“Tell me about it.” Billy shifted for more room between her and the door. “Sorry, but I had more room back in that cell.”
Curtis looked into the mirror. “Maybe we can find you a motorcycle and you can follow behind us.”
Billy laughed. “Yeah right! Why don’t I just sleep in a tent while I’m at it?” He shook his head at Wendy. “Always makin the black man sleep outside.”
Paul turned back to the road. “We’ll find something bigger soon.”
Billy stuffed half a candy bar in his mouth. “Man, we need like a SWAT truck or something.”
Looking at Paul, Curtis lowered his voice. “We should’ve taken that Porsche back at the house. Two of us could’ve ridden in that and it would’ve been a lot more fun to drive than this tank.”
“There were no keys. Remember?” Paul told him, peering into the back of the truck again.
“So,” Curtis grumbled. “Could’ve hotwired that thing in a flash.” He pressed his lips together. “Cayman GT4 too; talk about a waste.”
Billy tugged on the silver badge pinned to his gray Adidas t-shirt, shifting uneasily in the seat again. “Why you keep looking at me like that, man?”
Paul’s eyes dropped to the Taser tucked into the police duty belt around Billy’s waist. “You get a flu shot this season, Billy?”
“Flu shot?” His eyes bounced around the cab. “Hell no, I hate needles.”
“How much further?” Curtis asked.
“Just up ahead.”
“This is stupid. They’re dead and we all know it.”
“Yeah, well I don’t know it, Joe.”
Curtis glared at Billy in the mirror. “Call me Joe Dirt one more time, motherfucker, and I’ll put a hollow point through your left eye.”
“Jesus Christ, Curtis,” Paul laughed, glancing at the others. “Take it easy and relax, man. You’re not Suge Knight. And if anyone’s putting a hollow point through Billy’s eye it’s me. Okay?”
Billy stopped chewing. “Say what now?”
“Don’t listen to them.” Stephanie cracked her window. “We ran into some bad seeds yesterday and everyone’s a little on edge.”
“What happened to them? The bad seeds.”
Gazing out over the road, she twisted the sapphire ring on her finger. “They’re dead.”
Billy grew quiet and looked out his window. Idyllic countryside passed by in a perfectly normal blur…until a bloody body or mangled pickup tainted the scene. “I just need to make sure, man. It won’t take long. I haven’t stopped by for almost two months now.”
Curtis rolled his eyes. “Ain’t like we got room for em anyway.”
“Turn right up here.”
Grudgingly, Curtis took a right on a paved street lined with small houses and tall trees. Uncollected garbage bins dotted the curbside, drawing flies and dust, a grim reminder of what once was and what will never be.
“Up there on the left with the maroon minivan in the drive.”
Curtis pulled in and threw it in park, leaving the engine running. “Make it quick.”
Billy slid out and looked back. “Aren’t you guys coming with?”
Resting an arm out his open window, Curtis drummed his fingers against the wheel. “Guess not, Montel.”
“You want me to go in there by myself?”
“They’re your parents, dude.”
Billy’s stunned gaze drifted from the Taser in his police belt to the small brick home behind him. “Well, can I at least have a gun?”
Paul checked the mag in his Beretta and then slammed it home. “You have a Taser. Use it.”
“Man, I may’ve been stuck inside a cage for a while but I saw what happened to Jonny and Chubs. I know what could be waiting in there and a Taser ain’t going to do shit to those things.”
Curtis grinned at him. “Won’t know till ya try.”
Billy stared blankly back, the engine softly idling between them. He threw his hands out. “Come on man, I told you I got a DUI. I’m not a murderer! You can trust me.”
Curtis turned to Paul. “That’s how it always begins. I’m not a murderer. You can trust me.”
Wendy slid over and got out. “I’ll go.”
Paul sighed. “Godammitt, we all go,” he griped, getting out and grabbing the M4 from the duffel bag in the truck bed. Scanning the house, he pulled the strap over his head. The residence looked like any respectable home in small town USA and the ramp leading to the front door – combined with the handicapped plates on the minivan – corroborated Billy’s story about MS confining his mother to a wheelchair.
