Paul took his hand back and ran it down his freshly shaven face. “Fine! But this is my party and I call the shots. Is everyone clear on that?” He drilled Curtis with a challenging glower.
Everyone nodded, including Curtis, who couldn’t stop a wry smile from pulling back into his unshaven cheeks.
Paul studied him for a few seconds, regret already leaking into his bones. “And the first thing I need you to do is go take a shower. You smell like the dead.”
Chapter Eight
The black F-150 sped down a winding two-lane highway, reversing the path Paul took in the Chevelle to get here. With the ocean growing smaller behind them, he glanced at Wendy riding shotgun, and then into the rearview mirror at Stephanie and Curtis stuffed in the backseat. He shook his head with mild amusement or gross repugnance. Back at square one with a new set of players on another road trip from hell, a twisted blast from the past that reminded him of his old Jeep. He could still see Sophia riding next to him with the sunshine kissing her skin and Dan, Carla, Matt and Mike squeezed in the back. Those players were all dead now, their games over. He failed them and there was no way to fix it.
“Are we there yet?”
Paul’s gaze rose to Curtis in the mirror. “Ask me that one more time and I swear to God I will throw your ass out of this moving truck.”
“I’m sorry, I just have to piss really bad,” he grumbled. “Man, can’t say anything without you getting all butt-hurt about it.”
“Only when you say it five hundred times! I’m not your fucking limo driver, Ricky Bobby.” Paul turned back to the road and set his jaw against the anger brimming inside. His nerves were on fire and he prayed this road trip wasn’t a mistake because that would be on him and his guilt didn’t need the weight. They could’ve easily rode the next few years out at the solar powered beach house, enjoying hot showers and coffee, but they would let those things win the war and, after everything they’d lost already, that was the one thing they could not afford to lose.
“We should steal an RV,” Stephanie said. “This is really cramped back here.”
“RVs use too much gas and are impossible to squeeze through blocked roads.” Paul white-knuckled the wheel, wishing everyone would shut the fuck up. “Plus, they’re always blowing radiator hoses and stuff.”
“Should’ve kept the horses,” Curtis said, clicking his tongue. “A good horse will never let you down.”
Paul shook his head. Today wasn’t the first time he released a horse back into the wild of America. He remembered Benji and the bearded man in the buggy and now he would remember Gilly, Moses and Lady. They were free to roam the beach and he hoped they could find food and water and evade capture at the hands of the enemy.
After stopping to siphon gas from a Chevy Tahoe out in the middle of a Toys R Us parking lot, they grabbed some food from the tubs in the truck bed and got back on the road. A few times, the highway grew so choked with parked, or wrecked, cars they had to turn around and find a different route, slowing their progress to a tedious crawl. The lack of stragglers along the way almost made Paul feel better, but he knew they were there. He couldn’t see them but he could feel them. Watching from the shadows. Biding their time. Waiting to pounce. This is why he picked the Tahoe out in the middle of a deserted Toys R Us parking lot where nothing could sneak up on them. But sooner or later, those things would jump. It was inevitable. He glanced at the others as he flew down the road. If he got any of them killed during this next secret pit stop, he’d never forgive himself. And these days, forgiveness don’t come cheap.
“You sure you don’t want me to drive?”
Paul looked in the mirror. “I got it.”
“I’m just saying if you want to take a break, I can drive for a while. I mean, it’s kind of what I did for a living and all.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen the way you drive and I’d rather not end up like Paul Walker.”
Curtis opened his mouth and Stephanie set a hand on his leg, making him slowly shut his trap.
Paul stepped on the gas, eager to get there before darkness fell. Desperate to be close to her again. All this driving gave them too much time to start asking delicate personal questions like: How long were you married to Sophia? Where’d ya meet? Have any kids? Pets? Questions that, in general, grated on his nerves.
