Dead Series (Book 2): A Little More Dead: Gunfire & Sunshine (7 page)

“I know,” she
said, leaning closer. “But I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You would do just
fine without…” The words died on his lips when she pressed her mouth to his,
catching him off guard and kissing him softly. Blond bangs tickled his face and
he could taste the whiskey on her tongue when it slipped inside his mouth. Paul
kissed her back, taking solace in her warmth as her hand meandered down his
stomach and slipped inside his jeans. Breath catching in the back of his
throat, her fingers wrapped around his cock and squeezed. Rebecca flashed
through his mind – with her sinister black hair and evil warm skin. Wendy
brushed her tongue against his. The room spun. Her hand pumped faster. Paul
broke their kiss and pushed her away, leaning against the headboard and
massaging his face.

“Stop,” he panted.
“Just stop.”

Lines carved
through her face like she was aging in front of him. “I’m sorry.”

“I can’t do this,
Wendy.”

“Then we don’t
have to.”

“My wife just died
and you knew her and this isn’t right,” he said, pulling his hands from his
face and seeing the shame flicker in her eyes. “And I don’t care what is going
on out there or how fast this world moves. I can’t do this.”

Wendy’s tears
magnified her eyes. “You’re right and I’m sorry. I guess I’m just terrified of
being alone in this world. I don’t know anyone anymore and it scares me to
death.”

“Wendy,” he said, despising
himself for falling into her lips like that. Guilt wrenched his insides like a
rusty vise, rupturing his grief at the seams. Just like the night he brought
Rebecca into his house when Sophia was out of town, his weakness knew no
bounds. “You are not alone and we’re going to get through this together. I
promise you that. Okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

She nodded, losing
the battle with a single tear that triumphantly rolled over the apple on her
cheek. “Okay.”

Paul stared at the
ceiling for a while before shutting off the nightstand light and dropping into
the pillow, air rushing from his lips. “Let’s get some sleep.”

Chapter
Six

DAY NINETEEN

P
aul threw his gun
and vest on before going out onto the back deck, where he took a steaming leak
and then dropped into a cushioned patio chair wet with morning dew. Finally alone,
he blew out a cold breath he could see against the gray dawn breaking on the
horizon. Kicking his Adidas up onto the patio table, dark clouds roll past like
volcanic smoke. It was chilly and peaceful in Victoria, Texas, sitting in
direct contrast to the rest of the world. From here, you would never know
anything had changed. The cows still grazed and the birds still sang.

“Sleep okay, boss?”

Turning, he watched Brock come out the
French doors, already dressed in a Carhartt thrown over a starchy button down, faded
jeans, boots, and his signature cowboy hat pulled down low. Paul looked back to
the longhorns mooing loudly at Brock’s presence. “You mean outside of the
blood-curdling scream?”

Brock chuckled a little and fanned a hand
through the air at him, his voice even deeper with a fresh hangover on his
breath. “Reckon we oughtta get used to that nowadays, huh?”

“Not much choice.”

Brock patted his stomach. “Me, I slept
like a rock. Full belly’ll do that to a man,” he said, filling his lungs with a
deep breath of country air that smelled like cow shit. He combed his gray mustache
with his hand, resting the other on the butt of his six-shooter while surveying
the spread of land stretching before him. “Little nippy this morning,” he
concluded, zipping his coat up higher and taking a seat at the table.

Paul hid behind a thin smile, annoyed he
couldn’t get two minutes alone to think about his dead wife.

“Well, Dan was right, that sure is some
sweet ride.” Brock leaned back, admiring the black Chevelle parked in the
driveway. “I suppose we’ll all have one soon enough.” His eyes drifted to some
squirrels chasing each other across the brown grass and Paul wondered if it was
cold where Sophia was this morning. Everything reminded him of her. Mornings,
coffee, the way Wendy laughed at Dan’s stupid jokes. All of it made him want to
scream bloody murder.

“Listen Paul,” Brock breathed, stirring
him from his thoughts, “I know we just met and all, but I want to thank you for
saving Cora’s life yesterday on the beach.” He waited for Paul’s narrow gaze to
slide over to him before continuing in a scruffy voice. “You didn’t have to
risk your life to do that but you did and it says a lot about your character.”

Paul started to ask what the hell he was
talking about but Brock stopped him with a rotting hand.

“Long of the short is,” he said, a
toothpick wiggling in the corner of his split lips. “You can’t stay at this beach
house, partner. You have to keep moving.”

