“No bud,” Paul said, glaring at them in the mirror. “I want everyone clearheaded for this.” He looked back to the road. “As clearheaded as we can get anyway.”
“I shoot better when I’m high.”
His gaze jerked back to Curtis in the mirror and tightened. “If by shooting better, you mean right by my fucking head then, yeah, I guess you’re right.”
Curtis lit the lighter and brought it to the joint. He wavered for a long second, holding Paul’s thin eyes in the mirror before making contact.
Paul dropped his pinched gaze back to the road. “Cocksucker,” he grumbled, cracking a window.
“Just stickin with what works, chief.” Curtis blew out a huge hit and passed the joint to Wendy. “This is no different than popping a Red Bull and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich just before a big race. I don’t mess with tradition.”
“Yeah well, if you shoot me because you’re wasted, I’m going to be super pissed.”
“I’m not going to shoot you, Paul. Jesus.”
“You better not!” Paul focused on the road and sighed, forcing himself to relax into the seat. “Now, tell me more about this Blue Widow. What’s it like?”
“I hope they’re okay,” Stephanie said, zipping her coat and turning up the heater. “I hope we’re not too late.”
Smoke trailed from Wendy’s nose. “You mean if it’s not a trap.”
“It’s not a trap, Wendy!”
“You don’t know that for sure, Paul,” she fired back, passing the joint to Calvin.
“She’s right,” Curtis added. “We don’t know shit about these people. Half the ones we’ve run into have been complete douchebags.”
Calvin took a hit and held his breath, staring vacantly out his side window at the scenery flitting by. “I used to send nature shots into our local CBS meteorologist,” he said, silencing the group and blowing out a smoky breath as Curtis stared blankly at him. “Sometimes he would air them during his morning forecast.”
Everyone traded bewildered looks inside the pregnant pause that came next, frowns bending their faces, tires clicking against the cracks.
“Well, good for you, Jack Hanna,” Curtis finally said, looking to the others for help.
Calvin turned to face them, smoke rising from the joint pinched between his fingers. “When the outbreak started and I couldn’t get ahold of Maria, I was in such a hurry to get to the base I forgot my camera.” A melancholy sigh crept from his lips, eyes drawing back to the rugged landscape bulging around them. “I thought it was beautiful in Iowa, but this…” He shook his head. “This is something else.”
Paul loosened the seatbelt that kept getting tighter with every mile or two, stomach twisting at the thought of Calvin errantly shooting one of them because his head was floating in the clouds with his dead wife. “Everyone relax. It’s not a trap. And just to be sure, we’ll park a little way out and walk in on foot.”
Billy stiffened. “Walk? Didn’t I just get done saying how bad it would suck to walk out there with those things?” He looked at Curtis. “Is anyone hearing the words coming out of my mouth?”
“We won’t walk far,” Paul replied. “Just far enough to not get jumped by dipshits with guns.” He caught a satisfied look from Wendy and returned his gaze to the highway.
Calvin ashed on the floor and took another hit. “Wish there would’ve been some RPGs left at the base,” he said, shooting a faint dose of hope into Paul’s bloodstream. Calvin’s eyes were suddenly present behind his glasses again and maybe his mind was getting back in the game as well. “Or at least some grenades or something.”
“No doubt,” Billy replied, snatching the joint from him. “They cleaned that place out hard.”
“And still got their asses kicked.” Smoky laughter tumbled from Calvin’s lips. “Unbelievable.”
Paul took his shooting hand off the wheel and flexed his fingers. The weapons and accessories they found this morning would’ve been a lot more useful if Maria was still alive to explain how to properly use and clean them. “Hey, at least we found the M4s and ammo.”
“And don’t forget the scopes and light mounts. Those things are light as hell!”
Paul nodded at Billy in the mirror because Billy was right. The scopes would come in handy when they approached the cabin on foot and the light mounts would free up an entire hand in the dark. As long as they didn’t step in anymore traps, they would have the advantage this time around like never before. Despite that, his mind tripped over the gangly pharmacist, taking the wind from his sails. Back then, if they had the gear they had now Sophia would still be alive today. Back then, if they knew the butcher was the bait and the pharmacist was hiding off to the side, she would be in this car with him right now. He could almost see her sitting next to him. Her dark hair blowing in the wind and those pretty red lips that always brightened her almond-shaped eyes when she smiled.
