“Maybe we should clear the van first,” Dan suggested.
Paul rested the short shotgun on his shoulder. “Go for it.”
Dan stared at him for a long moment, pulling an annoyed sigh from Paul’s lips. He spit again and stumbled to the van, bringing the butt of the gun into his shoulder as he went. Maybe blowing the head off of something would make him feel better. No, there was no maybe about it. He would get payback on these things one corpse at a time and it might as well start right fucking now.
Dan pulled on the van’s side door. Locked. He met the same result with the other doors so they stuck their faces to the tinted glass for a better look. Inside, they could make out some drapes and…
“Damn!” Wendy cried.
Paul peeled himself from the van and spun around, ready for unwanted company. The three maggots slumbering from a beat-up camper parked next to the pumps immediately caught his eye. The man, woman and teenage boy hobbled down the side steps, wearing tattered shorts and t-shirts, now on a permanent family vacation. They reached for Paul. He took aim on the dad and fired, stumbling back a few steps with the powerful recoil and missing his target.
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” Dan held his hands up, looking at the camper behind him.
Paul pumped in another shell and unleashed two more earsplitting reports, blowing out the camper’s front windshield and missing the encroaching family yet again. The three things ambled closer, sunken eyes locked on Paul.
“Paul!” Dan ran over and forced the shotgun down. “What’re you doing?”
Paul shook him off as the dad reached for Dan’s curly blond hair. “Look out!” he said, firing another shot that made Dan duck. Paul staggered backwards again, sunglasses askew and sweat running into his eyes.
Dan recovered and wrapped him a bear hug, pinning the shotgun between them. “There’s no one there, Paul! There’s no one there!”
Paul shoved him away and removed his shades, wiping the sweat from his dirty face with his coat sleeve. The family was gone. He blinked at the camper in utter disbelief, a headache pulsing behind his left eye. He went closer, wobbling in the dirt. “You didn’t see that?”
A frightened look seared itself into Dan’s face and Paul wasn’t sure if Dan was afraid of being without Paul or being with him. “See what?”
Paul shook the fog from his head, unable to form a complete sentence.
“Why don’t you get back in the car and relax,” Dan said. “Wendy and I can handle this.”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You look sick.”
“Just get the gas!” he barked, examining the deserted camper.
Dan bowed his head and exhaled a salty breath, resigning his objection just as the minivan’s backdoors burst open with a startling bang. Paul spun around to see a heavyset Mexican lady roll out the back and hit the ground running. Operating on instinct and adrenaline alone, he brought the shotgun into his shoulder, unsure if his mind was playing tricks on him again or not.
Long black hair flew wildly through the air behind her as she ran at them, her shredded skirt and satiny top fluttering with each thundering step. Her bare feet kicked up dirt, an angry sneer stamped into her rotting face. Wendy fired a single shot, confirming this was the real deal. The lady didn’t flinch. She shrieked instead, hurting Paul’s ears. Her massive quads shook as she rushed closer. Dan took aim and fired. The woman jerked with the buckshot shredding her shoulder and kept coming. They were out of time. With ragged breaths shaking his weapon, Paul pulled the trigger. The shot went high and Paul thought the woman was another mirage because there was no way he could’ve missed from this close range. Wendy’s second shot jerked the lady’s head back, dropping her like a charging rhino. She somersaulted across the parking lot and stirred up a cloud of dust, coming to a rest at Paul’s feet. The cloud floated away on a lazy breeze, revealing her wide open eyes staring up at the sky. He stared at the decomposing woman with his heartbeat jack hammering inside his ears.
“I did it!” Wendy cried, still clutching the gun in both hands. “I did it!”
The aroma of spoiled fish and stale beer spilt from the van, polluting the air around them.
Paul covered his nose and gagged before drawing a steadying breath and looking up. His vision doubled. He blinked against the sweat in his eyes. “The fat ones are fast,” he muttered, sliding down the side of the cop car to the ground.
