Dead Series (Book 2): A Little More Dead: Gunfire & Sunshine (21 page)

Billy blew out a
breath and dropped back into his chair, setting the gun on the table. “I can’t
take this shit anymore, man.” He squeezed his eyes shut and counted to five
before opening them again to see the blank faces staring back. “Damn!”

Paul holstered his
weapon and sat back down, wondering how many more jolts his heart could take
before it ruptured inside his chest.

Curtis seized
Billy from behind and yelled in his ear, making Billy shout.

“You asshole,
Curtis!”

He laughed and
grabbed another Swiss Roll. “Damn, jumpy much, Billy?”

Stephanie couldn’t
stop a smile. “Now you know what it was like growing up with him. Every time we
watched a horror movie, Curtis would jump out from behind things for the next
two days.”

“That’s not true,”
he replied. “It was more like three days.” He grinned at them, exposing his
chocolate-covered teeth.

“I like the sound
of the beach house you guys were at,” Billy said, changing the subject. “That
must’ve been like being on vacation.” His eyes flicked to Paul. “I can’t
believe you left there.”

Paul leaned back
and kicked his shoes up on the table, gravity tugging on his eyelids. He was
almost home and just wanted to sleep.

Curtis licked
chocolate from his fingers. “So after we get your photo albums and cookbooks,
where to next, Martha Stewart?”

He exhaled a heavy
breath that swirled Wendy’s cigarette smoke. “Not sure yet.”

“We should hole up
in a prison.”

Everyone slowly
turned to Billy.

He shrugged.
“What? They have a huge fence.”

Curtis snorted.
“What’s with you and prisons, man? Didn’t you get enough of Johnny Rotten’s
crusty dick in that last place?”

“Okay then, how
about a hotel? A five-star hotel.” Billy confidently nodded. “Throw some
bellhop racks and chairs down the stairs to keep the stragglers from getting to
the top floor.”

“Or to block us
in,” Paul said. “What if there’s a fire?”

“We get parachutes
and jump from the roof!” Billy threw his hands out. “Look man, I’m just saying
we need to get somewhere that has a fence or a wall. Something those things
can’t climb over or we are done.” His eyes stopped on each of their faces. “I’m
not even playin. This shit is real and it’s time we start taking things very
fucking seriously.”

“Oh, you don’t
think we’re taking this seriously?” Curtis snapped. “Try clearing a mannequin
factory in the dark! We’ve been taking this shit seriously since day one while
you’ve been hiding under your bed like some little bitch. So don’t talk to me
about taking things very fucking seriously!”

“Curtis,”
Stephanie said in a calming voice.

Paul yawned and
shut his eyes, torn between holing up somewhere for a while and staying on the
move. It ate at him without respite. He was responsible for these people’s
lives and that was no joke. There was no reset button here. This was his bright
idea, but like dead Brock said, they had to take the fight to those things and,
even in death, Brock was right. If they planted roots now, they’d get
complacent. Sloppy. One thing was very clear at this stage of the game: hardly
anyone was left and finding them would be like finding a needle in a haystack.
The ones who did manage to survive were probably too busy hiding to do much
else and without a radio, the only way to locate them was to keep…

Paul’s eyes popped
open.

Camp Dodge
.

Dan’s words
floated to him out of the same abyss they’d disappeared into upon waking the
other afternoon.

Get to Camp Dodge. Forget everything else
.

The ghostly
recollection struck like a bolt of lightning, cementing him to the chair and
reducing the voices around him to a dull buzz. Based in fact, the dream of
rescuing Carla had quickly veered off course into the absurd and Paul forgot
all about Dan’s posthumous advice. Eyes thinning, he blurred the pop machine
across the room into a fuzzy smudge. Just north of Des Moines, Camp Dodge
served as the headquarters for the Iowa National Guard and after 9/11, they
erected a tall fence around the entire base to keep the terrorists out (because
everyone knows how much the terrorists want to strike a National Guard base in
the middle of a flyover state they’ve never heard of before but ya never know).
Not only could they use that fence to keep the undead out, but they could, more
than likely, find a healthy stash of supplies inside as well. Food, water,
medicine and guns had to be in plenty because most of the reserves never
touched it. After the Governor called in the Guard, most never made it back.
But some had to of stayed behind to hold the fort down while their comrades
were out saving the grocery stores and malls. Some had to still be there. Maybe
even some with medical training. Paul’s throat clicked when he swallowed. Or
maybe dead soldiers patrolled the grounds with M4s they relearned to fire after
plugging back into some base instinct all creatures seem to possess. Kind of
like how Lindsey Wagner
relearned
to
ride her bicycle before Brock blew half her face off in his driveway.

