Brock watched her disappear into the kitchen and turned to Paul, his bushy gray eyebrows dropping with his voice. “So, you’re headin to the ocean tomorrow, huh?”
Paul nodded, without expanding. They already went over this.
“Not a bad plan,” Brock repeated, washing his cookie down with some beer. “The warm air will be nice, and I don’t know if the damn things can swim or not but I doubt it. Sonsabitches can hardly walk as it is.”
“Except the fat ones,” Wendy piped in, swirling her cab in the glass. “They’re fast.”
A heavy frown pulled on his face. “Guess I haven’t seen a fat one yet, now that ya mention it.”
Dan pressed his lips together and glumly shook his head. “Fat zombies suck.”
“Oh, I do love the ocean!” Cora sat back down at the table with a fresh drink and crossed her legs before smoothing her skirt. “We get down to Galveston at least twice a year to see my sister.”
“Be nice to take a bath,” Brock grunted, then releasing a low rolling belch.
“Brock,” she snapped.
He ignored her. “A boat might be your best bet.”
Wendy grinned. “I’ve never been to the ocean before.”
“So you boarded up the windows,” Dan stated, looking around the place.
“Didn’t know what else to do,” Brock replied, inhaling another cookie. “Thought this all might blow over in a few days when the government got her under control.” His chewing slowed as he stared at the package of cookies through faraway eyes. “But I don’t reckon that’s the way she’s gonna go.” He swallowed thickly. “Went to town to get some food two days ago and had to shoot Lester McConnell, our town sheriff. Turns out his bite was worse than his bark.”
Dan creased his brow. “He didn’t bite you, did he?”
“Hell no, dropped him fore he even got close. We saw what a bite from those bastards can do on the news before we lost electricity.” He tipped the can back and finished the beer, prompting Cora to usher the empty into the kitchen. Brock leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. “But I tell you what, going to town for supplies ain’t the most fun thing in the world to do anymore.”
“I bet,” Wendy replied, sipping her wine.
“Scared to leave her here alone and scared to take her with.”
“Anybody else need anything?” Cora hollered from the kitchen.
Wendy said she’d take some more wine and Brock leaned even closer.
“If anything ever happened to her I don’t know what I’d do.”
Paul had an idea: Go bat-shit crazy for starters. He noticed Dan staring at him from across the table and looked away.
Brock sighed. “I’m not going to lie to you, I worry about her,” he said gravely. Paul didn’t like the way he kept looking at him, like Paul was the leader of this ragtag group of stubborn survivors. “I hate to leave her here alone for even a minute and if something happened to me...” he trailed off when Cora reentered the dining room with a new can of beer and a bottle of cabernet.
“Y’all will just have to stay the night,” she said, passing out the drinks. “We’ve got plenty of room and I’ll make pancakes for breakfast. Brock likes chocolate chips in his, so we can do that too.”
Brock herded them into a large living room with oversized leather furniture and a massive stone hearth. Thick pine ran everywhere. It looked like a steakhouse and smelt like one too. Giant potted plants dotted two corners of the room while a huge flat-screen battled the impressive fireplace for attention. Tall floor lamps with cowhide shades sat dormant as the group talked by candlelight while Cora rounded up pillows and blankets.
“Y’all help yourself to anything you need,” she told them. “There’s plenty of food and water out in the kitchen.” She hedged for a moment, resting her hands on her hips. “You sure you don’t wanna take any of the beds upstairs? The sheets are clean.”
Dan shook his head and blew out the candles, lying next to Wendy on some sleeping bags on the floor. “We usually sleep in the same room.”
Brock laughed drunkenly and got up from a huge armchair. “Well, have fun with that, Danny-boy. Me and the Mrs. got some unfinished business to tend to.” He shot Dan an impish wink before leading Cora down the long hallway. “See y’all in the mornin!”
She let out a soft yelp when he pinched her rear end.
