“We’ve got company; get ready!”
“Paul, let’s just go back.” Wendy looked behind them again. “The road is wide open.”
“We can take them,” Billy added, doing what he promised and backing Paul’s plan. “We all have assault rifles now.”
“Billy,” she hissed, twisting around to glare at him. “The last time we ran into assholes with guns I almost got raped. There could be more of them hiding.”
“Where? It’s all dead fields.”
Paul watched the men, their cocky stances grating on his nerves. He shifted into drive, eyes snagging on the police badge pinned to Stephanie’s brown leather coat. “Things are different now, Wendy. We don’t back down from anyone ever again.” She started to protest and he cut her off. “Ever!”
Wendy sank into the backseat and twenty yards from the two trucks, the three men stiffened, bringing the touch of a grin to Paul’s lips. Throwing it in park, he rolled down all four windows before grabbing the M4 tucked next to Stephanie’s long legs. “Stay behind the car doors and let me do the talking. Safeties off and fingers on the triggers.” Their doors opened at the same time and the men simultaneously brought the weapons into their shoulders, keeping the barrels pointed at the pavement.
“Howdy!” The taller man in the middle spread a greasy smile beneath his dark mustache, sunlight glinting off his white teeth. Cradling a long rifle in the nook of an arm, he took off a black cowboy hat and let the wind run its fingers through his wavy black hair. “Sorry for the inconvenience, but we live around here and like to know who’s coming through our little slice of pie.”
Paul stood behind his open door, pointing the M4 off to the side with his index finger inside the trigger guard. “That’s none of your business.”
Slapping the hat back on his head, the man offered his slick grin up to the men standing on either side. He shifted his weight from one boot to the other and lifted his chin. “Fraid it is, friend. See, we cleared the freaks out of this area and we’d like to make sure it stays that way.” Tipping his hat back, he eyed them over. “Any of you…bit?”
Paul’s anger barebacked the red rising into his cheeks, tensing the muscles in his face. “Do we look like we’re bit?”
His eyes traveled the group, snagging on Wendy and Stephanie. “I don’t know, what do you think, Mike? They look bit to you?”
A blond haired man with big ears and little hands clutching a twelve-gauge took a moment to decide, squinting against the sunshine as he gave them the once over. “They look fine to me, Booth.”
“How about you, Tommy? They look fine to you?”
The third man spit tobacco to the ground with a wet splat, eyes pinched in the shade of his hat. “Look right as rain to me, boss.”
The men shared an inside chuckle as Booth’s lively eyes lingered on Stephanie and Wendy, fueling his devilish grin. “Yes sir, you all look healthy as a horse to me.”
“Move your trucks and let us pass!” Paul kept his eyes on the ring-leader, figuring that if he had to shoot him the other two would turn tail for mommy’s house.
The smile finally slipped from Booth’s face, puddling around his black boots. “Well now, hey listen, I’m glad everyone is okay. I really am, but there’s a small toll to pass through this secured section of interstate.” He shrugged. “Just a little something for our effort.”
“Toll,” Curtis scoffed under his breath, getting antsy behind Paul. “Fuck these hillbillies.”
Paul stepped out from behind the driver’s door and when the men saw the weapon clutched in his hands, they quickly took aim.
“Easy now, mister.” Booth jammed the rifle into his shoulder, his confident façade crumbling around the edges. “Not looking for any trouble.” His gaze caught on the badge pinned to Paul’s coat. “You cops?”
“That’s right. Now move the trucks out of the way.”
He considered it for a long second, the wind the only thing daring to move. “Well, where y’all comin from?”
“The east.”
“What police department are you with? Got any ID to go with those badges.” He traded a smug glance with his pals. “Not that they hold much weight now.” Slow laughter rolled from his lips and picked up steam.
“What do you want?”
Booth’s eyebrows went up as he thought about it. “Not much.” His gaze drew to Stephanie, reviving his shit-eating grin. He sniffed at the air like a wolf picking up a rabbit’s scent. “You smell that, Mikey?”
