“We won’t,” he said, turning up the heater.
“How can you be so sure? Look what’s happened to everyone else! As far as we know, we’re the last two people on the entire planet.”
“There are more people somewhere.” He adjusted his seat belt again which kept getting tighter every few miles. “There has to be.” But for all he knew, she could be right and the fate of mankind was resting squarely upon their shoulders. If that was the case, mankind was in for some serious trouble. They passed a Ford F-150 with perfect windows and Paul considered pulling over and trading out the battered show car but was too tired to attempt such a brazen move without knowing if the keys were inside or not. Nothing was easy. Not with just the two of them.
“So what now?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“We’ll figure something out.”
“Something like what?”
He didn’t answer.
Right now he just wanted to drive. Not talk. The ghastly image of Dan bobbed to the surface in his groggy mind, sticking him with poisoned darts. Dan turned so fast. How was that even possible? Paul’s mom and Sophia took days to turn, but Dan changed in a matter of minutes, if not seconds. Maybe multiple bites could speed up the infection. Paul didn’t know but the unpredictability of it all left a sour taste in his mouth. With some effort he pushed the image of Dan’s dangling jaw back down and tried to focus on Sophia’s heart-shaped face, which was hazy and missing some pieces around the edges, leaving him feeling claustrophobic and hopeless. If he couldn’t be with her, he at least needed to see her. They rode in silence, passing through one ghost town after another.
“Eventually, I’m going back.”
A quizzical look slid across Wendy’s blood-stained face. “Back where?”
“To Des Moines.”
“Iowa?”
He nodded. “Back to my house.”
“For what?”
Paul’s Adams apple bobbed. “Some photo albums.”
“Photo albums? Paul, it’s not worth risking…”
He pounded his fist against the wheel, honking the horn as they blazed past a shop selling boogey-boards and bikinis. “I can’t see her face! What don’t you get about that?”
She stared at him, slack jawed and unnerved. “And what am I supposed to do?”
“We’ll find some other people soon.”
“Other people? And what, you’re just going to leave me with complete strangers?”
“Strangers?” He chuckled. “What’s my last name again?”
Eyebrows sinking, she opened her mouth to reply but didn’t. The quiet resumed its place as the car blazed past a CVS with shattered windows and a woman’s body impaled on a metal handicapped sign in the parking lot. Wendy breathed out. “We’re not complete strangers.”
Shelly1 flew along as the sky darkened with an approaching storm system. Paul yawned and thought about being with Sophia on the picnic table the other night – just the two of them under a blanket of stars.
“Where do you think the President is?” Wendy asked, taking her shoes off and resting her red painted toes on the dash.
“Probably flying around in Air Force One somewhere, looking for a safe place to land before they run out of fuel.”
“That would be horrible.”
“If he’s even still alive.”
“Why do you think that, out of all the people out there, we made it? Why us?”
He stared out the hole in the front window and shrugged. “Bad luck I guess.”
She got quiet, wiping away another teardrop making a break for it down her cheek. “Thank you for saving my life.”
He kept his eyes on the road.
“Back in Brock’s driveway,” she clarified, rubbing the spot on her arm where a zombie had pressed its teeth the night before. If Paul would’ve hesitated for even a second, she’d be on the other team today and he’d be sitting here alone.
Wendy rested a hand on his, studying his strong profile. “The Chinese say, when you save somebody’s life they belong to you.”
He took his hand back as they crested a hill and watched the ocean unfold before them like a springtime flower. It was a beautiful sight, the body of water running to the ends of the earth, its infinite mass breathtaking. Seagulls rode the frenetic airwaves above and Paul remembered Mike asking if there were sharks in the ocean. Paul sat up straighter and stepped on the gas, driving Shelly1 onto a smooth stretch of sandy beach near Port O’Connor, Texas. He shut the car off and sat there, soaking it all in. This was the end of the line and the end of the plan. Mike and Matt would have loved it here. They all would’ve.