Paul stretched out on the couch and watched the moonlight slip through the boards running across the windows. Exhaling a tried breath, he dreaded going to sleep, knowing the same fever dreams would be waiting for him there. One minute she’d be with him, the next inexplicably gone. He decided to stay awake instead and steer clear of the traps set in his mind, resting his eyes for only a minute or two. He was pretty sure he could hear Dan and Wendy kissing softly just before falling into a deep sleep that would end with a scream.
Chapter Thirty-Six
DAY FIFTEEN
Gray morning light pried through the boarded up windows, refusing to be denied entry. Paul woke up before the others, thankful to have his tormented night of sleep behind him. He needed the rest but it left him with bits and pieces of nightmares floating around in his muddy head. Slipping out from beneath a blanket, he carefully stepped over Wendy and Dan, squinting at their entwined silhouettes curled together on the floor. Quietly, he threw his gun and vest on before going out onto the back deck, where he took a leak and then plopped down into a cushioned patio chair wet with the morning dew.
Alone, he blew out a cold breath he could see against the blue dawn breaking on the horizon. Their new motto – no one goes alone – was cramping his style. He kicked his Adidas up onto the patio table and leaned his head back against the chair, watching the dark clouds roll past like volcanic smoke. For now, it was chilly and peaceful in Victoria, Texas, sitting in direct contrast to the rest of the world. From here, you would never know anything had changed. The cows still grazed and the birds still sang. Even the oppressive quiet was probably business as usual around these parts. Paul watched the longhorns, wondering what the weather was like where Sophia was at this morning. He hoped it wasn’t raining. He hoped it was…
“Sleep okay, boss?” Brock said, startling Paul as he stepped outside and shut the door behind him.
Paul turned to see the large man already dressed in a Carhart coat thrown over a starchy button down, jeans, boots, and his signature cowboy hat. “You mean outside of the blood-curdling scream?”
Brock chuckled and fanned a hand through the air, his voice even deeper with a fresh hangover on his breath. “Reckon we oughtta get used to that nowadays, huh?”
Paul turned back to the pastureland. “Not much choice.”
Brock patted his belly. “I slept like a rock. Full belly’ll do that to a man,” he said, filling his lungs with a deep breath of country air that smelled like cow manure. He combed his mustache with his hand, resting his other on the butt of his gun while surveying his spread of land. “Little nippy this morning,” he concluded, zipping his coat higher and taking a seat at the table.
Paul hid behind a thin smile, annoyed he couldn’t get two minutes alone.
“Cora will get some coffee going soon, or there’s soda and what not inside.”
Paul looked down, glancing at his Beretta stuffed inside its dark canvas home. It seemed like a pea-shooter compared to the Undertaker.
“Well, Dan was right, that sure is some sweet ride.” Brock leaned back, admiring the black Chevelle parked in the driveway. “I suppose we’ll all have one soon enough.” His eyes drifted out to the cows mooing loudly at his presence.
Two squirrels went zigzagging after each other across the brown grass and Paul wondered if it was cold where Sophia was at this morning. Everything reminded him of her. Mornings, coffee, the way Wendy laughed at Dan’s stupid jokes. All of it made him want to scream.
“Listen Paul,” Brock said, stirring him from his thoughts, “I know we just met and all, but I like to think I’m a pretty good judge of character. Have to be with
some of the people I hire to help out around the ranch. Half of em are ex-cons.” He cleared his throat and clasped his hands on the table. “I also realize this ain’t the world it used to be and I’m man enough to admit it. That world is gone.”
Paul forced himself to stop twisting the wedding band around his ring finger.
“And in this world,” Brock continued, struggling to find the right words, “I reckon it’s important to make good friends quick because right now our enemies outnumber us a hundred to one. Hell, maybe more. And like I told ya last night, I worry about Cora somethin fierce.” He leaned forward to catch Paul’s unfocused eyes. “If somethin ever happened to me, she’d be in a heap of trouble.” A small smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. “Even if somethin doesn’t happen to me, she’s probably in a heap of trouble.” His gaze drifted back out to the cattle, wheels spinning under his hat.
