A Little More Dead (21 page)

“Thank you, Wendy, and
it’s
no intrusion at all.” He leaned back when Cora brought
him a new beer and took his empty plate away, his gaze hooking on Paul’s
wedding band. Slowly, his eyes rose to find Paul staring back. Paul braced
himself for the impending question that would haunt him for the rest of his
miserable life. But what could he do? He sure as hell wasn’t taking the ring
off and hiding it in his sock. He almost buried it with Sophia but couldn’t
bring himself to part with the platinum band she said was her favorite in the
entire jewelry store. No, he would wear that ring to remind him of her every
single day. When he rubbed it, he could sometimes see her face and smell her
hair.

Brock washed whatever he was thinking down
with a swig of warm beer and took a slow drag, blowing more smoke to the dead
chandelier above. He and Cora lived alone in the big house. Chuck, their only
son, died in a tragic motorcycle accident thirteen years ago when an elderly
woman pulled out in front of him. The woman told the police she never saw him
coming. Brock shook his head, watching the cigar burn.
“Said
she didn’t have the best vision
around
the edges
.”

“But that didn’t stop the idiots at the
DMV from giving her a license!” Cora shouted from the kitchen, slamming some
plates into the sink with a clatter.

Dan stopped his fork and knife from
scraping against his plate and looked up. Silence crawled into the room, hesitant
and jumpy. Brock took a long drag off the cigar, the tip glowing red, and
changed the subject, recounting how he’d shot their closest neighbor right
between the eyes just over a week ago when Brock found the man eating their yellow
lab named Jasper. “I’d been
lookin
for a reason to
shoot Ted for years!” Another booming laugh shot out from beneath his mustache
and slowly faded with the smoke rising into the air. His voice turned heavy
when he told them how he buried Jasper under a
sawtooth
oak tree out behind the barn. He grew quiet, bringing Cora’s light sobs in from
the kitchen. She pounded the countertop with a tight fist, rattling dirty
dishes.

Brock took his hat off and wiped his
forehead with a leathery hand, regretting even bringing it up. Paul sipped his
Jack and Coke, eyelids heavy as hell. It seemed the
zompocalypse
was a license to spill your darkest secrets to complete strangers and he hated
it.
Hated their horror stories that reminded him of her.
He’d be better off on a deserted island with just him and his thoughts.

“Hope you saved room for dessert,” Cora
said, back to her light and airy voice. She set a package of Pepperidge Farm
chocolate chunk cookies on the table and a new glass in front of Dan. “Brock has
to have his chocolate fix right after every meal or he turns into the Hulk, even
after breakfast.”

Brock proved her right by digging right
in.

“Did you get enough to eat, sweetie?”
Cora asked, taking Paul’s plate. “There’s plenty more.”

“No, I’m stuffed. Thank you.”

“Well, you are very welcome,” she said,
sweeping their plates away. “I’ll put the leftovers in Tupperware and leave them
on the deck to stay cool overnight. Help yourselves to more if you get hungry
later.”

Brock watched her disappear into the
kitchen and turned to Paul, his bushy gray eyebrows dropping with his voice.
“So, you’re
headin
to the ocean tomorrow, huh?”

Paul nodded, without expanding. They
already went over this.

“Not a bad plan,” Brock repeated,
washing his cookie down with some beer. “The warm air will be nice, and I don’t
know if the damn things can swim or not but I doubt it.
Sonsabitches
can hardly walk as it is.”

“Except the fat ones,” Wendy piped in,
swirling her cab in the glass. “They’re fast.”

A heavy frown pulled on his face. “Guess
I haven’t seen a fat one yet, now that
ya
mention it.”

Dan pressed his lips together and glumly
shook his head. “Fat zombies suck.”

“Oh, I do love the ocean!” Cora sat back
down at the table with a fresh drink and crossed her legs before smoothing her
skirt. “We get down to Galveston at least twice a year to see my sister.”

“Be nice to take a bath,” Brock grunted,
then releasing a low rolling belch.

“Brock,” she snapped.

He ignored her. “A boat might be your
best bet.”

Wendy grinned. “I’ve never been to the
ocean before.”

“So you boarded up the windows,” Dan stated,
looking around the place.

“Didn’t know what else to do,” Brock
replied, inhaling another cookie. “Thought this all might blow over in a few
days when the government got her under control.” His chewing slowed as he
stared at the package of cookies through faraway eyes. “But I don’t reckon
that’s the way she’s
gonna
go.” He swallowed thickly.
“Went to town to get some food two days ago and had to shoot Lester McConnell,
our town sheriff. Turns out his bite
was
worse than
his bark.”

Dan creased his brow. “He didn’t bite
you, did he?”

