Dead Series (Book 2): A Little More Dead: Gunfire & Sunshine (16 page)

“Wait!” Billy
cried, jumping in front of him and stopping the wheelchair with a red Puma. His
mom kept the throttle floored, teeth snapping like a bear trap, and the motor weakly
whining. “I’ll do it.” He took aim with the black and yellow Taser gun and Paul
grudgingly handed him his Beretta.

Billy looked at
him before taking it.

“Take it.”

He took the gun
and aimed at his mother’s face, a lone tear streaking his cheek and the gun
trembling in his hand. “I’m sorry, mama, I should’ve been here. I love you.”

Mama screamed and
everyone flinched with the deafening blast in such close quarters. The wig shot
across the room as she flipped over backwards in the chair and spilled onto the
floor. Then it was quiet.

Billy dropped the
gun to his side like it weighed a hundred pounds and cried into his other hand.
“This isn’t right, man. It’s not right.”

Paul watched
Mama’s bald head rise from the carpet. A pair of pissed off eyes found Billy in
their sights.

Billy continued
sobbing into his hand. “What could do this to people, man?”

Mama growled like
an animal and crawled toward them, crushing her glasses and climbing over her
sister’s stiff body, moving much faster on her belly than in the chair.

“Shit!” Curtis
cried, unloading a shell and removing her face.

Billy slammed
Curtis against a wall, knocking a silver crucifix to the floor. “I told you I’d
do it!”

“You had your shot”
Curtis shoved back and pointed the shotgun at his face. “Touch me again,
convict, and I’ll send you with her.”

Paul glanced at
the Beretta in Billy’s hand, readying himself for Billy to reveal his true
colors and spray Curtis with lead. If he was in that jail cell for something
other than a DUI, something violent, this tipping point might be just the thing
to trigger his rage. But instead of the gun in his hand, Billy only aimed a
pointed glare at Curtis.

Paul held his hand
out. “Billy.”

Billy stared at
Curtis, mulling over different options in his head to the sound of their
beating hearts.

“Billy.”

Wavering for
another second or two, he slapped the Beretta in Paul’s hand and stormed from
the room in search of his father.

☠

Back outside, Paul
cleared the rot from his lungs with a deep draw of fresh air. His watery eyes
scoured the neighborhood for stragglers, knowing the gunshots inside would ring
the bell. The clock was ticking and after helping Billy search the backyard and
garage for his absentee father, they ended up back at the truck out front.

Billy shielded his
eyes from the sun. “He wouldn’t just leave her like that.”

“He would if he
turned into one of those things.”

His eyes went to
Curtis as a hawk screeched out above. “Yeah, maybe.”

Opening the truck
door, Curtis stuck a foot inside. “Can’t say we didn’t try, hoss. Sorry about
your family.”

Billy grew quiet.
“So…will you guys help me bury her out back?”

Paul rested a hand
on his shoulder. “We have to get going.”

“I can’t just
leave her in there like that, Paul.”

“We don’t have the
time and energy to bury another body. Trust me, we’ve been down that road
before.” His eyes found Wendy. “Without a backhoe, it’s not worth it.”

“Well…can I at
least come with you guys then?” Billy stared at the house. “I mean, there’s
nothing left for me here.”

“Maybe you should
wait and see if your dad comes back,” Curtis said, climbing up into the truck.
“Enjoy your freedom and don’t go killing anymore people.” He slammed the door
shut and started the engine, crop dusting them with exhaust.

“You’re just going
to leave me here with a Taser? Alone?”

Paul sighed and looked
to Wendy, Curtis and Stephanie as an elderly woman limped out from behind the
neighbor’s house with a cat hanging limply in one hand and blood rimming her yawning
mouth.

Chapter
Fifteen

T
he pickup bounced
with a bump in the road, shifting the gear and plastic tubs of food in the truck
bed. Paul was thankful for the lull in conversation. All he could think about
was getting home because home was where those pictures were and he couldn’t see
her face again and it was strange how, after all these years, his mind
distorted Sophia’s face into something sinister. Something he’d seen just that one
time and it wrung the air from his lungs like a grand piano resting on his
chest.

Curtis clicked
some control buttons on the steering wheel and music poured from the truck’s
speakers. “This ole highway’s getting longer, seems there ain’t no end in
sight,” he sang out like he was the only person in the truck.

Casting a quick
look into the back, Paul caught Stephanie biting back a smile. He arched an
eyebrow and she bit harder.

“To sleep would be
best, but I just can’t afford to rest. I’ve got to ride in Denver tomorrow
night…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!
What the hell is this, man?”

Curtis looked in
the mirror. “Sorry, Billy, all outta Lil Wayne, bro!”

Stephanie laughed
out loud, tying her long dark hair into a ponytail that reminded Paul of his
wife. “The only thing he’ll listen to is Garth Brooks,” she said. “The. Only.
Thing.”

Billy stared at
her with his jaw adrift. “What! Why didn’t you tell me this before?” He traded baffled
looks with everyone as Curtis continued singing. “Naw man, take me back to my
cell. I’d rather listen to those two things than this hillbilly bullshit.”

