Dead Series (Book 2): A Little More Dead: Gunfire & Sunshine (8 page)

He scooted a
little away. “I’ve seen worse.”

“It’s a long way
from my tiny two-bedroom apartment in Dwight, Kansas.”

Stephanie came
back into the room, an unsettled look in her eyes as she scanned the bloodstain
on the floor.

“What’s wrong?”
Paul asked.

Coming around the
pool table, she searched the floor and then the couch, twisting her fingers in
the sunlight. “I can’t find my ring.”

“
Ring
?” Wendy said, getting up to check
the cushion beneath her.

Paul swallowed
hard as a slow shiver wormed down his spine.

☠

Everyone ate breakfast
out on the top floor balcony, watching the sun-sparkled ocean without speaking.
Despite the cushioned patio furniture, it made getting comfortable an
impossible feat. This morning sat in stark contrast to yesterday. Yesterday,
Paul barely had time to breathe, let alone think; now he had too much time and
it was a dangerous combination. He couldn’t see Sophia’s face again and it
crippled his spirit. In between some grapes and Pop-Tarts, he rehydrated with
plenty of water to push back against the dull thud rotating inside his head
from last night’s whiskey. This whole plan turned out to be a bad idea and the
thought of staying here another minute made his skin crawl. Brock was right in
the dream. Sitting here waiting for those decomposing bastards to come to Paul
wasn’t the solution. He had to take the fight to them.

The best defense is a good offense.

Popping another
grape into his mouth, he stared at the bodies littering the perimeter of the fence
line. He didn’t hear a single gunshot in his sleep but it was obvious Curtis
took out some aggressions on his fans after last night’s show.

“I still don’t get
how you knew it was under the bed.” Stephanie held her hand up to the light,
admiring the sapphire rock on her finger.

“Lucky guess,”
Paul replied, tossing another grape back and wondering how Brock knew where her
ring would be. And since Brock was only a figment of Paul’s messed up PTSD imagination,
how did Paul know where to find it? Probably because it was a logical choice.
Still, it left an uneasy feeling eating away at him like one of those
decomposing things out beyond the gate.

Stephanie lowered
her hand and sighed, rubbing the sparkly rock with her thumb. “Troy gave this
to me the day I made the Chiefs’ cheer squad.”

“It’s beautiful,”
Wendy said, admiring the cobalt stone.

“Hey, you going to
bogart all those grapes or what, hoss?”

Paul’s puffy-eyed
gaze swung to Curtis. He threw him the bag and Curtis fumbled the catch,
spilling grapes all over the balcony floor.

“Nice toss,
dick-weed!”

“Curtis,”
Stephanie groaned, pulling a brown leather jacket tighter around her as the
wind picked up.

Snatching a grape
from the ground, Curtis threw it at Paul who easily blocked it. “God, I’m sick
of looking at you.”

Paul laughed, swapping
an amused look with Wendy. “Jeez, bipolar much, Curtis?”

“Fuck you, city boy!”

“Wendy, I think
Curtis needs his meds before he has a total meltdown.”

“I think that’s a
good idea,” she said, pulling a joint from a pack of smokes and handing it to
Curtis.

He hesitated
before grabbing it and lighting up, giving Paul the evil eye and holding his
breath.

“We need to do
something about those bodies before it starts smelling so bad we can’t workout
in the backyard anymore.”

Paul followed
Stephanie’s gaze to a yoga mat and some light dumbbells in the sand. He
couldn’t imagine the smell from burning all of those bodies, not to mention the
energy it would take dragging them into a pile and covering them with wood.
Digging Sophia’s grave left him tired and sore for days and the thought of
disposing of a couple dozen of those things made him queasy. It would be easier
to just to move on. Gazing out to sea, Paul drummed his fingers against the
table. This place was nice but something called to him out there and not just
the photo albums back at his house. Those were important but, after getting
them, he would need something to keep him busy. Something that might make a
difference. Dead Brock was right. They were behind the eight ball and playing
vacation wasn’t the way to get out.