“Long of the short is, I think you’ve got a good plan, Paul, good enough for now anyhow. The ocean is the perfect place to figure out the next step and, if you don’t mind, I’d like for Cora and I to join y’all on your trip south.” Before Paul could protest, he raised a hand to stop him. “I’ve got my own truck and gear and I think we could benefit from each other’s company. I’m no stranger to home defense,” he smiled, tapping his holster. “I know my way around a gun.”
Paul couldn’t stop a grin. “I’ve heard that before.”
“It’s the truth. I can help cover your backs and Cora can whip up a mean batch of whatever she’s got a mind to whip up, so it’d be beneficial to…”
“Listen, Brock,” Paul interrupted, “we appreciate your hospitality and you’re right, we could use your help but our group is operating on a fifty-seven percent mortality rate and that is no lie. We’ve had seven people in our group over the last two weeks and now we are down to three. You may wanna hitch your horse to a different wagon.”
Brock’s gaze slid to Paul’s wedding band. “Your wife?”
Paul looked away. “One of those things bit her in a grocery store a few days ago.”
Brock stared blankly at him for a long moment before removing his hat and running a hand through a full head of salt and pepper hair. He put his hat back on and exhaled a heavy breath. “I’m sorry to hear that, brother. I really am.” He paused before going any further. “What was her name?”
“Sophia.” It sounded like someone else’s voice when he said her name aloud. How long had it been since he said it? It seemed like forever.
Brock nodded. “Pretty name.”
Seconds dragged by like hours.
A crow called out in the distance.
“You have a picture?”
“Nope.”
Brock shifted uneasily in the chair. “That’s a horrible thing to happen to a young fella like you, Paul, and I won’t pretend to understand it.” He grew quiet, his heavy stare making Paul fidget. “But don’t start thinking the good Lord doesn’t have big plans for you, my friend, because He does.” Brock reached over and squeezed Paul’s knee, voice softening to a gravelly whisper. “There’s somethin in your eyes, partner. I can see it.”
The comment took Paul by surprise and his expression showed it.
“I know you want to give up but this is bigger than all of us and it’s going to take all of us to beat it.” Brock drummed his meaty fingers against the table for awhile, eyeballing Paul like he was one of his lackey job applicants. “I know a leader when I see one.”
Paul laughed. “I think you need to get your eyes checked, brother.”
Dan spilled outside with a bounce in his step and two steaming mugs of coffee in his hands. “Okay, who ordered the skinny vanilla latte?”
Brock leaned back and scrunched his face up. “The what’s the who now?”
Dan handed Paul a mug, grinning from ear to ear. “Never mind, yours is coming. So what’s happening? And I want to know everything.”
“Well, Dan, Paul and I were just discussing the logistics of Cora and I joining y’all on your trip to the beach, if that was to be okay with everyone else.”
Dan sat down at the table, blond hair curling out from a ball cap he took from Kohl’s. “I think that’s a great idea,” he said, looking to Paul for corroboration.
Brock smiled, a fond look softening his eyes. “I think the bigger group of good guys we can round up the better. As far as I can tell, the police and military lost the battle and we are on our own.” He paused for effect. “For now.”
“Hear ya go, big guy,” Cora said, cascading out onto the deck in a flowery dress and handing Brock a mug of black coffee.
Paul noticed Cora’s glass of cola smelled a lot like whiskey and it wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning yet.
“Did you boys sleep okay?” she asked, resting a hand on Brock’s shoulder and sipping her drink.
“Like a baby,” Dan replied, shooting Paul a wink.
She smiled warmly. “That’s good; I’ll have breakfast ready soon.” She kissed Brock on the cheek and floated back inside.
Brock watched her go and Paul suddenly felt like he was the only one who didn’t get laid on the entire planet last night.
Wendy came out next, steaming mug in hand. “Good morning,” she sang out, lighting up a cigarette.