“Hell no, dropped him fore he even got
close. We saw what a bite from those bastards can do on the news before we lost
electricity.” He tipped the can back and finished the beer, prompting Cora to usher
the empty into the kitchen. Brock leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. “But I
tell you what, going to town for supplies
ain’t
the
most fun thing in the world to do anymore.”

“I bet,” Wendy replied, sipping her wine.

“Scared to leave her here alone and
scared to take her with.”

“Anybody else need anything?” Cora
hollered from the kitchen.

Wendy said she’d take some more wine and
Brock leaned even closer.

“If anything ever happened to her I
don’t know what I’d do.”

Paul had an idea: Go bat-shit crazy for
starters. He noticed Dan staring at him from across the table and looked away.

Brock sighed. “I’m not going to lie to
you, I worry about her,” he said gravely. Paul didn’t like the way he kept
looking at him, like Paul was the leader of this ragtag group of stubborn
survivors. “I hate to leave her here alone for even a minute and if something
happened to me...” he trailed off when Cora reentered the dining room with a
new can of beer and a bottle of cabernet.

“Y’all will just have to stay the
night,” she said, passing out the drinks. “We’ve got plenty of room and I’ll
make pancakes for breakfast. Brock likes chocolate chips in his, so we can do
that too.”

Brock herded them into a large living
room with oversized leather furniture and a massive stone hearth. Thick pine ran
everywhere. It looked like a steakhouse and smelt like one too. Giant potted
plants dotted two corners of the room while a huge flat-screen battled the
impressive fireplace for attention. Tall floor lamps with cowhide shades sat
dormant as the group talked by candlelight while Cora rounded up pillows and
blankets.

“Y’all help yourself to anything you
need,” she told them. “There’s plenty of food and water out in the kitchen.”
She hedged for a moment, resting her hands on her hips. “You sure you don’t
wanna
take any of the beds upstairs? The sheets are clean.”

Dan shook his head and blew out the
candles, lying next to Wendy on some sleeping bags on the floor. “We usually sleep
in the same room.”

Brock laughed drunkenly and got up from
a huge armchair. “Well, have fun with that, Danny-boy.
Me
and the Mrs. got some unfinished business to tend to.” He shot Dan an impish
wink before leading Cora down the long hallway. “See y’all in the
mornin
!”

She let out a soft yelp when he pinched
her rear end.

Paul stretched out on the couch and
watched the moonlight slip through the boards running across the windows. Exhaling
a tried breath, he dreaded going to sleep, knowing the same fever dreams would
be waiting for him there. One minute she’d be with him, the next inexplicably
gone. He decided to stay awake instead and steer clear of the traps set in his
mind, resting his eyes for only a minute or two. He was
pretty
sure
he could hear Dan and Wendy kissing softly just before falling into
a deep sleep that would end with a scream.

Chapter
Thirty-Six

DAY FIFTEEN

Gray morning light pried through the
boarded up windows, refusing to
be denied
entry. Paul
woke up before the others, thankful to have his tormented night of sleep behind
him. He needed the rest but it left him with bits and pieces of nightmares
floating around in his muddy head. Slipping out from beneath a blanket, he
carefully stepped over Wendy and Dan, squinting at their entwined silhouettes
curled together on the floor. Quietly, he threw his gun and vest on before
going out onto the back deck, where he took a leak and then plopped down into a
cushioned patio chair wet with the morning dew.

Alone, he blew out a cold breath he
could see against the blue dawn breaking on the horizon. Their new motto – no
one goes alone – was cramping his style. He kicked his Adidas up onto the patio
table and leaned his head back against the chair, watching the dark clouds roll
past like volcanic smoke. For now, it was chilly and peaceful in Victoria,
Texas, sitting in direct contrast to the rest of the world. From here, you
would never know anything had changed. The cows still grazed and the birds still
sang. Even the oppressive quiet was probably business as usual around these parts.
Paul watched the longhorns, wondering what the weather was like where Sophia
was at this morning. He hoped it wasn’t raining. He hoped it was…

“Sleep okay, boss?” Brock said, startling
Paul as he stepped outside and shut the door behind him.

Paul turned to see the large man already
dressed in a
Carhart
coat thrown over a starchy
button down, jeans, boots, and his signature cowboy hat. “You mean outside of
the blood-curdling scream?”

Brock chuckled and fanned a hand through
the air, his voice even deeper with a fresh hangover on his breath. “Reckon we
oughtta
get used to that nowadays, huh?”

Paul turned back to the pastureland.
“Not much choice.”

Brock patted his belly. “I slept like a
rock. Full
belly’ll
do that to a man,” he said, filling
his lungs with a deep breath of country air that smelled like cow manure. He
combed his mustache with his hand, resting his other on the butt of his gun
while surveying his spread of land. “Little nippy this morning,” he concluded, zipping
his coat higher and taking a seat at the table.