A stench that bore a striking resemblance
to rotten eggs floated from Brock in pungent waves, wrinkling Paul’s nose. Yanking
his Adidas from the table, he went for the Beretta that was no longer in its
holster.

Brock tipped his cowboy hat back with a
skeletal finger, exposing the cracked skin running through his forehead. He
eyeballed Paul like he was one of his lackey job applicants. “The best defense
is a good offense. You have to take the fight to those things. Find some other
survivors and build an army; don’t just lay there and bleed.” He raised his
bushy eyebrows. “Cowboy up or go sit in the truck, that’s what my daddy always
said and now I’m sayin it to you.”

Paul struggled for words as a matted yellow
lab limped up onto the deck and began licking at a festering sore on Brock’s
hand.

“Good to have ole Jasper back home,” Brock
said, petting the dog behind the ears.

Paul’s eyes bulged. He pointed at the
jagged hole in the dog’s stomach, unable to catch his breath.

Cora cascaded out onto the deck in a flowery
dress, drawing Brock’s eyes and setting a steaming mug of coffee on the table.
“Here ya go, big guy.”

“Thank ya, mam,” he said, wrapping an arm
around her waist and shooting Paul a coy wink. “Good ta have her home too.”

Paul frowned at the dog hair coating
Brock’s hand as the cowboy cheered him with the mug and took a careful sip.

“You listen to him now, Paul. Brock knows
what he’s talking about.”

Paul’s eyes jerked up to Cora who smiled
at him through rotten lips and broken teeth. Blood trickled from a gash in her
neck, spilling into her husband’s coffee like red creamer.

“Hope it’s not too strong, sweetie.”

Brock wiped his mustache, staring directly
at Paul. “No such thing as coffee that’s too strong, only people who’re too
weak.” He took another drink and swallowed with a satisfied sigh.

Paul grimaced and watched Jasper trot off into
the backyard after the squirrels before turning back to the family portrait
hanging over the fireplace. He wondered where the family went. Wondered where
everyone went, and that’s when he noticed Carla, Matt and Mike were no longer
in the farmhouse. His heart fluttered with the lone candle in the living room.
White plumes rushed from his mouth as he realized Sophia and Dan were gone as
well. Pushing himself off the stained carpeting, he reached for the
twelve-gauge beside him that wasn’t there. Traipsing across the room, he
stepped on a frozen apple pie and found Troy lying on the cracked kitchen
floor.

Dead and bloated.

A loud knock at the front door startled
Paul and he instantly knew the candle in the living room had given him away. An
old woman folded her bony limbs through the broken kitchen window like a spider
and Troy grabbed his ankle. Paul screamed and kicked the rotten hand away, dashing
into the living room and skidding to a stop when the front door burst open and
Brock lumbered inside. Cowboy hat askew, he reached for Paul with bloodstained
hands.

“I wish I was there
for one more bowl of chili, boss!” Brock tracked mud across the floor, rattling
the lamps with heavy boot steps. He stopped and took a look around before
slowly turning back to Paul. “Ya gotta keep movin, son.” Tipping his chin down,
his eyebrows disappeared beneath his hat. “And tell Stephanie that ring of hers
is hidin under the bed.”

Bony hands wrapped
around Paul’s neck from behind and squeezed. Paul’s eyelids flipped back to
find Wendy staring at him with a frightened look tugging on her face.

“It’s just me,”
she said, sitting up next to him in the twin bed with her hair sticking out in
every direction. “You’re okay.”

His tentative gaze
swept the bedroom, reality bleeding in like the morning sunshine peeking
through the glass. Exhaling a winded breath, he mopped sweat from his forehead
and sat up. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed, leaning against the headboard.

The bed sheet slid
down Wendy’s chest, exposing her bare breasts. “What happened?”

He grabbed a bottle
of water from the nightstand and unscrewed the top. “You don’t want to know,”
he said, taking a greedy pull and doing a double take. “Weren’t you wearing
clothes before we went to bed?”

“I can’t sleep
with clothes on.” She pulled the sheet up over her chest. “What happened in
your dream? I want to know.”

Paul threw the bed
sheet back, relieved to see he was still wearing his t-shirt and jeans that
smelled like smoke.

“Where are you
going?”

“To the bathroom.”

“Can you bring me
back a juice box?”

He didn’t reply
and went out into the hallway to find the nearest bathroom door closed and locked.
The door opened in his hand and Curtis sauntered out, a sleepy grin attached to
his scruffy face and a Rachel Ray magazine tucked under an arm. “I wouldn’t go
in there for thirty-five to forty-five minutes if I were you, hoss.”

