She lit up a cigarette. “Sounds like somebody’s been watching Couples Retreat,” she said, blowing smoke out.
“It’s more of a plan than you’ve got,” he responded, glancing to his wing-man for help.
Paul shrugged at him. She was right. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it beat staying here and he could care less about convincing her of that.
Dan poured another shot and tipped it back, grimacing with the tequila’s slow burn. Silence ensued, the kind when a date isn’t going so hot. He set the shot glass down and exhaled a warm breath. “Mind if I use the bathroom?”
“Toilets don’t work but knock yourself out,” she said, jerking her chin to a door across the room. “Other side of the pool table.”
Paul took Sophia’s hand and led her to the bar. “So did you work here with your sister or something?”
“Used to. Have you come across anyone else?” Wendy asked, changing the subject. “Any other survivors?”
Sophia traded a shamefaced look with her husband and holstered her gun. “Two young boys and their mom,” she said, taking a seat and setting the flashlight on the bar.
Paul sat down next to her and took off his itchy ski cap, running his fingers through his short hair. “We lost them taking a car at a gas station this morning.”
Wendy stopped the glass in front of her lips. “That’s horrible.”
“It was.”
They studied each other through the glow of the flashlights, shadows pushing in from the corners of the room.
“You look hungry,” Wendy concluded.
Paul sighed. “We’ve been running on candy bars all day.”
Wendy laughed. “We’ve got those too,” she said, disappearing through a set of swinging doors behind the bar.
Sophia took a long moment to scope the place out. “Well, this is weird,” she whispered.
“What’s really weird is she could be the last woman on the entire planet and I bet Dan still blows it.”
“If he does, it puts all the pressure on you and I to repopulate.”
Paul shuddered at the thought of bringing a child into this world. “We should get him a lap dance.”
She laughed and quickly covered her mouth.
“You got any ones?”
Sophia poured tequila into Dan’s glass and shot it back. “She’s lucky to be alive.”
“Is that what you call it?”
Dan returned from the bathroom, his thin eyes roaming the place. “Where’d that super hot chick go?”
Paul glanced at the swinging doors behind the bar. “Think she went to get something to eat.”
“Damn, she has the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen,” Dan whispered, taking a stool next to Sophia. “We have to talk her into coming with us. Mankind could depend upon it.”
Sophia smiled at him. “Think you’re up to the challenge?”
“If I have to take one for the team, then that’s what I’m going to do.”
Paul laughed and poured himself a shot. “What a good sport.”
Sophia pressed her lips together. “We can ask her if she wants to come,” she said, looking around again. “She can’t stay here. Not by herself.”
“I’ll Jedi mind trick her if I have to.” Dan blew into his cupped hands and rubbed them together.
“And here we go,” Wendy said, popping through the swinging doors with a cardboard box in her hands and a lit cigarette dangling between her lips. “Take all ya want.” She dumped the contents across the shiny bar top. “We’ve got boxes of this stuff in the office.”
Paul stared at the beef jerky, chips, peanuts, gum and candy bars. It wasn’t the pizza or cheeseburger his body craved but it would do in a pinch.
“I left some water out back in the sun all day that hasn’t refrozen yet,” Wendy said, refilling her glass with some more whiskey. “Plenty of booze too.”
Under the yellow light of a single candle, they ravaged the snack food, whiskey and tequila like they’d just won a reward challenge on Survivor. Despite the day’s carnage, Paul was hungrier than he thought. Shootouts in the cold will apparently do that to a guy. Unfortunately, the small amount of unfrozen food they’d found thus far barely made a dent in their hunger. It was funny how quickly one could miss fast-food. Paul would trade his left nut for a warm Big Mac right about now and didn’t give two shits if it was made with pink slime or not.
“So how’d you make it this far?” Sophia asked, drinking some water.