Mike tipped his head back and sampled the air. “Smells like pussy to me, boss.”
Paul squeezed the trigger hard and the M4 pounded his shoulder in return, rattling his body with a series of violent shakes. The men didn’t get off a single shot. Spinning into the pickups and sliding to the ground, their weapons clattered across the pavement. Paul held the trigger down until there was no doubt they were never coming back. Their bodies jerked with each hot slug that found their flesh. He didn’t want to look into their eyes like he did Jay. Didn’t want to know why. Didn’t want to hear their excuses. He just wanted them out of the way. Forever. They would need help from others to rebuild this planet but not from the likes of people like this. People like this were even more dangerous than the stragglers and, besides, what were they supposed to do? Give them a fair and speedy trial when the verdict was already as clear as the blood staining the interstate? No, it was high time to start saving the taxpayers a boatload of time and money.
“Paul!” Stephanie shouted, jerking him from his thoughts.
Letting off the trigger, he staggered forward with the abrupt release in pressure and stared at the crumpled bodies. The smell of gunpowder filled his lungs. Anger directed his thoughts. They had it coming and he wouldn’t let his guilt get in the way. Wouldn’t cry and ask God: why me? Instead, he turned from the carnage to boldly face his team, holding their shocked gazes with all he had. “Fuck em,” he said, turning for the Suburban.
No one moved and no one spoke as he popped in a fresh mag. They looked at him as if he were an uncaged animal.
Unpredictable.
Territorial.
Insane.
It pissed him off and he tried not to show it but that was easier said than done. What didn’t they get about it? He had to kill them. It was kill or be killed and why were they looking at him like he was the bad guy? Like he was the one who blocked the road and started talking about Wendy and Stephanie like they were cuts of meat in the butcher’s case.
“I’ve got friends in low places,” Curtis sang out, letting his weapon hang from his neck. “Where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases…”
“Shut up.” Paul passed him by and jerked his chin at Billy. “Take Wendy and see what they’ve got.”
Billy obediently obliged, taking cautious steps toward the men with his rifle snug against his shoulder and Wendy shadowing him with her pink gun clutched in both hands. The little practice they took with the new weaponry just before leaving Camp Dodge didn’t fill Wendy with much confidence. Her shots with the M4 were all over the place. Said it was too heavy and hurt her shoulder. For now, she stuck with the nine-millimeter but she would come around. She’d have to.
Paul nodded at Calvin. “Nice work.”
Calvin couldn’t tear his gaze from the dead men lying in the road, the M4’s strap cutting into his neck like the weapon weighed a hundred pounds. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“They would’ve killed us,” he said, covering Billy and Wendy as they looted the vehicles. “Right after raping the women.”
“Yeah, I guess they probably would’ve.” Calvin turned to Curtis. “Like we don’t have enough shit to worry about already.”
Curtis snorted. “People are scared and desperate right now and that’s the worst kind.”
Stephanie stopped next to Paul and took his hand, drawing his bloodshot eyes. “Thank you.”
He stared back, getting lost in something he couldn’t see but could definitely feel. The look
in her eyes and the touch of her skin calmed his thundering heart and eased his troubled mind. Suddenly, the air returned to his lungs and the ringing cleared in his ears.
Footsteps approached and he turned to see Billy and Wendy running back over emptyhanded.
“They don’t have much,” Billy panted, looking back at the trucks. “Nothing we want to make room for.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re stuffed in the back with the gear.”
Billy blinked at Curtis. “That too.”
“What if this whole thing is a trap?”
Paul’s gaze snapped to Wendy and narrowed, the wind running through his hair. “What do you mean? The cabin?”
She nodded. “What if they’re just drawing people in to take whatever they have?”
“Yeah, like the Titty Twister,” Curtis said.
“Love that movie,” Billy murmured, inhaling a quick breath. “Remember all those cars and semis piled up in that huge pit out back?” He blew out a long breath that flapped his lips. “Brian. Sounds like a fake name to me. I say we go somewhere warm.”
