Dead Series (Book 3): A Little More Alive (2 page)

T
he next several
minutes went by in a dizzying blur. The ride north to Camp Dodge. Climbing the
tall security fence. Scraping his knee. Ducking into a backdoor of the first
building they came across and dragging a worn-out couch in front of it. Then just
bending over and breathing. In and out. In and out. One deep pull after another.
Following the raucous shootout at Paul’s house, it felt like they could take a
surgeon’s needle and pop the amorphous quiet pressing in from all sides. They’d
gone from sixty to zero in the blink of an eye, insanity to complete stillness.
That’s the way it went now and, even after all this time, it still made his
skin crawl.

“What is this place?”
Rebecca whispered, clinging to the back of Paul like a baby panda.

He flipped another
light switch that did absolutely nothing and kept walking. It smelled like an
old high school stained with years of sweat and books and food but this was no
school. Coming out from some kind of backstage, they followed their flashlight
beams around a big white screen framed with long red curtains. They eased up a
gradual ramp, taking in the ornate balcony looming above, feet scraping against
the carpeted path leading to the double doors at the other end. Dust floated in
their beams of light. Breath rushed from their mouths in white waves.

“Movie theater.”
Curtis swung his handgun and light over the empty rows of red seats facing them.

“Movie theater?”
Rebecca turned up her nose, glancing back at the movie screen. “On a military
base?”

“Hey, all work and
no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

“I wonder if it
still works.” Billy tipped his head back and examined the cathedral-like
ceiling yawning above them.

“Why?” Curtis
grunted. “So you can watch
Barbershop
for the tenth time?”

“Man, dude, that
is racist as fuck.”

“How is that
racist?”

“Because your
Cannonball Run II
watching ass thinks
all black people do is eat fried chicken and watch
Barbershop
, that’s how.”

Curtis stopped and
cocked his head to one side. “How many times have you seen
Barbershop
?”

Billy stared dully
back, pressing his lips together. “Four times.”

“I rest my case.”

Paul sighed,
scanning the lonely theater. They would have to go building to building until
discovering the communications room because there had to be one somewhere on
the grounds. Then, they’d have to monkey with a generator because there had to
one of those, too. He silently groaned just thinking about how long this could
take. About how futile this could all be. Even if they managed to find a radio
and juice it up, he could just imagine staring at the small speakers, waiting
for a faint voice to cut through the static. A voice that would never come because
no one was left to speak it. Everyone was dead. Everyone but them.

He forced the
thought from his head because that was the kind of thinking that leads to
failure. No, they had to stay positive. Had to envision their success and see
it happening before it would come to pass, like an amazing golf shot or
three-pointer from way behind the line. Stopping in front of the padded double
doors, they exchanged anxious glances. It was dead quiet and easy to imagine a
ragged horde hiding on the other side. Stragglers were one thing but hordes
were another. Just ask Troy. A horrible screeching noise made Paul stiffen.
Slowly, the group turned as one to face the front of the old fashioned theater.

“Holy shit,”
Curtis whispered, adjusting the two-handed grip on his Glock. “It’s Chris
fucking Farley.”

Paul stared down
the gradual slope to the guardsman standing in front of the big white screen. He
peered at them through messy locks, sallow belly hanging out his partially unbuttoned
shirt, hands curled into sledgehammers. Inhaling sharply, the man made a garish
sound like he was trying to suck them closer. Paul glanced at Rebecca, letting
the M4 hang from his neck. “Now, watch and learn.”

She moved back and
stepped on Wendy’s toes, drawing an aggravated elbow to the ribs in return.

Stephanie shifted
in her combat boots, gun wrapped tightly in both hands. “Shoot him.”

“No wait,” Paul
replied, eyeing the sonofabitch over. “Look at him. He’s studying us right now.
Learning. And we have to learn faster or we’re all dead.”

“Oh, that’s
comforting,” she murmured, taking dead aim at the thing.