Paul exchanged a silent glance with Wendy before getting out and filling his lungs with a deep breath of salty air. She climbed out and pulled her ponytail free, letting the wind run through her hair while stretching her arms out and shutting her eyes. Seagulls cried out overhead and swooped down for a closer look, convinced Wendy and Paul had already dropped some scraps to the sand. As far as the eye could see, the beach was clear of people, dead or alive. Just the same, he retrieved a pistol-grip shotgun from the duffel bag in the backseat, thinking of Brock as he did so. Stopping in front of the car, Paul dropped into the sand and set the stockless weapon next to him, pulling his knees to his chest. Wendy sat cross-legged beside him and watched the waves crash onto the beach and throw spray into the air.
They made it.
Sort of.
“It’s so beautiful,” she murmured, gazing out over the water. “Everything seems so...normal.”
Squinting into the ocean breeze, Paul tried to remember normal. Valentine’s Day seemed so long ago now, one of the last normal days on the planet. A day he and Sophia spent at a nice Chinese restaurant, where soft lights and low music set the romantic tone in her voice. She looked so beautiful that night and she should be here with him now, not some fucking waitress from Kansas he barely knew. Fuck!
The wind tugged at Wendy’s hair. “What’re you thinking about?”
He redirected his attention to a small dock housing some large boats down the way. This was the end of the plan and without Sophia and Dan he had no clue what to do next. Without them, he couldn’t think. Couldn’t see.
Sophia’s last words rattled around inside his skull like loose change in a dryer.
You’re the only hope.
The wind carried off his bitter laughter, sweeping it down the barren beach. Some fucking hope. Lot of good it did Dan.
“I’m sorry about Dan,” Wendy said, reading his mind. “You were lucky to have a friend like him. He made me laugh.”
Paul turned to find her soft blue eyes staring back. He nodded a little and swung his gaze back to the empty horizon, fighting the tears blurring his vision. He needed to focus. Not a single boat, plane or pedestrian moved in any direction. His stomach turned. He didn’t know what to do next but he did know one thing: They were in trouble.
“I miss my sister.”
Paul turned to her. “What was her name again?”
“Tammy.” Wendy let sand run through her fingers. “Maybe she and Joe made it out of town and got away.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
He followed her drifting gaze to some pastel-colored cottages down the way. They looked nice but how long until another rude awakening struck in the middle of the night? Even if they boarded up the windows and doors, which would require some serious material and energy, they would eventually find themselves surrounded by dozens of those things, if not hundreds. Then what? Two people could only fire off so many rounds at a time. He turned back to the dock.
“Do you want to go back to Des Moines?”
His brown eyes pinched together.
“Because I’ll go back right now if you want to.”
He watched the rolling waves, their thundering crashes loud enough to cover the grunts and snarls of any approaching infected. The hairs bristled on the back of Paul’s neck. He twisted around to see Shelly1 staring at him, looking like she’d seen better da
ys. Just like him. His gaze gravitated back to the ocean’s pull. “Maybe when it gets warmer.”
She nodded, letting fine grains of sand slip through her fingers. “I wish I could draw, I’d sketch you a picture of her.”
A guttural scream went off in the distance like a siren, yanking their attention down the beach. Wendy took his hand and squeezed. He glanced at the funky colored beach houses before turning back to the dock. The larger boats probably had a small kitchen and bedroom on board. Maybe even a functioning bathroom, but the odds of finding keys seemed remote at best. Another scream rang out, this one from behind them. Paul glanced over his shoulder and blew out a long breath. Those things were everywhere. Wendy scooted closer in the sand.
Sophia’s words hunted him like annoying mosquitoes.
Help them get to the ocean and don’t let anything get in your way.
He turned back the cottages. None were on stilts and they sure as hell couldn’t build anything better. His eyes flickered back to the boats. Most looked expensive and difficult to operate. Paul and Dan used to own a ski boat but the ones parked at the dock were much larger and he could only imagine the numerous switches and gauges crowding the dash. With the wind in his face, he closed his eyes and stopped thinking for a minute. His brain felt like it was pressing against the inside of his skull. He thought about using a corkscrew to relieve the building pressure. It would be a sweet relief. Maybe they should go back. Things had to of calmed down in Des Moines by now. They could sneak in and out. He needed to touch her things, smell them, sleep with them.
