Brock sat back, lit up a thick cigar and informed them he had been a fifty-nine year-old foreman for a local construction company before the outbreak and was now just a fifty-nine year-old. Cora, he went on, was the ever doting housewife and they had been married for thirty-three years.
No medical training flashed through Paul’s mind.
They lived here alone, Brock told them, blowing smoke up around the dining room’s darkened chandelier. Chuck, their only son, died tragically in a motorcycle accident three years ago when an elderly woman pulled out in front of him in her 1997 Buick Skylark. Later, she would tell the police she had never seen him coming. Said she didn’t have the best vision around the edges.
“But that didn’t stop the idiots at the DMV from giving her a damn license, mind you!” Cora said, slamming some plates into the sink with a loud clatter. It sounded like one of them broke.
Silence stormed the room and Wendy looked down to her hands. Brock took a hefty puff off the cigar and studied the three of them, seeming to debate something in his head. He glanced to the kitchen and continued his tale.
Chuck had been married but never had any kids, leaving Cora and Brock to be parents, forever jealous of their grandparent friends. Since Chuck’s funeral, they had only seen his wife, Lisa, one time when she came by to drop off the last of Chuck’s personal belongings. That was over two and a half years ago and – outside of the cows - Cora and Brock were pretty much on their own now.
Brock moved on to proudly state for the record, he shot their nearest neighbor, Ted Clark, right between the eyes just over a week ago when Ted came slinking around late one night looking for some cuts of human steak and found their dog instead. Brock said he’d wanted to shoot Ted for years too and finally found a good enough reason. A booming laugh slipped out from beneath his burly mustache and faded with the cigar smoke above. Then his voice became heavy, as he told them how he buried Jasper under a Sawtooth Oak out behind the machine shed. Paul heard Cora sobbing in the kitchen.
“I just loved that damn dog too!” she hollered.
Brock took off his hat and rubbed his face with leathery fingers.
Paul wondered if animals could come back to life after a bite from one of those things. If they could, it was game over. They’d never be able to dodge all of the dogs, cats, squirrels, and birds running rampant these days.
“There’s chocolate chip cookies for dessert,” Cora said with a sniffle, setting a package of Pepperidge Farm chocolate chunk cookies on the table. “Brock always has to have his chocolate fix right after any meal, even breakfast.”
Brock wasted no time digging in either.
“Not hungry, sweetie?” Cora asked, looking down at Paul’s plate.
“Huh? Oh yeah, not really, but it was very good. Thank you.”
“Well, you are very welcome,” she said, sweeping the plate away. “I’ll leave all the leftovers out for y’all to help yourselves to later, if ya get hungry. The meat should be good for a couple more hours anyhow.”
Brock watched her disappear into the kitchen, “So, you’re headin to the ocean, huh?” he asked with a mouthful of cookies and mainly looking at Paul.
Paul nodded, without expanding. They’d already gone over this.
“Not a bad plan,” Brock said again, blowing more pungent smoke across the fancy room, chewing cookies and drinking lukewarm beer at the same time. “The warm air will be nice. I don’t know if the dumb things can swim or not but I doubt it. Sons of guns can hardly walk as it is.”
“Oh, I do love the ocean!” Cora said, gracefully sitting back down at the table and batting her pretty green eyes at Brock. “We get down to Galveston at least twice a year to see my sister,” she said, like those plans were still on.
“Be able to finally take a bath in that ocean!” Brock laughed, followed by a loud rolling belch.
“Brock!” Cora snapped.
Wendy grinned. “I’ve never been to the ocean before, so I’m kind of excited, but I hope those things can’t swim because I wanna learn how to surf!”
“Well, unless there’s a hurricane, there won’t be much for waves down there, darling,” Brock said, bursting her bubble.
“So you boarded up the windows, huh?” Dan asked, looking around the room and finishing off a can of warm Coke, causing Cora to pop up and fetch him another one from the kitchen.