Paul hid behind a thin smile, annoyed he
couldn’t get two minutes alone.

“Cora will get some coffee going soon,
or there’s soda and what not inside.”

Paul looked down, glancing at his
Beretta stuffed inside its dark canvas home. It seemed like a pea-shooter
compared to the Undertaker.

“Well, Dan was right, that sure is some
sweet ride.” Brock leaned back, admiring the black
Chevelle
parked in the driveway. “I suppose we’ll all have one soon enough.” His eyes
drifted out to the cows mooing loudly at his presence.

Two squirrels went zigzagging after each
other across the brown grass and Paul wondered if it was cold where Sophia was
at this morning. Everything reminded him of her. Mornings, coffee, the way
Wendy laughed at Dan’s stupid jokes. All of it made him want to scream.

“Listen Paul,” Brock said, stirring him
from his thoughts, “I know we just met and all, but I like to think I’m a pretty
good judge of character. Have to be with some of the people I hire to
help out
around the ranch. Half of
em
are
ex-cons.” He cleared his throat and clasped his
hands on the table. “I also realize this
ain’t
the
world it used to be and I’m man enough to admit it. That world is gone.”

Paul forced himself to stop twisting the
wedding band around his ring finger.

“And in this world,” Brock continued, struggling
to find the right words, “I reckon it’s important to make good friends quick because
right now our enemies outnumber us a hundred to one. Hell, maybe more. And like
I told
ya
last night, I worry about Cora
somethin
fierce.” He leaned forward to catch Paul’s unfocused
eyes. “If
somethin
ever happened to me, she’d be in a
heap of trouble.” A small smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. “Even if
somethin
doesn’t happen to me, she’s probably in a heap of
trouble.” His gaze drifted back out to the cattle, wheels spinning under his
hat.

“Long of the short is, I think you’ve
got a good plan, Paul, good enough for now anyhow. The ocean is the perfect place
to figure out the next step and, if you don’t mind, I’d like for Cora and I to
join y’all on your trip south.” Before Paul could protest, he raised a hand to
stop him. “I’ve got my own truck and gear and I think we could benefit from
each other’s company. I’m no stranger to home defense,” he smiled, tapping his
holster. “I know my way around a gun.”

Paul couldn’t stop a grin. “I’ve heard
that before.”

“It’s the truth. I can help cover your
backs and Cora can whip up a mean batch of whatever she’s got a mind to whip up,
so it’d be beneficial to…”

“Listen, Brock,” Paul interrupted, “we
appreciate your hospitality and you’re right, we could use your help but our
group is operating on a fifty-seven percent mortality rate and that is no lie.
We’ve had seven people in our group over the last two weeks and now we are down
to three. You may
wanna
hitch your horse to a
different wagon.”

Brock’s gaze slid to Paul’s wedding band.
“Your wife?”

Paul looked away. “One of those things
bit her in a grocery store a few days ago.”

Brock stared blankly at him for a long
moment before removing his hat and running a hand through a full head of salt
and pepper hair. He put his hat back on and exhaled a heavy breath. “I’m sorry
to hear that, brother. I really am.” He paused before going any further. “What
was her name?”

“Sophia.” It sounded like someone else’s
voice when he said her name aloud. How long had it been since he said it? It
seemed like forever.

Brock nodded.
“Pretty
name.”

Seconds dragged by like hours.

A crow called out in the distance.

“You have a picture?”

“Nope.”

Brock shifted uneasily in the chair. “That’s
a horrible thing to happen to a young
fella
like you,
Paul, and I won’t pretend to understand it.” He grew quiet, his heavy stare
making Paul fidget. “But don’t start thinking the good Lord doesn’t have big
plans for you, my friend, because He does.” Brock reached over and squeezed
Paul’s knee, voice softening to a gravelly whisper. “There’s
somethin
in your eyes, partner. I can see it.”

The comment took Paul by surprise and
his expression showed it.

“I know you want to give up but this is
bigger than all of us and it’s going to take
all of us
to beat it.” Brock drummed his meaty fingers against the
table for awhile, eyeballing Paul like he was one of his lackey job applicants.
“I know a leader when I see one.”

Paul laughed. “I think you need to get
your eyes checked,
brother
.”

Dan spilled outside with a bounce in his
step and two steaming mugs of coffee in his hands. “Okay, who ordered the
skinny vanilla latte?”

Brock leaned back and scrunched his face
up. “
The what’s
the who now?”

Dan handed Paul a mug, grinning from ear
to ear. “Never mind, yours is coming. So what’s happening? And I want to know
everything.”