Inside the sun porch, it was hot and stinky and Billy fumbled with his keys. Paul could tell he was terrified to open that door and he had good reason. Whatever was waiting on the other side would, more than likely, make him forget all about his gruesome month in the clink with Jonny and Chubs.
“How much do your parents weigh?”
Billy frowned and looked back at Wendy. “I don’t know. My dad’s skinny as a rail but my mom’s been in a wheelchair for almost twenty years. She’s put on a few pounds. Why?”
“Because the big ones are fast,” Wendy whispered, pointing her gun at the floor and nervously looking around.
“What?”
She nodded.
“Oh great,” Billy mumbled, returning to the lock. “With America’s obesity problem we’ll be dead in a week.” He dropped the keys and Curtis shoved him out of the way, kicking the front door open and storming inside. Paul grumbled under his breath and flanked him, sweeping the living room before flowing into the dining room – both of which were outdated and smelled like someone just took a hangover shit in a potted plant.
“Damn,” Curtis said, aiming at the dead woman lying on the kitchen floor in a pool of dried blood. “Did she get up out of her chair and walk?”
“Oh my God,” Billy said softly. “That’s not my mom; that’s my grandma.”
Curtis began to step over the body and Paul stopped him, freezing the entire group in place. They stood side-by-side and listened, sunlight glinting off the police badges pinned to their shirts and coats. “You hear that?”
Billy drew his Taser, making Paul tense. “It’s coming from one of the rooms down the hall.”
Framed photos of Billy and his family lined the hallway, everyone wearing big smiles and seated at the same height as the woman in the wheelchair. Billy on one knee in a clean football uniform, Billy in a graduation cap and gown, the entire family huddled around a busy Thanksgiving dinner table with forks and knives clenched in their fists and beaming smiles stretching their faces.
“You’re married?” Paul nodded to a picture of Billy holding a pretty woman in a flowing bridal gown with a sunlit barn in the background.
“Was married,” he whispered. “She left me after the shop closed.”
Paul turned to Billy and sharpened his gaze.
“Not exactly something I like to brag about.”
Swapping a quick look with Curtis, Paul pressed on. The pounding at the end of the hallway grew louder and the stench worsened. Stopping in front of the last door on the right, he listened to the thudding behind it before turning back to Billy.
“My parents’ room.”
Paul moved to one side of the door and Curtis took the other while Wendy quietly twisted the knob and gave the door a gentle shove before stepping back. The door slowly swung inward on squeaky hinges, prickling their nerves with its rusty song and releasing a putrid smell into the hallway that made Stephanie gag. Paul and Curtis swung their guns inside, wrinkling their noses as the thick smell of decay slapped them in the face. The grossly obese woman in an electric wheelchair backed up and ran it forward into a sliding glass door leading to a patio out back. Oblivious to their presence, she backed up and rammed the door again, the motor sounding nearly as dead as she was.
Billy’s eyes dropped to the dead woman on the floor. “Holy shit, that’s my aunt.”
“I thought you said your mom packed on a few pound
s,” Curtis said, ready to shoot her.
Billy watched his mom ram the door again, jaw dangling. “Mom?”
The chair backed up and stopped. She stared out the glass door as if the voice had come from outside. No one moved as she searched for something that wasn’t there. Then, with their blood pumping in their ears, she turned the chair around to face them. Paul’s heart sank when he saw the bloated eyes hiding behind her glasses and the scratches running down the jowls sagging into her neck.
“Keep an eye out for the dad,” he whispered to Stephanie and Wendy guarding the doorway.
“Mom, it’s me Billy.”
The woman tilted her head to one side and examined her son, her curly wig nearly sliding off as a faint glimmer of recognition crept into her cloudy eyes. Paul was about to tell Billy the cold hard facts about her irreversible condition but waited to see what would happen next instead. There was a learning curve to this world and the way these things were picking it up bristled the hair on his arms. They had to learn quicker than those things did because this thing just operated the chair as if it was still human and it frightened Paul to death. They were up against the wall as it was, let alone dealing with the prospect that these things were adapting.