“Yeah, didn’t know what else to do. Thought this all might blow over in a few days but I don’t reckon that’s the way she’s gonna go,” Brock said, inhaling his second cookie. “Went to town to get some food two days ago and had to shoot Lester McConnel, our town sheriff. Turns out his bite was worse than his bark!” Another big laugh escaped him.
“He didn’t bite you, did he?” Dan nervously asked.
“Hell no, dropped him ‘fore he even got close. But I spect you take a bite from one of those stiffs, you might just turn into one yerself.”
Dan and Wendy looked at Paul, but didn’t say anything. He figured he would tell Brock his suspicions were correct when the time was right. It was important they knew the truth. They needed to know just how little room for error there was in this nightmare but he didn’t feel like bringing it up right now.
“Thank you,” Dan said, when Cora set another can of pop in front of him.
“But I tell you what, going on these “shopping trips” alone ain’t the most unassailable thing to do anymore,” Brock said, finishing his can of Coor’s Light, prompting Cora to usher the empty away.
Paul wondered what unassailable meant.
“Anybody else need anything?” she hollered from the kitchen.
Wendy said she’d take another glass of wine.
Brock leaned forward. “I won’t let Cora go with me. Too dangerous,” he whispered. “If anything ever happened to her I don’t know what I’d do.”
Paul had an idea: go crazy for starters. He noticed Dan staring at him from across the table and Paul dropped his eyes to the package of cookies. Then, out of what was fast becoming a habit, he discreetly brushed his hand against his gun, just to make sure it was still there. Like he would sometimes do with his wallet at the mall or a concert.
“So, what do you think of our Chevelle?” Dan asked, attempting to change the subject. “She’s pretty fast!”
Wendy laughed and shook her head. “You and that car make quite the couple.”
“Jealous?” Dan asked.
“You wish!” she said, grinning and curling a lock of long blond hair around a finger.
Brock glanced to Dan, then turned back to Paul. “I’m not gonna lie to you, I’m worried about her,” he said. “I hate to leave her here alone for any amount of time. And if something happened to me...” he trailed off as Cora reentered the dining room with the beer and wine.
Paul thought he saw tears welling up in Brock’s eyes.
“Y’all will just have to stay the night,” Cora said, passing out the drinks. “We’ve got plenty of room. I’ll make pancakes for breakfast, Brock likes chocolate chips in his, so we can do that too if ya want.”
Paul thought he knew where Brock was going before Cora had whisked back into the room, and so far, with Brock’s way around guns and Cora’s around the kitchen, they could be valuable assets to have down the road. Lord knows, they could use all of the alliances they could get. Set yourself up rolled through his head.
Eventually, they moved into the comfy living room with its oversized leather furniture and large stone hearth. Thick pine woodwork ran everywhere from the floors to the exposed beams in the ceiling. It looked like a Texas steak house in there and smelt like one too. Giant potted plants dotted two corners of the spacious room while a huge flat-screen TV battled the impressive fireplace for attention. Lamps, with shades made from the hide of some kind of brown and white animal, were perched upon tables strewn with small statues of black bears, longhorns and deer. They drank and talked for a short while longer as Cora rounded up plenty of clean bedding for them to sleep on.
�
��Y’all help yourself to anything you need,” she said, preparing to call it a night. “There’s plenty of food and water in the kitchen.”
“We’ll see y’all in the morning,” Brock said, throwing a meaty arm around Cora’s shoulders.
“You sure you don’t wanna take any of the beds in the spare rooms?” Cora asked one last time.
Dan looked confused. “Umm, we usually sleep in the same room together.”
“Well, have fun with that!” Brock snickered. “Me and the Mrs. got some unfinished business to tend to,” he said, shooting them a wink and leading Cora down the hall.
She let out a yelp and laughed when he pinched her rear end.
“Nothin gettin in here, so sleep tight!” he yelled just before shutting their bedroom door.
Paul looked at all the boards running across the living room windows and figured Brock was right. Even the French doors in the kitchen had removable boards running across them. This was going to be a much safer place to sleep in than any of those old farm houses. Warmer too. Regardless of the peace of mind, he still felt wide awake. Unfamiliar surroundings had a way of doing that to him. And without Sophia snuggled up tightly next to him, things were real unfamiliar now.