More importantly,
the reserve base probably had a working radio. So far, all of the ones they’d
tried were way too small to have much of a signal but Camp Dodge would be a
different story. After all, the National Guard was equipped to deal with
national emergencies (although apparently not one of this magnitude as the
military and police were a distant memory). Nonetheless, this could be their
foothold.

Their new
beginning.

Their comeback.

“What’re you
thinking about?”

Paul’s red eyes
jerked to Wendy, heart beating faster against his coat. “Let’s find those car keys.”

Chapter
Eighteen

T
he Suburban was
still a tight fit for five people but offered more room than the F-150. It also
had better protection for their gear stowed in the enclosed back end. The
corpses that breached the truck bed crushed a tub of food but it was still mostly
salvageable. Had the tailgate popped open, they would’ve lost everything when
those things fell out the back. Second chances are an endangered species in
this world and they wouldn’t make that mistake again. Beyond the Iowa border,
the temperature dropped and the snow grew to a thin blanket with dead grass
poking through in patches. The jackets they took from the beach house were fine
during the day but they would need something heavier at night. But not tonight.
The shadows were already stretching longer and it started to snow.

Mid-yawn, downtown
Des Moines appeared in the gray distance. Just like everywhere else nothing
breathed. The capital city was a hidden gem, insulated from gangs and terrorist
attacks. Immune to rudeness and unfriendly welcomes. Now it was decimated. A
blurry thumbprint of what once was. Nothing moved but the American flags
flapping in the wind, and outside of a taxi cab parked in the middle of the
street, Paul’s house looked just like it did back on that snowy February day.
The day he, Sophia and Dan were too busy fighting for their lives to look back.
The woman in curlers and a robe was now lying half in the road and half in
Paul’s front yard – the first human he saw murdered by one of those things with
his own two eyes. There wasn’t much left, which explained why she hadn’t gotten
back up.

Pulling in the
driveway, skulls popped beneath the SUV’s new tires, squirting bloody brains
out the side like ketchup packets. He put the Suburban in park and let out a
tired breath, studying the place with dread seeping into his marrow like
tainted oil. After the zombie train, he didn’t feel like clearing the house in
the least. Not even his house. Hell, many nights pre-outbreak, he was too tired
to brush his teeth before bed, let alone storm another haunted house with
loaded weapons at the ready.

Paul shut off the
engine and light snow melted against the windshield. The quiet was unsettlingly
deceptive. It looked clear from here but, as he’d learned over the past month,
looks can be deceiving. This was the city and those things were, undoubtedly, lurking
around every corner, waiting to strike. What was the old myth about always
being within six feet of a spider? The same now went for the walking dead.

“Maybe we should
just keep going to this Camp Dodge place,” Billy whispered from the backseat,
nervously counting the bodies littering the front yard. “I think that guy by
the tree is still moving.”

“Just stick
together and we’ll be fine,” Paul said, getting out on rubbery legs and hanging
the M4’s shoulder strap around his neck while painful flashes of the past made
his head spin. And not the good past either, like when he and Sophia moved in
and celebrated with champagne and Chinese surrounded by unpacked boxes, or when
friends dropped by with beer and wine for the very first time. No, the bad
stuff like when the world fell to the dead. His eyes drew to Dan’s Ford Fusion parked
at an awkward angle in the front yard, stomach tightening. The man in a cheap
suit and tie was still leaning over the porch railing and Paul could still feel
the poor bastard’s bony hand locked around his wrist. He barely got out the
front door that day without dying and it was a wonder he was still alive.

Or a curse.

“Outside of the
dead lawn ornaments, nice crib,” Billy muttered, guardedly following Paul to
the front door.

“I guess fart
jokes and crank calls really paid the bills,” Curtis added.