Everyone broke up
laughing and it felt good and Paul felt guilty for doing so when Sophia was
decomposing in the ground but he let it out just the same. If he didn’t, he
knew he’d crack.

“Where we headed
anyway?” Billy asked, shifting for more room in the backseat.

“Paul’s house in
Iowa.”

He frowned at
Wendy. “Iowa? Where the hell’s that?”

Paul ran a hand
through his hair. “A day or two out, depending on…
whatever
pops up.”

“What’s in Iowa
besides corn and cows?”

“He needs to get
some photo albums.”

Billy screwed his
face up. “Photo albums?”

“His wife.”

He followed
Wendy’s gaze to Paul and slowly closed his mouth. “Shit, I should’ve grabbed
some pictures at my parents’ house. I didn’t even think about it.”

Curtis stopped
singing. “We can go back if ya want.”

“Seriously?”

“Hell no.”

“Dick,” Billy groaned.
“Hey, you guys sure you didn’t find my cell phone in that evidence room?” He
searched their faces. “There were some good pictures of my family on it.”

“Just what we gave
you,” Paul told him, resisting the urge to trade a knowing look with Curtis.
That was the third time Billy asked about his cell phone and Paul didn’t know
what was on it but one thing was certain: Billy wanted it back.

The truck’s large
tires picked up the slack in conversation. One dead town after another passed
by in a dreary smudge. Paul felt each town’s pain. With every day that passed, he
was just like them. Forsaken. Changed. A little more dead. He barely recognized
the man in the mirror and it was beyond daunting. One month ago, he was making
a good living. Today, he was struggling to live. An ironic twist that did not
go unnoticed. Shutting his eyes against the setting sun, he let the droning
tires pull him under.

The truck bounced hard
and he sat bolt upright in the front seat, taking in his surroundings by the
silver-blue of twilight. “Where are we?” he panted, wiping a greasy sheen from
his forehead.

Curtis puckered
his brow with the motor idling, hand resting at twelve sharp on the wheel.

Paul swallowed. “What?”

“You just scared
the piss out of me with your nancy-boy scream, that’s what.”

He sank into the seat,
unsure if he’d fallen asleep or not. Focusing on the two-story house sitting
before them, he waited for his night vision to catch up to his racing brain.

Curtis threw it in
park and exhaled. “I thought someone was coming through my window or something,
man! Damn!”

“Sorry.” Paul
checked his weapons. “Could you’ve found a creepier looking place?” he asked, noting
the peeling white paint and overgrown bushes swallowing the rickety front
porch. The upstairs dormers looked like eyes and the front door a gaping mouth just
waiting to be fed.

“Ran out of
daylight quicker than I thought and, outside of a meat packing plant, nothing
else is around.”

“Where are we?”

“Bumblefuck,
Kansas. Crossed the border a ways back.”

Paul looked at the
others in back, his gaze snagging on Billy’ puffy eyes. “You okay?”

“I was until you
woke me up with that bloodcurdling scream.”

“Welcome to the
new world, Billy.” Wendy slapped a full mag into her gun and racked a load.
“Where the beer’s always warm and the nightmares never end.”

Rubbing the sleep
from his eyes, Paul got out of the truck and grabbed the M4 from the bed. The
front porch steps groaned beneath his weight, protesting his trespass. He
stopped at the house’s mouth with a bad feeling taking root in the pit of his
stomach. “We check every room, including the attic.”

Billy blinked at
him, Taser gripped in his hand. “This is how you people live now?”

Stephanie clicked
off her safety. “Were you expecting a concierge?”

“This place looks
haunted as shit,” he whispered, eyes snagging an old rocker at the end of the
porch. “Black people don’t do haunted.”

“Oh, but you’ll do
gizzards,” Curtis muttered.

Paul could almost
feel the chills running through Billy just by the twisted look gripping his
face. He swallowed dryly. “Maybe we should check the next house.”

“Fuck that.” Curtis
glanced into the overgrown yard behind them, the tactical shotgun snug against
his shoulder. “Passed some stragglers a mile or two back and I’m not going back
out there.”

“Let’s just make do,”
Stephanie whispered, holding her gun in both hands like Paul taught her. “I
can’t be in that cramped truck another minute.”

“Me neither.”
Wendy arched her back. “I was sitting on a seatbelt the entire time.”

Faint clouds swept
across the crescent-shaped moon like ghosts, dimming the sky. “Alright,
everyone sticks together; nobody splits up.” Paul nodded at Wendy, who clicked
on a flashlight and tried the knob. The door clicked open and swung inside the
house with a high-pitched screech that made everyone shrink.

“Damn,” Curtis
said, wrinkling his nose. “Place smells like cat piss.”

Wendy jerked her
gun to Stephanie.

Stephanie gasped
and raised her gun, drawing an eye-level bead on Wendy’s nose. “What’re you
doing?”

Wendy nodded
behind her, eyes widening. Stephanie hesitated before spinning around to the
empty rocking chair at the end of the porch. A wet squeak pierced the silence
coiling at their feet as the chair slowly rocked back and forth over a loose
plank.