Learning.
Evolving.
“Where’s Dad, Mom?”
“That’s not your mom,” Paul said, ready to end this.
Straightening her head, the woman stared at Billy and, for a moment, Paul thought she would get up out of that chair – magically cured by the infection – and rush into her son’s arms. But that didn’t happen. Instead, she growled and jammed the chair’s joystick forward, charging at a low rate of speed. Curtis took aim at her hissing face.
“Wait!” Billy cried, jumping in front of him and stopping the wheelchair with a red Puma. His mom kept the throttle floored, teeth snapping like a bear trap, and the motor weakly whining. “I’ll do it.” He took aim with the black and yellow Taser gun and Paul grudgingly handed him his Beretta.
Billy looked at him before taking it.
“Take it.”
He took the gun and aimed at his mother’s face, a lone tear streaking his cheek and the gun trembling in his hand. “I’m sorry, mama, I should’ve been here. I love you.”
Mama screamed and everyone flinched with the deafening blast in such close quarters. The wig shot across the room as she flipped over backwards in the chair and spilled onto the floor. Then it was quiet.
Billy dropped the gun to his side like it weighed a hundred pounds and cried into his other hand. “This isn’t right, man. It’s not right.”
Paul watched Mama’s bald head rise from the carpet. A pair of pissed off eyes found Billy in their sights.
Billy continued sobbing into his hand. “What could do this to people, man?”
Mama growled like an animal and crawled toward them, crushing her glasses and climbing over her sister’s stiff body, moving much faster on her belly than in the chair.
“Shit!” Curtis cried, unloading a shell and removing her face.
Billy slammed Curtis against a wall, knocking a silver crucifix to the floor. “I told you I’d do it!”
“You had your shot” Curtis shoved back and pointed the shotgun at his face. “Touch me again, convict, and I’ll send you with her.”
Paul glanced at the Beretta in Billy’s hand, readying himself for Billy to reveal his true colors and spray Curtis with lead. If he was in that jail cell for something other than a DUI, something violent, this tipping point might be just the thing to trigger his rage. But instead of the gun in his hand, Billy only aimed a pointed glare at Curtis.
Paul held his hand out. “Billy.”
Billy stared at Curtis, mulling over different options in his head to the sound of their beating hearts.
“Billy.”
Wavering for another second or two, he slapped the Beretta in Paul’s hand and stormed from the room in search of his father.
☠
Back outside, Paul cleared the rot from his lungs with a deep draw of fresh air. His watery eyes scoured the neighborhood for stragglers, knowing the gunshots inside would ring the bell. The clock was ticking and after helping Billy search the backyard and garage for his absentee father, they ended up back at the truck out front.
Billy shielded his eyes from the sun. “He wouldn’t just leave her like that.”
“He would if he turned into one of those things.”
His eyes went to Curtis as a hawk screeched out above. “Yeah, maybe.”
Opening the truck door, Curtis stuck a foot inside. “Can’t say we didn’t try, hoss. Sorry about your family.”
Billy grew quiet. “So…will you guys help me bury her out back?”
Paul rested a hand on his shoulder. “We have to get going.”
“I can’t just leave her in there like that, Paul.”
“We don’t have the time and energy to bury another body. Trust me, we’ve been down that road before.” His eyes found Wendy. “Without a backhoe, it’s not worth it.”
“Well…can I at least come with you guys then?” Billy stared at the house. “I mean, there’s nothing left for me here.”
“Maybe you should wait and see if your dad comes back,” Curtis said, climbing up into the truck. “Enjoy your freedom and don’t go killing anymore people.” He slammed the door shut and started the engine, crop dusting them with exhaust.
“You’re just going to leave me here with a Taser? Alone?”
Paul sighed and looked to Wendy, Curtis and Stephanie as an elderly woman limped out from behind the neighbor’s house with a cat hanging limply in one hand and blood rimming her yawning mouth.
