A Little More Dead (26 page)

“I miss my sister.”

Paul turned to her. “What was her name
again?”

“Tammy.” Wendy let sand run through her
fingers. “Maybe she and Joe made it out of town and got away.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

He followed her drifting gaze to some pastel-colored
cottages down the way. They looked nice but how long until another rude
awakening struck in the middle of the night? Even if they boarded up the
windows and doors, which would require some serious material and energy, they
would eventually find themselves surrounded by dozens of those things, if not
hundreds. Then what? Two people could only fire off so many rounds at a time.
He turned back to the dock.

“Do you want to go back to Des Moines?”

His brown eyes pinched together.

“Because I’ll go back right now if you
want to.”

He watched the rolling waves, their
thundering crashes loud enough to cover the grunts and snarls of any
approaching infected. The hairs bristled on the back of Paul’s neck. He twisted
around to see Shelly1 staring at him, looking like she’d seen better days. Just
like him. His gaze gravitated back to the ocean’s pull.
“Maybe
when it gets warmer.”

She nodded, letting fine grains of sand slip
through her fingers. “I wish I could draw, I’d sketch you a picture of her.”

A guttural scream went off in the
distance like a siren, yanking their attention down the beach. Wendy took his
hand and squeezed. He glanced at the funky colored beach houses before turning
back to the dock. The larger boats probably had a small kitchen and bedroom on
board. Maybe even a functioning bathroom, but the odds of finding keys seemed
remote at best. Another scream rang out, this one from behind them. Paul
glanced over his shoulder and blew out a long breath. Those things were
everywhere. Wendy scooted closer in the sand.

Sophia’s words hunted him like annoying mosquitoes.

Help
them get to the ocean and don’t let anything get in your way.

He turned back the cottages. None were
on stilts and they sure as hell couldn’t build anything better. His eyes
flickered back to the boats. Most looked expensive and difficult to operate. Paul
and Dan used to own a ski boat but the ones parked at the dock were much larger
and he could only imagine the numerous switches and gauges crowding the dash.
With the wind in his face, he closed his eyes and stopped thinking for a
minute. His brain felt like it was pressing against the inside of his skull. He
thought about using a corkscrew to relieve the building pressure. It would be a
sweet relief. Maybe they should go back. Things had to of calmed down in Des
Moines by now. They could sneak in and out. He needed to touch her things,
smell them,
sleep
with them.

When he opened his eyes, Sophia was standing
in front of him with her toes buried in the sand. She was as beautiful as the
first day they met at the gym. Giving him one of her uplifting smiles, she gestured
to the boats directly behind her. His face sank along with his heart. She
should be here, not a figment of his fucked up imagination. Then, just like
that, she was gone. He blinked, staring at the boats in the distance. Paul
turned to Wendy. She was his family now and the thought nearly made him cry. It
wasn’t fair. “You think they can swim?”

Her gaze thinned. “I doubt it. Like
Brock said, they can barely walk.”

“Ever been on a boat before?”

She followed his line of sight to the
dock. “Joe had a ski boat we went on all the time.”

He got up and brushed sand from his rear
end. “Let’s go,” he said, helping her up.

“Where’re we going to find keys?”

“Hopefully in the pocket of the first
dead guy we come across.” He scanned the nearby beach houses.
“Or maybe in one of those houses.”

She returned an uncertain stare as he
made sure his guns were loaded and the safeties were off. Paul started across
the beach, heart pounding harder when he saw his wife’s footprints in the sand.

Chapter
Forty-One

Wendy followed Paul onto the narrow
dock, which was rickety and free of dead people. Without permission, he stepped
aboard a large white boat with
Wine-N-Down
printed across the back. Leaning the small shotgun in a corner, he cupped his
hands around his face and peered through a sliding glass door. It was perfect
inside, with a living room under the helm and a small kitchen to boot. He grabbed
the door’s long handle and pulled but it wouldn’t budge.

“Let’s break it,” Wendy said, nervously
looking around with her gun out.

Paul took a quick look around, dark
clouds turning the day to night. “It can get pretty cold on the ocean at night.
We need the doors and windows intact, especially with all the storms that pop
up around here.” He snatched the shotgun and jumped back onto the dock. “Let’s
check some of the other ones before we break anything. We might get lucky.”

