“You don’t have to thank me for anything. We all look after each other now.”
“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
Paul 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 mov
in, 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.”
He scooted a little away. “I’ve seen worse.”
“It’s a long way from my tiny two-bedroom apartment in Dwight, Kansas.”
Stephanie came back into the room, an unsettled look in her eyes as she scanned the bloodstain on the floor.
“What’s wrong?” Paul asked.
Coming around the pool table, she searched the floor and then the couch, twisting her fingers in the sunlight. “I can’t find my ring.”
“Ring?” Wendy said, getting up to check the cushion beneath her.
Paul swallowed hard as a slow shiver wormed down his spine.
☠
Everyone ate breakfast out on the top floor balcony, watching the sun-sparkled ocean without speaking. Despite the cushioned patio furniture, it made getting comfortable an impossible feat. This morning sat in stark contrast to yesterday. Yesterday, Paul barely had time to breathe, let alone think; now he had too much time and it was a dangerous combination. He couldn’t see Sophia’s face again and it crippled his spirit. In between some grapes and Pop-Tarts, he rehydrated with plenty of water to push back against the dull thud rotating inside his head from last night’s whiskey. This whole plan turned out to be a bad idea and the thought of staying h
ere another minute made his skin crawl. Brock was right in the dream. Sitting here waiting for those decomposing bastards to come to Paul wasn’t the solution. He had to take the fight to them.
The best defense is a good offense.
Popping another grape into his mouth, he stared at the bodies littering the perimeter of the fence line. He didn’t hear a single gunshot in his sleep but it was obvious Curtis took out some aggressions on his fans after last night’s show.
“I still don’t get how you knew it was under the bed.” Stephanie held her hand up to the light, admiring the sapphire rock on her finger.
“Lucky guess,” Paul replied, tossing another grape back and wondering how Brock knew where her ring would be. And since Brock was only a figment of Paul’s messed up PTSD imagination, how did Paul know where to find it? Probably because it was a logical choice. Still, it left an uneasy feeling eating away at him like one of those decomposing things out beyond the gate.
Stephanie lowered her hand and sighed, rubbing the sparkly rock with her thumb. “Troy gave this to me the day I made the Chiefs’ cheer squad.”
“It’s beautiful,” Wendy said, admiring the cobalt stone.
“Hey, you going to bogart all those grapes or what, hoss?”
Paul’s puffy-eyed gaze swung to Curtis. He threw him the bag and Curtis fumbled the catch, spilling grapes all over the balcony floor.
“Nice toss, dick-weed!”
“Curtis,” Stephanie groaned, pulling a brown leather jacket tighter around her as the wind picked up.
Snatching a grape from the ground, Curtis threw it at Paul who easily blocked it. “God, I’m sick of looking at you.”
Paul laughed, swapping an amused look with Wendy. “Jeez, bipolar much, Curtis?”
“Fuck you, city boy!”
“Wendy, I think Curtis needs his meds before he has a total meltdown.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” she said, pulling a joint from a pack of smokes and handing it to Curtis.
He hesitated before grabbing it and lighting up, giving Paul the evil eye and holding his breath.
“We need to do something about those bodies before it starts smelling so bad we can’t workout in the backyard anymore.”
Dead Series (Book 2): A Little More Dead: Gunfire & Sunshine Page 6