Chapter Fifteen
The pickup bounced with a bump in the road, shifting the gear and plastic tubs of food in the truck bed. Paul was thankful for the lull in conversation. All he could think about was getting home because home was where those pictures were and he couldn’t see her face again and it was strange how, after all these years, his mind distorted Sophia’s face into something sinister. Something he’d seen just that one time and it wrung the air from his lungs like a grand piano resting on his chest.
Curtis clicked some control buttons on the steering wheel and music poured from the truck’s speakers. “This ole highway’s getting longer, seems there ain’t no end in sight,” he sang out like he was the only person in the truck.
Casting a quick look into the back, Paul caught Stephanie biting back a smile. He arched an eyebrow and she bit harder.
“To sleep would be best, but I just can’t afford to rest. I’ve got to ride in Denver tomorrow night…”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! What the hell is this, man?”
Curtis looked in the mirror. “Sorry, Billy, all outta Lil Wayne, bro!”
Stephanie laughed out loud, tying her long dark hair into a ponytail that reminded Paul of his wife. “The only thing he’ll listen to is Garth Brooks,” she said. “The. Only. Thing.”
Billy stared at her with his jaw adrift. “What! Why didn’t you tell me this before?” He traded baffled looks with everyone as Curtis continued singing. “Naw man, take me back to my cell. I’d rather listen to those two things than this hillbilly bullshit.”
Everyone broke up laughing and it felt good and Paul felt guilty for doing so when Sophia was decomposing in the ground but he let it out just the same. If he didn’t, he knew he’d crack.
“Where we headed anyway?” Billy asked, shifting for more room in the backseat.
“Paul’s house in Iowa.”
He frowned at Wendy. “Iowa? Where the hell’s that?”
Paul ran a hand through his hair. “A day or two out, depending on…whatever pops up.”
“What’s in Iowa besides corn and cows?”
“He needs to get some photo albums.”
Billy screwed his face up. “Photo albums?”
“His wife.”
He followed Wendy’s gaze to Paul and slowly closed his mouth. “Shit, I should�
�ve grabbed some pictures at my parents’ house. I didn’t even think about it.”
Curtis stopped singing. “We can go back if ya want.”
“Seriously?”
“Hell no.”
“Dick,” Billy groaned. “Hey, you guys sure you didn’t find my cell phone in that evidence room?” He searched their faces. “There were some good pictures of my family on it.”
“Just what we gave you,” Paul told him, resisting the urge to trade a knowing look with Curtis. That was the third time Billy asked about his cell phone and Paul didn’t know what was on it but one thing was certain: Billy wanted it back.
The truck’s large tires picked up the slack in conversation. One dead town after another passed by in a dreary smudge. Paul felt each town’s pain. With every day that passed, he was just like them. Forsaken. Changed. A little more dead. He barely recognized the man in the mirror and it was beyond daunting. One month ago, he was making a good living. Today, he was struggling to live. An ironic twist that did not go unnoticed. Shutting his eyes against the setting sun, he let the droning tires pull him under.
The truck bounced hard and he sat bolt upright in the front seat, taking in his surroundings by the silver-blue of twilight. “Where are we?” he panted, wiping a greasy sheen from his forehead.
Curtis puckered his brow with the motor idling, hand resting at twelve sharp on the wheel.
Paul swallowed. “What?”
“You just scared the piss out of me with your nancy-boy scream, that’s what.”
He sank into the seat, unsure if he’d fallen asleep or not. Focusing on the two-story house sitting before them, he waited for his night vision to catch up to his racing brain.
Curtis threw it in park and exhaled. “I thought someone was coming through my window or something, man! Damn!”
“Sorry.” Paul checked his weapons. “Could you’ve found a creepier looking place?” he asked, noting the peeling white paint and overgrown bushes swallowing the rickety front porch. The upstairs dormers looked like eyes and the front door a gaping mouth just waiting to be fed.
“Ran out of daylight quicker than I thought and, outside of a meat packing plant, nothing else is around.”
Dead Series (Book 2): A Little More Dead: Gunfire & Sunshine Page 13