“What the…?” Billy’s
wild eyes traveled to Curtis. “That is some paranormal activity right there,
man. Just like what happened to that one white girl with a boyfriend named
Micah.”

Curtis lowered his
weapon. “For a guy who hates horror movies you sure know a lot about em.”

“It’s just the
wind,” Paul said, scanning the yard and street.

Wendy slowly
turned to face him. “There is no wind.”

“Oh my God, she’s
right.” Stephanie backed away from the chair without taking her gun off it.

Billy shook his
head. “Even the wind is dead, man. What the fuck?”

“You stay right
behind me and do not Tase me.”

Billy nodded at
Paul, eyes gravitating back to the rocking chair. “No problem.”

“Stephanie, you
got our six.”

She glanced behind
them into the driveway like she just heard something while Wendy swung a flashlight
into the house. Paul followed the beam inside, eyes burning with the unmistakable
stench of rot and decay. With the M4 hugging his shoulder, his pulse thudded in
the hollow of his throat. Tall piles of books, papers and other random boxes
filled the living room. He followed a tiny path weaving through the stacks of clutter
like a city street, winding past a large hutch lined with old school dolls
watching from the shelves inside. Their glassy eyes winked at them in the jumpy
light.

“Oh my God,” Wendy
whispered. “This is so creepy.”

“Maybe checking
the next house wasn’t such a bad idea after all,” Curtis said, yanking the
tactical shotgun to someone standing on the other side of the room. Staring
down the barrel, he watched his reflection relax in a long mirror hanging above
the fireplace. “Fucking-A, I shouldn’t have done that last bong-hit. This place
is messing with my head.”

“I hear you, man,”
Billy whispered. “I’m totally shitting my pants right now.”

Paul frowned at
Curtis. “Wait, you were pulling tubes while you were driving?”

He shrugged. “Not
like I was going to get pulled over for it.”

Paul’s heart jumped
when he bumped into something. Swinging the M4 around, he looked down at the
walker on the carpet beside him. The dented metal bars wore tennis balls for
shoes and the grips were old and worn. “Jesus,” he breathed, trying to control
his racing heart.

“Fucking hoarders,”
Curtis whispered, stepping over a pile of clothing.

Wendy jerked the
flashlight across the room. “Something just moved over there.”

Forced to go
single file down the thin path, they crept past the dolls watching them with
playful looks in their eyes.

“I don’t see
anything.”

“I think it went
into the dining room.”

Easing into the
dining room, they discovered two trails forking around a long table with shit
stacked over every square inch. A massive hutch sat against the far wall with
more dolls lining the shelves.

“They probably
didn’t even have kids,” Stephanie whispered, pointing her gun at the floor.
“That’s what’s really creepy.”

The front door
slammed shut behind them and Wendy squeezed a round into the hutch, bringing
dolls to their feet.

“Jesus Christ,
Wendy, relax!” Paul hissed, checking the front door. “It’s just the wind.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s a rookie
move.”

“It was an
accident.”

“Yeah, that
could’ve killed one of us.”

“I said I’m sorry,
Paul! What do you want me to say? It scared the shit out of me, okay?”

“God!” Angrily, he
shook his head and claws latched on from behind, tearing through his scalp. Crying
out, he blasted three holes in the ceiling, raining down plaster. The corpse
ripped at his head and hissed, biting into his scalp and Paul knew it was game
over. The unspeakable had come knocking and today was his turn to open that
door. Reaching behind him, he grabbed the thing by the hair and yanked. Crashing
into the dolls with an angry shriek, a black cat landed on a stack of Rachel
Ray magazines and skittered back into the shadows.

“Sonofabitch!”

“Are you okay?”
Wendy asked, shining the light in his face.

He pulled a hand
from the back of his head and stared at the blood in the light. “Great, now
I’ve probably got rabies on top of everything else.”

Curtis chuckled. “Well,
at least if you turn you’ll only want Meow Mix.”

“Funny.”

“Paul.”

“What?” Wiping
blood on his jeans, Paul followed Stephanie’s nod through the archway behind him.
His heart skipped a beat when he saw the skinny old woman standing in front of
the kitchen sink with her head tipped down. Drawing on her, he aimed for the
salt and pepper hair covering her face. “Hello?” His voice cracked around the
edges, gaze running the length of the stained nightgown leading to her
arthritis-twisted toes. “Are you okay?”

She stood there
and stared at her feet with dirty dishes overwhelming the sink behind her.

“Damn,” Billy whispered,
peering around Paul. “I’m literally shitting my pants right now and I’m not
even kidding.”

Paul stepped
closer. “Mam, are you okay?”

Deathly silence was
her answer and if he could just see past the stringy hair hiding her face he
could tell if she was dead or alive because the last thing he wanted to do was
mistakenly shoot an innocent person. Shooting guilty ones had been hard enough.
Taking baby steps across the dining room, warm blood trickled down the back of
his neck from the scratches in his scalp.