When he opened his eyes, Sophia was standing in front of him with her toes buried in the sand. She was as beautiful as the first day they met at the gym. Giving him one of her uplifting smiles, she gestured to the boats directly behind her. His face sank along with his heart. She should be here, not a figment of his fucked up imagination. Then, just like that, she was gone. He blinked, staring at the boats in the distance. Paul turned to Wendy. She was his family now and the thought nearly made him cry. It wasn’t fair. “You think they can swim?”
Her gaze thinned. “I doubt it. Like Brock said, they can barely walk.”
“Ever been on a boat before?”
She followed his line of sight to the dock. “Joe had a ski boat we went on all the time.”
He got up and brushed sand from his rear end. “Let’s go,” he said, helping her up.
“Where’re we going to find keys?”
“Hopefully in the pocket of the first dead guy we come across.” He scanned the nearby beach houses. “Or maybe in one of those houses.”
She returned an uncertain stare as he made sure his guns were loaded and the safeties were off. Paul started across the beach, heart pounding harder when he saw his wife’s footprints in the sand.
Chapter Forty-One
Wendy followed Paul onto the narrow dock, which was rickety and free of dead people. Without permission, he stepped aboard a large white boat with Wine-N-Down printed across the back. Leaning the small shotgun in a corner, he cupped his hands around his face and peered through a sliding glass door. It was perfect inside, with a living room under the helm and a small kitchen to boot. He grabbed the door’s long handle and pulled but it wouldn’t budge.
“Let’s break it,” Wendy said, nervously looking around with her gun out.
Paul took a quick look around, dark clouds turning the day to night. “It can get pretty cold on the ocean at night. We need the doors and windows intact, especially with all the storms that pop up around here.” He snatched the shotgun and jumped back onto the dock. “Let’s check some of the other ones before we break anything. We might get lucky.”
Wendy exhaled a tired breath and followed as the thick raindrops began hammering the dock’s planks, blurring the surface of the water. Lightning split the sky and thunder rattled their bones.
“See what I mean,” he yelled over his shoulder.
The heavy downpour turned her blond hair dark, a purple bra now visible through her wet t-shirt.
Paul stopped at a boat dubbed AquaHolic with a cartoon fish holding a cocktail glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
Wendy laughed. “We have got to take this one!”
Lightning flickered, lighting up the cartoon’s yellow eyes as Paul tried the sliding glass door on the back patio. “Damn!” He hopped back onto the dock, water streaming from the tip of his nose. “Let’s just keep going down the line.” Thunder crashed, vibrating the wooden planks beneath their feet. Paul looked up, realizing it wasn’t the thunder shaking the dock. It was the portly man running full speed at them from the other end.
“Aw hell,” Paul muttered, anchoring the shotgun to his hip.
Wendy positioned herself next to him, careful not to fall in the water and holding her gun in both hands like Sophia taught her. The bulldog of a man hunched over and ran faster, raindrops bouncing off his blue windbreaker. Paul curled his finger around the trigger, aiming for the man’s bald spot. He held his breath, the dock shaking with each jarring footstep. Paul fired. The pistol-grip recoiled against his hip bone, sending a white flash of pain through him. The shot missed and only pissed the guy off more. The short man increased his speed. The dock swayed. Paul tried steadying the weapon but there wasn’t time. They could already hear the man’s grunts through the driving rain. Lightning flashed and Wendy unleashed a three round burst – like Dan taught her. The bulldog nosedived onto the wet wood and slid past their feet. Paul grabbed his belt just before he slid into the water, a tendon bulging in his neck as he pulled the man back onto the dock with one hand. They kept their guns trained on the crumpled body, watching the rain mix with the blood running into the cracks. Paul wiped water from his eyes and inspected the area for more rotting corpses, legs shaky and weak. Cautiously, he knelt down beside the dead man.
