This Would Be Paradise (Book 2) (4 page)

“Really, peeping Tim? That’s what you start with?” I placed a hand on my hip.

Geez, no shame with this guy.

He ignored my comment and prompted, “They come from a sick person? It looks like it’s been healed for a long time.”

These were a nosy bunch of people. “Yes, I got scratched by an infected woman months ago, when this all first started.”

“You’re immune.” He said it so casually.

“Don’t know about that. Maybe they have to actually bite you to infect you?” I shrugged as I gathered up my wet clothes.

“I’ve seen people turn from a mere fingernail prick by a sick individual.”

“Do I look like I work for the CDC? How would I know?”

He regarded me for second. “Thanks for helping out there and for rounding up those guys. They’re not the tightest team I’ve had.”

“Looks like they did okay to me.”

“You know how to use that?” His eyes flicked to my gun.

Oh, and on top of being nosy, they were rude.
Why do they think I can’t shoot?

“Thanks for your concern,” I said dryly. “But I was taught by the best.”

I felt like puffing out my chest.

“You know how to use an AR-15?”

“No idea what that is.” I swore this guy had ADHD or something.

The corner of his lips quirked upward. “It’s an automatic rifle. Mac was using one.”

I shook my head. “Nope. Only used handguns and a hunting rifle.”

“We could use another good shot here. Seems we’re running low on trained people and able bodies. When the rain stops, I can give you a lesson if you’d like.”

I chewed my lip. Clearly, he wanted to enlist me, and to be fair, they really did need more people willing to fight. But I needed to find John’s gun shop and then Hargrove. Staying here meant stepping toward permanence, and what if we never found our group? That wasn’t an option. However, maybe they would offer some resources if I stayed for a bit.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Let me know.”

He walked back into the hallway.

After hanging my clothes to dry in our room and taking a quick shower to warm up, thanks to the hookup Roy had finagled in one of the main level units, I spent the rest of the day with the others in the common area on high alert. The downpour didn’t let up until nightfall, and by then it was too dark for Chloe and I to leave.

Chloe was happy to have another kid to hang out with. They were playing snakes and ladders with erasers instead of the long-lost game pieces. Mac had managed to make some sort of canned bean salad for supper, which was actually pretty good. I should ask for some of his recipes. 

A couple of infected had made it to the apartment by the time it got dark. Tim easily dispatched them from the roof, never wasting a bullet. Tomorrow, there would be a round-up effort to clear the mass of bodies, and I was dreading it. My elbow had finally healed from my fall off the fence, and I wasn’t too keen on reinjuring myself.

“Looks like you’re stuck here another night, huh?” Roy grunted as he sat beside me on the couch.

“Looks like it.”

“Tomorrow’s gonna be fun. Dragging wet deadweight around all day.”

“Maybe we’ll leave tonight, get a head start,” I mused.

Roy chuckled, thinking I was joking. “You finally ready to tell me where you’re heading? Maybe we can help.”

“Still not ready.”

Roy shook his head. “Fine, but don’t be afraid to ask for help.”

As much as part of me wanted to tell Roy about John’s gun shop, I had a hard time trusting someone I’d just met. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy, which made keeping my plan to myself all the more difficult. But he had offered to help; I’d have to keep that in mind.

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” I said and meant it.

We decided to call it a night, and as we walked to our room, a lone shot reverberated through the building from the rooftop.

“Man, I’m out of shape,” Mac wheezed as he dragged another body to the truck bed.

“I could have told you that,” said José.

Mac shot him a glare and José smirked.

“Oh, that’s hilarious, Mr. Hair Gel,” Mac countered.

José’s grin fell into a scowl. I had a feeling they bantered like this often.

Tim had thrown us out here pretty much as soon as the sky lit up. When we started, rain puddles had been everywhere. Now, with the high-noon sun beating down on us, the puddles had evaporated. I was sweating from the heat and effort, my elbow groaning like an unoiled hinge. It was kind of worrying. I was too young to be having joint problems.

All the able bodies had been conscripted into corpse duty, minus the kids, of course. A lady as old as sixty was out here with us, which made me feel bad about complaining. She hadn’t said one grouchy remark all day.

Tim shared little information with us. After we’d rounded up all the bodies, he told us we would dump them in the primary school’s soccer field then use as little gasoline as possible to create a controlled burn. I wasn’t looking forward to that last part, imagining how awful the smell of burned flesh would be.

“Thank you everyone for your cleanup efforts,” Tim announced after we’d thrown the last body into the back of the Avalanche. “Please go rest and get something to eat. Roy, Karla, Bailey, and I will take it from here.”

I frowned when he included me in his plans. For all he knew, I was planning to leave right after this. Roy looked over at me, appreciation on his face. He must have thought I’d volunteered. By the time we finished burning the bodies, it would be too late to leave again. This stalling was becoming insidious. One day we’d look back and realize months had passed.

I removed my gloves and got into the truck with Roy at the wheel, and we took off after Tim, who was riding in the Avalanche.

“You guys do this often?” I asked as I massaged my elbow.

“Usually in groups of five or so.” Roy glanced at me. “We can get you a tensor bandage for your elbow when we get back.”