He had to go back.

It was March now and
Old Man Winter would soon be losing his icy grip on the Midwest. Spring was
right around the corner and Paul could imagine the hurt look on Wendy’s face
when he told her he was leaving this delusion of paradise but he didn’t care. Maybe
he would come back and visit. Or maybe he would just wander the ends of the
earth until those yellow teeth found his flesh.

“I’m sorry, Paul.”

He blinked Curtis into
focus. Slouching in a patio chair, smoke trailed from Curtis’ nose like a
sleepy dragon. Paul laughed. “You know what, Curtis? You’re a fucking idiot.”

“I’m just having a
hard time…” His glassy gaze swept over the railing to the dark spot in the sand
where they burned Troy’s body. “Dealing with everything that’s happened.”

“We all are. Jesus!”

“Curtis,” Stephanie
started, “You’re not the only one hurting here so quit acting like it. I loved
Mom and Dad too.” She poked a finger into her chest. “Troy was my brother too!”

“I know,” he softly
replied, bringing the joint to his lips.

Paul dropped a
Pop-Tart to his plate and got up, handgun banging against the doorway as he
went back inside. He was in no mood to deal with Curtis’ bullshit today and
feared where another confrontation might lead. It was better to diffuse the
situation and start coming up with a new game plan because the old one sucked. In
the old one, she was there. Now she wasn’t. Stopping in the study on the top
floor, he planted his hands on his hips and laughed a little at his situation
and if anyone was watching they’d think he was going crazy and maybe he was. Do
crazy people know when they’re going crazy?

Exhaling a forlorn
breath, his eyes slid down a wall of books to the Adidas on his feet. The ones
he stole from a Kohl’s store with Sophia and Dan. He’d rinsed them off in the
ocean yesterday but they were still wet and bloodstained against the rug he
stood on. Unlike the clean t-shirt and black jeans he had on now, none of the house’s
prior tenants wore his shoe size and he was just as stuck with these bloody
Adidas as he was in this beach house. Pinching the bridge of his nose, pieces
of a new plan started coming together in his mind. He would go back to his home
in Iowa and stop to see her along the way. That was all there was to it. Sophia
deserved that much.

After all, no one would
put flowers on her grave.

He ran a hand down
his face and chuckled, the sheer absurdity of it all blowing his mind. His wife
and mom were dead and gone while Dan still walked the earth as one of those
things
. Never in a million years did he
think…

“Everything okay?”

His head snapped
around to the sliding glass doors.

Wendy’s curvy silhouette
stepped into the room and folded her arms across a blue leather coat. “What
were you laughing at?”

He looked to her
new Nike running shoes that appeared to fit just fine. “My shoes,” he said.
“All the brand new shoes in this place and none in my size.”

“We should hit a store
today and stock up.”

“I have to go
back.”

Her eyebrows
dipped. “
Back
?”

“To my house.”

“In Iowa?” Wendy shifted
in her stance, gun jiggling against her thigh while Paul braced himself for her
rebuttal. A thousand defense strategies ran through his mind at the speed of
light and there was no way in hell she was talking him out of this.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll
go back with you.”

He stared at her
for a long moment, caught off guard. “No, it’s too dangerous. I’m going alone.”

She laughed like
he just told her he saw Bigfoot eating the horses outside. Her face sobered. “I’m
going with you and that’s that.”

“Wendy,” he said,
stopping when she held up an unwavering hand.

He sighed, a
strong dose of irritation injecting into his bloodstream.

“I was getting
bored here anyway,” she lied, her smile brightening her blue eyes.

This made him
laugh. They’d barely had a minute to think since they got here. “Bored?
Really?”

“And it smells
like fish.”

“You can’t leave.”
They spun around to see Stephanie standing in the patio doorway, sheer curtains
blowing around her like a ballroom gown. “It’s suicide to go back out there.” She
stepped inside with a mug of coffee cupped in her hands, stopping in front of a
tall ladder running up a wall of books. “It’s safe here.” Her gaze tightened.
“We can make a life here. A stand.”