“Well, Dan, Paul and I were just
discussing the logistics of Cora and I joining y’all on your trip to the beach,
if that was to be okay with everyone else.”

Dan sat down at the table, blond hair
curling out from a ball cap he took from Kohl’s. “I think that’s a great idea,”
he said, looking to Paul for corroboration.

Brock smiled, a fond look softening his
eyes. “I think the bigger group of good guys we can round up the better. As far
as I can tell, the police and military lost the battle and we are on our own.”
He paused for effect.
“For now.”

“Hear
ya
go, big
guy,” Cora said, cascading out onto the deck in a flowery dress and handing
Brock a mug of black coffee.

Paul noticed Cora’s glass of cola smelled
a lot like whiskey and it wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning yet.

“Did you boys sleep okay?” she asked, resting
a hand on Brock’s shoulder and sipping her drink.

“Like a baby,” Dan replied, shooting
Paul a wink.

She smiled warmly. “That’s good; I’ll
have breakfast ready soon.” She kissed Brock on the cheek and floated back
inside.

Brock watched her go and Paul suddenly
felt like he was the only one who
didn’t get laid
on
the entire planet last night.

Wendy came out next, steaming mug in
hand. “Good morning,” she sang out, lighting up a cigarette.

Paul’s heart sank when he saw Sophia’s
pink gun on the hip of her tight fitting jeans. She looked like a superhero,
like Sophia had before…

“That’s a bad habit to tango with there,
little lady.” Brock wagged a finger at her. “My brother died of lung cancer six
years ago, thanks to those coffin sticks.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk, cigar-man,” she
snorted, smoke rushing from her nostrils. “Plus, I figure cancer just slid to
the back of the things to worry about line.”

Brock laughed and stroked his
stache
. “Guess you got a point there, Wendy.”

“Hey Brock,” Dan said, drawing the
cowboy’s thin blue eyes. “You and Cora get flu-shots this past season?”

His leathery brow wrinkled. “Hell no,
can’t stand needles. Besides, everyone I hire gets
em
and always ends up
callin
in sick anyhow. Why do
ya
ask?”

“Paul’s mom got one just before she...passed
on.”

Brock turned to Paul with a raised brow.

Paul dismissed it with a quick shake of
the head. “It’s just a theory, not that it matters now.”

“It could matter a lot.”

His eyes snapped to Wendy. “Why? Are you
a geneticist?”

“Yeah, Paul, I’m a geneticist. Didn’t you
notice my lab coat and microscope in the trunk of the car?”

Paul rolled his eyes. “Well, you better
getting moving on a cure a hell of a lot faster than this.”

She sat down at the long table, trying
to catch his elusive gaze. “If we run into someone who could create a cure, we
can tell them what we know and it might help.”

Paul tipped his head back and laughed.

Brock grunted. “Doubt we’ll ever know
what caused it unless someone gets the damn TV back on. We’re all in the dark
on this one.”

They sat there for a while longer, silently
processing events and enjoying the calm morning. So far, Paul’s flu shot theory
was still alive and kicking, which was more than you could say for most
everything else. After a long quiet moment, Brock excused himself and went
inside to check on Cora.

“They’re so nice,” Wendy said, trading a
furtive look with Dan.

Dan looked away and wrapped his hands
around his warm mug without response.

Her tapered gaze bounced to Paul for a
few seconds before she got up. “I should see if they need any help,” she said, stuffing
her smoking butt into an ashtray overflowing with burnt cigar stubs and
purposely giving Dan a good look down her shirt.

Dan waited until she disappeared before
turning to Paul. “For the record, they’re real and they’re incredible.”

Paul sipped his coffee, ignoring the
comment. The last thing he wanted to discuss was Wendy’s tits.

Dan’s smile faded. “How’re you doing?”

Paul glared at him over the rim of his
mug, his blood beginning to boil at the stupid question. How did he think he
was doing?

“I think it’s great they want to come
with us. We could use a gunslinger like Brock, and Cora’s cooking…” Dan shook
his head. “What do you think?”

“I think they’re good people, and we
know what happens to good people around us.”

Dan’s gaze wandered out to the cows, some
of which were grazing on grass while others fed from different grain troughs
scattered about. “I know it’s been bad, real bad, but things will get better.
We’ll
get better.”

A bitter laugh flapped Paul’s lips.
“Well, that’s a relief.”

Dan’s eyes dropped to his new running
shoes beneath the table. “I just need to know that you’ve got our backs.”

Paul sharpened his gaze, blood heated to
a boil now.

“All I’m saying is that I need to know
your head is on straight.”

“Oh, no problem,
Dan.
Do you want me to take a math test or set up an obstacle course to prove just how
straight my head is on?”