“If you’re coming
with us, you have to know as much about them as possible.” He turned to
Rebecca. “This guy is more dangerous than the rest.”

Her eyes flickered
between Paul and the dead man sneering at them from the front row. “What do you
mean?”

He nodded to
Curtis and Billy. “Watch our flanks.” The men peeled their weapons and lights
off to the sides while Paul glared at the dead man with his chest rising and
falling beneath his black leather jacket. “Bring him.”

Curtis put a hand
to the side of his mouth. “Yo Chris! You still owe me five bucks for
Beverly Hills Ninja
!”

The guardsman
roared so loudly, Paul could feel the rumble through the bloodstained Adidas on
his feet. Then he was off, charging up the gradual ramp they don’t have in
movie theaters anymore, fists pumping, belly shaking, teeth clenching.

Stephanie raised
her gun, nervously looking at Paul who drew his Beretta PX4 Storm and took aim
with the M4 hanging at his side like a guitar god. Rebecca backed against the
double doors, covering her mouth with bloodstained hands as the man thundered
closer, snarling and snapping, rage tightening his black, soulless eyes.

“Paul,” Wendy said
softly, adjusting her aim with the moving target.

“Wait!” he
ordered.

The wretched thing
picked up speed. Blood ran from its eyes and nose. Foam bubbled from the
corners of its mouth. A young woman bolted from the velvet curtains covering a side
wall and Billy cut her in two with a three-round burst. Paul kept his eyes fixed
on Chris Farley, setting his jaw and squeezing off a single shot. The big man’s
head snapped back but his racing momentum carried him forward. Rolling, he
crumpled into a ball at their feet. A deathly silence was swift to follow and Paul
would never get used to it.

Ears ringing, he holstered
the nine, grimacing when the smell hit him. He’d never get used to that either.
“Step back,” he said, using the M4’s barrel to nudge the guy in his meaty
shoulder. The guardsman fell onto his back, arms flopping out to his sides and
blood trickling from a hole in his forehead. Paul centered the weapon’s neck
strap and waited for Rebecca’s dilated eyes to rise from Chris’ outstretched
body. “The fat ones are fast,” he said, holding her unnerved gaze.

Brow dipping, she
turned to the others for verification and the solemn looks on their faces did
the talking for them.

“Way faster than
the skinny ones. Never forget that.”

“But why?”

He shrugged his
broad shoulders. “Maybe a muscle mass or pituitary gland thing. Nobody knows
for sure.” His eyes moved to the dead woman who was now completely
unrecognizable thanks to Billy’s generous offering. “They also work together to
set traps and ambush their prey.”

“Like
velociraptors,” Billy panted, eyes darting around the theater like he just
heard something behind him.

“Farley was the
bait.” Curtis spit next to the dead man staring blankly at the ceiling.

“And she was
hiding off to the side.” Stephanie slowly lowered her gun and looked from the
dead woman to Rebecca. “Just waiting to make her move.”

Curtis snorted. “When
they start setting tripwires, we’re really gonna have some problems.”

Rebecca stared in
horror at the young man bleeding out on the carpeting. Foam oozed from his
gaping mouth like yellow lava while dark blood leaked from the corners of his
eyes and dripped to the floor. Her chest heaved. Words formed on her lips but
wouldn’t release. “When do I get a gun?” she finally asked, looking up to meet
Paul’s thin gaze.

“Have you ever
shot a gun before?”

She took a few
seconds to think it over, chasing her breath. “No,” she whispered, looking back
down at Chris.

Paul turned to
Billy and arched an eyebrow at him, the stench stinging his eyes. “Three shots?
Really?”

“What, man, it’s
dark. She scared the shit out of me.”

Sighing, he jerked
his chin to the double doors. “Let’s find that radio.”

Stephanie watched
him pass her by, bending an eyebrow of her own. “
Bring him
? Really?”

