Dead Series (Book 2): A Little More Dead: Gunfire & Sunshine (6 page)

Paul swapped an
irritated look with Wendy. “You gonna keep him like a pet, Curtis? Take him for
long walks on the beach and teach him to do tricks?”

“Fuck you, Paul!
He’s my brother and I’ll do what I see fit. Not you!”

Paul rolled his
eyes and went behind the bar, grabbing a crystal decanter with, what looked
like, some expensive whiskey floating inside. Pouring a finger’s worth into two
curvy rocks glasses, he slid one across the shiny bar top to Wendy. She wavered
before taking it. He cheered her and knocked it back, exhaling as the smooth
burn slid into his stomach.

Wendy drained hers
and slid the glass back. “Paul is right,” she said. “I’ve seen what happens
when someone turns. There’s no coming back from that, Curtis.”

“So that makes you
an expert?” He spit to the floor. “Fuck you and fuck him too! You’re the reason
Troy got bit in the first place.”

Paul poured two
more shots, grinning like he just heard a stupid joke that wasn’t even close to
being funny.

“Oh, you think
this is funny, radio star?” Curtis turned his back on Troy and aimed the gun at
Paul’s head. “How about this? Think this is funny?”

Wendy drew on
Curtis in a flash. “If you don’t lower that goddamn gun I will shoot you in the
face.”

“Not without his
okay you won’t, you bimbo puppet.”

Wendy cocked the
hammer back with an authoritative
click
.

Curtis grinned. “Isn’t
that right, Paul?”

Staring down the
barrel of Curtis’ gun, Paul knocked back another shot and clenched his teeth
against the burn. “I don’t care if she shoots if you. Saves me the trouble.”

Troy lumbered
forward and reached for Curtis, pulling his jaws back wide. Paul grabbed the
bottle, not his gun, and poured another round as Troy’s heavy steps rattled the
floor. Curtis spun around and staggered backwards. Thundering back into the
room, Stephanie raised the gun in her hand and got off a shot before Curtis
could stop her. Troy’s head jerked back and his body followed, landing on the
floor with a double thud.

Curtis’ eyes
bulged from their sockets, jaw dragging on the floor. Slowly, he turned to his
sister. “What did you dooooo!”

She spread her boots
and shot wet daggers at him, chest rising and falling. “Curtis you are my
brother and I love you but if you point that gun at one more innocent person, I
swear to God I will shoot you next. This is
not
who we are! This is not who Dad raised us to be! Do you understand me?”

He turned from the
storm in her eyes to Troy, gun hanging limply at his side. Paul tipped the glass
back while letting his fingers dance on the butt of his gun. With a loud
scream, Curtis stomped out of the room, calling Wendy a bitch under his breath
and smacking a picture to the floor that broke into pieces. Stephanie holstered
her gun and fell into a leather couch, burying her face in her hands to avoid
looking at what she’d done. What she had to do.

Paul came around
the bar and crouched down, picking up the splintered frame and brushing glass
from the smiling family of five at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. He
shook his head, wondering where they went, and set it back on the sofa table. After
a long while, they carried Troy’s body down to the beach and set it outside the
fence. Then they went back for Cora and watched their bodies burn with some firewood
and lighter fluid they found around the fire-pit while Curtis pouted inside.
The smell of burning flesh made Paul both sick to his stomach and hungry for barbeque
chicken at the same time so he urged everyone back inside the gate and locked it
behind them. Inside the house, he found a quiet bedroom and convinced Wendy to
leave him alone before taking a long nap that would end in a hair-raising scream.

Chapter
Five

M
ore glass broke
inside the house and Wendy looked at Paul from the Adirondack chair next to him
but he kept his eyes on the fire pit, blurring the flames into dancing blobs, his
vocabulary closed for business. There was nothing left to say. The unspeakable
had come knocking and every day somebody opened that door. Today it was Troy
and Cora. Tomorrow it could be him. It was real and it was terrifying and Paul
thought he would’ve grown numb to it by now but he hadn’t. It was too much not
to feel. Even a squadron of heavily armed Navy Seals would be packing shit
sandwiches in their pants at this point. This was so beyond fucked up it was
almost funny, like when you get the giggles just before going to bed. Blowing
out a long breath, he zipped his hoodie up higher, grimacing with the movement.
Every muscle in his body throbbed. He hurt inside and out and what were the
odds of surviving something like this on a daily basis when those things never
stopped coming? Never went to work or watched movies. They just kept coming and
eating and coming and eating and what were the odds of surviving when they
never fucking stopped?

Never!

Tipping back a
glass of whiskey, he watched faint clouds slip past the moon like ghosts, turning
the ocean as dark as the look gripping Stephanie’s face. She blamed him for
Troy. He could see it in her watery eyes from here and maybe she was right. Maybe
this was as much his fault as everything else. After all, he led them out onto
that beach with no warning and that was on him. No one else. Stephanie looked
up and met his tired gaze across the fire, sending an icy shiver down his spine.