“I know it’s safe
but I have to do this.”

She swept a hand
out. “Paul, we have a fence and solar power. Horses for Christ’s sake. Horses!”

“We can’t just sit
here and play the waiting game, Stephanie. We have to bring the fight to them
or we’ll never win.”

“And where will
you go?”

“Back to his house
in Iowa.”

Her thin eyes
darted to Wendy. “Iowa? For what?”

“He can’t remember
what his wife looks like and needs some photo albums.”

Paul turned to a
fancy telescope positioned against a glass wall to hide the flush he felt
creeping into his cheeks.

Stephanie stared
at him slack jawed with the curtains angrily flapping in the wind behind her.
“Can’t you get the pictures and come back?”

He went around a
glass desk and stopped at the window. It was beautiful outside. The kind of day
that unforgettable memories are built on. It was tempting to stay. It would be
so easy. They had everything they needed and this wasn’t that big of a town and
they could stay here and watch movies and play pool and Asteroids and
volleyball and fuck the rest of the world. The rest of the world could fend for
themselves.

“I’m not coming
back.” A seagull swooped down and landed on a dead man wearing a neon safety
vest Paul could see from here. He scanned the bodies. If it wasn’t for that
fence, he’d already be dead. They could just stay here. It would be so easy. “If
there are more out there like us, I’m going to find them. This is a numbers
game and we need more than four people to win it.” He turned from the window
and met their stares. “We need an army,” he said, sharpening his gaze. “And I’m
not stopping until I find one. It’s our only shot and trust me when I say it is
a
shot
.”

“We’ll need more
guns too. A lot more.”

Paul nodded at
Wendy. “Finding a doctor or a nurse wouldn’t be a bad idea either. We break a leg
now and it’s a death trap.”

Stephanie searched
the room for minute, running her brown eyes over the book spines and expensive
furnishings, before turning back to him and stepping closer. “Well, if you
won’t stay, I’m coming with you.”

Paul’s stomach dropped.
This caught him off guard even more than Wendy’s response. “I don’t think
that’s a good idea.”

“That makes two of
us,” Curtis said, entering the room. “We’re not going anywhere, sis.”

Stephanie nodded
to the window. “I can’t stay here, Curtis. Not after what happened to Troy. And
you and I will never last here on our own.”

“Bullshit!” Curtis
threw his hands out. “We’ve got the fence and guns and
everything
we need!”

She shook her
head. “I’m going with them.” Her eyes rose to Paul. “If that’s okay with you.”

He hesitated for a
moment before answering. “It won’t be easy, and we won’t have everything we
need.”

“I know.”

He traded a
cryptic look with Wendy, who offered up a shallow shrug. Sighing, he massaged
his forehead. If this was what she wanted, Stephanie knew the dangers and
deserved a shot to avenge the fall of mankind. “It’s up to you.”

“Of course he’s
going to say that, Steph!” Curtis bellowed, his voice bouncing off the books.
“You’re an NFL cheerleader, for Christ’s sake!”

“There’s more to
me than that, Curtis!”

“Yeah and now that
is wife is out of the way, that’s exactly what he wants to check out.”

“Curtis!”

Paul stepped
forward and Wendy pushed him back.

Curtis glared at
him through malicious slits. “We were doing just fine before you showed up, and
look at us now.” He spit to the rug. “Well, you can count me out,” he said,
galloping downstairs and calling them assholes under his breath.

Chapter
Seven

DAY TWENTY-THREE

Z
ipping up the black
duffel bag of guns and ammo Brock gave him, Paul set it on the bed next to a backpack
of clothes he took from the master closet. They were already getting a much
later start than he wanted and Paul was more than ready to put this place behind
him. The last four days proved he made the right decision about leaving. There
were only so many games of Asteroids and pool to play before boredom started
picking at his brain. Taking a step back, he surveyed the two bags on the bed while
Wendy took one last hot shower down the hall. That was the one thing he would
miss about this place but they were meant for bigger things than hot showers
and stargazing through a five-thousand-dollar telescope. He just hoped Curtis
hadn’t changed his mind and, judging by his drunken behavior over the last four
days, he probably hadn’t. The guy was a ticking time bomb and Paul didn’t want
to be around when he went off.

