This Would Be Paradise (Book 2) (3 page)

I awoke to the sound of feet running up and down the hallway. I shot up, the dizziness taking a second to dissipate. Dim light shone through the cracks between the window and the upturned table, allowing me to see—barely.

“Bailey?” Chloe appeared from the bedroom, rubbing at her eyes. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I don’t know,” I said as I got up and looked out the window.

The sky was a gnarled mass of blue-tinged clouds. In the last few months, I’d seen only a handful of rainy days. Why did today have to be one of those days? Were I the type, I’d say it was a sign. Luckily I didn’t believe in that stuff. A burst of gunfire yanked my view to the ground, where I spotted the reason for the commotion.

Infected littered the surrounding streets. They ambled toward the apartment in unhurried numbers. Roy was on the street, showcasing an automatic weapon. Two others were out on the street with him. I ran to my bag and rummaged for my handgun. It was loaded with a full magazine, and I pocketed some extra bullets—just in case. I needed my axe, which I’d stupidly left in the car. I didn’t want to freak anyone out by bringing in the intimidating weapon. The term “axe murderer” existed for a reason.

“Stay here.”

“But Bailey—”

“This isn’t negotiable.”

She looked at me as if she had every intention of sticking her tongue out, but instead nodded stiffly. I slid the chain lock out, twisted the deadbolt, and exited the stuffy apartment. As I ran to the stairs, I noticed all the apartment doors were closed. I took the stairs two at a time until I hit the bottom, almost knocking over Elaine.

“Help me round everyone up!” she demanded.

“You do that. I’m going outside to help with the infected.” I inched around her.

“Do you even know how to use that?” Elaine eyed the gun in my hand with a look of superiority.

“Care to find out?” I wasn’t in the mood to pretend to be pleasant. “Perhaps you should leave the work of taking care of the infected to the people who know how to defend themselves.”

With a glare, she turned away from me and headed to the next floor. We had better things to do than compare cup sizes. I ran down the hallway and found the doorman gone from his post. He must be one of the two backing Roy up. The door behind the desk was wide open, revealing their stash of weapons.

I looked around for any witnesses and let myself in. The room was the size of a small storage closet, with metal shelves lining the walls. The stash included boxes of bullets, guns, and various melee weapons. Clearly this room should be locked up tight, but the guard was MIA. I was sure they wouldn’t mind me using something if it was to help.

I scanned the shelves, my eyes passing over the AK-47 and other automatic weapons. I’d be no use with those. I nabbed a shiny, metal bat and extra 9mm ammo. I exited the storeroom and pushed open the front doors, fat raindrops greeting me. The burst of automatic gunfire echoed in the streets, spurring on the infected. Roy and the others were too afraid to get any closer, and their fear showed in their aim. They were wasting their ammunition, the bullets sailing through the fray.

An infected crept up from the side of the building, the rain cleaning off its haggard face. Its nose had been chewed off and part of its scalp was torn, hanging like a bad toupee blown askew by the wind. It didn’t notice me. Perhaps the rain was obscuring my smell. It headed toward one of the guards who had his back turned.

I ran to the infected and shoved it from behind. It flew to the pavement face first, and I wasted no time in bashing its head in. The guard spun around, alerted by the commotion, and nodded at me when he saw the infected on the ground. I recognized him as the chef from yesterday. He looked different with a rifle in his hand instead of serving tongs.

I didn’t worry about cleaning off the bat; the downpour would clean it for me. It was like a veil had formed, obscuring the encroaching infected and blurring their outlines, giving them the appearance of dark shadows approaching in the night.

“Is this everyone who can fight?” I yelled over the rainstorm.

“Pretty much, unless you want to hand the old ladies an automatic rifle.” He held up his gun for emphasis.

That episode of
South Park
where the AARP took over flashed through my head, and I was helpless not to laugh. Instead of looking at me like I was insane, the chef smiled.

“What about the others from the roadblock?” I asked.

“We tried radioing them, but the storm is interfering with our walkie-talkies.” He squeezed the trigger and a burst of bullets shot into the nearest bunch, taking only one down.

“Can’t they hear the gunfire?” I yelled.

“In this rain? Unlikely.” More bursts of bullets.

“You’re not doing any good with that,” I said. He narrowed his eyes, so I amended my words. “What I mean is that we can’t do much in the aiming department from this far back. Not to mention the visibility is shit.”

“Well then, what do you suggest?” Sarcasm laced his voice.

“Grab a melee weapon.” I waggled the bat as if he had no idea what “melee” meant.

“But then we have to get closer!”

“That’s kind of the point. They’re hard to miss when they’re right in front of you.”

“That’s how you get bitten, miss.”

We were wasting time standing around, arguing, so I decided to make a run for Roy, who was our lone frontline infantry. I yelled his name as I approached. When I got close enough, he jumped and turned. I ducked in case he hadn’t released the trigger.

“Never sneak up on someone with a gun!” he bellowed.

“I was yelling your name!” I was offended he thought I was that stupid. “I guess you didn’t hear me.”

His face fell. “I think we’re screwed. Maybe we should go inside and hold the fort.”

“That would be fine if there were only a few of them, but I don’t think that old apartment building can take a horde of them banging on the doors, trying to get inside.”

The chef had joined us on the frontline, as had the other guard I recognized as the doorman, José.

“So what’s the plan?” The chef looked at me. He’d ditched the assault rifle for a crowbar.

“We go Babe Ruth on their asses.”

“I don’t think we should get too close. I’ve seen what those things are capable of,” Roy said.

“Well, no offense,” I started, not having the time to sugarcoat my words, “but you guys aren’t doing very well with those guns. You’re just wasting bullets.”

