“I can’t believe that two months ago I was repping Metallica and now I’m on the run from the living dead.”
His eyes slid to Rebecca without moving his head. He didn’t even notice her sit down and he could still remember her warm hand in his lap when Sophia was out of town. The whole thing was so messed up he barely stifled a laugh. He screwed up big time and now God was bringing down the thunder. This is what he gets for being a selfish little prick – locked in a mess hall with Rebecca while his wife lay buried under a tree. Biting into a cracker that dried his mouth out, his swollen eyes gravitated back to the outlet in the wall next to him.
“I bet my parents are dead, my sisters and brothers too.” Rebecca snorted, staring at a water bottle on the table through faraway eyes. “All my nieces and nephews and friends.” She turned to him, her face smeared with dirt and tears. “They’re all dead, aren’t they?”
He pounded some water and swallowed with a sigh, the photo albums scattered about the guest bed scratching his mind. He should have grabbed them and goddamn Rebecca for being the last person to page through them. “Yep.”
Dropping her head, teardrops sprinkled her lap. “We’ll never make it to Colorado in time, will we?”
The plug pulled at his gaze and he wondered if it still worked like some of the lights and the fridge did. “We’ll make it,” he replied, wishing she’d buzz off and give him two minutes to think. Jesus Christ.
Wendy stopped by and pulled out the chair on the other side of him, further stirring his aggravation. Couldn’t they see he wanted to be alone? What didn’t they get about that? She waited to speak until his droopy eyes found her big blues. “Lindsey?” she said, crossing her arms.
He stared back, void of expression, too tired to even ask.
“The little girl’s name is the same as the little girl in Brock’s driveway. The dead one riding a bike.”
He barely lifted a shoulder to an ear. “So?”
Rebecca’s glassy eyes bounced between them, eyebrows dipping.
“So it means something, Paul. It’s a message.”
“From who?”
Wendy pursed her lips. “You know who.”
“No, actually I don’t.”
She glanced at Rebecca. “Sophia or Dan.”
He laughed.
“Wait.” Rebecca sat up straighter in the hard plastic chair. “There was a dead girl riding a bike?”
“Well,” Wendy said, “it had training wheels but still.”
Rebecca grew quiet, eyes gravitating back to the water bottle in front of her and straying from focus yet again.
“It’s not a message.”
“I saw Dan too, Paul.” Wendy filled her lungs, lifting the breasts peeking from a tight V-neck. A teardrop spilled over her cheek. “There is something more to the eye going on around here and that family in Colorado is where we’re supposed to go next.”
“Okay, hold on.” Rebecca scooted her chair closer to the table. “Dan was your friend who died on your way to the Gulf, right?” When no one answered, she kept digging. “And both of you saw him inside that movie theater?”
“You didn’t?” Wendy said smugly, twirling a lock of honey-colored hair around a finger.
“No, I didn’t.”
“I did.” Curtis stopped at the table and looked down at Paul. “So how come we can see the people you lost but not the ones we lost?”
Paul’s eyes tickled the outlet in the wall again and he wished everyone would just go to sleep. He turned to Curtis who was standing with his wiry arms folded across a sleeveless Star Wars t-shirt. “I have no idea Curtis. Probably because we’re all suffering from PTSD or CTE and we’re all hallucinating. Who knows why any of this is happening? I still think I was in a car accident and I’m in a coma right now.”
“Oh my God, I’ve thought that a hundred times since this whole thing started.” Stephanie pulled a chair back, legs scraping loudly against the white tiles, and sat down across from Paul. “I mean, dead people walking the streets? It’s impossible.”
“Fuck that, Steph. I’m talking about seeing his dead friend Dan.”
“You can just call him Dan,” Paul grumbled, drinking some more water to keep from calling Curtis an asshole.
Resting his hands on his hips, his eyes thinned into thoughtful slits. “And what gets me the most is that, not only did I see your dead friend Dan, but he showed us the right fucking way to go.”
Stephanie sucked on a fruit box. “I can’t believe that either.”
“Wait.” Rebecca’s brow folded. “You saw him too?”
Stephanie nodded as Billy pulled a chair out. “I saw him too,” he said, plopping down with a grunt. “Almost shot him.”