Paul blew out the candles and quietly pulled Sophia’s hoodie from his duffel bag and clutched it to his face, breathing it in. He dreaded falling asleep again, knowing the same types of feverish dreams would be awaiting him. One minute she would be there with him, gone the next. Always trying to solve a dilemma and get out of a jam. Running. Hiding. Laughing. Crying. He decided to stay awake instead and steer clear of the traps the distorted madness had set for him in there. He was pretty sure he heard Dan and Wendy kissing just before he fell into a deep, dark slumber.
The early morning sun slithered its way through the boards across the windows, refusing to be denied entry. Paul woke up before the others, thankful his night of sleep was now behind him. He needed the rest but it had left him with bits and pieces of nightmares floating around in his thick head. Even his dreams left him feeling tired and depressed.
He slipped out from beneath his covers and carefully stepped over Wendy and Dan. Quietly, he threw on his gun and coat and went out onto the back deck, where he plopped down into a cushioned patio chair. It was wet with dew.
The morning was cool and peaceful in Victoria, Texas. From here, you would never even know anything had changed. The cows were still grazing and the birds were still singing while early sunshine reflected off Shelly1 in sparkling fashion. He figured Brock for an early riser and was surprised he wasn’t up yet. Probably one too many cans of beer last night.
“‘Nother nice one out today, huh boss?” Brock said, startling him as he stepped out onto the deck and closed the door behind him.
Paul turned to him. “Yeah it is.”
“Sleep okay?” he asked, sporting blue jeans, a starchy beige button down with the sleeves rolled up and, of course, his brown boots and signature cowboy hat.
“Yeah. You?”
He nodded. “A full belly will do that for a man,” he said, patting his stomach and taking a deep breath of the fresh morning air that smelled like cow poop. He released it, ruffling his combed mustache and resting his right hand on the cannon tucked inside an old western drop-loop holster with leather strings firmly attaching it just above his knee. He looked like he was ready for his duel scene in a western movie.
“Little chilly this morning, huh?” he said, taking a seat across from Paul.
Paul cracked a thin smile, slightly annoyed he couldn’t get a couple minutes alone.
“Cora’s gonna get some coffee goin here soon, if you’re a coffee drinker. Otherwise there’s soda and what not in there.”
“Coffee’d be good,” Paul replied, glancing down to his gun stuffed inside its dark canvas home. It seemed like a pea-shooter compared to Brock’s.
It had been over a week now and he still wasn’t used to carrying a weapon every step he took. But guns were like American Express cards now, never leave home without em.
“Well Dan was right, that sure is some sweet ride,” Brock said, fondly gazing at the black Chevelle. “I suppose we’ll all have one soon enough. Personally, I take more pride in things I have worked for, but...” he trailed off, turning to his cows, which were now mooing loudly at his presence.
They sat listening to the cows moo and the birds sing. Two squirrels went zigzagging after each other across the brown grass, going on with their furry little lives with a business as usual attitude that reminded Paul of digging his wife’s grave. He wondered what the weather was like there this morning and hoped it wasn’t raining.
“Listen Paul,” Brock began, jerking him from his thoughts. “I know we just met and all, but you folks seem like some real decent people, and I like to think I’m a pretty good judge of character too. Had to be, with some of the people I used to interview, half of em were ex-cons. I also realize this ain’t the world we knew three anymore and I’m man enough to admit it. That world is gone.”
Paul looked down to his hands and stopped himself from twiddling his thumbs.
“And in this world,” Brock struggled to continue. “I reckon it’s important to make friends quick because right now, our enemies outnumber us a hundred to one. Maybe a thousand to one. Hell, I don’t know. Maybe more. And like I told ya last night, I worry about Cora.” He bent forward, trying to catch Paul’s unfocused eyes, staring at his hands.
Paul slowly looked up to Brock’s narrow eyes.
