This Would Be Paradise (Book 1)

By N. D. Iverson

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Cover design by Kit Foster / http://www.kitfosterdesign.com/Home.aspx

Editing in part by Rob Bignell /
[email protected]

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage or retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by the reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

N. D. Iverson

For more information, please visit my website at
http://www.ndiverson.weebly.com
.

Man can now fly in the air like a bird,

Swim under the ocean like a fish,

He can burrow into the ground like a mole.

Now if only he could walk the earth like a man,

This would be paradise.

-Tommy Douglas

I groaned and rolled over on the well-used, sagging hotel bed. Thoughts about all the people who slept right where I was laying made my skin crawl like imaginary bedbugs running amok. The sun had managed to peek through the ratty curtains of my once-clean hotel room, disturbing my alcohol induced stupor. I tried to swallow, but my mouth seemed drier than the Nevada desert. Cracking a tired eye open, I found the other twin bed empty.

Zoe, my dumbass friend must have stumbled home with a guy we met last night, while I managed to drag myself back to the room.
What was his name again? Mark? Matt?
I should probably learn to get that straight just in case I had to testify in court when she eventually disappeared after a nightly escapade gone wrong, and then turned up in a dumpster behind Denny’s.

The clock read 12:35 PM and I knew Zoe would be staggering back soon, with yet another story to tell. Then in response I would give her the spiel again; the one that started with, “This is how you end up dead in a ditch, spread out in various plastic bags.”

“’Let’s go to Mardi Gras,’ she said. ‘It will be fun,’ she said,” I mocked aloud and then began coughing profusely.

My throat was on fire; the aftermath of a night of drinking, screaming, and taking part in the celebration. I got up in search of a water bottle, finding a sealed one on the messy dresser. In one gulp I downed half the bottle, and then finished it with the next. After throwing it into the garbage can already overflowing with empty bottles, I sauntered into the bathroom.

After splashing some water on my face, I realized I was going to need something stronger. I needed coffee. The hotel was overrun with fellow Mardi Gras partiers, which seemed to be an excuse for the cleaning staff to slack off. Which translated to no coffee. If I wanted a cup, I would have to venture all the way down to the breakfast area. This was not a pleasant prospect.

I glared at my reflection, the blue irises standing out against my red-rimmed eyes. I looked like I belonged in a Judd Apatow movie. I rummaged through my makeup bag looking for some eye drops and lucked out. After a few attempts, I finally managed to get some in my eyes, not just all over my face.

I walked over to the night stand, wiping at my moist cheeks and tried the front desk to see if they could bring me the coffee packets they were supposed to supply. Laziness had always been a problem for me and, as always, I was going to see if I could try the easy route first. It rang ten times with no answer before I hung up. The service here was awful. I tried again, but still no answer. Looks like I’d have to go down to the lobby after all.

I dug to the bottom of my suitcase for some clean clothes and tied my blonde hair up. I wasn’t winning any Southern beauty pageants today, but no one was expected to look good with a hangover anyways. I shoved the key card into my pocket; patting it just to be sure it was in there. With the terrible service here I could only imagine what an ordeal it would be if I needed them to unlock my room.

The door latched shut, as I stepped out into the hallway. Noises were coming from somewhere in the hotel, but oddly the hallway was empty of people. As I passed one of the off-white doors, a loud banging sound from behind it caused me to jump clear across the hallway. Apparently some people were still partying. I placed a hand over my heart, feeling the rapid staccato my heart was beating; that was one thing I really didn’t need when hungover.

Various bits of luggage and old room service trays lined the hall, making me regret my choice of hotel yet again. The smell of stale and rotting food hung in the air, no doubt drawing in bugs or worse, mice. The florescent lights burned my tired eyes, and I found myself squinting at the worn green carpet as I made my way to the elevator. We were only on the third floor, but like hell I was taking the stairs.

With the main floor button glowing, I leaned against the elevator wall as the steel doors closed. Thankfully, there was no one else in the elevator and better yet, no god awful elevator music to listen to. We shouldn’t have been here in the first place, blowing the last of our student loans for a graduation celebration. Instead of partying, we should be out job hunting, armed with our fancy new Art degrees and wide-eyed obliviousness. My dad’s words came back to me, like they always did whenever I thought about this, “You know how many people in our night stocking crew have Art degrees? All of them.”

