Dead Series (Book 3): A Little More Alive

by Sean Thomas Fisher

  When both vehicles were gassed up and everyone was inside and ready to go, Paul set Wendy’s backpack at her feet and listened to her sob even harder. She knew this was a death sentence and so did he. But so was having her around.

  “Paul, I’ll never do anything like that again. I promise.”

  He swallowed past the kink in his throat and tried not to let his voice crack when he spoke. “I know you won’t.”

  Tears streamed down her face, glistening in the early light and mixing with the clear liquid running from her nose. Scowling, she slapped his cheek. “You bastard!”

  He backpedaled to the driver’s side of the Suburban, weapon hanging in his hands and Sophia’s gun tucked in the small of his back.

  “You can’t just leave me here! I don’t even know where we are!”

  Opening his door, he pulled the pink gun from his waistband and set it on the console next to Stephanie before passing her the M4.

  Wendy pulled at her hair with both hands. “You’re not even going to give me a gun? You might as well just shoot me now!”

  “We’ll throw it in the ditch on our way out of town. Billy put some ammo, food and water in your backpack.”

  She threw her hands out, the hint of a sadistic grin tugging on her lips. “So that’s it?” She laughed madly into the wind. “After saving your life how many times now, this is where it gets me? Stranded in Leadville-fucking-Colorado!”

  He stared at her for a terribly long moment and watched her cry, wishing things could be different. Wishing she could come with them. Next to him, she was the only person who ever met Sophia and Dan and that weighed on his pounding heart, restricting the blood flow to his head. “Now we’re even,” he said, climbing inside.

  Wendy stomped a foot into the ground. “Everyone has left me my entire life! So why not you too, Paul?”

  He slammed the door shut, drowning out her high-pitched pleas, and hit the locks.

  “Hey man, you’re not really going to leave her here.” Billy stared at Paul in the mirror from the backseat. “Are you?”

  “She pushed my sister into that straggler. She’s in love with the great one here and can’t be trusted.”

  Billy frowned at Curtis and slowly shook his head. “Man, that’s a cold ice tea.”

  Stephanie glanced at Paul from the passenger seat, waiting to see what he would do next. Knowing she just came inches from death’s door, she turned back to the front windshield when Paul started the vehicle. He put it in drive but kept the brake down, watching the past play out against the snowcapped mountains rising in the foreground. It seemed like an eternity ago – the mint-colored couch, the Chevelle, Wavy Gravy, and the beach house skipped through his mind like a scratched record. They had been through so much together and this didn’t seem right. His tight gaze wandered back to Stephanie and, in his mind’s eye, he saw Mr. Rodgers bite into her wrist again. Blowing out a defeated breath, he pulled onto Highway 91 and tried not to watch Wendy get smaller in the mirror. Tried not to watch her just stand there and stare after them. Stephanie tossed Sophia’s gun out the window into the right-side ditch, tightening Paul’s grip on the wheel, and Wendy sprinted for the weapon with the backpack swinging in her hand. Turning back to the road, he got into the accelerator with his stomach twisting into wet ropes.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The dead man was still riding the ski lift when they pulled into Copper Mountain. The sprawling parking lot looked like a massive Carmax and Paul quietly wondered if a snowstorm had prevented everyone from leaving when the outbreak ripped the country’s throat open with razor-sharp talons. The extensive number of condos and shops and restaurants drained what little energy he had left after leaving Wendy in the rearview mirror. Set against a snow-covered mountain with manicured runs dripping down its side like melting ice cream, the ski village was much larger than Paul remembered. It would take days to clear with only eight people – one of which, he couldn’t forget, was a six-year-old little girl named Olive. His eyes went to the mirror and squeezed past the gear tucked in back to the Cadillac Escalade slowly motoring behind them. He glanced to his left at the dead man heading back up the lift, feeling guilty thinking about how much harder this was going to be with a child. Shaking his head to clear it, he pushed the thought from his mind because this army needed children as much as it needed experienced shooters. Without them, there was no future…but having them around certainly didn’t make things any less dangerous.