Roy grinned. “Never said I was handy with them. Now give me a hammer and you’ll see what I can do.”

“Will the butt of your gun work?” I asked.

“It’ll have to.”

We descended on the nearest infected like we had a grudge. Roy used the butt of his rifle to bash in heads, and the chef used his crow bar to whack the infected off their feet and then he stabbed their heads with the narrow end.

I swung at one and hit a solid part of its skull. My arms vibrated from the impact, almost causing me to drop the metal bat. The thing stumbled backward but didn’t fall. With a growl, he turned back toward me, allowing me to see my handiwork. The corner of his skull was caved in, making his head look like someone had taken the first slice of a cake.

As I wound up for another hit, the chef bounded toward the infected and shoved the sharpened end of the crowbar into the back of its head, dropping him as fast as the rain was falling. I thanked him. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to have someone watch your back.

After ten minutes, our enthusiasm waned. We’d run so far that the sheets of rain completely obscured the building. Fallen bodies were all over the street but more were still approaching in the distance.

“I don’t know how long we can keep this up,” huffed the chef.

My shoulders shook with the deep breaths I took, and I inhaled raindrops with each lungful. My hair was matted to my face, and I had to wipe the strands out of my eyes. The rain was making it hard to hold on to the bat, my grip continually slipping.

“We made a better dent than you did with the guns,” I said.

“But now—”

The sound of rapid gunfire erupted in the distance and the roar of an engine drifted our way. A large Chevy Avalanche came into view, screeching to a halt a few car lengths from us. Tim, one of the guards from the interstate entrance welcoming committee, was sticking out of the window with his large automatic weapon propped on the roof.

“Oh look, skinny Rambo’s here,” the chef muttered, sounding like a case of sour grapes.

I don’t know if “skinny Rambo” was accurate; Tim looked a lot more like Edward Norton than Stallone.

“Anyone injured?” Tim yelled from his perch.

“No, but we’re pretty damn tired,” Roy yelled back as he approached the truck.

Karla was at the helm, the windshield wipers swiping as fast as they could.

“You guys did a pretty good job.” Tim said this as if he were commenting on the weather—which was shitty. “You should head back inside.” He banged the truck’s roof. “Drive down the street!”

Karla hit the gas, jarring Tim, but he managed to stay sitting. They sped off into the distance toward the approaching infected, the rain blanketing them from our sights. The popping of gunfire continued.
Maybe he has this covered.

“Come on, let them handle the rest.” Roy led us back to the apartment.

Once inside, people bombarded us in the lobby.

“Did you take care of the sick ones?”

“How many more are out there?”

“Can they get in?”

“Listen up!” Roy boomed. “We took care of the closest ones. Tim and Karla are in the truck, taking out the rest. Until the rain clears, we can’t do much more.”

Someone handed me a towel. The fabric was scratchy but dry. I wrung my hair out and patted down my skin. My clothes were soaked through and clung to my skin underneath. The chef turned to me as he towel-dried his own wet hair.

“By the way, people call me Mac, and before you say anything, no, it’s not from the Big Mac. And if you try to be cute and call me pet names like Chef Boyardee, good luck getting served!” he warned.

“I would never.” I totally would. “Thanks for having my back out there.”

The towel over his head muffled his response. “That’s the whole point of community, isn’t it? To have each other’s backs?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Chloe bounded up to me with Amanda on her heels. The girl broke off to run to Roy.

“You okay?” Chloe asked, her eyes wide.

“Yep, just a little cold.” I smiled down at her.

“They’re back!” the doorman announced as he opened the door.

A drenched Tim and a barely wet Karla walked through the door. Mac stood a little straighter, and I suspected he had a thing for Miss Eastern European Karla.

“Well?” Roy prompted.

Tim ignored him and instead addressed the crowd. “We’ve secured the area. There’s nothing more we can do until the rain clears. Once it does, we’ll send out another party to clean up the mess and get a better handle of what’s out there. For now, return to your rooms and keep the light and noise to a minimum.”

People scurried back to their rooms as ordered. Tim was definitely military but didn’t lord it over everyone. I doubted he liked acting as the leader and having people look to him for answers. Not that I could blame him—leading people was a big responsibility. Maybe that’s why he let Roy head the pack.

Tim walked by us without another word, Karla right behind him. Elaine, who’d been peering at us the whole time, her expression unreadable in a sea of concerned faces, approached us with her hands full.

“Here are some dry clothes. They should fit you.” She passed me the folded clothes.

“Thanks.”

“You can use my office to change in.”

I turned to Chloe. “I’ll be right back. Meet you in the common room, okay?”

“’’Kay. Go get dry before you catch a cold,” she scolded.

I put my hands up in defeat. “I’m going.”

When I got to Elaine’s office, I closed the door behind me and unfolded the clothes she’d handed me. They were clearly too big, even though she’d said they should fit.
That bitch.

I guess they would have to do since I’d left the rest of my packed clothing in the car, thinking we were only staying for the night. Looked like our trip would be postponed until the rain cleared.

With a deep exhale, I stripped off the sopping clothes and tossed them aside. They landed on the desk with a wet splat, spraying water everywhere.
Oops, clumsy me.

After I dried off some more, I pulled the baggy shirt over my head. Just as I got my head through the hole, the door burst open. I whirled around, trying to yank my shirt down fast.

“Ever heard of knocking?” I demanded as I struggled like a drunk with the shirt.

Tim looked at the ground. “Sorry about that.”

I quickly pulled on the pants. “There, I’m done.”

Tim looked directly at the spot on my torso where my scratches were hiding under my new shirt. “Where’d you get those marks from?”