This Would Be Paradise (Book 1) (11 page)

“You okay?” he asked, his own voice a little shaky.

I nodded in response not wanting to say anything. I heard the Dodge hit the meridian and the sound of metal scrapping against concrete rang out in the eerie silence. John and Taylor ran back to the waiting truck panting.

“We should probably get movin’ before more come ‘cause of the noise.”

Everyone was tense as we fled down the exit ramp, going faster than we probably should have. Ethan handed me a leftover fast-food napkin from his glove compartment to clean off my hunting knife before I put it back in its sheath. I rolled down the back window and tossed out the blood-matted napkin, happy to be rid of it. I wish I had brought some hand sanitizer with me. It was like I could feel the infected germs on me. I noticed Taylor looking at me out of the corner of my eye, but he didn’t say anything even though I could tell that he wanted to. Instead of confronting him, I opted to stare out the window.

Grime and dirt coated the front of buildings and any vehicles parked on the road. It was amazing how dirty everything could get once it remained stagnant for just a couple of months. Old flyers and trash had gathered in street corners adding to the abandoned look of the city. The straggling infected were roused by the sound of us passing through, so naturally they came after us. We were going slowly enough that they were able to bang and grope on the side of the truck as we passed. Ethan picked up speed, causing the ones trying to latch on to be propelled backwards, and I could see a couple rolling in our dust.

I spotted the Walmart logo in the distance, but my visual was cut off as Ethan rounded a corner suddenly.

“What the hell are you doin’?” Taylor yelled from the back seat.

“You want those things followin’ us all the way there?” Ethan asked a bit too loudly.

Taylor’s jaw popped out as he clenched his teeth. Ethan continued to zig-zag down random streets and avenues. I was starting to get sore from being jerked against the seat belt, so I held the abrasive belt in my hands. I hadn’t seen any of the old followers after we rounded that first corner, but we kept running into more infected with every turn we took.

“We’re just picking up more as we lose the old ones,” I pointed out, and I heard Ethan let out a breath of frustration.

“Maybe get off these main streets and use the back alleys,” John suggested and pointed to the alley opening a few meters ahead.

Ethan turned down the alley only to slam on the brakes. I went flying forward and the safety feature in the belt kicked in, stopping me from hitting the front seat. The belt slicing my hands hurt more than slamming into the back of the seat would have. I looked up to see what had caused him to stop so suddenly. There was a blockade of infected on the narrow tarmac, all of which had their attention focused solely on us. They started to stumble toward the truck, so Ethan hit reverse and we flew back out the alleyway entrance, dust and rocks encasing the crowd.

One of the infected that had come up to the alley entrance hit the back tailgate and was sent flying to the ground. Judging from the sound of bones crunching under the tires, I knew it wouldn’t be getting back up again. Ethan fled back down another road, avoiding the main artery to the supermarket. Somehow we had end up in a residential area, passing by house after house. Strangely there were not as many infected in the neighbourhoods as I thought there would be. I guess most people chose to go to the shelters rather than take a chance on their own. Either way, I was glad for it. We had enough on our tail already.

“All right, I think we’ve gotten away,” John said as he peered in the rear view mirror.

“‘Bout damn time,” Taylor muttered.

I had to agree, I was getting pretty tired of being yanked around in the back seat.

Ethan nodded and started back toward the Walmart. The houses gave way to businesses as we got out of the residential area and back on the main roads. Taylor pointed out the Chevron station to our right, so I guess this would be our first stop on the tour. We hopped out once Ethan pulled up beside the last pump so we could make an easy get away of need be. He lifted up the nozzle only to have the machine remain dead from lack of power. He slammed it down in anger and ran his hand through his hair.

“Maybe we should see if we can boot the pump up from inside?” Taylor suggested, pointing to the matching convenience store with a garage attached.

The rusted sign boasted “Best oil change prices in town!”

“But there isn’t any power, how will we get it to work?” Ethan questioned.

Taylor shrugged. “Dunno, but we might as well go see what’s in there. Who knows what we’ll find.”

He and John raised their pistols while Ethan picked his machete. I unbuckled my holster and removed my silenced Beretta, secretly wishing I wouldn’t have to use it. John motioned for us to stay put as he approached the front door. He stopped right before it and looked around, grabbing a full jug of windshield washer fluid. The bell above the door jingled when John opened it. Then he placed the jug down to prop the door open and took a few steps back.

When nothing emerged right off the bat, John whistled rather loudly to attract anything that may be in there. I really hoped we were out of here before anything else around heard that. John went rigid and I spotted the figure emerging from the darkened store. I assumed he used to be the mechanic for the attached garage, judging from his grease stained coveralls. He growled lightly as he stumbled out into the daylight, he looked like he hadn’t seen the light for months. He was in decent shape as far as decay went, maybe he was recently infected.

John raised his pistol, which had its own matching silencer, and shot the thing right in the forehead. It fell backwards from the momentum of the bullet and laid still. Taylor kicked its leg a couple of times to see if it was actually dead.

“What kind of name is ‘Macky’?” Taylor asked after he stopped kicking it.

I was confused on how Taylor knew the thing’s name, but then I saw the name tag sewn onto the coveralls. We waited for another minute to see if anything else followed him out, but we were met with only silence. John motioned with his head for us to follow him. With his gun at the ready he checked all the corners of the store and shut the
Employee’s Only
door that was left wide open. The convenience store looked like any other gas station one. We all could see over the shelves, which was to our advantage. Taylor went around the counter to see if he could activate the pump somehow, but all the electronics remained unresponsive.

“Well, let’s at least grab what we can,” I suggested, opening one of the cooler doors.