“Okay.” Rebecca cleared her throat. “So I’m the only one who didn’t see this...”
“Ghost,” Curtis finished for her, studying Paul.
“This is so insane.” Wendy ran her fingers through her long locks before shaking it out. “Like the walking dead aren’t crazy enough.”
“And you said it’s happened before.”
Wendy’s jaw dropped. She turned to Curtis with a scowl bending her forehead. “I never saw Dan like that before!”
He stepped closer. “No, but you said Paul has seen dead people before. Like that Cora lady and her husband.” His gaze swung to Paul and thinned. “So what’re we supposed to think here, Paul? That the dead are helping you survive against all odds? That you’re the chosen one who’s going to lead this country back from the grave?”
“Lower your voice, Curtis,” Stephanie said in a warning tone.
Paul rubbed his face. “You know what, Curtis? I don’t really care what you think. I just want to get some sleep. Is that okay with you?” His eyes caressed the mattresses and blankets calling his name from the other side of the room. “We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow and need some rest. Tired people make tired mistakes.”
“Maybe I should wash your feet first, your highness.”
“Curtis,” Stephanie moaned. “Stop being such a dick.”
“I’m not being a dick! I’m just…trying to figure this shit out because it’s very fucking weird!”
“I’ll tell you what’s weird, man.” Billy looked around and lowered his voice. “All the candles and weed in the bathroom. Shit burnt the hell out of my lungs too.”
Maria got up from the table across the room and came over with her husband in tow. “It’s not weed; it’s sage.”
Calvin let out an uneasy laugh. “I wish it was weed. I sleep so much better when I’m stoned.”
Wendy pulled a joint from a pack of smokes and handed it to him, widening the eyes behind his glasses.
“Holy shit, you are a Goddess! Thank you.”
“So what’s that stuff all about?”
Maria folded her arms across her chest like she had something to hide. “I was doing a séance and needed the mirror. The one in the women’s restroom is broken,” she replied as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Séance?” Billy laughed sharply. “For what?”
Her eyes lowered to the silver high-tops on her feet before slowly rising to meet Paul’s spellbound gaze. “To contact the dead.”
A frown carved through his brow. “Why?” he asked.
“To find out why this is happening and what we can do to stop it.”
Billy leaned back in the chair. “Yeah? And what’d you find out, Madam Ruby?”
Her eyes hovered on Paul while she considered something in her mind. “Nothing. Yet.”
“So what’s the mirror for?” Stephanie asked, crossing her legs and swinging a combat boot through the air.
“To see them.”
“Them?” Curtis stopped his pacing. “Haven’t you seen enough dead people out there yet, lady?”
“It’s not the same.” Her gaze flicked to one of the windows she and her husband covered with cardboard weeks ago. “Those things out there can’t tell us much, but the ones in the spirit world are
a different story.”
Calvin exhaled a stream of thick smoke, pinching the joint between his fingers and fighting back a cough. “You just have to make sure you don’t get the wrong spirit or you won’t live long enough to regret it.” He passed the joint to Billy. “But when we find the right one, they might know something.”
Paul scooted his chair back and rested an ankle on his knee. “How?”
“There’s a thin veil between the living and the dead. One of them will know something.” Releasing a tired sigh, Maria straightened her long sleeve thermal. “Unless you have a better idea.”
Billy coughed out a plume of skunky smelling smoke. “Yeah, I got a better idea, man. Why don’t we call the Ghost Busters and give them a crack,” he said with a drawn out laugh, passing the joint to Stephanie who waved him off. “Spirit world,” he breathed. “She-it.”
“Right?” Curtis took the spleef from him and brought it to his lips.
“No, man, it’s a real thing.” Calvin pushed his glasses up and turned to Paul. “Have you experimented with necromancy before or something?”
“Necro…? No, I haven’t.”
He turned to his wife. “If the dead are reaching out to him, maybe he should try it.”
“That’s a good idea,” she smiled.
“No, that’s a bad idea. But you know what is a good idea? Getting some sleep so we can go rescue a family of four two states away tomorrow morning.”
“Some people are more psychic than others.” Maria tapped a finger against her lips and studied Paul, pinching her gaze. “Something in their DNA or family history that predicates a smoother connection.”