Turning away, Paul
dug his toes into the cold sand while flames licked at his cheeks and whiskey
kissed at his pain. Deep down, where common sense sometimes likes to hide, he
knew this wasn’t his fault. No, this was
their
fault. Those things. This blight. And the way the never-ending string of atrocities
nearly made him forget about the one simple fact that a dead pharmacist
murdered his wife pissed him off more than anything else. Sophia deserved to be
mourned and he couldn’t even give her that. He couldn’t give her loyalty in
marriage and he couldn’t give her respect in death.

The fire popped
and he laughed, drawing Wendy’s bloodshot eyes. She pulled a flannel shirt
tighter around her, giving him a queer look he didn’t acknowledge.

Four.

That’s how many
were left. Two men and two women against millions of those ambling corpses out
there in the dark. Stephanie rested her elbows on her knees and stared into the
flames through distant eyes, a whiskey and Coke wrapped in her hands and a long
coat draped over her shoulders. Paul knew what she was seeing play out against
that curtain of fire. She missed her brother and her home and this wasn’t
looking good and he didn’t blame her for blaming him.

“Are you okay?”

Stephanie’s eyes
rose to Wendy, the fire spitting embers into the night. “I’m fine. I just…” She
looked back to the pit and grew quiet.

“I know and I’m
sorry, sweetie,” Wendy said, looking like she was about to say something else
but closing her trap instead.

Paul let out a
long breath that tickled the flames as he melted into the chair. That’s the world
they lived in now. One full of endless apologies and regrets and your number
could come up at any second. He was sorry about Cora and blamed himself for
leaving her in that house with someone who’d been bitten. It was another
mistake and that was on him as well. She was a sweet woman who didn’t deserve
to go out like that and Paul felt guilty as hell for thinking about how much
easier this would be without her. Cora was a functioning alcoholic who couldn’t
function without Brock and she probably would’ve gotten them all killed at some
point down the line. After all, when she disappeared that night, she left the
Chevelle’s backdoor unlocked and blunders like that could be fatal these days.
At the same time, he wished she was here and felt he’d let Brock down, leaving
another hole in his heart that would never heal.

A patio door
slammed shut and Curtis stumbled from the house with an acoustic guitar in one
hand and a bottle in the other. There was a stagger in his step and a cigarette
dangling from his lips.

“Oh shit,” Paul
whispered to Wendy, brushing a hand against his gun just to make sure it was
still there.

Curtis stopped in
front of the fire with a destructive look dancing in his eyes. He cleared his
throat and shifted in the sand, shadows jumping across his face. “I want to
apologize for earlier. I’ve been to known to have a bit of a temper out on the
track but I don’t usually go around pointin guns at people.” His bloodshot eyes
gravitated to Paul. “I’m sorry, Paul. That wasn’t cool and I…” He shook his
head and stumbled a little, searching for words and coming up short.

“It’s okay,” Paul
said, bailing them both out. He wanted to hear it about as much as Curtis
wanted to say it.

Stephanie crossed
her legs and rubbed a hand up and down her jeans. “Why don’t you sit down
before you fall down.”

Curtis’s gaze
flicked to Wendy. “And I’m sorry I called you a bimbo puppet. That was wrong
too.”

She laughed. “Oh
honey, you’re going to have do a lot better than that to offend me.”

He gestured with
the bottle, spilling some whiskey to the sand. “I’m also sorry I said your boobs
are crooked. That wasn’t right.”

Wendy’s smile
dropped. “You think my boobs are crooked?”

“God Curtis,”
Stephanie groaned, pulling on his hand.

He yanked his hand
back and staggered a little with the motion. “Listen, I realize we’re all
reeling from this nightmare and I just got caught up in the moment and I’m
sorry.” Dropping into the blue chair next to his sister, he flicked his smoke
into the fire. “I’m sorry, sis. I wasn’t thinking right.”

 
Stephanie pulled him into her arms. “I’m sorry
too, baby brother,” she whispered in his ear. “We’re going to get through
this.” She held him for a long moment, embers rising into the night while Paul
and Wendy traded a somber glance.

Drawing apart, Curtis
discreetly wiped some glistening tracks from his cheeks and lifted the whiskey
bottle into the sky. “To Troy!” he said, taking a long pull before passing it
to Stephanie who shook her head. He held it out to the others and received silent
looks in return. With a limp shrug, he set the bottle down and strummed a few chords
on the guitar. “Found this in the older brother’s room upstairs, the kid with
the curly hair.”

Paul watched him
tune the guitar, mind shuffling on random. He smiled at how he ended up here
with these complete strangers, having a bonfire on the beach and singing Kumbaya.
Taking a long drink, he extinguished the smile and, once again, entertained the
possibility he was already dead because this shit couldn’t really be happening.
Not for real. In fact, he bet he could pull his gun out, shoot himself in the
head and he’d wake up in one of the bedrooms inside to face this living hell
all over again in the morning.