Paul’s heart sank when he saw Sophia’s pink gun on the hip of her tight fitting jeans. She looked like a superhero, like Sophia had before…
“That’s a bad habit to tango with there, little lady.” Brock wagged a finger at her. “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 rushing from her nostrils. “Plus, I figure cancer just slid to the back of the things to worry about line.”
Brock laughed and stroked his stache. “Guess you got a point there, Wendy.”
“Hey Brock,” Dan said, drawing the cowboy’s thin blue eyes. “You and Cora get flu-shots this past season?”
His leathery brow wrinkled. “Hell no, can’t stand needles. Besides, everyone I hire gets em and always ends up callin in sick anyhow. Why do ya ask?”
“Paul’s mom got one just before she...passed on.”
Brock turned to Paul with a raised brow.
Paul dismissed it with a quick shake of the head. “It’s just a theory, not that it matters now.”
“It could matter a lot.”
His eyes snapped to Wendy. “Why? Are you a geneticist?”
“Yeah, Paul, I’m a geneticist. Didn’t you notice my lab coat and microscope in the trunk of the car?”
Paul rolled his eyes. “Well, you better getting moving on a cure a hell of a lot faster than this.”
She sat down at the long table, trying to catch his elusive gaze. “If we run into someone who could create a cure, we can tell them what we know and it might help.”
Paul tipped his head back and laughed.
Brock grunted. “Doubt we’ll ever know what caused it unless someone gets the damn TV back on. We’re all in the dark on this one.”
They sat there for a while longer, silently processing events and enjoying the calm morning. So far, Paul’s flu shot theory was still alive and kicking, which was more than you could say for most everything else. After a long quiet moment, Brock excused himself and went inside to check on Cora.
“They’re so nice,” Wendy said, trading a furtive look with Dan.
Dan looked away and wrapped his hands around his warm mug without response.
Her tapered gaze bounced to Paul for a few seconds before she got up. “I should see if they need any help,” she said, stuffing her smoking butt into an ashtray overflowing with burnt cigar stubs and purposely giving Dan a good look down her shirt.
Dan waited until she disappeared before turning to Paul. “For the record, they’re real and they’re incredible.”
Paul sipped his coffee, ignoring the comment. The last thing he wanted to discuss was Wendy’s tits.
Dan’s smile faded. “How’re yo
u doing?”
Paul glared at him over the rim of his mug, his blood beginning to boil at the stupid question. How did he think he was doing?
“I think it’s great they want to come with us. We could use a gunslinger like Brock, and Cora’s cooking…” Dan shook his head. “What do you think?”
“I think they’re good people, and we know what happens to good people around us.”
Dan’s gaze wandered out to the cows, some of which were grazing on grass while others fed from different grain troughs scattered about. “I know it’s been bad, real bad, but things will get better. We’ll get better.”
A bitter laugh flapped Paul’s lips. “Well, that’s a relief.”
Dan’s eyes dropped to his new running shoes beneath the table. “I just need to know that you’ve got our backs.”
Paul sharpened his gaze, blood heated to a boil now.
“All I’m saying is that I need to know your head is on straight.”
“Oh, no problem, Dan. Do you want me to take a math test or set up an obstacle course to prove just how straight my head is on?”
“Look, I just…”
Paul slammed his fist down on the table, rattling their mugs. “Because the last time I checked, I’m the one who almost got killed because you and your girlfriend were out practicing your fucking golf swing!”
Dan’s face twisted in the gray light. “Girlfriend?”
“Maybe you’re the one who needs to get his head on straight.”
Dan’s baffled gaze fell to his shoes and hid under the table like a frightened dog. Even the birds stopped singing. “We have to get to that beach today.”
“And do what?” Paul yelled.
Dan threw his arms out. “I don’t know, Paul. Something. Anything but give up!”
Paul drank his coffee, watching a white cat drift across the backyard like a ghost. It dashed after something, froze with its paws locked to the ground, and then casually went on its way empty handed.
Dan sighed. “We can’t give up.”
A Little More Dead Page 18