Curtis snorted, puffing smoke from his nose like a dragon. “Well shit, let’s find out. What kind of beer am I thinking of right now, Paul?”
Exhaling, Paul massaged his temples where a dull thud was coming and going in slow rolling intervals. “I have no idea. Ice House?”
Curtis staggered backwards like someone just slapped him across the face, amazement welling in his eyes. “Oh. My. God!”
“Okay,” Paul said, pushing off the table and getting up. “I’m going to bed.”
“Then we do it in the morning.”
He turned to Maria, hands curling into tight balls. “Do what in the morning?”
“A séance.”
An incredulous laugh pushed past his lips.
Wendy grabbed his hand, staring up at him from the chair. “It could help us, Paul.”
“I’m not doing a…”
“It won’t take long,” Maria said, cutting his protest off at the knees. “And we can use every edge we can get. You might be surprised what is waiting for you out there.”
Tipping his head down, he spoke through clenched teeth. “Fine!” He stormed off toward the mattresses and blankets on the other side of the cafeteria, annoyance pushing the sleep from his eyes. “And if that doesn’t work, maybe we can try a fortune cookie or, I don’t know, maybe go rescue that family.”
▼
An hour and forty-five minutes later, Paul sat up like a waking vampire inside his coffin. Without moving, his eyes quietly searched the dark outlines of the bodies lying around him, the faint glow from a small lantern across the room giving off just enough light to make everyone appear to be sleeping. Tip-toeing around them, he went to the bathroom to make it look good, peeing in a urinal that was still taking a drain while eyeballing the séance bullshit on the counter.
Séance.
The thought of him sitting around holding hands in a candlelit bathroom while that family got one step closer to dying brought the hint of a callous scowl to his lips. Fucking stupid. Washing his hands in the sink, he looked up into the mirror, heart dropping when he saw the dead man staring back. He turned off the water and dried his hands on a paper towel, shaking his head in disbelief at the amount of weight he’d lost and the wrinkles lining his face. The old Paul was gone. Just like everyone else. And what was left was something different. Something half dead.
Taking another quick look for an outlet he wished to God was there because this would be so much easier in here, he left the bathroom and crept into the sprawling kitchen. His Maglite was small but more than enough to light up the stainless steel countertops and commercial appliances lining the walls. Unplugging a commercial West Bend coffee maker, he took Sophia’s phone charger from his jeans and plugged it in. Then he attached Billy’s cellphone, took a deep breath and held it. The image of a low battery popped up, kick starting his heart. Setting the phone on a counter, his eyes slipped through the lunch line sneeze guard, searching for signs of movement out in the mess hall while the battery collected enough juice to power up.
Less than three minutes later, an eerie glow washed over Paul’s face as he flipped through some harmless texts and emails. He didn’t have to scroll back far, however, because Billy hadn’t used the phone since getting locked up just before the outbreak brought the nation to its knees. Paul’s thumb stopped flipping screens when he found what he was looking for in the gallery. Enlarging the image, his throat tightened, blocking his windpipe. He stared at the picture of Billy’s wife, her eyes shut and hands folded over a bloody mess on her chest. Paul recognized her from the wedding pictures hanging on the walls in Billy’s parents’ house and, at this stage of the game, knew a corpse when he saw one. He checked the date and air wouldn’t come, throat coiling tight as a leg cramp as his eyes drifted to a floor mixer across the room. Billy wasn’t in jail for a DUI; he was in jail for murdering his wife. Paul’s insides twisted into wet ropes. Blurring the large mixer into a gray blob, his mind outraced his shooting bloodstream, flipping through options at the speed of light. Shacking up with a murderer was one thing. Trusting him with their lives was another. He turned the phone off, plunging himself into the darkness tugging on his spirits. There was only one thing to do and, whatever the outcome, it wouldn’t be good.
Chapter Six
Billy pried his eyelids apart and squinted, holding up a hand to block out the Maglite’s narrow beam. Jumping to his feet, his eyes skipped across the cafeteria. “What’s going on? Are they inside?” He reached for his gun and panicked when it wasn’t there. “Oh shit, my gun’s gone!”
“Relax, Billy.” Paul lowered the light to their feet so Billy could see everyone standing behind him. “Everything is fine.”