Chapter Thirty
DAY ONE
The tangerine-colored Subaru Crosstrek pulled into the driveway and Paul burst outside before Sophia could open her car door. Relief overwhelmed his system, leaving him lightheaded as he descended the front steps on rubbery legs. Paul could tell she was scared shitless as she rushed into his arms and buried her face in his chest. Light snow fell around them and she felt wonderful in his arms, Rebecca the last thing on his mind.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed into her hair. “I was so worried.”
She pulled away and studied him through terror-filled eyes. “What’re we going to do?”
He cradled her cheeks in both palms, his breath rushing across her heart-shaped face in white plumes. “Everything is going to be fine.”
“My mom won’t answer her phone. I tried her the whole way here.”
“I’m sure she’s fine,” he lied, looking her in the eye. Sophia hadn’t seen the new video yet but Chicago was unraveling fast, with infection and lawlessness spreading like careless campfires and it wouldn’t be long before Des Moines burned next. He scanned the gated community they moved into three months ago, an unsettling quiet meeting his gaze. “We’ll keep trying to reach her.”
“I listened to the news the whole way home. What’s that video from Chicago all about?” Her brow creased. “Have you seen it? Are people really killing each other?”
“They just released it. How were the roads?” he asked, already thinking three steps ahead.
“Deserted.”
“Were they blocked in places?”
She shook her head. “I thought the cops might be enforcing the travel ban but they weren’t.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind an ear. “Everyone must be home watching the news.”
Paul nodded, his spine tingling. He was just grateful the snow held off long enough for her to safely make it home. As if this shit wasn’t bad enough already, a winter storm was coming and Paul feared what would be hiding in the snowfall.
Sophia hugged him. “What do you think it is?”
“They’re saying it’s bio-terrorism but I have a hard time believing that a bunch of guys living in mountain caves and driving twenty year-old pickups have the brainpower to pull something like this off.”
She drew back. “What if it’s airborne?”
“It’s not,” he said, looking behind him A fresh coat of snow gave the two story colonial the same warm glow that had wowed their families this past Christmas. It was their dream house and as soon as they moved in he bought his first handgun to protect it, the timing of which couldn’t have been better. A siren raced off in the distance and Paul swallowed hard, stomach turning.
“Come on,” he said, the February wind chilling him to the core. “Let’s get inside.”
Headline News blared on the flat screen in the living room as Paul locked the front door. Whatever it was, there was no stopping it now. The incoming videos just kept getting worse and, at last count, there were reported cases in seven countries, including the United States and the United Kingdom.
“What’s this?” Sophia asked.
He followed her gaze to the Beretta PX4 Storm lying on the coffee table next to three full clips and four boxes of nine-millimeter rounds. “Insurance,” he said, slipping the loaded gun into a drop-leg holster and strapping it on for the first time in what would become a daily ritual down the long road ahead.
“What’re you doing, Paul?” she almost laughed, the overcast daylight coming through the large windows turning her face an ashen gray.
His gaze snapp
ed to the TV. “Here it is. Watch this.” Paul turned up the volume. He didn’t really want his wife to see this but it was important she knew what they were up against.
Sophia sat next to him on the couch without taking her coat off, eyes glued to the fifty-five inch smart TV. Her brow folded as a mob of people attacked one another during a Chicago Bulls game at the United Center. The video was clear and crisp, the bright arena lights illuminating every rip and tear in the faces of the attacking dead, which – as Robin Meade spouted – is exactly what they were. Dead. Sophia slapped a hand over her mouth when a security guard in a yellow shirt slammed a young boy against a concrete wall and bit down into his neck while the boy’s, assumed, father beat and pulled on the guard from behind. People dashed back and forth across the screen in a mad flurry of chaos. In the middle of it, the security guard threw the lifeless boy to the ground and turned to the boy’s father, eyes dark and sunken, blood staining his lips and yellow shirt.
“Watch this,” Paul whispered.