Sophia set a warm hand on his, sending a charge up his arm. “Are you okay?”
Paul blinked a few times, bringing Stephanie into focus and blood rushing into his cheeks. “Yeah.”
“Watch out, Paul!” Wendy cried, bracing in the backseat.
Yanking the wheel to the left, the SUV jumped back onto the road, kicking up a stream of dust on the shoulder and straightening back out. Releasing a pent-up breath, he tipped his head down and got into the gas.
Curtis stared out the side window and sighed, fogging the glass. “How’re we supposed to stand a chance against these things when the US military got their asses kicked with all of that firepower?”
“Because they were caught off guard. Things happened fast in the beginning and nobody knew what the hell was going on.” Paul stared out the front windshield, seeing those first news reports play against the dirty glass. If they could go back in time and do it again, they would’ve known you can’t save the infected. That the corpses aren’t as brain dead as first thought. That you have to kill the fat ones first. If they would’ve known all that then, maybe they could’ve stopped this nightmare from snowballing into something unwinnable.
“Listen, we’ve got two things going for us: One, we all have M4s now and we know how to use them.”
“Sort of.”
Paul’s eyes shot to Wendy in the mirror and thinned. “And two, I’m sure the US military took out a shitload of corpses for us because if they hadn’t…” He trailed off, eyes sliding through the shadowy trees. “We’d be seeing a lot more of them out walking around. They’d be everywhere but they’re not.”
“Unless they’re hiding.”
He glanced at Billy and turned back to the road, pressing his lips into a tight line.
“But you’re right, I’m sure most of them are already dead,” Billy said, trying to redeem himself.
“And let’s not forget about your ghost friends trying to help us along the way,” Wendy said, zipping her coat up.
Curtis blew ash from the joint and smiled at her. “Assault rifles and apparitions,” he said. “Hell, maybe we stand a chance after all.”
Paul stopped the Suburban in the middle of the road and let his gaze climb a long driveway snaking through the pines and aspens before disappearing over a bend where the cabin must be tucked somewhere in the hillside. “This is their mailbox.”
Calvin stared out the right side window. “I thought they were surrounded. I don’t see any Bees anywhere.”
“I’m getting a bad feeling about this,” Wendy whispered.
“That’s because you’re high as shit and paranoid.” Paul looked at Stephanie. “Stephanie is the only one I completely trust right now.”
“Aww, thank you,” she blushed, rubbing the back of his hand.
“Paul, I’d be hurt if I thought you really meant that.”
He turned off the engine and let the quiet soak into his bones. High or not, Wendy was right. Something felt off. “I say we walk in from here.”
“What if there’s a sniper in the trees or something?” Billy whispered, nervously
looking about.
“If anyone shoots at us we take cover and spray the shit out of the place. No hesitation.”
Calvin cleaned his glasses with his hoodie. “Okay, but let’s say it’s not a trap for a second, where are all the dead people walking around?”
“Maybe this is the wrong place,” Wendy suggested, exhaling a cloudy stream and passing the joint to Billy.
“It’s not.” Stephanie handed her the address and directions Maria jotted down in the radio room last night back at the base. “Check for yourself.”
Paul watched Calvin’s eyes snag on his wife’s handwriting as Wendy took the sheet of notebook paper and matched it with the address on the mailbox.
“Yep, this is it.” She started to pass it back to Stephanie when Calvin snatched it from her fingertips.
Paul’s face tightened in the mirror. “Calvin.”
Bringing the writing closer to his glasses, Calvin’s eyes rose and fell with each looping letter, lips moving but nothing coming out.
“Cal!”
Staring a moment longer at Maria’s pretty cursive, he looked up to meet Paul’s awaiting eyes in the mirror.