The doors opened with a buzzing sound. The main lobby was devoid of people; even the receptionist behind the front desk was gone. Usually there was at least one person standing there with the phone glued to an ear.
Did I sleep through a fire alarm or something?

I slowly made my way to the buffet area, looking around for a sign of life. Everything was set up but looked like it hadn’t been touched. Strange, considering it was already afternoon. Normally stale cereal and that one scary looking sausage that seemed to have been there all week would be all that was left by now.

I poured myself some coffee from the giant stainless steel percolator, watching the steam waft up from the foam cup. The smell alone helped invigorate my dulled senses. Sipping the hot liquid, I started to look around to figure out what was going on and maybe see about some maid service. We weren’t messy people, but somehow our hotel rooms always managed to look like a disaster zone – overflowing garbage, towels on the ground, running out of the mini-shampoo bottles sized for the head of an infant.

All the tables in the dining area were open, no one sitting around enjoying the mediocre hotel-provided food. I felt my hackles rise. Usually there was at least one person or group in here at all times. A noise that sounded like someone eating caught my attention and I stepped over to the booths that lined the wall.

“Hello?” I called out as I rounded the tall booths.

The sight that greeted me was not what I had expected. A woman covered in what appeared to be blood, was kneeling over a larger mass on one side of the booth. Her shirt was torn down the front revealing her daisy spotted bra and deep scratch marks on her chest. She snarled at me, flecks of whatever she’d been eating spraying from her red stained lips. I took a big step back.

She slowly got up from the booth, all her attention now focused on me like I had just insulted her outfit. I could see the thing she was on before much more clearly now.
Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!
It was a man. There was a gaping hole in the body cavity, knotted intestines dangled down the side. I retched at the sight.
Did I unknowingly step onto the set of a horror movie?

The woman had managed to get herself out of the booth, slipping a little on the blood coated floor. The coffee fell from my hand, as she started toward me, her face contorted into a feral mask. I took off running back the way I’d come, my earlier fatigue forgotten as adrenaline pumped through my veins.

The crazy woman didn’t have any weapons on her that I’d seen, but I still didn’t want her to catch me. A person can do a lot of damage with just their teeth, exhibit “A” being that man turned into a live game of Operation. The woman was snarling and snapping as she chased me across the lobby. She hadn’t said an actual word since I found her, just noises. I had never regretted not working on my cardio until now.

I made the mistake of looking back, which caused me to slow my stride, and the woman lunged at me. Her hands caught my ankles, and I went down with her. As I thrashed wildly, she managed to crawl her way up my body. She smelt the way our garbage can did in the summer heat, and if I wasn’t so busy trying to keep her off of me, I might have thrown up. My shirt had ridden up from all the movement and I screamed in pain as her nails raked up my bare side.

Desperate, I grabbed her hair and yanked her to the side. She toppled over as her balance was thrown off. With my legs free of her weight, I kicked my right foot out as hard as I could. The sole of my shoe connected with her head, rolling her a few feet away from me. Clutching my bleeding side, I started running again not bothering to see if she got back up.

I ran straight past the elevator doors to the stairs entrance. I pushed on the metal bar latch, bursting through the door and bounded up the stairs two at a time.
Looks like I’m taking the stairs this time.
The lunatic who didn’t even seem fazed by my kick to her head, crashed into the door, her full weight causing the bar latch to open. I spared a glance over the railing and saw her sprawled out on the bottom of the stairs like a drunken teenage girl at a house party. The momentum from going through the door must have caused her to trip. Her head whipped up toward me, and she snarled, clawing at the air, as if that would reach me.
What was wrong with this lady?

I didn’t waste any more time as I ran up to the entrance of the third floor. Once I was through, I booked it down the hallway dodging the various trays and pieces of luggage. Unlike in most horror movies, I didn’t have to fumble with the lock as the card slid in and unlocked the door on the first try. A pair of hands grabbed me, as soon as I entered, and I let out a scream.

“Calm the fuck down, Bailey!” Zoe’s surprised voice registered in my addled brain.