His face stretched longer when he saw the others staring back. Shifting in his socks, he glanced at the covered windows. “Is it morning already?”
“Not yet.” Paul held up the picture of Billy’s dead wife, the bright screen turning Billy’s face an insipid shade of gray. “You weren’t in jail for a DUI were you?”
Slack jawed, he studied the picture as if this was the first time he’d seen it. As if this was news to him. Then his shoulders slumped with a long exhale. His eyes fell to Paul’s right hand which was resting on the butt of his handgun. “Guess you found some juice.”
“Guess I did.”
Interlocking his fingers behind his head, Billy blew a breath to the ceiling. “Figured you would sooner or later.” He rubbed his hands back and forth over the black peach fuzz blanketing his scalp before dropping his arms to his sides. “I can explain, man. She cheated on me with some guy from work and I know that doesn’t justify what I did, but I…” He took a calming breath to steady his voice. “I lost my job and came home early one afternoon, caught em red-handed in our bed and I…I just lost it.”
With fingers tickling their handguns, the group cautiously studied him like he was a wild animal.
A threat.
Dangerous.
Unpredictable.
“Look, I know what y’all are thinking but it’s not like that.” He paused. “I know it was wrong but I would never…”
“Put your hands behind your back,” Paul said softly, pulling the cuffs from his belt.
“Paul, come on, man.”
“Do it, Montel!” Curtis drew his Glock and pointed it at Billy’s face.
Billy ope
ned his mouth to rebut and after a few long seconds, hung his head and turned around instead. Once he was handcuffed and seated on a metal stool in the kitchen, they gathered around a table in the cafeteria and quietly deliberated his fate through a fluttering of hushed whispers and nervous glances.
Maria handed the cellphone back to Paul and shook her head, scrunching her little nose into a repulsed ball. “What a sick bastard,” she whispered. “No way we can bring him with us to Colorado. We have to leave him here.”
Calvin gave her a quick double take. “Wait, we’re going to Colorado?”
His wife took his hand. “We can’t just stay here and do nothing, Cal.”
A faint smile pulled back into the corners of his mouth. “I wouldn’t call it nothing. I mean, we’ve been using the gym and theater quite a bit, and don’t forget about the hot tub.”
“We have to help them save that family. There’s a reason why we survived and this is it.”
He blew out a slow breath. “I know.” Brushing bangs from his glasses, he gave her a warm smile. “I mean, how often do you get to be a hero, right?”
Maria kissed him on the lips. “Thank you,” she whispered, pumping his hand.
“You haven’t been out there.” Paul glanced into the kitchen through the lunch line. “It’s extremely dangerous, which is why we need Billy.”
“Paul’s right.” Stephanie threw her long chocolate-colored hair over a shoulder, eyes puffy from a disturbed sleep. “He’s saved all of our lives at some point along the line. We couldn’t have made it this far without him.”
“Paul, we can’t trust him. Think about it, man.” Curtis traded a harried look with his sister. “He’s a woman killer.”
“That was in a different world!”
“And how long until he gets pissed off after someone eats the last candy bar and puts a bullet in their chest like he did to his wife?”
Leaning back in a plastic chair, Paul tried to keep his voice under control because this was going to be a tough sell. Billy could’ve killed them ten times over by now but he hadn’t. If ever there was a way to repent of his sins, saving the world just might be his golden ticket. Resting his elbows on the table, Paul spread his palms. “Listen, his wife ripped his heart out by defiling their marriage in their own home. She ruined everything in the blink of a margarita lunch. Now, that doesn’t defend what he did; it absolutely doesn’t. But comparing his wife’s affair to eating the last candy bar is ridiculous. Billy lost his business, his marriage and their condo, but despite his transgressions, he has proven himself a soldier, time and time again. He can keep his head in the tough times and shoot straight when it counts, which is a BIG deal. In the old world, I wouldn’t bat an eyelash if he got the death penalty but the old world, and everything that happened in it, is dead. We are all born again and without Billy’s shot, we’re never going save those people in Colorado, let alone save this country.” He pointed out the locked double doors leading to outside. “There are millions of dead people out there trying to eat us and Billy can help stop them.”
Dead Series (Book 3): A Little More Alive Page 4