“Dumb luck,” Wendy replied, pulling out a joint and sparking it up. She blew a stream of skunky smelling smoke to the ceiling and passed it to Dan before beginning her horrifying tale of dumb luck. Like most people, she spent the first few days holed up inside her apartment with the shades drawn and the doors locked. When the windows began breaking out in the units below it was time to leave. The thought paralyzed her mentally and physically, she lamented, but her brother-in-law, Joe, kept a loaded pistol under the bar and the doors were made of solid steel. It was as good a spot as any to hide, if not better.
Dan exhaled a cloud of smoke and started coughing, passing the joint to Sophia who shook her head.
“Where’s your sister now?” Paul asked, taking the joint from Dan.
Wendy shrugged. “Haven’t seen Tammy and Joe since the day before all hell broke loose and lucky me, my car was in the shop so I had to walk here.” She paused for another sip of whiskey, watching the candle through faraway eyes. “Actually, I had to run here. Peter Bowers, one of our local cable guys, tried to kill me along the way.” Her eyes thinned into reflective slits. “Only that wasn’t the Peter Bowers I grew up with. I don’t know what that was but he caught me by my hood and almost brought me down. Luckily, I took kickboxing lessons for two years and put him on his ass.” She smiled at Sophia. “I was just glad I wasn’t wearing heels.”
Sophia laughed. As a proud owner of a huge shoe collection back home, she could relate. Although, Paul bet his wife could fare pretty well in high heels if push came to shove, but fortunately she would never have to find out. Outside of the winter boots she had on now, she would never see her beloved shoe collection again.
Wendy grew quiet, watching their faces in the flickering light. “When I finally made it to the bar, I found two of the girls who worked here waiting out back. I was so relieved I wasn’t alone, I called out their names and when they turned my way...”
Sophia’s smile slid down her heart-shaped face and disappeared into the collar of her coat.
Paul hit the smoking joint and held it in, watching Wendy force herself to continue.
“They started coming closer.” Wendy stared through the cloud of smoke Paul exhaled, watching the whole thing play out in her mind. “And when I saw the blood on their faces I’d never felt so alone in my entire life.” She stopped to take the joint back and put it to her lips, the cherry glowing red. “I beat em to the front door and hid in Joe’s office with those two girls pounding on the backdoor all night long.” Smoke trailed from her nose like a dragon. “After they continued into the next day, I finally went out back and shot them both in the face, which wasn’t easy.” Wendy’s glassy-eyed gaze found Sophia. “They were good girls, and both still in their heels.”
“Damn!” Dan said, knocking back another shot and slamming the glass down. “That is why I always wear sneakers. You never know when shit is going to go down.”
Wendy went on to tell them she hid their bodies behind the dumpster and locked herself inside the bar. Uninvited company dropped by a few times with the same sloppy fist pounds as Peaches and Destiny, but, after awhile, moved on to search for their dinner elsewhere. The whiskey loosened her lips, as well as her tough guy exterior, and Paul could tell she was just as scared as they were.
“So what the hell is going on out there anyway? Do you have any idea what happened?” Wendy lit up another cigarette.
“You know about as much as we do,” Sophia said, chewing on some peanuts.
Wendy grabbed the bottle of Jack and shook
her head. “None of it makes any sense. Dead people walking the streets? Come on.”
Paul watched her refill her glass. “You get a flu shot this year?”
She looked up and shook her head. “I hate needles.”
“Are you Busty Dusty?”
Her gaze darted to Dan. “Why would you think that?”
“Found a flier out back but the picture was kinda blurry.” His eyes dropped to the breasts pushing against her winter coat. “And you’re kinda…busty.”
Sophia flattened her lips. “Dan, don’t be a creep.”
“Busty Dusty was a feature dancer we had in here last week.” Wendy saw Dan’s mouth open and she cut him off at the pass. “And no, I’m not a dancer. I was a cocktail waitress.”
Dan let a grin loose and poured more tequila into the shot glass. “Come on, Wendy. It’s okay if you were a dancer. No one here is going to judge you.”
“Dan,” Sophia grumbled.
“I’m kidding, relax.” His laughter tapered off into an uncomfortable silence. “Were you?”
“No, I wasn’t!”
He held his hands up. “Okay, okay.”