Wendy exhaled a tired breath and
followed as the thick raindrops began hammering the dock’s planks, blurring the
surface of the water. Lightning split the sky and thunder rattled their bones.

“See what I mean,” he yelled over his
shoulder.

The heavy downpour turned her blond hair
dark, a purple bra now visible through her wet t-shirt.

Paul stopped at a boat dubbed
AquaHolic
with a
cartoon fish holding a cocktail glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

Wendy laughed. “We have got to take this
one!”

Lightning flickered, lighting up the
cartoon’s yellow eyes as Paul tried the sliding glass door on the back patio.
“Damn!” He hopped back onto the dock, water streaming from the tip of his nose.
“Let’s just keep going down the line.” Thunder crashed, vibrating the wooden
planks beneath their feet. Paul looked up, realizing it wasn’t the thunder
shaking the dock. It was the portly man running full speed at them from the
other end.

“Aw hell,” Paul muttered, anchoring the
shotgun to his hip.

Wendy positioned herself next to him, careful
not to fall in the water and holding her gun in both hands like Sophia taught
her. The bulldog of a man hunched over and ran faster, raindrops bouncing off
his blue windbreaker. Paul curled his finger around the trigger, aiming for the
man’s bald spot. He held his breath, the dock shaking with each jarring footstep.
Paul fired. The pistol-grip recoiled against his hip bone, sending a white flash
of pain through him. The shot missed and only pissed the guy off more. The
short man increased his speed. The dock swayed. Paul tried steadying the weapon
but there wasn’t time. They could already hear the man’s grunts through the
driving rain. Lightning flashed and Wendy unleashed a three round burst – like
Dan taught her. The bulldog nosedived onto the wet wood and slid past their
feet. Paul grabbed his belt just before he slid into the water, a tendon
bulging in his neck as he pulled the man back onto the dock with one hand. They
kept their guns trained on the crumpled body, watching the rain mix with the
blood running into the cracks. Paul wiped water from his eyes and inspected the
area for more rotting corpses, legs shaky and weak. Cautiously, he knelt down
beside the dead man.

Wendy widened her stance and tightened
her grip. “Be careful. It’s only a matter of time before these things start playing
dead.”

He looked up, brow folding at the
thought.

She shrugged loosely. “You never know.”

Paul rolled the man over onto his back, eyes
traveling from the man’s khakis to the boat shoes on his feet. Paul punched him
in the ribs and when there was no reaction, he set the shotgun on the dock, the
rain hampering his vision. “I’m going to check his pockets.”

Wendy straightened her aim as Paul
patted the guy down. He felt something in a pants pocket and reached inside.
His eyes rose to the man’s gaping mouth, expecting the poor bastard to
reanimate at any second. Thunder cracked. Paul pulled his hand back, heart stutter-stepping.
He held up the buoy keychain and let the keys dangle.

“Bam!”

Wendy kept her gun on the corpse.
“What’s it say?”

Paul turned the keychain for a better
look, blinking water from his eyes.
“Wavy Gravy.”

“Wavy Gravy?”
Wendy looked
all around. “Which one is it?”

His gaze jumped from boat to boat, the
rain pissing him off. He couldn’t see for shit and he didn’t have time for
blindness.
“Has to be around here somewhere.”

“Paul?”

He started walking in the direction the
man came, imagining the poor
sonofabitch
getting his
boat ready for a long weekend – or maybe an escape – when some white haired man
in a sailor’s cap caught him from behind. It was easy to see.

“Paul?”

His eyes examined the back of each boat,
lips mouthing the words:
Wavy Gravy
.
Over and over again
.

“Paul!”

He spun around. “What!” he snapped.

She nodded to the white boat parked in
the slip next to where she was standing.

Paul wandered closer, eyes thinning. “Oh
snap,” he muttered, staring at Wavy Gravy which was just as nice and shiny as
Wine-N-Down.

Chapter
Forty-Two

Wendy screamed, her blue eyes bulging
from their sockets.
“Oh my God!
Look how clean the
toilet is!”

His nervous gaze drifted from the white
stool to a sea foam green shower curtain covering a tight stall. Paul watched
his hand reach out for the curtain like it belonged to someone else. Wendy
readied her gun and nodded. Holding his breath, he yanked the curtain back, the
rings chattering along the
rod
.