“And if somethin were ever to happen to me, she’d be in a real heap of trouble. Even if somethin don’t happen to me, she’s probably in a real heap of trouble,” he snorted. “But I’m just one man and trips into town are what scare me the most. I don’t know if I’m more worried I’ll run into trouble while I’m gone or that she will.” His gaze drifted back out to the cows. “Too scared to take her with and leave her inside the truck while I run into the store...” He paused again as the wheels spun in his mind and looked back to Paul.
“Long of the short is, I think you’ve got a good plan here, Paul. And...” he strained. “And if you don’t mind, we’d like to join y’all. I got my own truck and gear, and I think we could benefit from each other’s company. I really do. I’m no stranger to protecting those around me,” he said tapping his holster.
Paul smiled. “I noticed.”
“And Cora whips up a mean batch of whatever she’s got a mind to, so...”
“Listen, Brock,” he interrupted, saving him from going any further. “We appreciate your hospitality and to be honest, you’re right,” he said, knowing he wouldn’t have to give Brock the same “carry your own weight” speech he had given to Carla. “I think we can use your help just as much as you can use ours. The only way any of us are going to survive this whole thing is if we stick together. We have to find as many other survivors as we possibly can, especially those with any kind of medical training.”
The word survivors clanged around inside his head for a few seconds. He was almost positive it was the first time he had ever used it out loud. He didn’t like the word. It made things too real.
Brock’s eyes lit up.
“But I gotta warn ya,” Paul continued. “Our odds haven’t been so hot.” His gaze dropped back to his hands and he told Brock about Carla, Matt and Mike. And then about Sophia. Once again, it took everything he had not to cry. He was sick of crying, let alone doing it in front of the Marlboro Man.
Brock dropped his head and sighed. Seconds dragged by like hours. “Well,” he said, looking back to Paul. “I’m real sorry to hear that, Paul. I really am.” His gaze fell to the glass patio table and then swung back out to the cows. “But don’t think for one minute that the good Lord doesn’t have big plans for you, because He does,” he said heavily, meeting Paul’s eyes again and raising his mustache just enough to let Paul know he was smiling. “Not for one minute.” He reached over and plopped a large hand on Paul’s shoulder and squeezed.
T
he comment took Paul by surprise and his expression showed it.
Dan spilled out onto the deck with two mugs of steaming hot coffee, courtesy of the camping stove.
“Okay, who ordered the venti caffe mocha?”
Brock scrunched his gruff face up and leaned back in the chair. “The what?”
“Never mind, yours is coming,” Dan said, handing Paul one of the mugs. “So how’s everyone doing?” he asked, with a bit more of a bounce in his step than usual.
“We’re doin’ just fine, Dan. In fact, Paul and I were just discussing the possibility of me and the Mrs. joining y’all on your trip south, if that were to be alright with you and Wendy of course.”
“Really?” he said, grinning and sitting down at the table. “We could totally use a gunslinger like you around, not to mention Cora’s home cooking.”
Brock smiled and nodded.
“Hear ya go, big guy,” Cora said right on cue, cascading out onto the deck and handing Brock a mug of smoking hot coffee. The mug had a picture of a blue moose sticking a knife into a toaster next to a plate of waffles that read “Drink your coffee before you do something stupid”.
Paul noticed Cora had herself another glass of cola that he could have sworn had a whiff of whiskey and it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet.
“Did you boys sleep okay?” she asked, sipping her drink.
“Like a rock,” Dan said.
Paul nodded.
She smiled. “That’s good; I’ll have breakfast ready real soon.” She kissed Brock on the cheek and floated back inside.
Brock watched her go and Paul suddenly felt like he was the only person in the world who didn’t get lucky last night.
Wendy came out with her own piping hot cup of coffee next. “Morning,” she said, yawning and lighting up a cigarette.
Paul’s heart sank when he saw Sophia’s pink gun in Wendy’s holster.
“That’s a bad habit to tango with there, little lady,” Brock said. “My brother died of lung cancer six years ago, thanks to those coffin sticks.”
“Oh, you’re one to talk, cigar-man,” she snorted, smoke rolling out her nostrils. “Plus, I figure cancer just slid to the back of the things to worry about line anyway.”
COLD FAITH AND ZOMBIES Page 17