They ate and drank and smoked while Dan stole furtive glances of Wendy, who deflected them with a simple turn of the head. Normally, tequila made Paul loud and quick to laugh at any little thing. Tonight however, it made him tired and brought back pulses from the past. The mechanic dragging Mike through the snow, the dead state trooper, the old woman’s teeth buried in Matt’s neck, all took turns poking Paul with sharpened sticks. He shifted on the bar stool, his butt going numb. Tomorrow morning they would leave this dive and go back out there with those things. Those killers.
He shook his head and tipped back another shot, clenching his teeth against the burn. “I stomped on that girl’s face as hard as I could and it was like stomping on a bowling ball. Nothing happened.”
Sophia frowned at Paul. “What girl?”
“The one in a McDonald’s uniform who ripped the shotgun out of my hands.” Paul massaged his face, palms muffling his words. “She grabbed my ankle and her grip was so strong I thought she was going to break it.”
Dan stopped the shot glass in front of his lips. “What’re you saying?”
Paul breathed out, wiping his greasy hands on his jeans. “I’m saying I wouldn’t advise getting too close.”
“Really?” Wendy laughed. “And here I was planning a zombie barn dance for next week. Shoot!”
Paul swallowed thickly, wondering what would be waiting for them when daylight pulled back the curtain on the carnage waiting outside.
Chapter Thirteen
DAY EIGHT
The dressing room’s blacked out windows made it impossible to tell if it was morning or the middle of the night. Paul pressed a button on his G-Shock and 7:23 lit up in blue digital numbers. They made it to another day and a part of him wanted to stay in this shit-hole with its metal doors and blacked out windows and beat up trunks stuffed with g-strings and bikinis for the rest of his life. It was safe here but cold as hell. His head pounded and his stomach growled and, as far as he could tell, everyone else was still asleep. Quietly peeling back the blanket, he fumbled for the flashlight and gun belt on the floor. Sophia stirred next to him on the ratty couch. He froze, wanting her to get as much sleep as possible. She would need it. He cupped the end of the flashlight and turned it on, carefully stepping over Dan and Wendy curled up together on the floor. The faint light ran over a purple butterfly peeking out on Wendy’s lower back where the blanket had slipped off. Tramp stamp. Big shocker. Paul snorted and kept moving. He had to pee like a racehorse but wasn’t going anywhere without clicking into his holster. Just over a week now, and the weight of his gun was starting to feel good. Familiar. At first, it was heavy and clunky on his thigh, always banging against doorways and furniture. Now, it felt like an extension, one that made him feel whole.
Dan rolled over onto his back and Paul stopped tying his boots. When certain everyone was still asleep, he grabbed the tactical shotgun by the door and quietly went out into the cold dark bar. In the men’s room, Paul picked a urinal that was still draining, wondering if Wendy would really stay here. Not only were the bathrooms already disgusting, but her snack food wouldn’t last long. Neither would her bullets. His breath rolled through the flashlight’s beam in his armpit. He hoped she wouldn’t stay. There was power in numbers.
Emerging from the bathroom, he went straight behind the bar and stuffed two frozen water bottles into his coat pockets, hoping his body heat would thaw them out enough for a few sips. Next, he grabbed a Snickers Bar and a half a bottle of aspirin he found next to the antique cash register. On the paying side of the bar, he plopped down on a stool and unfolded a map of Missouri he took from the cruiser’s glove box. The map spilled over into Kansas just enough to give him a good idea of where they were and which route to take. Outside of going around some major cities like Oklahoma City and Dallas, they would stick close to I-35. It was their fastest, and clearest, path to warmer weather. He couldn’t wait to shed his heavy coat and boots. They made it nearly impossible to run for his life. The teenager in a McDonald’s uniform surged to the forefront of his mind like a volt of electricity, making him stiffen. The sound of the gun’s buttstock crushing her nose echoed off the walls of his skull. How many times out of ten could he pull off a move like that without getting bit? Once? Twice? He rotated the ankle she’d latched onto, shaking his head. It was sore but he’d be okay.
