This Would Be Paradise (Book 2) (15 page)

“Grant, I trust your judgment, but not on this. I can’t in good conscience leave ‘em here to die,” John said.

Grant crossed his arms and appeared to think about it. “Fine, John. But they’re your wards, not mine.”

The sergeant stormed back to the truck.

“John.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “I really don’t like that guy.”

“Never said I did, just that he has his place for a reason.”

We walked back over to the siblings. The brother held his sister’s hand in his while she endured another coughing fit. Blood ran from the edges of her mouth, sprinkling the pavement.

John kneeled beside them. “What are your names?”

“Nate,” the brother said. “And this is Paige.”

“I’m John and this is Bailey.”

I waved as if he wouldn’t know who John was referring to.

“We’re gonna let you come with us, but for our safety, we can’t allow your sister inside the cabin of the truck.”

Nate let out a lungful of air. “Thank you.”

Together, Nate and John hoisted Paige to her feet, and this time she didn’t react. I could tell she was still alive from the faint rise and fall of her chest, but she wouldn’t be for long. Once they loaded her into the back of the truck, Nate hopped in beside her.

“Son, I would highly recommend against ridin’ with her back there,” John said.

“Would you leave your family to die by themselves?” Nate said, more sad than angry. “I know she won’t make the trip, but the least I can do is stay by her side.”

John nodded, understanding more than Nate knew. “Just knock on the back window if you need us to stop.”

John and I got back in and Grant floored it, jarring the siblings in the back. Asshole of the year, this guy.

We only made it another hour before Nate banged on the back window.

“Stop,” John said, annoyed that Grant had kept driving even though there was no way he hadn’t heard the banging.

The brakes squealed as we stopped. John got out and I followed, not wanting him to face this alone. I’d snuck my Beretta to the shooting range, knowing I’d have to hand over any guns they gave me.

Paige was convulsing in the bed of the truck, with Nate standing beside her, his hands interlaced atop his head as he freaked out.

“Oh my God. Oh my God,” he repeated over and over.

“Get out of there!” John commanded.

Nate looked over at John, the words not sinking in. His sister flailed even harder.

“Somebody help her!” Nate screamed.

Bones cracked as Paige threw herself against the side of the truck bed. This was why you normally had to move everything out of the way of someone who was seizing.

“Nate, get out of there,” I hissed.

I planted a foot on the tailgate, only to have John yank me back.

“Like hell you’re goin’ back there,” John snapped.

I pointed to the shocked brother. “The stupid idiot isn’t getting out.”

John went to the side of the truck and made a grab for Nate. “You need to get out of there, now!”

Nate jerked away from John’s hand. Paige stopped convulsing, settling into an eerie calm. Nate let out a few choppy breaths and leaned down.

“Paige.” He laid a hand on her forehead.

“Don’t touch her!” I told him as I peered into the bed.

Paige’s left arm was bent at an odd angle, the shoulder out of its socket. She was still, except for the rapid eye movements behind her eyelids.

“Son, you need to—”

Paige reared up. Her teeth sunk into the side of Nate’s face, and his scream pierced the air like a siren. Grant jumped out of the truck, his handgun squeezed in his meaty fist. He shoved John out of the way.

Paige’s corpse groped at Nate as he screamed, too shocked to move away. He used one hand to push against her, while the other clasped the side of his bleeding face. Red squirted from between his fingers like a leak in the glass of an aquarium and ran down his arm.

Grant aimed and shot Paige through the temple. Her body flopped sideways. Nate stopped screaming but remained in place, staring at his fallen sister. When Grant raised his gun again, John grabbed his arm.

“Hey, hey, hey,” John said, fighting Grant’s aim. “You can’t just shoot him. He’s still alive!”

Grant shoved John off. “Not for long he ain’t. He’ll turn just like the girl.”

“How do you know that for sure?” John said, placing himself between Nate and Grant.

“’Cause everyone whose attacked by those things turns.”

