“Hey, are you Paul Hessler?”
Paul turned to a short man with a ball cap pulled down over his thick glasses. “You got me, man.”
A sheepish smile slipped through the man’s chubby cheeks. He cheered Paul with a near empty pint glass. “I just wanted to say that I love your show. I’m a long time listener.”
Paul shook the man’s sweaty hand. “I appreciate that. What’s your name?”
“Jon.” He released Paul’s hand and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his shiny nose. “So is that really your mom you call on the air?”
Paul smiled. He got that question a lot. “It really is. You can’t fake crazy.”
Jon chuckled and looked away. “That one time when you called her at work was priceless.”
“Thanks, Jon. I appreciate you listening, man.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Paul leaned against the bar and thumbed behind him. “Got some coming but let me get you one.”
The tattooed bartender set two bottles of beer next to Paul. “On the house, my brother!”
“Thanks Rockit,” Paul said, slapping a twenty on the bar just the same. Under normal conditions, he would’ve loved being in the spotlight but tonight all he could think about was the mistake he made with Rebecca. He would never be able to face Sophia again and she would be home by this time tomorrow. Paul set a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Can I get another one for my boy, Jon, here?”
Rockit tapped his ring against the bar two times. “You got it, Paulie,” he said, turning to a long row of taps behind him.
“So is Deli Man real too?”
Paul nodded. “Works at Palmer’s Deli,” he said, finishing the beer already in his hand.
Jon smiled and finished his glass as well. “That one time you guys tried to join a Curves was hilarious.” His brow wrinkled beneath the brim of his ball cap. “Did you have hidden microphones or something?”
“We have those glasses with cameras in them. You can watch the full video online.”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
Paul pressed his lips together and thought about it. “Probably.”
Jon laughed. “That’s awesome,” he said, taking a drink from his empty glass. Another sheepish smile shaped his lips as he set the glass on the bar. “They’re going down good tonight.”
Dan walked up, adjusting his jeans. “Damn, my teeth were floating,” he said, grabbing one of the new bottles of beer. “God, I love it when my drink is waiting for me when I come back from the bathroom.” He took a slow sip, scanning the bar. “Dude, this place is ass soup tonight!” Then he noticed Jon staring and elbowed Paul in the side. “Who’s this?”
“This is Jon.”
Dan extended his hand. “Dan Kippler, nice ta meet ya.”
“Here ya go, Paulie.”
“Thanks Rockit.” Paul handed Jon the beer.
Jon pushed his glasses up and pulled his cell phone out. “Can I get a quick picture?”
“Sure,” Paul said, snatching the phone and snapping a selfie of him and Jon against the colorful bar.
“Thanks a lot, man.” Jon slipped the phone back into his baggy jeans. “So…how do you guess a woman’s bra size by having her rub her boobs on the phone anyway?”
Dan slapped Paul on the back. “The man has a gift, Jonny! That’s how.”
“That shit is so funny.”
“You should see how funny my wife thinks it is.”
They smiled and stared at each other for a few seconds as the DJ in the corner switched out songs. Dan looked at Paul, then back to Jon, teetering back and forth on the balls of his feet.
Jon cheered Paul with his new glass of beer. “Well hey man, thanks for the beer and the picture. I’ll be listening Monday morning.”
“Thanks, Jon. Enjoy the night, brother.”
Jon nodded at Dan and waded into the growing crowd, sliding into a booth with three other guys in ball caps and showing them his phone.
“Jesus fucking Christ, I thought he’d never leave,” Dan muttered.
“He’s a good guy.”
“You attract the biggest weirdos, man.” Dan sipped his beer. “If you switched to a country station or even pop, your fans would be way hotter.”
Paul frowned at him. “You don’t think Jon was hot?”
“You know what I mean, and it would make it way easier for me to get laid if there was a better selection of hot chicks than a bunch of rock sluts at Rockfest.” He lifted his brow. “Although I will admit, some are super hot but we need way more to increase my odds.”
