Dead Series (Book 3): A Little More Alive (17 page)

DAY TWO THOUSAND
ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY-ONE

P
aul hosed sudsy water from the hood of a black Trans
Am, freeing the screaming chicken to spread its wings and proudly bask in the late
afternoon sun. The car was built in 1977 and looked brand new, inside and out.
One of the few things they came across during the purge that he clung to with
both hands. A barn find that would make any collector jealous. Besides, he had
to put something in the detached three-car garage looming in the backyard
behind him. Water sprayed the glass T-tops, creating a rainbow that hovered
over the car like a guardian angel. Releasing the handle and stopping the
spray, he turned off the spigot against the side of the house, his stomach
growling.

“She’s lookin
good, Paulie!”

He turned to the similar
styled house across the street and waved to Billy, squinting against the sunshine
and ignoring the lone straggler meandering through an overgrown yard of one of
the unfinished houses outside the cast-iron fence. Today was Bob’s day. The dead
could have tomorrow. “So is yours,” he shouted back, coming around the TA and
being extra careful not to bang the Beretta PX4 Storm strapped to his right
thigh against the glistening paint. He’d pulled that rookie move once before
and finding the perfect shade of black turned out to be a royal pain in the ass
that nearly cost he and Curtis their lives.

Billy met Paul in
the middle of the sun-splashed street, glancing over his shoulder at the silver
Corvette Stingray shining in his driveway. “Got it up to a hundred and sixty-five
yesterday.”

“Geez,” Paul
breathed out, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “After
everything we’ve been through over the last six years, you’re going to kill
yourself in a car accident.”

“Hey man, don’t
even joke around about something like that. That’s bad mojo.” He looked up and
down the quiet street, eyebrows drawing together and waves crashing in the
background. “Have you seen Curtis around lately?”

Paul shook his
head, ignoring the way the dead man outside the gate was now just standing
there staring at him. “Not since yesterday morning.”

“Dude was supposed
to stop by and help me with the NOS.”

“NOS?”

“Yeah, you know,
nitrous oxide.”

Arching an eyebrow
at Billy, a dog started barking at something off in the distance. “Nitrous
oxide? Really?”

Billy
shrugged. “Him and T-Bone found some tanks in this low-rider shop in Tijuana
yesterday. Cleaned the place out.”

“Tijuana?”

“Yeah,
and now that we’ve got Interstate 5 pretty much cleared out to L.A., Curtis
thought we could make the trip even faster with NOS.” Billy blinked blankly at
Paul. “Plus it’s fun as hell.”

Paul
slapped him on the shoulder, noticing the straggler had disappeared somewhere.
“See you at the barbeque tonight.”

“Can’t
wait, man. I’ve been dreaming about ribs all day. Bob’s got that smoker smelling
up the entire neighborhood.”

“Slow
and low, Billy-boy. Slow and low.” Paul turned for the four bed/three bath
house that warmed his heart and scared him to death at the same time. Turning
his head, he yelled over his shoulder. “Don’t forget the blue widow brownies.”

Billy
laughed, backing toward his home. “Like that would ever happen. You know I’ve
got a sweet tooth!”

“Which
is why I haven’t had a single cookie in the past two years!” a woman’s voice sang
out.

Paul
waved at Annaliese who stepped out onto the front porch with a glass of white wine
and her red hair sailing on the salty breeze. “Get a safe,” he yelled back.

“Jolly
Ranchers, that’s all he leaves me!” She smiled, giving Billy a kiss on the lips
when he stepped up onto the porch.

Grinning,
Paul continued across the street, thin eyes scanning the neighborhood as he
went, watching a spattering of people come and go from their new homes. Performing
his job. His duty. It was quiet. The kind of quiet that comes from years of
trying not to draw the dead’s unwanted attention. His team, over a thousand
strong now, were beaten dogs, trained into a subdued nature that weighed on
their shoulders after hiding in a hallway closet for three and a half hours while
four dozen stiffs stumbled through on their way to God knows where. For the
most part, the dead traveled in larger packs now, gathering and moving like
swarms of angry locusts, devouring anything in their path. That’s what Brian
called them.

Swarms
.

It
made them easier to spot from afar but left zero room for error. One twist of
the ankle and they’d be on you like a decomposing tornado. Outside of a few
exceptions, only the smart ones were left, skin and bones, hungry and methodic.
They set invisible traps like patient spiders. The last person to trip one of
those silk threads was Louis Rodriguez – a forty-two-year-old Los Angeles cop
who thought he’d seen it all until he stepped on a bamboo rug with the floor
dug out beneath it. The fall shattered his ankle. The things ate his flesh.
That fatality was four months ago and there was no doubt that statistic would,
one day, begin to rise again. Sometimes Paul wondered if those things out there
were breeding.

Dumping
a bucket of dirty water into the freshly cut grass, he pushed everything from
his mind. It was good to take a break from the war. They had to stop…for just a
minute. After putting a sizeable dent in the undead population over the years,
it didn’t take long to realize how many more it would take for total
eradication. This group would never see that, even the children. Not in this
lifetime. In reality, they were always punched in. Always on guard. Always
ready to run. Brian was right about the sarin gas. It worked for a while, but
the undead’s respiratory system was changing with time. Decomposing. Yet,
somehow, even without breath to fill their lungs, they still walked. Still
craved. Still kept coming.