The group fell silent as another small town of dead cars and houses and shops whizzed past in a dismal blur. It started sprinkling and, despite not having to spend a single bullet thus far, it was hard to remain upbeat about anything. Reality wouldn’t let them enjoy even the tiniest victory for long. They stared at a charter bus pulled over on the side of the road with dead elderly people milling about like they’d stopped at a scenic view. There was a state patrol car parked behind it and Paul bet that if the battery hadn’t already gone dead, those flashing cherries up top would still be lighting up the gray-haired corpses reaching for the pickup.
“So I take it BINGO is cancelled,” Stephanie murmured.
Paul stared at the dead cop trying to eat through a bus window to get at them, his hope sinking.
“Paul, watch where you’re going,” Wendy shouted.
He got into the gas and easily swerved around the undead, wondering where they’d been going when the infection spread through the bus aisles like dominos. Probably a Barry Manilow concert at some nearby casino.
Soon, darkness scratched the sky and Paul cursed under his breath. He hoped to be at Sophia’s grave by now but it would have to wait until tomorrow – assuming he got a tomorrow. Exhaling, he looked around, hating this part of their new life more than anything else. He dreaded the idea of holing up in another strange house with other people’s possessions and smells. His old bed called to him but most of all he missed her touch. Her laugh. The way she liked getting ready for a night out on the town more than the night itself.
“There!” Curtis leaned forward and pointed off to the right.
Wendy slapped a mag in with the palm of her hand. “An indoor go-kart track? Really?”
“It’s as good a place as anywhere else. Might as well have a little fun instead of sitting around like a bunch of sourpusses all night long.”
Paul pulled in. The last thing he wanted to do right now was sit around in somebody else’s house and stare at their pictures. It felt like they could see him through that glass, like they knew he was trespassing in their home. But this place would be different. Neutral. Clean. Hitting the headlights, he cruised around back to find the backdoor hanging wide open.
“That can’t be good,” Stephanie mumbled, checking her handgun.
Curtis snorted. “Hey, at least they’re open.”
There was a short-lived chorus of magazines clacking and clicking, slides racking and locking before they exited the vehicle. Under the cover of dusk, they cautiously approached the open backdoor. Paul peeked inside but it was pitch black so he nodded at Wendy and she lit the place up. The dead state trooper’s tactical shotgun felt good in his hands as he stepped inside the giant machine shed. Lightning flashed and thunder vibrated the metal walls and high ceiling. A twisting track snaked across the shiny concrete floor in front of him, marked off by a red and black barrier system that looked new.
“Holy shit, I think I’ve died and gone to hillbilly heaven,” Curtis muttered, stepping inside with his twelve-gauge in his shoulder.
“Somebody’s probably in here so be careful,” Stephanie whispered.
Paul took the lead while Stephanie shut and locked the backdoor behind them, protecting their six…or trapping them inside. He wasn’t sure which yet but they’d find out soon enough. Inside a small booth next to a checkered starting line, they found a computer, two flashlights, a dead cell phone and discarded candy bar wrappers.
Curtis passed a flashlight that still worked to Stephanie, raindrops beginning to pelt the roof. “Looks like somebody was here for a while and decided to take their chances elsewhere.”
Paul scanned the rest of the massive building that smelled l
ike fresh paint and felt like somebody was watching them. An open air snack bar in the round sat by the front doors with comfortable looking couches and chairs positioned around it, flanked by a silent arcade off to the side that only came to life when lightning flickered.
“It looks brand new,” Wendy said, swinging her light and gun around.
Their eyes followed the beam to a tall cabinet with full face helmets resting on top that looked like heads. A few yards over, sat a winner’s podium – complete with a victory lane backdrop and all. Paul couldn’t help imagining three corpses standing atop the podium, sneering for the cameras with bloody medals dangling from their necks. After clearing the restrooms and a manager’s office, they raided the snack bar and gorged on the only things that hadn’t yet gone bad: candy bars and fucking chips. Paul sat on the glass counter with his legs dangling over the edge, blurring the racetrack into a twisting blob, grinding barbeque potato chips between his teeth. His body was here, but his mind was already with Sophia up on that hill. He would see her tomorrow and still couldn’t believe she was dead. It was like one of those nightmares that, no matter how ridiculous, seems so damn real and he couldn’t get past the fact that…
Someone screamed and grabbed him from behind, wrapping him in a bear hug that crushed his lungs. Arms pinned to his sides, Paul dropped the chips to the floor and drew his sidearm but couldn’t raise it. His heart pounded, face turning red.