  A forlorn sigh pushed past his lips as he slowly followed a frontage road bordering the far edge of the lot. After spending the rest of yesterday eating, napping and packing, they were now on their way to a new world order in a fresh change of clothes, down one more member of the team. Sometimes it seemed for every step forward, they took two back. Watching Dot tear up when they left the cabin this morning reminded Paul of Cora, who had just as stubbornly refused to leave her house in Victoria, Texas. Unfortunately, poor Brock never got the chance to go. This time, however, things would be different. Paul could feel it. Could see it in their eyes. They believed and that was thanks to Dan. Looking at Stephanie in the seat next to him, she flashed him a reassuring smile he tried to return but couldn’t quite lift.

  “Look out!” Billy yelled from the backseat.

  Paul slammed on the brakes and jerked forward, the seatbelt cutting into his shoulder, certain Brian would rear-end the Suburban and knock at least one car out of commission right out of the gate. The Suburban squeaked to a stop and threw them back in their seats. The Escalade skidded to a rest just inches from their bumper and everything got quiet. With his heart pumping and a far-off ringing in his left ear, Paul watched two brown and white draft horses emerge from a small grouping of pines on the right-hand side of the road. The massive mounts stepped out onto the sunbaked lot, their shoes clip-clopping against the pavement. A big sleigh came out from the pines next, glowing red in the sunshine and looking straight out of the North Pole.

  Billy leaned forward, watching the horses tiredly pull the sled past the front of the Suburban with their heads down. “Hey man, maybe that’s a sign we should go somewhere else. Do you see Dead Dan or anyone?”

  “It’s not a sign,” Paul snapped, shooting him an icy glower in the mirror. “And his name is Dan.”

  Leaning back, Billy traded an uncertain look with Curtis in the seat next to him. “Sometimes I wish I was still back in that jail cell.”

  Curtis blew a stream of rolling smoke into his face. “Me too,” he said, passing him a joint.

  “Had I known all this crazy-ass shit was waiting for me out here, I never would’ve left.” He brought the joint to his lips and sucked, making the cherry glow and holding his breath. “Zombie trains and dead cat ladies.” Smoke seeped from his nose as he grimly shook his head and handed the joint back to Curtis. “I hate cats.”

  “Maybe we should free them from that sleigh. Look how tired they are.” Stephanie craned her neck, watching the horses weave around a row of abandoned vehicles, the sled’s metal runners grinding against the cement. “I can’t believe they’ve been dragging that around this whole time.”

  Paul remembered the Amish man in a buggy with a horse named Benji and he knew that if Wendy was here she would be thinking about the exact same thing. “We’ll come back for them,” he said, getting into the gas and cracking his window to clear the smoke from the cab.

  “Hey Paul, if no one’s here can we hang out for a few days and get in some skiing before everything melts?”

  He glanced at Billy in the mirror and turned back to the frontage road snaking along the edge of the sprawling lot that seemed to stretch forever. “No.”

  “Aww come on, man. We need a little R&R.”

  Curtis leaned forward, smoke rising from the joint pinched between his fingers. “Might not be a bad idea, Jonny Depp. I bet some of the rooms in this place are sick.”

  Billy nodded rapidly. “And you know the bars are stocked and loaded!”

  “That’s what’s up,
” Curtis said, fist-bumping Billy. “Hey Paul, you can go tubing down the bunny hill if you want. All day long too.”

  “Thanks, but I board,” he replied flatly.

  Billy looked at Curtis, eyebrows rising. “Ooh, knuckle-dragger, huh? Okay, I can respect that. So what do you say, man? Hang here for a few days and chill hard?”

  Paul stopped in front of a tall hotel carved into the base of the mountain that looked like something out of The Shining and was probably just as old. Putting it in park, he blew out an uneasy breath. “I don’t know. Maybe,” he replied, scanning the many rows of windows staring back at them while Brian pulled alongside. “But right now, I need you two to stay focused.” He swallowed uneasily, seeing phantom corpses watching from the windows. “God knows what’s waiting for us in there.”