This plague was
like the mafia.

There was no
gettin out.

Curtis stopped strumming
and took a quick swig of whiskey, flames jumping in his eyes as he quietly
examined the others. Paul filled his glass from a bottle at his feet and Curtis
started picking at the strings with surprising agility, bringing to life a
smooth melody without missing a note. A rock guy through and through, even Paul
could recognize a melancholy Garth Brooks when he heard it.

A dramatic pause brought
out the water softly rolling ashore in the distance and the call of a loon.
Curtis shut his eyes, struck a perfect chord and began singing out of tune. “Sometimes
late at night, I lie awake and watch her sleeping…”

Paul shifted
uncomfortably in his chair while Wendy stifled a laugh. Stephanie slowly shook
her head at Paul, silently communicating a heartfelt apology for her brother
she needn’t. He rolled his eyes at her, bringing the hint of a smile to her
full lips. Seated around the fire, they drank and listened to Curtis and it
didn’t take long for the moans and snarls to reach the fence, startling the
horses. Twisting around in his chair, Paul brushed his hand against his gun and
watched the things reach for him through the iron bars.

“If tomorrow never
comes,” Curtis sang on. “Will she know how much I loved her? Did I try in every
way to show her every day, that she’s my only oneeeeeee?”

The rotting hands
grew in number, the moans and hacks getting louder with each verse. Like all
front row ticket holders, they wanted closer to the stage. It was never enough.

Paul cleared his
throat and unsnapped the strap over his gun. “Umm, Curtis?”

Curtis gave his
fans outside the gate a warm nod because that’s what they were to him now.
Fans.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

“Cause I’ve lost
loved ones in my life, who never knew how much I loved them…”

Paul slowly shut
his mouth and sank into the Adirondack chair, tipping his glass back and resigning
to let Curtis get it out of his system. Those things weren’t getting inside so
what was the point in starting another war? The guy was an emotional roller
coaster and Paul didn’t feel like another ride. Ten minutes later, he gave
Stephanie a faint smile and headed off to bed while Curtis played on for his
screaming fans lining the gate.

☠

Back flopping onto
a twin bed in a guest room that looked more like an expensive hotel suite, Paul
flipped on the nightstand light and stared at the ceiling. The peace and quiet
was so thick it made him squirm. This world balanced between two extremes: running
for your life and sheer boredom. Without TV or cell phones or the career he
loved to divert his attention during the down times, his mind ran away on him
and it was tired of running. His family and friends were gone and the only
things left to think about during quiet times like this centered upon the gloom
and doom pressing against his lungs. All the simple pleasures in life were gone
as well. Hitting the links. The bike trails through downtown. Grilling up some
burgers on the back deck. Gone. A thing of the past – like long distance
charges and developing film. At least they had electricity. He told himself
that even though he knew this place was just a mirage. A fantasy. Sooner or
later, something would have to give. There had to be more to life than just
this
.

He yawned and
stretched out on the bed. The good news was he didn’t have to wake up at three
in the morning to go to work in the dead of winter anymore. It wasn’t much in
the face of extinction but it was enough to make him smile. If that was the
biggest pro in this world, they were in more trouble than he thought. He
sighed, mind shifting to
Stephanie. Tonight was her first night without
Troy and it would hurt. She seemed like a good person with her caring attitude
and hair like Sophia’s and Paul vowed to try and lift her spirits but not
tonight. Tonight he just wanted to sleep and never wake up.

A light knock on
the door jerked him from his rambling thoughts. “Yeah?”

The door cracked
open and Wendy poked her head inside. “Are you okay?”

He locked his
fingers behind his head as she stepped inside and quietly shut the door.

She folded her
arms and stared at him from the foot of the bed. “Do you mind if I sleep in
here tonight?”

Paul groaned.
“This house has five bedrooms in it, Wendy.”

“I know, I just…don’t
want to be alone tonight.”

“You said that
last night, and the night before.”

She dropped his
tight gaze and dug her toes into the carpet. “It’s just one night.”

“Whatever.”

Her face
brightened and she slid into bed, joining him in watching the ceiling.
“So…Curtis is a good singer, huh?”

“If you mean
terrible by good, then yeah.”

Soft laughter
brushed her lips. “That couldn’t have been any more awkward. And thanks for
leaving me out there like that.”

“You’re welcome.”

“He’s still
playing.” Leaning up on one elbow, she studied his profile, the hurricane-proof
walls mercifully drowning out Curtis in the backyard. “But I’m glad we found
them.”

He turned to face
her. “Yeah?”

She nodded, biting
her lower lip. “I like it here.”

“Probably not a
lot of hot showers left in the world.”

“Not to mention
movies that still play. Tomorrow I say we watch
The Vow
and eat popcorn and just take the entire day off from
everything.” She set a soft hand on his chest and toyed with his chest hairs through
a black t-shirt he found hanging in the master closet. “Thank you for
everything.”

“You don’t have to
thank me for anything. We all look after each other now.”