Paul tapped at a temple. “I know it sucks but please stay with me. Just for a little longer, then I promise you can let go for a while.”
Examining him for a few uncertain seconds, Calvin turned the offer over in his mind. He was grieving hard and Paul didn’t blame him, but if Calvin didn’t push it back down someone would get bit. That much was certain. This wasn’t like playing armchair quarterback from the safety of your own couch where all the right decisions came to you between bites of popcorn and Junior Mints.
No, they were hurting.
Scared.
Hopeless.
This was different. Dead people were trying to kill them. And when you combined the exhaustion and terror with the boredom that breaks it all up, sometimes the correct answer wasn’t so easy to spot. Not from the safety of this world. Because in this world, there was no such thing as safety. That fell to pieces right along with everything else, which made it difficult to breathe, let alone think. Everyone had to stay on point.
Folding the paper up, Calvin slipped it in a back pocket and nodded weakly. “I’m with you.”
The driveway was gradual and steep, curving through a swath of naked trees and thick pines and shrubs. Other than the ground, most everything was free of snow. Trudging cautiously up the asphalt snaking through the hillside, the backpack filled with food and water cut into Paul’s shoulders, slowing his progress. The setting sun threw the group’s shadows ahead of them on the mostly dry blacktop, stretching them into alien-like creatures. The Kohl’s entryway sliced through his mind and he winced with the pain that always followed. It was the little things that killed. The jumbled footsteps disturbing the thin blanket of snow off to the sides of the driveway spiked his pulse. A branch snapped off to their left and everyone drew on the trees in a flash. Relaxing, Paul gave Billy a warning glance after bringing the M4 around with Paul in line for a split-second. Billy acknowledged his mistake with a quick head nod and moved on.
It was the little things that killed.
“It’s too quiet,” Curtis whispered, eyes following his gun barrel from side to side.
“I agree.” A bad feeling wormed into Paul’s veins like venom, corrupting his footsteps. The driveway kept climbing and his legs kept burning. He saw somebody standing behind a tree. His heart jumped. He blinked and they were gone. Rubbery legs pressed on, eyes hitching on tree trunks and bushes, breath faint and fast. The suspicious quiet sat on his chest, weighing him down even more than the thin mountain air.
“Man, I am seeing shit everywhere, big time.” Curtis whipped his head around to the other side of the driveway and slowed to a crawl. “I am way too baked for this.”
“I hear you, brother.” Billy jerked his gun to a small grouping of pines, walking sideways up the hill. “It’s like the trees are moving.”
Paul forced his legs to keep working, lungs on fire. “I told you not to smoke that bud.”
“You were right again, Paul,” Billy whispered, hiking his backpack of handguns and ammo higher up his shoulders. “I fucked up super bad. Maybe I should go wait in the truck.”
Paul stopped and shot a hand out, locking the group in place. He stared at the dead lady up ahead on the right-hand side of the drive, trying to determine if she was real or not. Standing straight and tall, her hair flowed over the shoulders of a torn ski jacket in crimson rivers. Her face was nearly as white as the snow around her boots and there was something off about her eloquent stance.
Curtis drew on her, confirming her authenticity.
“Wait,” Paul hissed, shoving a palm out.
Lining her up through the scope, he caressed the trigger. “Why?”
“Who is she?” Stephanie whispered. “Do you know her?”
“No,” Paul replied, a cold shiver running through him. His body tensed when a bald head appeared over the ridge in the driveway past the redhead. The head bobbed up and down with uneven steps, the setting sun lighting up the man’s severely decayed forehead and then his cheeks. His shredded jumpsuit came into view next, followed by a pair of white New Balances – one of which was pointing in toward the other. Limping down the drive, he came closer, reaching and moaning into the sunshine lighting on his ghastly face.