Wendy widened her stance and tightened her grip. “Be careful. It’s only a matter of time before these things start playing dead.”
He looked up, brow folding at the thought.
She shrugged loosely. “You never know.”
Paul rolled the man over onto his back, eyes traveling from the man’s khakis to the boat shoes on his feet. Paul punched him in the ribs and when there was no reaction, he set the shotgun on the dock, the rain hampering his vision. “I’m going to check his pockets.”
Wendy straightened her aim as Paul patted the guy down. He felt something in a pants pocket and reached inside. His eyes rose to the man’s gaping mouth, expecting the poor bastard to reanimate at any second. Thunder cracked. Paul pulled his hand back, heart stutter-stepping. He held up the buoy keychain and let the keys dangle.
“Bam!”
Wendy kept her gun on the corpse. “What’s it say?”
Paul turned the keychain for a better look, blinking water from his eyes. “Wavy Gravy.”
“Wavy Gravy?” Wendy looked all around. “Which one is it?”
His gaze jumped from boat to boat, the rain pissing him off. He couldn’t see for shit and he didn’t have time for blindness. “Has to be around here somewhere.”
“Paul?”
He started walking in the direction the man came, imagining the poor sonofabitch getting his boat ready for a long weekend – or maybe an escape – when some white haired man in a sailor’s cap caught him from behind. It was easy to see.
“Paul?”
His eyes examined the back of each boat, lips mouthing the words: Wavy Gravy. Over and over again.
“Paul!”
He spun around. “What!” he snapped.
She nodded to the white boat parked in the slip next to where she was standing.
Paul wandered closer, eyes thinning. “Oh snap,” he muttered, staring at Wavy Gravy which was just as nice and shiny as Wine-N-Down.
Chapter Forty-Two
Wendy screamed, her blue eyes bulging from their sockets. “Oh my God! Look how clean the toilet is!”
His nervous gaze drifted from the white stool to a sea foam gree
n shower curtain covering a tight stall. Paul watched his hand reach out for the curtain like it belonged to someone else. Wendy readied her gun and nodded. Holding his breath, he yanked the curtain back, the rings chattering along the rod.
Wendy screamed again. “There’s soap and shampoo!”
He lowered the Beretta and pushed past her, releasing the breath. The next room had two red bunk beds and orange carpeting, everything clean as a whistle.
“We will be able to sleep in total peace tonight,” Wendy said, testing the bottom mattress.
The next room was a bit larger with a queen-sized bed and a flat screen attached to the wall above a thin dresser bolted to the floor.
“It just keeps getting better and better,” Wendy muttered, shaking her head. “Would you look at that bed? We can live here!”
“Let’s check the kitchen,” he said, going back through the tiny living room.
The rain drummed against the fiberglass roof, making it impossible to hear if anyone was onboard or not. He held up a hand and Wendy stopped behind him. His eyes swept across a tiny L-shaped couch and another flat screen TV. Mopping water from his face, he moved into a galley kitchen with a built in mini-fridge and microwave. A tall and narrow pantry made him smile. He stared at the water, soda, beer, cookies, granola bars, chips, popcorn, and three bags of Starbucks coffee grounds inside. They had packed some dry goods in each car back at Brock’s house, but this was way more than what they had on hand and every little bit counted. Still, it wouldn’t last for longer than a week, tops.
“I feel like crying right now,” Wendy said, opening a bag of Funyuns and crunching down on a big yellow ring.
Like the rest of the boat, the mini-fridge was spotless inside and out, further supporting Paul’s suspicions that the bulldog was preparing for a long weekend. Paul pounded a bottle of lukewarm water, watching Wendy remove a case of liquor bottles from a cupboard beneath the sink. She pulled out a bottle of red wine and studied it with her eyebrows raised. “Not bad,” she said, slipping it back into the box and pulling out a bottle of tequila next. “Now, we’re talking.”
A Little More Dead Page 22