John’s eyes flashed to mine and I shook my head, praying John wouldn’t tell the sergeant about my scratches. After what happened last time, I wouldn’t be volunteering that information again.

“You a scientist now?” John said back to Grant, his anger rising.

Grant’s jaw jutted out. Like a snake, Grant shot forward and grabbed John by his collar, throwing him to the ground. He lifted his handgun and shot the grieving brother in cold blood. Nate’s body fell forward, landing on top of his sister’s.

“Should’ve done that an hour ago,” the sergeant said before he got back in the truck.

Sheri’s and Mark’s horrified faces stared out the back window at us. I was sure my own face wore a similar mask. Was I destined to keep seeing people get shot in front of me? It was a sight I didn’t think I could ever get used to. To witness the life leave someone’s eyes was something I’d hoped to never see. Everything I’d seen on TV paled in comparison.

I ran to John and helped him to his feet.

“Fucking asshole,” John muttered.

I couldn’t remember ever hearing John swear like that before. Not that I disagreed with his assessment of the sergeant, but it was still odd to hear those words come from John.

“What now?” I asked.

John looked at me with a mixture of pain and anger in his eyes. Grant’s actions had hit a nerve in him, probably reminding him of what had happened to Taylor. John swerved around me, heading straight for the driver’s side door. John ripped the door open and yanked a surprised Grant from his seat.

This was bad.

“You’re goin’ to clean that mess up, not us. We ain’t takin’ care of your dirty work.” John scowled at Grant.

Instead of spewing split-second words, Grant moved in close to him so they were almost nose to nose. “I ain’t doin’ shit.”

John tackled Grant to the ground. He got in one good hit to Grant’s face before Grant knew what was happening, and then their fists started to fly. They rolled in the dirt, fighting.

I spotted infected a few yards away, the two gunshots and the noise from the men wrestling around and shouting at each other drawing them in.
Where the hell was the other truck?

After we’d picked up the siblings, they’d taken the lead and gotten a fair distance ahead of us. They should have noticed we weren’t behind them.

Sheri got out of the truck, Mark right behind her.

“The dead are coming our way!” Sheri announced like a lookout yelling, “Land hoe!”

“Then get the fucking guns and help!” I yelled back.

To my surprise, she didn’t get defensive and instead ran to the truck to follow my orders. I turned back to John and Grant.

“Are you two stupid?” I shouted at them. “We don’t have time for this!”

They ignored me as they continued to fight like a couple of kids on the playground. John may have gotten in a few good hits, which I was okay with, but Grant had gained the upper hand. He got up in a kneeling stance above John and pummeled him with powerful hits.

I tried to shove Grant off John, but he shrugged me away. The man was built like a concrete building, refusing to budge as his rage grew. Seeing no other option, I drew my Beretta from the back of my waistband and jammed the muzzle against the sergeant’s skull.

“You either stop, or we’ll be dumping your body right next to theirs.” I jerked my chin toward the back of the truck, meaning every word.

Grant’s barrage of fists stopped. Thanks to the tension, we all jumped when shots were fired behind us. Sheri and Mark must have been shooting at the intruding infected.

The sergeant raised his hands in surrender.

“Get off him,” I demanded, stomping down the urge to shoot him where he kneeled.

Grant got up and stepped away from John. With the gun still pointed at the sergeant, I helped John up. His face was a mess, the left eye swollen shut and blood splattered all over his cheeks, clashing with the purple bruising already rising. John wiped at the blood dribbling from the side of his mouth, spitting some onto the ground, and then tested his jaw.

Sergeant Grant looked beat up, but nowhere near as bad as John. Grant kept a stern eye on the gun in my hand. If he was scared, he sure hid it well. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say next, but I didn’t have to worry about it, as a woman’s scream reached us.

Sheri fell to the ground, clutching at her side. No infected were near them, so I had no idea what could have happened to her. Putting our tense situation aside, we ran over to Sheri and Mark.

“What happened?” I asked as I kneeled beside Sheri.