  Stephanie pulled on a pair of tight black gloves she’d taken from the beach house. “Knowing our luck, probably a horde of rotting werewolves.”

  Billy exhaled a pungent plume of smoke, nervously looking all around. “I don’t know, man. I’m getting a bad feeling about this.”

  “You say that everywhere we stop!” Paul tossed his sunglasses on the dash, trying to squash the same damn feeling bubbling in his gut. “This is why I tell you not to get high before storming places. It makes you paranoid.”

  “That’s not true.” Billy whipped his head around to the glass front doors. “Hey, did you see that?” he whispered. “I think I just saw someone go in those doors.”

  Paul rubbed his forehead. “No, you didn’t.”

  “All these cars in the lot…” Curtis checked his Glock and holstered it on his hip. “Bound to be a welcoming party of some kind inside.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.” Paul opened his door and let in the crisp morning air. “But they can’t all be dead. No way; so pick your targets wisely.” Squinting against the sunshine, he met Brian and Gary at the back of the vehicles, where they geared up with the tailgates open.

  “I think Gary should stay with Dot and Olive in the car. Just in case.”

  Paul turned to Brian, gaze catching on the silver badge pinned to his jacket. They all had one now, deputized under the cover of darkness, charged with upholding laws that no longer exist. Glancing at Dot and Olive inside the Escalade, Paul’s stomach sank with the frightened faces peering back. “I think we should stick together.”

  “I think that too but…” Brian tipped his head back and studied the hotel windows for a short while. “This place is pretty big. What if we have to run?” His eyes floated back to the Escalade. “She’s only six, Paul.”

  “We’ll be fine out here,” Gary said, holstering his sidearm and grabbing a shotgun. “Hell, Dot can shoot better than I can and if anything goes wrong, we’ll honk and do circles in the lot.”

  Paul slipped the weapon strap over his head and blew out a beleaguered breath. “Okay.” Splitting up was the last thing he wanted to do but it felt right. His mind proved it by conjuring up an image of them running down a carpeted hallway with twenty-five slugs hot on their asses. And what if they had to use the stairs? If the shit really hit the fan, somebody would have to carry Olive, losing one gun and increasing the chance of a fatal slip and fall in the process. No, they had to protect her at all costs. In this world, she was the golden child come to life. She was the future.

  He took one last pull of water and rolled his head on his shoulders, cracking his neck. “Let’s do this.”

  Inside the hotel, it was cold and smelled like an old high school that’d seen decades of guests with their revolving bags and odors and meals. Sunlight streamed through an entire wall of windows on the mountain side of the building and there was no one to greet them at the long front desk.

  Curtis elbowed Paul in the ribs. “Hope you made a reservation.”

  Paul led the charge deeper inside, checking behind the front desk before crossing a lobby called The Copper Lounge – outfitted with a massive fireplace and orange couches and armchairs with straight lines and white trim. Stepping into a formidable dining room overlooking the lifts outside, sunlight reflected off the glass chandeliers dangling from the vaulted ceilings like tangled spider webs. Red tablecloths masked the many tables dotting the room, some of which still had plates of food holding them down. Furrowing his brow, Paul crept closer to a round table with six place settings, heart thudding so loudly in his ears it made hearing anything else nearly impossible. It was like the infection tore through the place right in the middle of dinner, disrupting the guest’s meals before turning them into monsters through horrid screams and painful cries. He stopped and stared at the food on the plates, gut tightening.

  “At least somebody had one good last dinner before everything went dark,” Curtis said, canvassing the spread.

  Using the barrel of the M4, Paul poked at some fried chicken and mashed potatoes. A slow moving frown wormed through his face. “It’s still fresh.”

  Curtis picked up a drumstick and held it up to the light. “Fresh? Hell, it’s still warm.”

  Paul spun on his heels, sweeping the assault rifle around the expansive room, adrenaline flooding into his system. It wasn’t the infection that interrupted the meal. It was them. “This isn’t dinner. It’s breakfast.”

  “Somebody’s in here,” Billy whispered, tightening his grip on the weapon.