A light knock at
the door gave him a jolt. Turning, he expected to see Wendy in a towel but
found Curtis instead.

“You got a minute,
hoss?”

Paul strapped his
solar powered G-Shock around his left wrist, dreading whatever was about to come
out of Curtis’ mouth.

Stepping into the
room, the smell of body odor and whiskey oozed from his pores, heated by the
sunlight streaming through one wall of glass. “Listen, I wanted to apologize
for the other day,” Curtis said softly. “I never should’ve said that about
Sophia.”

A volt of negative
energy sizzled Paul nerves at the mention of her name.

“I’m man enough to
admit when I’m wrong and I was definitely wrong about that.”

Paul turned a
scowl loose on him. “Is there anything you do or say that you don’t have to
apologize for later?”

He shrugged. “Not
really, but I’m hoping to change that.”

Paul couldn’t stop
a laugh as he slipped a platinum wedding band onto his ring finger. Old dogs
and new tricks, and the last thing he needed right now was to play counselor to
some spoiled, unstable brat.

“Yeah well,
anyway,” Curtis started, scratching his head, “if I haven’t offended you too
much, I’d uhh…” His throat clicked when he swallowed. “I’d like to come with.”

Paul stared at him
with a dumbfounded look pasted to his face, jaw coming unhinged. He needed a
lot of things in his life right now and Curtis was at the bottom of the list.

“I can’t exactly
let my big sister go traipsing off with a bunch of strangers in this world and
God knows what could happen if she fell in with the wrong crowd.”

“We’re not the
wrong crowd.”

“No, I know. That’s
not what I meant, but we can’t be the only people left alive out there, right?”

Paul snorted his
laughter. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he replied, tightening the leg
straps on his holster.

“Maybe not but if
there are more people out there, they’ll be desperate and scared and I can’t
let her go without me.”

Paul tucked a
loaded mag into the side compartment on his holster, not bothering to waste the
energy on a reply. He didn’t like where this conversation was going.

Curtis watched him
round up his stuff, a tension-filled silence pressing against them. “So?”

Paul slung the
backpack over a shoulder, grabbed the duffel bag and turned to face him. “Look
Curtis, I’m sorry about Troy; I really am. He risked everything for people he
didn’t even know and that’s exactly the kind of person I’m looking for, but you
and I…we mix like oil and water.”

“And that’s my bad.
I sometimes shoot off at the mouth and, like I said, I’m going to change that.”

“I guess I just don’t
have the patience to wait.”

“You’re a good
guy, Paul, and you didn’t deserve the hard time I gave you and I’m sorry. It
won’t happen again and I’ll follow your lead.” His eyes slid to the window
overlooking the ocean. “I just don’t want to be here alone, not without Steph
and Troy.”

Paul stopped in
front of him on the way out, staring into his soul through the windows of his
eyes. “You should’ve thought about that before you shot Cora,” he said, pushing
past.

“I saved her too,
ya know. It wasn’t just Troy!”

Paul kept going
down the hallway.

“I thought she was
a straggler,” Curtis yelled after him. “She got bit!”

Down in the living
room, Paul found Wendy and Stephanie sitting with wet hair and their bags packed.
They looked nervous and unsure and he didn’t blame them. Following their eyes
over his shoulder, he found Curtis leaning in the doorway behind him. Paul
turned back to the women and set his bags down. “Are you sure you want to do
this?” His gaze lingered on Stephanie because this was about to get weird.

“Yes,” she
replied, tucking a strand of hair behind an ear. “You’re right, we can’t just
sit here and wait for people to find us. We need to start taking back what
belongs to us.”