Paul gave her a
cocky wink and quietly pushed through one of the double doors while Curtis
opened the other, wondering how many of those things were hiding on the other
side, lying in wait. Wondering how long the dead could stay quiet like this.
With guns drawn, they eased into a lobby with more red carpeting and that old
school smell clinging to the couches and chairs. Framed posters of
Blade Runner
,
Cloverfield
, and
Jaws
adorned the porpoise-colored walls and off to the left, sat a snack bar with a
popcorn maker and soda fountain, all free of the living dead. Turning his
flashlight to the glass doors straight ahead, twilight peeked back, sinking his
shoulders. This might be as far as they get tonight and his patience was wearing
thin. He wanted to find a radio and right fucking now; not in the morning when
they could all be dead. Glancing at the bathrooms to the right, he wondered if
they still worked. Wondered if anything worked.

Wendy took a green
flier from the snack bar and brought it to her light before holding it up to
the others. “This was the last movie these people ever saw.”

Curtis bent closer.
“
Jarhead
? Those poor bastards. That
movie sucked donkey tits.”

“So what do we do now?
It’s getting dark out.” Stephanie studied the two doors just past the restrooms.
One was made of wood with the word
Office
inscribed in the top half’s glass, the other solid metal from head to toe.

“They’ll never
make another movie again,” Billy said with a wistful sigh, scanning a framed
poster of an angry Jack Nicholson from
A
Few Good Men
.

“Never say never,”
Paul replied, forcing his muscles to relax and trying to think.

Curtis shifted his
weight from leg to the other. “They stopped making
good
movies a long time ago. Bunch of superhero reboots and shitty
sequels. Hell, I haven’t been hit by a movie since
Avatar
.”

Billy raised his brow.
“What about
Twilight
?”

Curtis did a
double-take at him.

“Come on, you can
admit it.” A slow grin slipped through Billy’s stubble. “A Garth Brooks lovin
cracker like you bound to be a romantic at heart.”

“Wait.” Stephanie
rested a hand on a hip and gestured with her handgun. “Didn’t we see
Deadpool
together and you loved it?”

“No, that was
Troy. I went to
The Force Awakens
with Dad. Member?”

“That explains it,”
Billy chuckled, running a hand back and forth across the dark peach fuzz
carpeting his head. “Black Stormtrooper, my ass, man.”

Curtis frowned. “Wait,
that offended you,
Montel
?”

“All Stormtroopers
are cloned from Boba Fett’s dad, who, for the record, is white! So how is it even
possible that a black man…”

“Put down the weapons
or we will shoot!”

The sound of the
man’s voice made Paul’s heart leap into his throat. The man sounded scared and
desperate and open to mistakes. Wasting zero seconds, Paul spun around and
sprayed the snack bar with a barrage of bullets, barely seeing two people duck
down for cover as drywall rained down on their heads. He cringed each time the
buttstock hammered against his shoulder because this was his last magazine. To
top that off, Curtis lost his shotgun while saving Stephanie back at the house
but, outgunned or not, there was no way they were going down the Marvin and Jay
road again. Not today. Paul let up off the trigger. “Come on!” he said, darting
past the restrooms. Gunshots peppered the walls around him as he flew past the
office while Stephanie and Billy brought up the rear and returned fire.
Gripping the metal door’s cold knob, Paul prayed it wasn’t locked. Prayed it
didn’t lead to a dead end that would seal their fate. The knob turned in his
hand, flooding him with a burst of short-lived relief.

Bullets pelted the
doorframe around him, bringing plaster and debris down on their heads. The
hallway was long and narrow, constructed of cinderblock walls holding in the
cold. The door slowly shut behind them. Their shoes slapped against concrete,
echoing loudly in their ears. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw everyone still
on their feet, flashlights and guns swinging in their hands. They slowed down
at the end of the hall, inspecting a t-intersection with another metal door perched
at each end. Another choice with life or death hanging in the balance.