Up on the front
porch, Paul discovered the door shut and locked. He frowned because he sure as
shit didn’t take the time to lock it before blasting his way to the Jeep with a
Mossberg 500.

Curtis arched an
eyebrow at him. “Don’t tell me you forgot your keys.”

“Let’s go around
back,” he whispered, leading them over the bodies in the driveway to the
backyard where there was no locking the shattered patio door.

“Sweet pool,”
Curtis said, sweeping the tactical shotgun over the backyard.

“Never even got to
use it.”

“No shit? That
sucks.”

Paul stepped
through the broken slider, glass crunching beneath his shoes. Inside the
kitchen, he saw the dining room chair he’d thrown against the dishwasher and,
through the grand archway, could see the pregnant woman in the parka lying on
the dining room floor. His first kill. The gray daylight brought out every
jagged crack in her face and Paul wondered if the fetus inside tried eating its
way out. Looking away, he saw the dead man bent over the dining room table.
Sophia’s first kill. Just before stepping into the dining room, the pantry door
in the corner of the kitchen caught his eye. It was open and emptier than he
remembered, which struck him just as oddly as the locked front door. Creeping through
the dining room, they spilled into the living room with its vaulted ceilings
and fireplace, everything triggering a flashflood of heartache. The coats and
scarves hanging from the coat rack by the front door, a Valentine’s Day card
from Sophia, her cell phone charger still plugged into a dead outlet, and the black
leather purse he’d made her leave behind just before Dan rolled up in his Fusion
sparked a sequence of events in his mind that all led back to the same place: his
wife was dead and never coming back.

Society had lost.

Darkness reigned.

“Let’s get these
photo albums and get the hell out of here,” Billy whispered, nervously jerking
his gun around the living room. Just like everyone else, his eyes were playing
tricks on him and, in this world, that would never change. “Which room?”

“Spare bedroom at
the end of the hall,” Paul replied, stuffing the phone charger in his coat pocket
and stopping when he saw the spare bedroom door closed. His eyebrows pulled
together, pulse thudding in his ears. Unless Paul and Sophia were having a guest
sleep over (which they only did twice in this house), that door was always open.
A cold shiver ran down his spine as he told himself it was just the wind from
the broken door in the kitchen. Looking back to make sure the others were still
there, he forged on, tucking the M4 into his shoulder.

Curtis flanked him
in the wide hallway and, together, they approached the white door at the end,
their ragged breaths filling their ears. Paul kept his eyes on the door, seeing
it burst open before it happened. Mentally preparing himself for those things to
come charging out. Ready to spray the hallway with lead.

“Is this your
wife?”

He turned to see
Stephanie step closer to a picture of he and Sophia at the Santa Monica Pier hanging
on the wall. With a Ferris wheel in the background, the easy smiles smeared
across their suntanned faces squeezed his lungs and threatened to stop his
heart. He hadn’t seen her face in how many days now? And there she was, clear
as the life burning in her eyes and it nearly brought him to his knees. If
Sophia had known when that picture was taken she’d have less than a year to
live she probably wouldn’t be smiling like that. He let her down and there was
no way around it. They never should’ve left this freezer box. “Yeah,” he replied,
trying like hell to push the grief from his mind before it got them killed.

“She’s beautiful.”

Paul took one last
look at his wife’s radiant face before continuing down the hallway, remorse
clouding his vision. Oh, how he had failed her and oh how he would somehow make
it right. If he saved a thousand lives maybe God would bring her back. If he
saved ten thousand more, maybe He would let her stay.

Stopping in front
of the closed bedroom door, he glanced at Curtis who nodded back. Paul held his
breath and turned the knob, brow crumpling when the door didn’t budge. Curtis
stepped back to kick it open and Paul stopped him. They might still have the
element of surprise on their side if they hadn’t already blown it because
something was in that room.

He put his
shoulder into the door and gently shoved. The door gave a few inches, barely
moving something heavy on the other side. A booby-trap flickered through his
mind. Shoving again, he gained just enough entry to slip through the crack in
the doorway. The others followed him inside, staring at the heavy dresser pushed
up against the other side of the door. Confusion swam in Paul’s eyes and it
took him a moment to notice the dead woman bursting from the long flowing curtains
across the room.