The dead woman raised an arm like it was made of granite and pointed off to the other side of the driveway. Paul followed her crooked finger to a bristlecone pine ten yards to his left. Bringing the M4 into his shoulder, he reminded himself to breathe. Reminded himself to use his new scope, which put him too close to the action. The branches rustled and an obese woman sprang from the tree’s shadow, right where he was looking. Right where he was aiming. There was a clear path between the naked corpse and Paul so he put a quick round into her. Somersaulting, her thick limbs flew through the air in a white plume and came to an abrupt rest against a fallen tree. She laid face down in the melting snow, as still as the breeze no longer sweeping through the trees, decomposing back fat rolling off her in gray waves.
Paul turned back to the redheaded woman, who was nowhere to be found, and swallowed against the lump in his throat before sinking a slug in the bald man limping closer. Turning back to the obese thing, he pointed the M4 at the back of its head, his breath rushing out in smoky trails.
“She’s playing possum,” Curtis whispered.
“I know.” Paul watched and waited, dying to see how far this wretched creature would go to escape with a win. There was no way out, yet she played her hand. No, she wasn’t dead. She was just playing dead.
Pretending.
Acting.
Thinking.
“Where’d you hit her?” Billy panted, eyes sweeping the trees behind them.
“I think I got her in the neck.” Paul nudged her with his shoe. “We know you’re not dead,” he said, taking a step back. “I know you can hear me.” When there was no reaction, he used the end of his weapon to poke her in the spine.
Slowly tipping her head back, she found them in her soulless sights and sneered, pushing off the ground and getting to all fours in slow-motion. The woman hung her head, seeming stunned by the hole in her neck leaking blood to the snow around her hands.
“Billy, stab her in the head.”
Billy turned to Paul with his face folding in like a tent. “I thought you said knives don’t work on them.”
“That was then.” Paul shifted in his sneakers, snow seeping through the thin material and into his socks. “Maybe their skulls are weaker now.” He nodded to the squirming corpse. “Try it and see.”
“No way, man. I’m not getting close to that thing.”
“Just shoot it, Paul.”
He looked at Stephanie. “We can’t give up our position with another gunshot.”
Falling to the ground, a silver streak arced through the air in Curtis’ dropping hand. The bowie knife glanced off the woman’s skull. She snatche
d his ankle and Paul shot her in the head. Curtis rolled onto his ass and stared up at him with his chest heaving. “Well, that didn’t work. Her skull is like a bowling ball.”
“Who was that woman?”
Paul followed Stephanie’s eyes up the driveway to where the redhead had been standing a minute ago, brain scrambling for answers.
“I don’t know but she just warned us about this one hiding in the tree.” Wendy nudged the dead woman with the toe of her shoe.
“But…she was just as dead as this one right here.” Billy looked up from the dead woman, horror mixing with the sweat running down his face. “What exactly is going on here?”
Paul helped Curtis to his feet and adjusted the backpack. “Let’s keep moving. If they’re still here, they heard that for sure.”
“So hang on a second.” Calvin took a hand from his weapon to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You’re saying the dead redhead lady just…helped us.”
“You saw it, Cal,” Billy said in a loud whisper. “She pointed right at this tree. Right where this straggler was hiding.”
“But that’s impossible.”
“Right?”
“Let’s go,” Paul said, leading the charge up the driveway and examining the spot where the redhead had been standing in the snow as he passed by.
“No footprints,” Curtis breathed, scanning the same area, chest pumping beneath his jacket.
“Okay, so wait a minute.” Calvin cleared his throat and stepped around the dead bald guy lying in the middle of the driveway. “You’re saying she was, what? A ghost?”
Curtis looked over his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you don’t believe in paranormal activity after all this shit, McLovin.”
“Yeah, but come on.” Calvin blew out a long breath. “Like Bees weren’t bad enough.”
“Oh my God,” Wendy mumbled, stopping in the driveway.
They followed her round eyes up and over the ridge to the cabin sitting fifty yards away. On the radio, Brian had clearly used the word cabin loosely because this was no cabin in the woods. This was a dream home in the woods. From the dark timbers and cultured stonework, the construction looked recent and blended nicely with the surrounding hillside. The grand balcony and front porch below it were both empty of people – dead or otherwise – and the eerie quiet left a bad feeling in the pit of Paul’s stomach.
Dead Series (Book 3): A Little More Alive Page 8