Wendy screamed again. “There’s soap and
shampoo!”

He lowered the Beretta and pushed past
her, releasing the breath. The next room had two red bunk beds and orange
carpeting, everything clean as a whistle.

“We will be able to sleep in total peace
tonight,” Wendy said, testing the bottom mattress.

The next room was a bit larger with a
queen-sized bed and a flat screen attached to the wall above a thin dresser
bolted to the floor.

“It just keeps getting better and
better,” Wendy muttered, shaking her head. “Would you look at that bed? We can
live here!”

“Let’s check the kitchen,” he said,
going back through the tiny living room.

The rain drummed against the fiberglass
roof, making it impossible to hear if anyone was onboard or not. He held up a
hand and Wendy stopped behind him. His eyes swept across a tiny L-shaped couch
and another flat screen TV. Mopping water from his face, he moved into a galley
kitchen with a built in mini-fridge and microwave. A tall and narrow pantry
made him smile. He stared at the water, soda, beer, cookies, granola bars, chips,
popcorn, and three bags of Starbucks coffee grounds inside. They had packed
some dry goods in each car back at Brock’s house, but this was way more than
what they had on hand and every little bit counted. Still, it wouldn’t last for
longer than a week, tops.

“I feel like crying right now,” Wendy
said, opening a bag of
Funyuns
and crunching down on
a big yellow ring.

Like the rest of the boat, the
mini-fridge was spotless inside and out, further supporting Paul’s suspicions
that the bulldog was preparing for a long weekend. Paul pounded a bottle of
lukewarm water, watching Wendy remove a case of liquor bottles from a cupboard
beneath the sink. She pulled out a bottle of red wine and studied it with her
eyebrows raised. “Not bad,” she said, slipping it back into the box and pulling
out a bottle of tequila next. “Now, we’re talking.”

Paul slammed the empty water bottle onto
the counter and sighed. “You ready to fire this thing up?”

“You mean are
you
ready to fire this thing up?”

A slight grin snuck into his beard. He
nodded to the sliding glass door, glancing at the pistol-grip shotgun he left
lying on the couch as he headed back out into the rain. Up top, the control
panel intimidated the hell out of him, sinking his spirits. They needed to get off
this dock and pronto, but the numerous buttons and switches made that
impossible and the last thing Paul felt like doing right now was taking a
boating course. Holstering his sidearm, he wiped his brow with the back of his
hand, unsure if the liquid running down his face was rainwater or sweat. He
felt dizzy and his head ached. The smallest key on the ring unlocked a
glove-box, where he found the brutally thick owner’s manual. Dropping into the
captain’s chair with the rain beating on the roof, Wendy kept lookout while reading
over his shoulder at the same time.

In extremely small print, the manual
told them that Wavy Gravy was a three year-old, forty-five foot
Cabo
Express with 800 gallon fuel tanks and a water tank
capable of holding up to 100 gallons. She also had a
vac
-u-flush
head in the bathroom, an automatic anchor and a big old twin diesel to get them
where they wanted in a hurry.

“This is so amazing,” Wendy said for the
tenth time, dancing from foot to foot.

Paul wiped his face with his sleeve and
inserted a key into the control board with Wendy watching his every move.
Turning the key one click, the instrument panel lit up with the power from two
large batteries below deck. His eyes widened. “She’s got a full tank,” he whispered.

“Yes.” Wendy shrieked way too loudly. “Start
it! Start it!”

“Hang on,” he said, flipping another page
in the manual.
 

Wendy bounced around the upper deck like
a kid after too much chocolate. “I can't believe it! We can live on this thing
and nothing can get to us!”

“Unless they can
swim.”

She stopped dancing, eyes sobering.
“Paul,” she moaned.

He ran a finger along a paragraph as he
read aloud.

Wendy threw a hand over her heart. “We
should find an island. Can you imagine? It’d be like being on vacation. Does
this thing have GPS?”

“Will you give me a minute?”

“Can it get us to Hawaii?”

“No idea.”

“How far away is Hawaii anyway?”

“Wendy!”

“Sorry.”

Water dripped from the tip of his nose,
darkening the pages as he slowly repeated the instructions. He looked up and
filled his lungs with a hopeful breath, lifting his chest. “Cross your
fingers.”