Setting
the bucket by the hose, Paul filled his own lungs with a sweet smelling breath.
Flowers bloomed in their beds and the smell of barbeque mixed with the ocean
protecting their backs. This was his first summer in San Diego and from here,
you would hardly know anything had happened. Hardly know the world had turned
upside-down. They spent over five years doing the best they could and, despite
the cast-iron fence surrounding the massive gated community, he was still on
edge. Still saw things that weren’t really there. Still just as broken as
everyone else. The Trans Am’s left headlight winked at him as he passed by and grabbed
a shammy hanging from the handlebars of a matte black Harley that was brand new
and six and a half years old at the same time. Since planting roots here six
months ago, Paul had put three thousand miles on it and they didn’t make em
like that anymore.

And
they never would.

Inside
the house, the smell of a cinnamon candle waited to greet him. The
air-conditioner licked at his wet skin. He tossed the rag on the kitchen island
and strolled down the long hallway leading to the bedrooms in back, eyes
caressing the framed photographs adorning the light gray-painted walls. Leaning
in the doorway of the last room on the right, he smiled at Stephanie, a fond
look softening his eyes. She smiled back, rocking in the chair and returning
her attention to the baby cradled in her arms.

“God,
she’s getting so big.”

“I
know and she’s not even six months old yet. She’s going to be tall like you,”
she said, helping the little one hold a bottle to her mouth. “I wish she would
stop growing. She’s just too cute.”

“Have
you tried putting a brick on her head. I heard that works.”

“I
think that’s an urban legend.”

“Google
it.”

Her
subsequent laughter tapered off into a long sigh that drifted into one of those
nostalgic moments of silence that everyone got these days. The ones where you
knew some forlorn memory of the past was about to rear its ugly head and remind
you just how far backwards you’d gone. “I would so give your Trans Am for just
one more Jennifer Aniston movie.”

“Wait,
my
Trans Am?”

“We
got so cheated! Now I have to watch
The
Break-Up
over and over again.”

Paul
laughed and crossed the room, kissing her on the lips. “Don’t forget about
Leprechaun
.”

She
batted her mischievous eyes at him, slowly rocking back and forth. “That too.”

His
eyes drifted to the baby, her sucking sounds melting the hardness that had once
threatened to overtake his heart. Kissing her on the forehead, he inhaled the
scent of lotion and formula floating from her soft skin. “I’m going to hop in
the shower before we head out to Bob’s.”

“Why’s
he grilling for everyone on his birthday anyway?”

Paul
shrugged. “That’s his thing,” he said, heading for the master bath.

“Hey.”

He stopped
and turned, her thin eyes pulling him back into the room. “Why don’t you kiss
me like you mean it this time.”

The
ghost of a grin lifted one corner of his lips. Bending over her, a sudden noise
in the living room made him spin around so fast his sidearm knocked a small
lamp from a table. It hit the floor and shattered into pieces. Footsteps
thundered down the hallway as Paul peeled the Beretta from its skin before the
baby could even begin to cry. He took aim, pointing at whatever was about to
burst into view because this neighborhood has a very strict rule about
knocking. Spreading his legs, he readied his body to absorb the kick like it
had come to know and expect.

Stephanie
stopped rocking and the baby started crying. “Paul!”

The
footsteps came harder.

Louder.

Closer.

Setting
his jaw, he controlled his breathing, which had become second nature to him after
all these years. When Jack burst into the room and shook water from his oily coat,
Paul blew out a calming breath and slowly lowered the weapon. Turning to his
wife, he spread a sheepish smile as the lab sat down and panted on the
oval-shaped rug in front of the crib. “Sorry,” he said, holstering his trusty
sidekick.

She
could only shake her head and bite back a smile before trying to get Shelly to
stop crying. Stephanie wasn’t mad. No, she knew this was the world they lived
in now and they could get a new lamp anywhere. They were all haunted by the
past and this was as good as it gets. On a nice night, with the upstairs
windows open to let in a cool breeze, he could sometimes hear the neighbors
screaming themselves awake in the middle of the night. Could easily imagine
them finding their sheets soaked in a cold sweat because he’d been there too. He
watched Shelly calm to a murmur of soft cooing noises that threatened to burst
his heart. He loved the two of them more than anything and sometimes he felt guilty
for bringing a baby into this world. It was selfish and terrified the shit out
of him but if they didn’t, one day the lights would go out and, this time,
never come back on. He hadn’t seen Sophia or Dan for over three years now and
it was clear they were on their own. His dead friends had done all they could
to help them win the war before moving on to their next life. He still thought
about them a lot, especially Sophia and her green eyes that sparkled like
emeralds in the sun when she laughed. One day, they would meet again. Of that
he was certain.

Stephanie
flashed him a warm smile that brightened her eyes and tickled his insides. Paul
smiled back, his heart warming as she snuggled Shelly in her loving arms. The
smell of cinnamon inflated his chest and seeing the two of them together like
this made it all worth it.

Made
him feel almost whole again.

Part
of something else.

A
little more alive.

The End

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For fans of
Salem
and
The Conjuring
,
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Floodwater
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I hope you’ll check out the extended sample of
Floodwater
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Thank you again…and stay out of the rain.