“And we will, but right
now we always have to be ready to run. We’re a long way from taking anything
back and no matter where we run, we never let our weapons leave our side. Ever.”
Paul pointed to the driveway out front. “We have a siphon but that doesn’t mean
we won’t run out of gas or hit a snag with the truck somewhere down the line.
We always have to be ready to run.”

“Wait, did you say
truck
?” Curtis piped in. “As in my
truck?”

Paul ignored him.
“Just remember what we talked about on the beach during target practice. This
isn’t a movie or a video game and head shots don’t come easy. It’s hard enough
hitting a stationary target, let alone one that is literally trying to kill
you. Pressure changes everything. Your heart rate. Your breathing. Your aim. No
matter how good you think you are sitting on the couch, everything is different
out there.” He exhaled and lowered his voice. “And there are probably going be
times where we go hours or days without ammo and if that happens shit’s gonna
get weird real quick so conserve your rounds.”

Wendy and
Stephanie replied with faint nods.

“Now, I don’t know
what we’ll find in Des Moines or what we’ll do after that but we will figure it
out. There has to be someplace we can go and the only way we’ll get there is if
we stick together.”

They nodded again.

He took a deep
breath and released it. “Just follow my lead and above all else…do not accidentally
shoot me or I swear to God I will haunt you for the rest of your miserable
lives.”

“And what about you?”
Stephanie looked at Curtis. “Where’s your stuff?”

Solemnly, Curtis
shook his head and crossed the living room to a window overlooking the F-150
and Corvette parked out front.

She bolted to her
feet. “I thought we talked about this, Curtis!”

“He won’t let me.”

Paul rolled his
eyes, avoiding Stephanie’s pointed glare.

“Paul.” She
stepped closer. “We can’t just leave him here by himself.”

“I’ve already made
my decision. I don’t need anyone testing my patience because there’s none left
to test.”

Stephanie rested a
hand on the gun on her hip, looking like an action hero in a brown leather
jacket and tight-fitting blue jeans that poured into a pair of combat boots. Paul
didn’t know if she brought the clothes with her or found them upstairs and
didn’t care. She looked the part and his mind was made up about Curtis.

“I already lost
one brother and I’m not about to lose another.”

“Then stay here,”
he replied, snatching his bags up off the floor.

“Paul,” Wendy said
softly, rising from a studded armchair and crossing the room. “You keep saying
we need more people, that we need to build an army, and Curtis can shoot.”

“Yeah I saw that
when he put a round right through Cora’s eye. Impressive.”

Curtis turned from
the window and Wendy shot a hand up.

“That was an
accident and you know it, Paul,” she said, controlling her voice. “This is all still
new to us. It hasn’t even been a full month yet and Cora would have turned into
one of those things anyway. It was a terrible accident, but did you see her
face? Things aren’t like before. We’re all scared and jumpy and mistakes are
going to happen but he won’t make that mistake again. Will you, Curtis?”

He buried his
hands in the pockets of his oily jeans. “From here on out, I just want to help.
That’s it.”

Wendy turned back
to Paul with pleading look swimming in her blue pools and vanilla wafting from
her wet hair. “See? He just wants to help.”

Paul stared at her
to the sound of his beating heart. She was right and goddamn her for that.
Curtis could shoot and they needed all the guns they could get because they
were up against a serious wall. Releasing a reluctant breath that lowered his
shoulders, Paul shook his head. “Not in a million years.”

“Paul.” She took
his hand and squeezed. “I’ll follow you to hell and back because I believe in
you, but I would feel safer having him with us. He’s already saved our lives
two different times.”

“Three,” Curtis
coughed into his hand, pulling a cross look from Stephanie.

Paul took his hand
back and ran it down his freshly shaven face. “Fine! But this is my party and I
call the shots. Is
everyone
clear on
that?” He drilled Curtis with a challenging glower.

Everyone nodded,
including Curtis, who couldn’t stop a wry smile from pulling back into his
unshaven cheeks.

Paul studied him
for a few seconds, regret already leaking into his bones. “And the first thing
I need you to do is go take a shower. You smell like the dead.”