  Curtis dropped the chicken leg back to the plate with a clatter and took up the M4 in both hands. “Yeah, and judging by all this food, I’d say a lot of somebodies.”

  “You move and you will die! That I can assure you.”

  The voice was stern and clear, the tone of someone who sounded in charge but scared and desperate all at the same time. The voice of someone who was a leader in the old world and still trying his hand today.

  “Set the guns on the floor!” The man’s echo bounced across the spacious room, making it difficult to pinpoint the source. Paul focused on a moon-shaped hostess stand where someone could be hiding. The clicking of several hammers pulling back at once around them chilled him to the bone. Jamming the butt of the weapon into his shoulder, he took aim at the people stepping from the wait-stations and swinging kitchen doors. They came from the restrooms, hallways and emergency exits, guns pointed at Paul and company from all directions. At first glance, he estimated there were at least twenty of them. Fifteen jackhammering heartbeats later, he adjusted that number to forty and counting.

  Curtis spun on the balls of his feet, jerking his gun barrel from one frightened face to the next.

  Paul readied himself for the, now all too familiar, recoil he’d grown to love, searching for words to defuse the situation. He didn’t want to shoot them. He wanted to join them, but men like Booth ruined his trust in mankind. Mankind had changed right along with everything else and, sooner or later, they would have to change back or they’d never win. “We’re here to help you, not hurt you!” Paul quickly blurted, holding a hand up for his team to hold their fire.

  A heavyset man in his early fifties with a mangy beard and, just as mangy, ski cap did the talking for the others. “Looks like you’re here to steal our food to me.” His piercing gaze shifted to Curtis along with a hunting rifle that would undoubtedly put a tennis ball-sized hole through him.

  “I can promise you that’s not the case.” Paul took in the worried faces staring back, hurriedly evaluating their condition. They’d obviously been eating well but looked scared to death, like they hadn’t left this place since the outbreak began. Like they thought they were the only ones left. There was no hiding the surprise in their eyes and the lack of color in their cheeks. “We came down from Leadville to help,” he told them, his gaze traveling the room, meeting each set of their startled eyes.

  “And we have our own food,” Brian added, staring down the barrel of his bolt-action rifle. “Plenty to go around, friend.”

  “Yeah, but not fried chicken.” Curtis gestured with his weapon. “What’d you people do? Sell your souls to the devil?”

  The heavyset man sharpen
ed his gaze and stepped closer, letting the sunlight hit his face and turning his rifle to Paul. Most of the man’s group had revolvers or semi-autos and Paul counted three men with assault rifles they probably took from the village’s onsite police department. He could tell by their clothing they were still living out of the suitcases they packed just before the virus shut down the airports. They were of the last to fly commercial air and whether that was a lucky break or a sardonic curse, he didn’t yet know.

  “You cops?” Mangy Beard asked, noting the badges pinned to their coats.

  “That’s right.” Paul relaxed his muscles just enough to let them know he meant them no harm. “Are any of you hurt? We have medicine and first-aid supplies.”

  “So do we.” He traded a cocky grin with the tall man standing next to him that Paul didn’t care for. “Now, why don’t you folks set your weapons on those tables and we’ll settle this like civilized adults.”

  “You first,” Paul replied, tempted to spray him with bullets like he did to Booth and his posse. The trigger was smooth against his skin, comforting, but something in their eyes held him back. Even though they outnumbered Paul’s team five to one, they looked like they’d been here for weeks and had no idea where this was going. Like maybe they were ready for a change. For a chance at something real. And before Paul pulled that trigger and sent them to the next world, he would give them that very chance.

  Mangy Beard dropped his head and peered through the rifle’s scope, drawing a bead on Paul’s face. “I’m only going to tell you one more time, hotshot, put the guns on the tables.”

  “Look, my name is Paul and we just want to talk.”

  “Talk?” Mangy laughed and swapped a smug glance with the anxious looking tall man next to him.

  The tall man swept his oily locks back and returned his long skinny fingers to the assault rifle hanging from his neck. “Talk about what?”