Everything slowed
down in his mind and he had time to realize the dresser wasn’t much of a trap, but
good enough to give the charging corpse with long black hair and a bloody North
Face a slight jump. Eyes wide and untamed, her bloody hands reached for Paul
like he was her ticket to salvation. Curtis took aim as she rushed across the
room. Paul watched her come in slow motion, bringing the M4 around and more
than ready to blow her twisted face out the back of her head. Dark hair flowed wildly
behind her like a villain’s cape. Smeared blood masked her face and when she
got closer, his heart dropped. Paul continued swinging the M4 around until it
made contact with Curtis’ shotgun, forcing him to put a shell through the large
window across the room.

“What the hell!”
Curtis cried, pumping the gun.

“Paul!” The dead
woman slammed him up against the wall and threw her arms around him, burying
her face in his neck.

She squeezed so
tightly he couldn’t breathe while something wet ran down his shirt. Prying her
off, Paul held her out by the arms for a better look and the floor dropped out
from beneath him. Bewilderment clawed at his face. Shock stabbed at his eyes.
He stared at her with the M4 hanging from his shoulder and everyone pointing
their guns at them.

Finally, he managed
a single word. “Rebecca.”

Squeezing more
tears out, she pressed her lips together and nodded.

Wendy examined the
girl with raven-colored hair spilling from her stocking cap, face souring.
“Rebecca?” Looking to Paul, she tilted her head to the side. “
Thee
Rebecca?”

“Who’s Rebecca?” Billy
whispered.

“I can’t believe
it’s you.” Rebecca hugged him again, planting her face in his neck and soaking
his shoulder while everyone slowly lowered their guns. Everyone except Wendy.

Paul held her out
again, unable to believe his own two eyes. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her
head, lip quivering.

“What’re you doing
here?”

She wiped at her
face with bloodstained hands, darkening the smear marks. “They closed the
airport and I couldn’t get back to Chicago and I didn’t know where else to go,”
she said in a breathless burst. “I thought you might still be here and I was so
scared and alone and…”

“You’ve been here
this whole time?” He swapped a dubious look with Stephanie.

Rebecca turned to
the rest of the group as if she just noticed they were standing there. “I spent
the first week or so locked in my hotel room but it got overrun so I stole a
taxi and…” Breaking down, she fell against him. “I didn’t know what else to do;
those things were everywhere so I came here and you were gone and I didn’t know
what to do.” The tears came harder, muddling her words. “I couldn’t go back out
there so I just hid in this room and prayed someone would find me.”

“Jesus Christ,” he
breathed, rubbing the back of her coat while trying to come to terms with the
photo albums scattered about the bed behind her.

Wendy shifted in
her stance. “Wait, this is Rebecca?”

“Everything’s going
to be okay, we’re here now.”

Rebecca looked up
and set a hand on Paul’s chest, searching his face. “Where…where’s your wife?”

Pressing his lips
into a thin grim line, he solemnly shook his head.

“Oh Paul,” she
whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, I hate to
break up your little class reunion,” Curtis said, “but let’s get the photo
albums and go find this Camp Dodge before this place is crawling with dead
heads.”

Rebecca frowned at
him. “Camp Dodge?”

“It’s a National
Guard base not far from here,” Paul explained, eyeing the food wrappers and cereal
boxes littering the floor behind her. “We’re going to use their radio and find
some help.”

She smiled at him,
eyes glassy and large. “What if we don’t?”

“We will, and
we’ll be safe there until we do. There’s a huge fence surrounding the entire
base and probably more than enough food to last us for a while.”

“Paul, everyone’s
dead.” Rebecca looked at the others. “There is no help.”

“We helped you,
didn’t we?”

She turned back to
him and stared for a moment before hugging him again. “I can’t believe you came
back. I thought you were those things.”

He sighed and
caught another odd look from Stephanie as she crossed the room. Rebecca just
complicated his game plan in a big way. She was a train wreck and in no shape
to handle a gun without killing one of them. Baggage. Plain and simple. And
baggage was the last thing they needed in this brave new world. “Come on, let’s
go while we still can,” he said, turning for the closet where he thought he’d
find a small carry-on to pack the photo albums in.