Paul hit him with a chilly glare and Billy cleared his throat.
“I mean, after we rescue this family, we should go somewhere warm, like the Keys.”
Pulling the weapon over his head, Paul slipped it inside the cab. “It’s not a trap.”
“Oh really? And how do you know that, your highness?” Curtis asked. “Did you get another message from Brock or Abraham Lincoln?”
“No, I didn’t but…” The words stalled in his mouth and slid back down his throat. He turned back to the three dead men lying in the roadway and shuddered at the thought. What if it was a trap? And why didn’t killing these men affect him the way it did when he shot Marvin and Jay? What was happening to him? What was he becoming? It was as equally frightening as it was exhilarating and that, perhaps, was the scariest part. Maybe Wendy was right. Maybe this was his calling.
Killing.
Saving.
Unfeeling.
And maybe something was seeing them through this mess after all. Something beyond their plane of existence. Something that, for whatever reason, wanted them to take it back. All of it. Getting in the truck and shutting the door, Paul leaned an elbow out the window. “We have to take a look. They have a little girl, for Christ’s sake.”
“He’s right.” Stephanie climbed in front, catching a menacing glower from Wendy when she beat her to the passenger door. “I could never live with myself if we didn’t at least check.”
In the side mirror, Paul watched Calvin standing in the street with the wind tugging at his bangs, pulling his gaze back the way they came. “Cal?”
He hesitated before turning to Paul with a dumbfounded look welling in his eyes.
“You okay?”
Raising the assault rifle, Calvin pulled the strap over his head and shook hair from his glasses. “No,” he said, climbing in back with the others.
Chapter Nine
The engine whined and the carburetor struggled in the thin mountain air. Paul’s head felt lighter with each mile they climbed and he wondered how the dramatic change in elevation would affect his aim. His endurance. Every time he vacationed in Colorado it took him a day or two to catch his breath but they didn’t have a day or two to adjust. Altitude sickness or not, they were quickly closing in on another gun battle with the undead after zero sleep and a twelve-hour drive and it concerned him. They were tired, scared and grieving and this was no time for mistakes. Unfortunately, this was far from a perfect world and they would just have to cowboy up and play the hand they’d been dealt. If they didn’t, they’d never win because it would never be easy.
Ever.
“Jesus,” Curtis whispered in the backseat.
Paul followed his pinched gaze out the right side of the SUV. The mountain was tall and snow-covered at the top and the person riding the ski lift up it was probably dead. A slow frown wormed through Paul’s forehead when the figure reached the top and circled back around without exiting the chair. “The lift is still working,” he said to himself, turning back to the winding stretch of Interstate 70.
“Probably a generator kicked on when the power dropped.”
Wendy turned her neck to look at Billy in the tailgate, scrunching her nose up. “Why?”
“So they can get people back down during a power outage.”
Curtis snorted, watching the person slowly ride back down the mountain. “How do you know so much about skiing?”
Billy laughed sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean? You think black people don’t ski? You think we just sit around playing basketball and listening to Kendrick Lamar all day?”
Curtis furrowed his brow. “Who?”
“Exactly, man.” Billy shook his head. “Look, just keep your racist questions to yourself, David Duke.”
“How is that a racist question, convict?”
“Man,” Billy groaned, rubbing his forehead. “The fact that you don’t even know, says a lot about you, Curtis.”
“You’re taking this way out of context.”
Billy yanked a hand from his face. “Am I?”
“It was just a question about a ski lift generator. Like anyone would know anything about that, black or not.”
“It was the way you said it, man. Like you couldn’t believe a black man likes to ski.”
Curtis chuckled and rolled his eyes at Wendy sitting next to him.
Billy leaned forward and shook a finger at him. “The problem with redneck hillbillies like you is that you think black lives don’t matter.”
Sharp laughter squirted from Curtis’ lips, splattering the ceiling with disdain. “Apparently you don’t either or you wouldn’t have shot and killed your wife. Remember that time?”