Paul stewed for a moment, shifting in his Pumas. “Listen, there’s something I have to tell you.”
Dan turned to him with downturned lips. “Oh my God, Sophia’s pregnant. I can tell by the tone in your voice. Congratulations, man!”
He went in for a hug and Paul pushed him back. “What? No, she’s not pregnant.”
“Oh.”
Paul exhaled a long breath, avoiding Dan’s eyes. “I’m not even sure how to tell you this, but last night…” The words died on his lips when a tall blond stopped in front of him and stuck her hand out.
“Hi, I’m Casey,” she said, biting back a cherry red grin that matched her four inch heels.
Paul’s gaze slid from her electric blue eyes to her giant tits. “Hi Casey,” he said, shaking her hand.
“I saw you at Metallica last night.”
“Wasn’t that a great show?”
“Don’t rub it in,” Dan said, drawing zero response.
Casey stared at Paul, still clinging to his hand. “I was in the front row.”
Paul sharpened his gaze. “Oh yeah, I remember you,” he said, trying to take his hand back.
Casey squeezed harder. “You were great onstage.”
Dan leaned in between them and stuck his hand out, breathing a sigh of relief into Paul. “Dan Kippler, nice ta meet ya.”
Her eyes reluctantly went with her hand to Dan, who blatantly stared at the breasts trying to escape a satiny top missing a button or two at the summit. Casey swung her attention back to Paul and stepped closer, her flowery perfume making his stomach roll. “I listen to you every morning.”
“Thank you, Casey. Sorry about all the screw ups and stuff. There are way too many buttons on that board.”
She ran a tongue over her shiny red lips. “What’re you guys doing for after-hours?”
“Tonight?”
“No plans,” Dan blurted, drawing a slanted glance from Paul.
“My roommates and I are having a small get together. You guys should totally stop by.”
“Uh, tonight’s not so good, but thanks for the offer, Casey.”
“Tonight is super good,” Dan countered, tapping at his phone. “What’s your address?”
Paul shot him a heated look while Casey grabbed the phone and punched in her info. Dan stuffed his hands into his designer jeans and gave Paul a loose shrug.
She handed the phone back, fuck-me eyes firmly fixed on Paul. “See you there,” she said, walking away. He watched her tight little jeans-covered ass swish back and forth in slow motion. She cast a quick look over her shoulder and Paul turned away.
“Why do you always do that?” he hissed, cheeks flushing. “I’m married.”
“Yeah but I’m not! Throw me a crumb here, Paul.”
Paul took a long drink and swallowed with an exasperated sigh. “Look, something happened last night. I fucked up big time.”
Dan stopped the beer bottle in front of his lips. “With that girl?”
“No,” Paul replied, gathering his thoughts. “We have this record rep named Rebecca who stops by the station every few weeks, and last night after the concert…”
“Hey Paulie, check this out!”
Paul and Dan turned to Rockit, who gestured to the TV with the remote control in his hand. Their eyes focused on the video playing on Fox News. Tilting his head to the side, as if that would give him a clearer view, Paul couldn’t believe his own eyes.
“What the hell?” he mumbled as others around them started tuning in.
“Hey!” Rockit yelled to a short black guy spinning tunes on an elevated stage tucked in the corner. “Turn it down for a minute, yo!”
When the music dropped and the volume on the TV started coming through the speakers like it does on game days, Paul watched a heavyset elderly woman, covered in bloody gashes and purple bruises, come running from the right side of the screen in a blur and tackle Anderson Cooper in high definition.
“Holy shit,” Dan exclaimed, setting his beer on the granite bar so hard it foamed over. “What the fuck was that!”
The camera shook and panned down to the ground where the woman wildly ripped Anderson Cooper’s Adam’s apple from his throat with her teeth. She raised her head and shook the stringy flesh down her gullet. A hush fell over the bar as the woman grew still in the camera’s light. Paul’s heart hammered in his chest. It wasn’t possible. Then slowly, the blood-soaked woman turned to face the camera man and got to her bare feet. She screamed something and charged, her thighs jiggling with each ground shaking step. The camera backed up, trembled again and fell to the side with Anderson Cooper twitching in the background.