She crossed her fingers and watched him
flip some switches and punch some buttons before turning the key the rest of
the way. The boat’s exhaust pipes spit white puffs of smoke out the back end with
a throaty rumble that vibrated the dash. Paul’s heart melted at the beautiful
sound while his eyes scanned the lonely dock. Even in the storm, Wavy Gravy was
loud and wouldn’t take long to attract decomposing onlookers. After coughing some
more smoke out the back, Wavy evened out into a smokeless purr.

Paul turned to Wendy with his first real
smile in what felt like years. “How do you like me now?”

She threw her arms around him and
planted a wet kiss on his filthy cheek. “I like you a lot, and it’s good to see
your smile again.” Wendy hugged him tight, her heart beating against his.

He hugged her back, feeling guilty for
taking comfort in the arms of another woman. “Alright,” he said, drawing apart.
“Let’s go get the stuff from the car and untie this thing while we still can.”

☠

Once clear of the dock, Paul cranked the
wheel to the right and pressed the throttle forward too hard, making Wavy jump.
He stayed close to the shoreline in case he screwed something up and stalled
the boat. The last thing they needed was to drift out to sea as the coast guard
was no longer answering their phones. Glancing at Wendy in the seat next to
him, he gave it more
throttle
, sending the luxury boat
slicing through the rough water like a hot knife through butter. The wind
whipped at their hair and water sprayed their faces. Wendy laughed out loud,
hanging on with each long, gradual bounce.

A few miles later, Paul brought the boat
to a smooth stop and turned it off. His eyes toured the coastline. Water lapped
against the side of the boat. The combination of clouds and dusk turned Texas
into a blue-gray blob without a single light in any direction. He hit the
anchor button and the chain let out, smoothly plunging into the dark water
below. His gaze caught on the radio, pulse quickening in his ears. Lifting the
black handset from its cradle, he said a quick prayer. The boat was a huge
break and he hated to be greedy, but they would need more.

“Do you think it works?” Wendy asked, her
teeth chattering in the cold breeze.

There was a light
click
when he turned it on. Tiny bright lights lit up his face as
the boat rocked back and forth. He tried channel twenty-three – the one it was
already set on. “Hello? Is anyone out there?” Releasing the button on the
mic’s
side, they listened to the rain slow to a patter on
the roof, the radio casting a yellow glow across their faces.

No response.

Not even static.

He tried again. “Can anyone hear me? We
are off the coast of Texas, copy that.”

They traded a disenchanted look and Paul
began working his way up to channel thirty-seven with the same frustrating results,
grumbling under his breath.

Wendy turned for the steps. “Okay, I’m
going back downstairs. I’m freezing.”

“I’ll be right down,” he said, trying
another channel and then another. Using the webbing of his hand, he
squeegeed
his wet face and peered out over the water the
sky had turned dark and sinister, like they’d just entered a place where the
worst had yet to come. Defiantly, he spit into the ocean and a muffled sound
came through the radio, snatching his attention. His heart skipped a beat. He
turned up the volume and clicked the black handset. “Hello? Is somebody there?”
Paul let up on the button, eyes sliding to the shoreline. Someone coughed in
response, prickling his flesh. Tightening his distant gaze, he spoke in a slow clear
voice. “If you can hear me, we are in a boat north of Corpus Christi! Do you
copy?” He let up on the button, holding his breath, praying for one more
miracle
.

Silence answered and he could feel
someone watching him. He glanced downstairs to see if Wendy was standing there
but she wasn't. More coughing drew his eyes back to the radio. Someone yelled
something in the background that sounded eerily similar to:
Oh God, please!
A shrill scream
followed. Something shattered into pieces and everything went black. Paul’s
chest heaved beneath his wet coat. He rubbed water from his eyes, everything a
fuzzy blur. Lazy raindrops tap-danced on the rooftop as he waited for a
response that never came. He gripped the microphone tighter in his hand, face glowing
in the radio light, voice barely above a whisper. “Hello?”

Water slapped against the boat. A fish
jumped somewhere nearby.

He stared at the radio through unfocused
eyes, imagining the unimaginable. After a few more seconds of slow torture,
Paul angrily racked the microphone and turned off the radio, plunging him back
into the blue-gray. He turned to the empty horizon and stared for awhile, eventually
going downstairs with the hairs standing up on his arms.