The dressing room door clicked open, stirring him from his thoughts. He turned to see Dan stumble out and quietly shut the door behind him. He yawned, running his fingers through his mess of curls. “Holy Jesus, my head is killing me and it tastes like a cat shit in my mouth.”
Paul tossed him the aspirin. “Have to take them dry, everything’s frozen.” He paused. “Except the booze.”
Dan groaned and popped a tablet into his mouth. He tried to swallow but couldn’t, face twisting as the pill lodged in his throat. He coughed it up into his hand. “Damn, how do they take pills without water on TV all of the time? It’s impossible.” He grabbed the nearly empty tequila bottle sitting on the bar and poured a shot.
“Really?”
Dan cheered him and sent the aspirin down the hatch, exhaling like his mouth was on fire. “Oh my God.” He put a fist over his mouth and coughed, eyes watering.
“Hey, at least the toothbrushes still work.”
Dan inhaled a wheezing breath. “Yeah but what happens when we run out of toothpaste?”
“We’ll never run out of toothpaste. You get any sleep?”
“Some,” Dan replied, running a tongue across his teeth.
“I need you to stay frosty today.” Paul’s gaze drifted to the swinging doors behind the bar because the backdoor was through there. The one that led to the car. The one they’d be going through soon. His heart beat faster in his chest just thinking about it. “So…how’d it go with Wendy on the floor last night?”
Dan stretched his back out. “Woulda gone a lot better if we weren’t wearing ten layers of clothing.”
“If it was warm enough for that she would’ve made you scoot over.”
“Don’t be so sure, Paulie boy,” he said, heading for the restroom and softly whistling as the broken mirror crunched beneath his shoes.
Paul bit into the candy bar and swung the flashlight around, the feeling that they weren’t alone making the hairs bristle on the back of his neck. Next to the darkened Golden Tee in the corner, sat a poker machine that had dealt its last hand and a KISS pinball machine that had to be a collectible by now. The place was stuck in the past and, a few years down the road, everywhere they went would be stuck in the past – if they lived that long. No more new iPhones or TVs. No late model cars and houses. Everything was the last of its kind, including them. He tried imagining what this world would look like in five to ten years and could only see it covered in dirt and weeds.
Dan came out of the bathroom, buckling his belt. �
��I really do not want to do this anymore,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Every bathroom is like some sick-ass bathroom in Indonesia.”
Paul returned his attention to the map. “God, I miss plumbing.”
Dan stopped next to him, focusing on the flashlight’s glow. “Man, I haven’t seen a paper map in ages.”
“Tell me about it. It’s like we’ve gone back to the stone ages. No GPS, no internet, no cell phones.” Paul looked up, his eyes sobering. “No Twitter.”
“Fuck Twitter,” Dan replied, plopping onto a bar stool. “Buncha whiney-ass bitches hiding behind their keyboards.”
Paul dropped his head and chuckled. “Why don’t you tell us how you really feel, Dan?”
Dan paused for a yawn. “What happens when we run out of lighters?”
“We’ll use matches.”
“Then what?”
Paul shrugged. “Sticks?”
Dan blew out a long breath. “How far you think we’ll get today?”
Paul tapped at the map. “We should drop into Oklahoma sometime this afternoon and, with any luck, we can find a Target or a Walmart and ditch these coats and boots.”
“We need to find more ammo and pronto. Even with the stuff we found in the cop car, that gas station wiped us out.”
Paul winced at the mention of the gas station. He looked up and stared at his ghostly reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He looked different. Older. Thinner. Sadder.
“And if I have to eat another candy bar, I’m going to crash and burn,” Dan said, taking a careful bite of a frozen Baby Ruth. “I seriously have no energy. Like none. I can’t keep this up much longer without some real food, dude.”
“I know. We’ll find some.” Paul studied the map for a moment longer. “We’ll also need to get her a gun.”
Dan stopped chewing. “Get who a gun?” He followed Paul’s glance to the dressing room. “I thought she wasn’t coming with us.”
A Little More Dead Page 7