Curtis let him go and bellowed with laughter.
“Curtis!” Stephanie snapped, physically holding her heart inside her chest. “You scared the shit out of me!”
“You?” Paul cried, giving Curtis the evil eye. “That shit is not cool, man!”
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.”
Paul jammed his Beretta back into its holster. “I almost shot you.”
“Oh man, that shit is too funny,” Curtis said, exhaling a winded breath and grabbing a Snickers from a rack behind the bar. He unwrapped it and took an eager bite, looking everyone over while he chewed. “Hey, you think that was scary, go try out the bathroom I just destroyed.”
Wendy crinkled her brow. “No thanks.”
Stephanie rolled her eyes at Paul, giving him another silent apology from an orange couch across the way.
“Well, this is some kick ass set up.” Curtis nodded, admiring the track. “I haven’t been on a go-kart since I was a kid.”
“Is that how you got your start?” Wendy asked, leaning back in a matching armchair.
“Most of us NASCAR rats started out karting; I cut my teeth on a bumpy dirt track out behind my grandpa’s farm. But this place… This would’ve been awesome to have around in the winter.”
“Our dad thought Curtis was wasting his time on that track all day until he started beating the pants off Troy every time.” Stephanie smiled warmly at her brother, a fond look softening her eyes. “Next thing you know Dad was buying him an old stock car.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t buy you a guitar as good as you sing,” Paul said, scooping his chips up and making Wendy laugh.
“Actually, he did.” Stephanie popped an M&M into her mouth. “And Curtis thought he was going to be the next Garth Brooks.”
“I would’ve too, if some ass-hat didn’t break into our house and steal it.”
Stephanie clapped a hand over her mouth and snorted.
Curtis gave her a double-take, eyes thinning. “What?”
She shook her head, struggling to keep laughter from slipping through her fingers.
“No, come on. What’s so funny?”
Stephanie snorted harder and the sound made Paul and Wendy laugh. This triggered Stephanie’s wall to collapse and she laughed so hard her eyes watered.
Thunder cracked and Curtis threw his hands out. “What the hell is so goddamn funny!”
Stephanie raised a finger into the air, momentarily gaining control of herself. “Dad staged that break-in to get rid of your guitar,” she quickly spit out before cracking up again.
“What!”
Paul threw his head back and laughed at the twisted look gripping Curtis’ face.
Dragged in a wheezing breath, Stephanie wiped her cheeks and caught her breath. “He took us all out for ice cream that day and had Grandpa come over and steal your guitar so we didn’t have to listen to your singing anymore.”
Curtis stared at her for a few taken aback seconds, face souring. “Bullshit!”
“He also took some of Mom’s jewelry just to make it look good.” Stephanie blinked out another tear, her giggles beginning to boil again. “Dad made everyone promise to never tell you.”
“Are you serious?”
Paul laughed even harder and it felt good. “I like your dad already.”
“Did he really do that?” Wendy asked.
Stephanie nodded, running a finger under her eyes while Curtis snatched a Gatorade from a warm cooler and grumbled under his breath.
Paul blew out a long breath. “I bet that was the greatest day of your life.”
Stephanie smiled at him, a sparkle in her eyes he hadn’t noticed before. “Yeah, and we got ice cream.”
“I bet the look on his face when he got home was priceless.”
“Oh it was! He was so pissed; he wanted to hire a private eye.”
Paul smiled, holding onto her almond-shaped eyes. “Sounds like that was one case best left unsolved.”
“My dad had to pretend call the police and file a report just to get him to settle down.”
Holding her warm gaze, his lips pulled back into the corners of his mouth, the others fading into the background with the lightning flickering through the glass front doors. “That is too funny.”
“It was soooo funny.”
Wendy got up and crossed over to the snack bar, stopping in front of Paul and blocking his view of Stephanie. “My mom played piano on an old upright we used to have and would make us all sing church hymns. It was a daily nightmare.”