The father pulled a gun from beneath his coat (a proud CCW holder no less) and shot the guard one time in the face, dropping him to the concrete floor. The father rushed to his son’s side, sliding to his knees and shaking the brown haired boy to the screams and gunfire punctuating the arena around them. A cop ran past with his gun pointed at the domed ceiling, a pack of snarling individuals nipping at his heels. The father looked up from his son just in time to see a black man in a Bulls jersey tackle him to the floor.
Paul scooted to the edge of the couch, pointing at the screen. “Watch this next part. You won’t believe this.”
Sophia swallowed thickly, a hand still covering her mouth. The furnace kicked on with a low hum, pushing heat through the house’s many vents. On the television, the father rolled over and mounted the Bulls fan before shooting him in the face, but it was the camera man who noticed something else. The camera panned to the right just in time to capture the little boy getting to his feet. The dad also noticed and ran over, wrapping his son in a tight embrace that would be their last. Sophia set a hand on Paul’s knee and dug her nails into his jeans as the camera zoomed in. The boy opened his mouth and tipped his head back, exposing a blackened tongue and bleeding gums.
“Oh my God,” Sophia whispered through her fingers.
The boy sunk his teeth into his father’s shoulder and the TV went black.
Paul frowned. “What the hell?” he murmured, hitting buttons on the remote.
The TV remained as dark as the sinking feeling in his stomach.
“What’s happening?” Sophia asked, scanning the room through startled eyes.
“Power’s out,” he replied, noticing the gas fireplace had shut off along with the blue digital clock on the microwave.
“Oh that’s great, it’s like ten degrees outside.”
Paul’s cell phone vibrated against the coffee table, startling them both. “It’s Dan.” Paul slid a finger across the screen. “Did your power just go out?” he asked without preamble.
“Yep.”
“Holy shit,” Paul sighed into the phone. It was already here. He thought they might have a day or two but it was already here.
“Listen,” Dan said, urgency coating his tone. “My phone’s about to die and I don’t know where my car charger is, but my car is packed and I’m coming to your place right now.”
“Okay, we’ll be here. The Jeep is ready to go.”
Dan exhaled. “I can’t believe this is actually happening.”
“I know.”
“Like really happening.”
“It’s insane.”
“Right when I finally get the new Playstation too!”
“You? I just bought a boat two weeks ago.” Paul ran a hand through his short brown hair. “This was going to be the best summer of our lives!”
“I’m leaving right now.”
“Hurry.”
“Don’t leave without me.”
“We won’t.”
“Paul!”
Paul’s gaze tripped over Sophia’s frightened eyes. He took her hand in his and squeezed. “Yeah?”
Dan spoke slow and clear. “Do not leave without…”
Paul’s eyebrows pulled together, making Sophia tilt her head to the side. “Hello? Dan?” When there was no answer, he pulled the phone from his ear and stared at the greasy screen.
“What happened?”
“His phone died, but he’s on the way.”
“He is?”
“Don’t worry, we have a plan.” Paul leaned forward and traded the cell phone for a small black case on the coffee table. “It’s time to take this,” he said, cracking the case open.
Disdain washed over her face at the sight of the pink gun nestled inside, turning her into someone else. “Paul,” she said in her soothing voice. “You’re overreacting.”
Chapter Thirty-One
DAY THIRTEEN
Tires hummed against asphalt, making Dan’s words seem like they were coming from the other end of a long tunnel. “He’ll be fine. He just needs some rest.”
“We should stop somewhere for a few days and take a break,” Wendy whispered, steering the cop car down a two-lane highway as curvy as she was. “He could’ve shot us.”
Dan looked up from a map in his lap. “Why did you yell back there anyway?”
“Umm, because a three hundred pound dead lady was sprinting full speed at us.”
“No, before that. You yelled damn.”
“Oh,” she said, turning back to the road and getting quiet. “My watch stopped.”
