please follow them and get here as soon as possible. Ethan.