His brow dipped. “Sounds like it,” he said, peeking around her to catch Stephanie biting back another laugh that brought a smile to his face.
“So did you cut your stripper teeth on the jungle gym pole at the playground?”
“Curtis!” Stephanie laughed.
“You’re not funny.” Wendy hopped up onto the snack bar next to Paul. “So how much money did you make racing in NASCAR anyway?” She crossed her legs and let a sneaker rock through the air. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“I mind.” Curtis took a long gulp of red Gatorade and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hey Paul, if any of those things still have a charge, what say we race to see who drives tomorrow?”
Paul stuck a chip into his mouth and crunched down, following his gaze to the go-karts. “What say we race for the hell of it and I drive either way?”
“Only because you know you’ll lose.”
“If you were that good you would’ve been in the Sprint Cup series by now.”
Curtis gritted his teeth until a vein popped out in his neck.
Paul’s subsequent laughter echoed throughout the cavernous building, bouncing off the freshly painted walls. He hopped down from the bar and left the shotgun on the counter. “I’m just messing with you, kid. But let’s see what you got.”
The women grabbed their snacks and flashlights, following them to the low-to-the-ground karts parked behind the starting line booth.
Curtis bent over a kart, turned a key and the engine started right up, bringing a shit-eating grin sliding across his face. “Bam!” he said, hopping inside. “Let’s do this, Howard Stern!”
Paul climbed in and buckled up. “You might wanna grab a helmet.”
“Fuck that, these things are like a scooter.”
Paul turned the key, starting the kart on the first try, and followed Curtis down pit road, stopping next to him at the checkered starting/finish line. “All the pressure’s on you, Jeff Gordon.”
“Never call me that,” he replied, turning to the red, yellow and
green stoplight that was as dead as everything else. “Let’s get this party started, Steph!”
Stephanie stepped into the middle of the track and held her flashlight up high like she’d done this before on some back street after midnight with dark hair cascading over her shoulders in oily rivers. Wendy’s flashlight lit up the glimmer in Stephanie’s eyes.
“Ready, set, go!” Dropping her arms to her sides, Paul and Curtis shot past her, bumping each other down the stretch as their karts quickly picked up speed. Curtis squeaked into the lead but Paul stayed on his bumper, nudging Curtis just enough to make him wiggle. Skidding into the turn, flashlights illuminated the determined looks on their faces. The beams also lit up a huge man exploding from the tall cabinet against the wall. Just before Paul’s kart straightened out, he saw a man in a black t-shirt and jeans jump onto the track and give chase at an alarming rate of speed.
“Oh shit!” Paul mashed the accelerator to the floorboard, giving the kart everything it had down a long straightaway. Flashlight beams jerked back and forth across the track. Thunder rattled the walls. He could hear the women yelling over the high-pitched whine of the motor. Glancing over his shoulder, lightning flickered and he saw the corpse’s sneering face right behind him. Dead fingertips grabbed at the back of his hair. Screams and choked grunts assaulted his ears. Paul focused on the approaching bend in the track. The thing smacked him in the back of the head and then did it again. This time harder. Leaning forward, Paul willed the kart to go faster and plowed through a rubber barrier at top speed. He jerked against the seatbelt, grunting with the abrupt stop in motion as the corpse toppled over him. Fingertips grazed his scalp just before the dead man cart wheeled into a metal wall outside the track. Springing to its silver Converse, the man sneered and charged again. With little time to spare, Paul fumbled for the Beretta strapped to his side, the seatbelt hindering his ability to draw. Blood pumped thickly in his temples as he watched the stiff race closer in slow motion, the cuts and gashes in its face growing clearer with each bone rattling step. Gunshots rang out but the man kept coming as the girls missed their mark. The handgun finally popped free. Paul raised it. The thing screamed so loudly his vision doubled, threatening his aim. He squeezed the trigger. Gunfire echoed off the walls. The big man’s head snapped back but his momentum sent him crashing into Paul.
Dead Series (Book 2): A Little More Dead: Gunfire & Sunshine Page 8