Dan screwed his face up. “Your watch stopped?”
“My dad gave it to me for my birthday just before he died,” she said, glancing at the smoked metal timepiece around her wrist. “It was the last thing he ever gave me.”
Dan gasped. “You scared the shit out of us over a dead watch?”
“Well, it’s not like your screaming sirens didn’t already alert every Z out there to our presence.”
His lips flattened. “A dead watch? Really?”
“I’m sorry, okay!”
The humming tires took back over, a constant drone wavering a bit with each tiny bump in the sun-baked road. Paul lifted his head from the side window in the back, a cramp in his neck. “Where are we?” he muttered, noticing it was near dark.
“Somewhere near Giddings, Texas,” Dan told him, studying the map in the glove box light.
Paul massaged his neck, realizing his wife was dead all over again. He wondered how far they were from her now. “What happened?”
“You passed out,” Wendy said matter-of-factly.
“Drink some of that water.” Dan nodded to a bottle lying next to Paul.
Wendy took a sharp turn onto a rural route road, the car’s back end sliding out to the right and Paul’s head banging against the window. She mashed the gas pedal to the floor, spraying the ditches with gravel. Back roads were at the top of their wish list, closely followed by a small house with quiet neighbors out in the middle of nowhere. She slowed down, scanning the sparse houses dotting the pastureland as pieces of rock popped beneath the tires. A mile further, Wendy stomped on the brakes. They stared at the single-story red brick house up ahead on the left. The sun dipped its toes in the western horizon, silhouetting the naked trees and bushes in the brown front yard.
Dan twisted around to face Paul in the backseat. “You gonna be able to do this?”
“Yep,” he lied, checking his sidearm. He still couldn’t believe he’d passed out. He’d never passed out before, not even in college after a game day binger and this was not the time to start. It shook him.
Dan craned his neck, surveying the house. “It looks quiet.”
“So did the grocery store,” Wendy said, wincing as soon as the words slipped from her shiny red lips.
A stabbing pain sliced through Paul’s heart. He stared out the car windows, taking in their alien surroundings. They were so far away from her now. How many miles? He was afraid to even ask
.
Mercifully, Dan changed the subject. “Let’s go.”
Wendy backed the cop car into the house’s double-drive and shut off the engine. Paul stared at a half-barrel turned onto its side and spilling wilted flowers onto the lawn. A light breeze tickled an American flag proudly waving from atop a rusty pole by the road while a BMX bike leaned against a dead bush bordering the front steps. The basketball hoop over the garage was missing its net and a strand of Christmas lights dangled to the ground over a front window, menial tasks forever left undone.
“I’m sorry I seemed so happy when I shot that lady today.”
Dan turned to Wendy, eyebrows dipping.
“I feel bad for getting excited like that.”
“You saved our lives.” He took her hand. “Personally, I found it very uplifting.”
Wendy pulled her hand back. “She was probably a mother and a wife and people loved her and I shouldn’t celebrate shooting her like that, even if she was one of those things. It was disrespectful.”
Paul rolled his eyes and got out. He wiped sweat from his upper lip, light headed and wobbly on his feet, the cop’s shotgun slippery in his sweaty hands. He hadn’t even gone ten feet and needed to sit down already. He wondered how much longer they’d have to do this SWAT team crap. Months? Years? Forever? His legs felt as heavy as his heart and he didn’t think he could last much longer. Didn’t want to last much longer.
Rather than politely rapping the brass door-knocker, Paul smashed the butt of the shotgun through a skinny window running vertically alongside the front door. Carefully, he reached through the shards of glass, expecting something to bite his hand at any moment, sealing his fate forever. He held his breath, struggling to find the deadbolt release. He grunted and the lock clicked. Slowly, he pulled his hand back out and exhaled a long breath that made his head swim.
Dan used the barrel of the Browning to push the door open. It swung inward with a nasty creak. They flinched backwards at the stench waiting to greet them.
A Little More Dead Page 14