“Great.” Paul grumbled,
going upstairs to find another one of the house’s many bathrooms.

After using the
restroom on the second floor and splashing some bottled water on his face, he
came back out with Brock’s words haunting his steps.

You can’t stay at this beach house, partner.

At the top of the
second floor landing, Paul noticed Stephanie curled up on the leather couch in
the game room. Brow folding, he crept into the room, the hardwood flooring cold
beneath his feet. His eyes followed her distant gaze to the bloodstain on the
floor where Troy died for the second time yesterday. After burning Troy’s and
Cora’s bodies, Paul and Wendy cleaned it up and now he realized they didn’t do
a very good job of it.

“Are you okay?”

Stephanie clapped
a hand over her chest, nearly spilling her coffee. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.”

Her eyes drifted
back to the floor, hands cradling the steaming mug for warmth. “I just can’t
believe he’s gone.”

Paul came around
the pool table and sat next to her on the couch, searching for something to say
and settling for less than he wanted to find. “It gets better.”

She turned to him
and folded the bare legs spilling from someone else’s running shorts beneath
her. “Does it?”

He opened his
mouth but nothing came out. “Not really.”

Smiling, she
tucked a strand of wet bangs behind an ear. “When we were kids, Troy was so
protective of Curtis and I. Every time I had a date, he questioned the poor kid
more than my dad did and for a while there I couldn’t stand him.” She brushed
at a teardrop, gaze wandering back to the blood spot on the floor. “But after
high school, we became closer than ever and he always had the right answers.
Always knew the right thing to do.” She sniffled, her voice escaping as a
pathetic whine. “Now I don’t know what to do.”

Paul rubbed her shoulder,
breathing in the vanilla floating from her hair. “We’re going to be fine; I
promise.”

Looking up,
Stephanie searched his eyes for veracity, faces inches apart. “Are we?” she
whispered.

He stared back,
studying her almond-shaped eyes with his heart beating in his ears. “Probably
not.”

Her abrupt
laughter was music to his ears and pulled a smile from him as well. She kept
her eyes on him and, to Paul’s surprise, an extremely comfortable silence fell
between them as waves silently crashed to shore in the background.

“I’m worried about
Curtis. I don’t know what he’s going to do without him. Troy was his biggest champion.”

“He was his crew
chief, right?”

Stephanie nodded
and blew on her coffee, swirling the steam. “Troy pushed Curtis so hard on the
track. He was positive Curtis had what it takes to race in the big league.”

“The Sprint Cup?”

“And he would’ve
made it in another season or two. Nothing could stop the two of them.” She
swiped at another tear. “Now everything’s gone and it was all for nothing.”

Paul stared into
her dark browns. “Not everything.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Yeah, I guess
you’re right. We still have breakfast bars.”

Paul laughed and
it felt good. He grew quiet and shifted on the couch, watching Stephanie sip
her coffee. “Did you get a flu shot this year?”

She frowned. “Flu
shot? Why? You don’t think…”

“We haven’t come
across many people but, so far, it’s still on the table. Until you answer
anyway.”

“Well, I didn’t
get one. The last time made me so sick I couldn’t keep anything down for a
week.” She pressed her lips together, eyes locking onto his over the rim of her
cup. “What if?”

He held her gaze,
imagining all those people standing in line at Walgreen’s and CVS. What if?
What if all of them lined up to die? And what if someone did this on purpose?
“We’ll probably never know.”

“Not unless they
fix the internet or we come across an infectious disease specialist.”

“Ooh, look at the
big brain on the cheerleader. Infectious disease specialist. I would’ve just
said doctor.”

Lightly slapping
his thigh, she traded a warm smile with him that he happily returned. A few
seconds went by and no one knew what to say next but it wasn’t awkward. It was
relaxed and easy and Paul felt her pain. Sometimes words, no matter how carefully
chosen, could only get in the way.

“I’m glad you’re
here,” Stephanie said, breaking the silence between them.

He smiled. “Me
too.”

“There you are!”

Startling, they
turned to see Wendy standing at the top of the stairs.

“I thought you
were getting me a juice box,” she said, strolling closer.

“Jesus, you move
like a cat.”

“I should check on
Curtis.” Stephanie rose from the couch, flashing Wendy a tight-lipped smile on
the way by.

Wendy took her
spot on the couch, cozying up to Paul like they were married and literally
getting under his skin. She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed. “I just
love waking up in this house. It’s beautiful.”