My shoulders slumped in relief as my adrenaline drained away, leaving me shaky and heaving. I looked up into the set of thinner, dark eyes of my close friend, Zoe, that had been inherited from her Japanese mother. She led me to one of the beds, and I dropped like a stone as the old mattress groaned. Zoe must have just gotten back to the room while I was downstairs being assaulted by a mental patient. She couldn’t have timed it any better.

“Are you okay?” Zoe asked, her thin, dark eyes searching for injury. “Oh my god, you’re bleeding!”

Zoe lifted up my shirt and gasped at the bloody nail marks that adorned my right side. After running to the bathroom, she re-emerged with a towel and handed it to me. I placed the white, scratchy towel on the wound and winced.

“The bleeding has to stop before we can treat that,” Zoe said. “I’m going to call the front desk and see if they have someone who is first-aid qualified.”

“Don’t bother. There’s no one down there. Well, no one helpful.”

“What do you mean?” Zoe asked, the receiver against her ear. She gave me an odd look and mashed the buttons. “No one is answering,” she muttered.

“Like I said, they aren’t going to be much help.” I applied more pressure to the wound. The pain was getting worse, so I got up and walked stiffly to the washroom to wet the towel with cold water. The freezing cloth felt wonderful against my burning side, and I sighed in relief as I sat down on the side of the tub. I kicked away the pile of dirty towels on the floor. I will be writing this hotel a nasty review when we leave.

“So what happened?” Zoe asked appearing in the doorway with her arms crossed.

“I don’t even know. Some crazy woman attacked me in the dining area.” I didn’t mention the fact that it looked like the insane lady had cracked open another guy like a lobster dinner. Somehow, I didn’t think Zoe would believe me; I still couldn’t believe it myself.

“Where the hell was everyone else when this was happening?”

“Zoe, there’s no one down there, not even at the front desk,” I said, monotone. It all felt so surreal, like maybe I had just imagined the whole thing, dehydration from all the alcohol maybe.

“Should I call 911?”

A flash of anger shot through me. It was like she wasn’t hearing a thing I had said. “I don’t fucking know, Zoe!” I yelled. She glared at me, and I felt a tinge of guilt for freaking out on her. I sighed. “Sorry. Maybe I should go to the hospital; that woman looked like she was sick or something. I might need a shot.”

The bleeding had finally subsided, so I loaded on some Polysporin. The Band-Aids we had didn’t cover the whole length of the scratches, so I stuck on as many as it took to cover the three angry marks.
Oh god, what if she gave me something?

I looked into the mirror. Other than being pale, which was a regular occurrence, I didn’t look sick. Not that I’d be able to tell so soon, I’ll need a blood test to be sure. The pain in my side was the only symptom I could feel. But then again, I wasn’t a doctor.

I left the bathroom and sat down on the side of the bed near the side table.

“What are you doing?” Zoe asked, following me.

“I’m going to give my mom a call and see what she suggests.” I dug out the long distance card from my suitcase and started punching in the three hundred numbers required.

I’ve always hated going to the doctors, let alone hospitals, so I lucked out with my mom. She was a doctor and was the one to treat me and prescribe my medicine. Although I wasn’t entirely certain it was legal, it wasn’t like she was prescribing me pot or anything. The call finally connected and started ringing. With each ring, I held the phone tighter and tighter. New Orleans was only two hours ahead of British Columbia; someone in the house should be up by now.

I hung up and tried again only to get the same result. My heart rate started to pick up as panic set in. I jumped up and grabbed the television remote, turning the flat screen on.

“What are you doing? TV? Really?” Zoe shook her head. “We should be heading out to the hospital!”

I ignored her as I flipped through the channels until reaching a local news station. A few of the channels were out with
Technical Difficulties
displayed across the screen. The anchor woman looked slightly hysterical as she kept doing her duty and read the news prompt: “There appears to be an outbreak of a viral epidemic. Some experts say it’s a new strain of the flu. We advise everyone to stay indoors and, if you come in contact with an infected individual, seek immediate medical assistance. Violent behavior has been reported as a symptom of the virus; therefore, victims should be avoided at all costs. The military have been dispatched in all major cities to help contain the violent individuals.”