“Jesus,” Paul whispered, his jaw completely unhinged.
Dan turned to him with dinner plates for eyes. “Oh. Holy. Shit. What was that!”
Gasps spread throughout the bar as Paul squinted at the red scrawl running along the bottom of the screen. “Where is that?” he yelled over the commotion.
Rockit turned to him, nervously stroking his long black beard. “Chicago, bro. Some kind of virus or something.”
The floor dropped and Paul fell with it, hands out and nothing to grab onto. He took Sophia to at least one Cubs game a year and knew for a fact that Chicago was exactly three hundred and thirty-two miles from Des Moines, or four hours and fifty-five minutes. There’d been reports of similar happenings in Cape Town, South Africa the day before but nothing caught on video and that was another continent away. This was too close to home. His eyes rose back to the TV just in time to see a man in a torn hoodie sniff Anderson’s body before limping off down the street. With the rise in conversation level it was impossible to hear what the pretty blond anchor was relaying to viewers from the safety of the studio, but the larger scrawl on top of the smaller one told Paul everything he needed to know.
Unknown contagion turns citizens into killers.
Dan stared at the TV. “Is this shit for real?”
A dark feeling took root in the pit of Paul’s stomach while bar-goers migrated to the three TVs in the bar. He pulled his cell phone from his jeans and called Sophia. Minneapolis was two hundred and forty miles away and she needed to be on the road headed home this very minute.
The phone rang.
Paul pulled a hand through his hair while Dan watched him with the blood leaving his cheeks.
“Shit!” Paul said, hanging up and trying again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
DAY ELEVEN
Twenty-four hours later, darkness once again claimed the house, inside and out. A far-off ringing in Paul’s ears refused to go away but he’d grown to like it. Every now and then, it diverted his twisted thoughts from the grim situation at hand.
“Get away from me,” he said without meeting Dan’s solemn eyes.
“You don’t have to do this,” Dan whispered, resting his hands on his knees next to Paul, who’d been sitting in the same orange armchair for hours watching his wife sleep. In the candle’s jumpy light, her eyes looked like pools of tar, the purple veins running through her face like skinny worms.
Paul didn’t respond. He couldn’t believe it had even come to this conversation. He couldn’t believe Dan was even close to being fucking serious. But the verdict was in.
“Paul,” Dan started.
“If you don’t get the fuck away from me, I’ll kill you too.”
Dan dropped his head and let it hang, a defeated sigh rushing from his lips. “Okay.” He stood back up and walked out to find Wendy, who was busy hiding in the kitchen and trying to be quiet.
Paul stared at his beautiful wife shriveling away in front of him. It was his mom all over again and his gun felt heavy in its holster.
“Paul?” Sophia opened her eyes a slit.
Heart racing, he rushed across the room. “I’m right here, gorgeous.”
Smiling weakly when he took her hand, she struggled to keep her eyes open. “I just wanted to make sure you’re still here.”
“You feel like trying some soup again?”
“Baby?”
“Yeah?” A lone tear escaped down his cheek and he wiped it away, hating himself for letting that happen.
“I love you,” she said, peering into his eyes with as big a smile as her little heart could muster.
“I know you do, Sophia. And I love you more than anything in the world.”
“That’s right.”
“That’s right,” he repeated, taking in as much of her as he could.
“This isn’t your fault.”
He nodded without conviction because it most certainly was his fault and she could see it in his eyes. “I know,” he said, voice cracking like her skin.
Her eyes cleared as a flash of the old Sophia rose to the surface. “This isn’t your fault,” she said in a louder voice. “Don’t let that cloud your mind; you have to stay focused!” A bloody cough punctuated the statement, curdling Paul’s blood.
He nodded harder, spilling tears onto her chest, the bones in her fingers pressing into his hand.