I pulled out all the unopened water bottles that were left and started to stuff them into the Chevron plastic bags. The others started to do the same with anything that was non-perishable. I wandered over to the small automotive section to find a few car wipes and air fresheners, but that’s not what caught my attention. I found a couple of crowbars and the idea suddenly hit me.

“Guys, how strong would you say you are?” I grinned at the confused looks on their face.

“Why?” Taylor asked suspiciously.

“We could use these to try to open that manhole thing that the gas trucks pump the gas into,” I said holding up my find.

John looked like he was considering it, “Well, we could try.”

We walked back outside carrying our spoils and tossed them into the bed of the truck. I handed one crowbar to Ethan and the other to Taylor. Kneeling down, they positioned the crowbars into the narrow slots in the circular rim. They strained and grunted with all the force they were putting behind it. Just as I was about to curse myself for thinking of this stupid idea, the lid shifted up and they were able to shuffle it to the side.

“Damn, that was on there good,” Ethan huffed.

We all looked down, not knowing what to expect. From my limited view through the hole, I could only see a part of the silver tank; the part with the sealed top.

“Great,” John muttered.

Taylor reached down and grabbed the red colored handle and heaved, but it refused to budge. John rummaged through our bags and produced a wrench to twist of the seal that the handle was attached to. When Taylor was finally able to loosen the seal, he tried the handle again which actually turned this time. The tank groaned as the pressure was alleviated and we took a few steps back not sure of what would happen. Taylor popped off the top and we retreated even further as the overwhelming smell of gas made our eyes water.

Through watery eyes I said, “See, what did I tell you?”

“Hey, I’m the one bustin’ my ass over here,” Taylor panted from all his exertion.

“How do we get it out of there?” I asked.

“I bet that garage has some plastic tubes we could use to siphon the gas out,” Ethan pointed his thumb toward the gas station add-on.

“Let’s go check it out,” John motioned to Ethan. “You two stay here and keep an eye out. Holler if you see a bunch comin’.”

Taylor and I nodded as they ran back into the gas station. I went to the back of the truck and pulled out two water bottles. I tossed one to Taylor and took a big drink of my own. The water was warm, but it tasted so much better than the well water back at the cabin, that I didn’t care.

“Thanks,” he said before he downed his own drink.

I spotted them before Taylor. His back was turned to them so he could face me. There were about five or so stumbling infected heading toward our location.

“Taylor,” I whispered, not wanting to make any more noise.

He looked at me, then to where I was staring. He stilled at the sight of them and put down his water bottle gently on the pavement.

“What should we do?” I asked quietly.

“We need to take ‘em out to buy more time,” Taylor said as he pulled out his pistol and silencer.

With ease he attached the accessory. I pulled my own weapon back out, only this time I knew I would have to use it.

“Should we try to warn the other two?” I asked glancing back to the store.

There was no sign that Ethan or John would be emerging soon.

“No, we have to take care of ‘em now,” Taylor said. “Stay close to me.”

He took off in a light jog toward the group and I followed right beside him. The group was five in number, a mix of tall, short, young and old. One at a time was manageable, but a group would be harder to deal with. I chewed on my bottom lip as we approached them like a couple of gunslingers in an old Western movie. I had to take a couple of deep breaths to calm myself and Taylor seemed to be doing the same thing.

“We need to take out the sides of the group instead of shootin’ in the middle. We have more of a chance hittin’ ‘em that way,” Taylor said in a low voice beside me.

He raised his pistol and with a muffled pop, the shot flew into the fray. The east-most infected went down causing another one beside it to stumble over the body and hit the pavement. This left three up. I took my time to aim and fired off a shot only to have it sail through the group without hitting anything. I swore under my breath, knowing the closer I let them get, the more nervous I would become. The next shot I made hit the body cavity of one, but it just kept walking.

Taylor let off another shot which took down the one I had previously hit in the torso. I sent him a glare for taking the one I was trying to hit.
He just smirked at me, which made my blood boil.
Two of them were close enough that the smell of decay under the high noon sun reached us and I scrunched my nose at the odor.

The one that had tripped earlier managed to get itself upright and was now trailing behind, its face a mess of road rash. He would have made a good poster for why you should wear a seatbelt
.

I gritted my teeth and aimed slightly to the left because I noticed my shots were going to the right of where I wanted them to land. My third shot rang true and the remnant of a soccer mom dropped to the cement like a puppet that had their strings cut. I resisted the urge to jump in triumph and rub it in Taylor’s face. I looked over at him and he grinned at me. Bastard had somehow turned this into a competition and I fell for it; my competitive side taking over. I shouldn’t be rejoicing that I had just killed something or at the very least, re-killed it. Taylor looked at the closest one, then at the one further away and opted to take the furthest one. It took two shots, but he did it.

“This one’s all yours,” Taylor said, cockiness coating his voice.

The last one was maybe two cars lengths away.

“You’re a dick, you know that?” I hissed at him, but he just shrugged off my insult.

I had found its head with only one shot this time, my anger and pride not allowing me to mess up. I put my gun back into its holster and calmly turned to Taylor so that I didn’t give away my intention. His grin was replaced with a grimace when I kicked him as hard as I could in the shin.

“What the hell?” he yelled angrily, as he massaged his shin.

“That’s for being a dick!” I yelled back. “Now was not the time for it.”

John and Ethan choose that moment to reappear. They trotted over to us, not sure of what had happened.

“What’s going on?” John asked as his eyes darted from us to the corpses lying all over the road.

“Your son’s an ass, you know that?” I said to John, storming back to the truck.

Ethan shot Taylor a look of venom and followed me back to the truck. “What did he do?”

I told him what happened.

“So you kicked him in the shin?”

“Yes I did, and I hope I did some damage.”