Anger flared in Billy’s eyes and Paul swerved as he watched him grab Curtis around the neck in the mirror. The tires vibrated loudly against the rumble strips running along the shoulder of the road.
“Paul!” Stephanie shouted, bringing his attention, and the Suburban, back to center.
“Stop it!” Wendy fought to separate them and, after smacking Billy in the side of the head, the two men released and traded silent barbs through angry glares. “You’re grown men. Stop acting like children!”
Turning in the front seat, Stephanie looked them over. “How about we see who can be quiet for the longest? Doesn’t that sound like fun?” she said, aiming a warning glare at her younger brother.
Paul looked over at Stephanie and smiled. “I like the sound of that game,” he said, turning onto the pass and watching Copper Mountain shrink in the rearview mirror. Ascending Highway 91 much slower than intended, he restrained his lead foot to keep from blowing the engine or getting them killed. The road turned dangerous in spots on one side, with only a simple guardrail standing between them and the rocky slope falling off below. A thin layer of pristine snow blanketed the ground but the road was clear after basking in the sun since the last snowfall. It was March and daytime highs in the Rockies could leave a sunburnt outline of your sunglasses if you weren’t careful.
The Suburban whined like a tired mule, languidly pulling them up the steep grade. The cabin was less than thirty minutes away and Paul wanted to be there now. Wanted to save that family and add them to his army. The same army that would, one day, rain down hell upon this scourge pushing them toward the brink of extinction. It was a faint glimmer of hope, but one he would water with every last drop. The road grew steeper and the air thinner as they closed in on Leadville, a town they had no idea about whatsoever – outside of the fact that it couldn’t possibly be any more remote. Which, when Paul thought about it, was probably a good thing. What were the odds the thousands upon thousands of stragglers in Denver or Boulder or Colorado Springs, could climb these rugged mountains? There’s no way their decomposing limbs could navigate the steep rock jutting from the frozen earth. No way. Once the infected locals and tourists were dispatched, this could be their foothold.
&n
bsp; Paul slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop, jerking forward against the locked up seatbelt and slapping back into the seat. Holding his breath, he watched the towering elk stare back at him from the middle of the road with indifference filling its big dark eyes. The deer his old Jeep Grand Cherokee plowed into shoved to the forefront of his mind, digging its nails into his heart and puncturing the valves. It still hurt and always would. Ultimately, that deer cost Carla, Mike and Matt their lives. Well, that and his stupidity. Unlocking the breath, he loosened the seatbelt cutting into his shoulder blade and the elk casually moved on, crossing the road and sinuously navigating the rough terrain on the other side with loping strides.
“Damn, that would’ve sucked.”
Paul’s eyes drifted to Billy in the mirror.
“Wreck the truck and have to walk.” Billy grunted. “Can you imagine? Having to walk out there? With those things?”
Wendy frowned at him. “With elk?”
“No, with the dead people out walking around.”
“Oh.”
“I’d be more worried about the mountain lions if I were you.”
Billy’s eyes snapped to Curtis, face falling. “Mountain lions?”
“Place is crawling with them and you know they like the dark meat.”
He stared blankly at Curtis for a tension-filled moment before filling the cab with braying laughter. Suddenly, he stopped, face sobering in the late afternoon light. “Is that really true?”
Paul stepped on the gas and the SUV stubbornly obeyed, pulling them up the curvy pass that, during a snowstorm, could be fatal to cross. “Let’s start getting ready,” he said, slowing for a sharp bend in the road. “It’s not much further.”
“Leadville, Colorado,” Billy murmured, double checking his weapons. “Who would’ve thunk it?”
“Hopefully, this place has a pot shop we can loot.”
“Now you’re speaking my language, homie.” Billy fist-bumped Curtis. “Can you imagine? Just walk in somewhere, grab a menu and start filling our baskets!”
“We need to track down some Blue Widow,” Curtis suggested, pulling a joint from behind his ear. “I heard that stuff is insane.”
Dead Series (Book 3): A Little More Alive Page 7