She glanced into the kitchen and inhaled weakly. “Help them get to the ocean and don’t let anything get in your way.” Her eyes brightened, pushing the darkness back with everything she had. “You’re the only hope,” she whispered.
He bit his lip to keep from bursting into tears because this was a deathbed conversation and they both knew it. They also knew that getting to the ocean was a temporary diversion from the bullshit surrounding them on a daily basis, a mere distraction, something to look forward to. But now it just seemed…pointless.
“Promise me you’ll help them and anyone else you come across.”
It took everything not to look away because this was a deathbed promise he could never keep, nor did he want to. “I promise.”
She nodded, letting the darkness reclaim her hollowed out eyes as she sank back into the pillow.
“You get some rest,” he said softly, kissing her cheek. “Everything is going to be fine.” Paul stared out the French doors, watching his reflection waver in the candlelight. The only person he wanted to help he couldn’t and it killed him inside. He tried to stop thinking about all of the things he should’ve done differently because none of that mattered now. His only power was the small comfort he could give his wife at this very moment. Other than that, he was useless. Like when he tried becoming a father.
“Paul?” Sophia opened her eyes as if he might’ve already left.
“I’m right here, sweetie.”
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered.
He painted a brave smile across his unshaven cheeks. “I’ll never leave you. You know that.”
She shuddered. “I’m so cold.”
He pulled the blanket up higher and hugged her tight.
“I miss our bed.”
“So do I.”
Her eyes fell shut again and he wrapped her in his arms, reality cutting to the bone.
There was nothing he could do.
Time was almost up.
She was so damn cold.
Chapter Twenty-Four
In the kitchen, Wendy screamed when Paul’s handgun went off one time.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Paul’s foot knocked the flat-screen TV from its narrow stand. He screamed and threw a glass lamp against the wall, sending shards flying.
Dan and Wendy watched, trembling along with the candle.
Paul fired three rounds into the TV, debris jumping with ea
ch bull’s-eye.
Wendy stood with her hands over her mouth while Dan pulled the blanket over the scowl etched into Sophia’s face, covering the bullet hole in her forehead and the brain splatter on the couch.
Paul side kicked a tripod lamp and thundered out onto the front porch. “Come on out, you cocksuckers!” he screamed into the night. “I’m right here!” Tears fogged his vision. Pain clouded his mind. He swore like never before and unloaded a string of shots at the moon until his clip ran dry. Storming back inside, he ejected the empty clip and threw it against a wall before grabbing another from the table beside the armchair. Paul slapped the clip in hard and pushed past Dan.
Dan grabbed his arm. “Paul!”
Paul shook him off and darted back outside. “Knock, knock motherfuckers!” he yelled, firing three rounds at a decorative wishing well in the front yard.
Dan followed and pushed his arm down. “Stop!” he cried, wrestling him for the gun. “They’ll hear the shots!”
Paul put his shoulder into Dan, knocking him backwards, and shot a huge oak tree like it was its fault. Dan tackled him, sending the gun sliding across the porch. Paul rolled over on top of him and punched him in the face with a hard right.
“Paul!” Wendy screamed from the doorway.
Dan twisted beneath Paul’s weight, blood running from his nose. “They’ll kill us!” he choked, bucking his hips.
Sophia’s last words slipped through Paul’s mind. He stopped struggling, surprise widening his eyes when he found his hands throttling Dan’s neck. He got to his feet and ignored Dan’s hand for help getting up.
Wendy stared at the blood running into Dan’s mouth. “Are you okay?”
“You’re wasting what little ammo we have,” Dan panted, wiping his nose and surveying his bloody fingers. “This isn’t a game, you asshole! I’m sorry about Sophia; I loved her too but you’re going to get us all fucking killed!” Dan got up and straightened his paddle-holster, surveying the moonlit front yard. “Jesus Christ!”
Paul glared at him through bloodshot eyes and cried out one last time before storming back inside and curling up with Sophia’s body on the couch, determined to fall asleep and never wake up again.
A Little More Dead Page 12