Fresh blood soaked through her shirt, and she writhed in agony, her hands pressed to her back.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry, Sheri!” Mark yelled louder than necessary, dropping his gun.

Grant scooped up the weapon and took out the remaining infected.

“Mark, what happened?” I demanded again.

Mark looked from me to Sheri, his eyebrows drawn. “I accidentally shot her!”

“My back!” Sheri screamed, pain forcing her voice higher than I knew was possible.

“I told you that you weren’t ready to handle a gun, you little shit!” Grant said, charging at Mark.

“I was trying to help!” Mark cowered as Grant stopped inches away from him, looking down at him.

“Look at what you did!” The sergeant stabbed a finger in Sheri’s direction. “This is why we have this program: to prevent accidents like this.”

I guess their gun control and training programs really did have a purpose beyond exercising control over the populace. That could have been me, back all those months ago when I had been handed a gun for the first time in my life at John’s shop.

“Do you have a first aid kit or anything in the truck?” I asked Grant.

With one last glare at Mark, Grant took off to the truck and came back with a red medic kit.

“Move,” he barked at me.

I shuffled out of the way and let the sergeant get to work. Using the stainless steel scissors, he cut open Sheri’s shirt around the wound and pressed gauze into the bullet hole. Sheri screamed as he applied pressure.

“I need to slow the bleedin’ before I can evaluate the damage,” Grant said to Sheri.

Sheri bit her lip as he continued to prod the gunshot wound. I couldn’t imagine how much getting shot must hurt, but I was impressed with how well Sheri was handling it.

“Bailey.” John tapped on the shoulder. “Infected.”

“You think we can move this to the truck?” I asked Grant.

“I’ll bandage up the bullet hole. You keep those things away from us in the meantime,” Grant said.

“You best head back to the truck, Mark,” John said to the teen.

Mark didn’t argue.

“I’m so sorry, Sheri,” he said before running back to the truck, leaving me to take out the infected that were coming out of the tree lines on either side of the road.

“I’ll get the bodies out of the back of the truck. You keep those infected off of Sheri and Grant,” John said. Grant should’ve had to be the one to remove the bodies—since he shot them and all—but he was busy trying to save Sheri.

“You going to be okay doing that?” I asked, referring to how badly beat up he was.

“Been in worse scrapes than this,” John said gruffly.

I set off toward the bodies shuffling out of the woods. Their shadows grew darker as they emerged from the woods like a tribe readying for war. The Beretta was fully loaded, but a person could easily rip through all the bullets if they didn’t take their time and aim. I picked off the ones that had cleared the overgrown trees. One was garbed in a bright orange safety vest, making it much easier to spot.

The other truck in our convoy returned for the finale, stopping by our parked vehicle. John was lifting Paige’s body out of the truck bed, princess style. She hung limply in his arms, her limbs swaying as he walked. After he put her down, John and the driver exchanged words. The newcomers jumped out of the vehicle to help with the infected, guns at the ready. Three people joined me, and we formed an execution squad of sorts against the oncoming infected. The others ran to Grant to help him move Sheri.

“This is gonna hurt,” Grant told Sheri.

He and another man got Sheri to her feet and placed her arms over their shoulders. She cried out in pain as her torso was stretched. Grant had taped a bunch of gauze around her waist and applied pressure to the wound. Blood trailed behind her as they hurried her to the truck.

“Come on, let’s go!” Grant yelled after they’d gotten Sheri in place in the backseat with Mark.

I shot one last infected as I ran to Grant and the truck. With a salute, the three that had been helping me shoot the infected ran back to their own vehicle. Grant shoved the keys at me.

“You’re drivin’. Just follow the other truck, and we’ll get there.”

Grant jumped into the backseat to look after Sheri before I could argue. John got in the passenger seat, not even offering to drive. To be fair, he did have one eye swollen shut. I cursed under my breath and got in. The other vehicle honked as they started back to Hargrove. I punched the gas, following behind them.