“That’d be great.”

“Did you injure your elbow falling down the stairs too?” Roy joked.

“Fence this time.”

“Sure, sure,” Roy said airily. “You sure are clumsy.”

I’d never noticed how predisposed to injuries I was until Roy pointed it out.

“I’m not clumsy. I’m—” I thought about it. “—accident prone.”

Roy made a disbelieving sound in response. I was about to argue my point when the school appeared in our sightlines. We followed the larger truck over the curb and into the backyard of the school. The grass was worn with tire tracks, and a burned smell, like meat that had fallen into the barbeque flames, hung in the air. The truck stopped in front of the soccer field, except they’d transformed the field into an outdoor crematorium. Various mounds of burned bodies sat in the center, ash coating the rest of the field.

I hadn’t realized how long I’d been staring until Roy patted me on my shoulder. “Come on. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can leave this place.”

I got out of the truck and the smell grew tenfold. Roy handed me a bandana to cover my face, and I tied it so it sat on the bridge of my nose. The fabric did reduce the smell a little.

First, Tim found pallets to place the bodies on so they’d burn better, and then we got to work dragging the bodies into a new pile.

Karla dragged one of the infected by its arm, and as she pulled, the limb ripped free from its decayed socket, muscles dangling like raw meat. She gagged as she picked up the severed arm and threw it onto the pile with its owner.

The middle-aged infected I was lugging lost his wallet, so I went back to retrieve it. I flipped open the generic brown leather wallet to see the smiling faces of a family with two young children. The license said this man had once been Robin Cruthers, age thirty-four and was a registered organ donor. Carefully, I placed the wallet in the corpse’s hand, making sure it didn’t slip out. We gathered various other articles from the infected that had been scattered during our hauling efforts and tossed them onto the pile of bodies.

The gasoline sloshed around in the canister as Tim approached the pyre. He poured a fair amount under the pallet and sprinkled the rest over the pile. The match came to life, and he tossed it at the bottom where he’d poured the most gas. Flames roared and the intensity of the heat forced us back. The fire climbed to the top of the pile like trails on a map. The rag couldn’t cover the smell anymore. I had to turn away or risk throwing up my breakfast.

“Go wait in the car. We just got to make sure the fire catches all over, and then we can leave,” Tim said.

I walked briskly to the truck; he didn’t have to tell me twice. The smell wasn’t as strong inside the vehicle cabin, but I was sure the smoke would eventually drift over. It wasn’t even the stench of burning meat that bothered me; it was the disgusting odor of burned,
rotting
meat. Roy joined me.

“The first time we did this, I threw up,” he admitted. “You’re doing better than I did.”

“It’s the smell that gets me,” I replied, trying to talk and breathe out of my mouth at the same time.

“That first time, I had to load a little girl’s body into the pile. She reminded me of my youngest daughter.” His voice was rough and he swallowed thickly. “It was hard.”

I was curious about the story behind what had happened to his other daughter and wife, but this wasn’t the time to ask. He was looking away from me, out the driver’s window. This was the only time he’d mentioned his other daughter.

Tim waved at us, the pyre casting dark clouds of smoke into the air. He left the field, got into his truck, and drove off. Roy and I followed. Instead of turning right on the road we had taken to the school, he continued straight, away from the apartment.

Roy squinted out the windshield. “Where’s he going?”

Tim led us to what appeared to be a golf range. The grass was badly overgrown, and the large netting was ripped and torn, pieces fluttering in the light breeze.

Roy’s face lit up. “Looks like you’re getting some automatic weapons training.”

I’d figured. Tim was very pushy in an indirect way and I really didn’t like that trait. I hadn’t agreed to this either, yet here we were. The parking lot was empty, and we stopped right in front of the clubhouse doors.

We reconvened at the Avalanche. The tips of the smoke clouds were visible in the distance. I wondered if it could be seen for miles, and if it would attract more people. Tim was busy pulling out weapons and a large duffle bag from the back of his truck. He handed me a large, black rifle that weighed less than I thought it would.

“This is an AR-15. This is what you’ll be using,” Tim said in a no-nonsense voice.

I raised an eyebrow. “Will I?”

He schooled his features, but not before I caught the brief flash of surprise.

“Being trained to use a weapon is a good thing. People used to jump at the chance for me to train them—especially now.”

Well, when he put it like that, I felt like an ungrateful teenager snubbing their parents’ advice. I just didn’t appreciate that he hadn’t consulted me on whether I’d like to participate.

“Fine, lead the way.” I gestured for him to continue.

They’d converted the small driving range into a shooting range. Targets were nailed onto stakes driven into the ground at different distances. I noticed the distinct lack of bullet holes in the targets. Shell casings littered the area. They rolled under my shoes as we walked to the place where we would shoot from. No one had thought to sweep them up. Karla and Roy stood farther back, observing. Having an audience didn’t instill confidence. Tim set down his large bag and took the rifle from me.

“Do I get some noise cancelling headphones or something?” I asked.

“No. You won’t be wearing them when you’re fighting a horde, will you? So it’s best that you get used to the sound.”

This was going to be loud.

Tim continued on as he inspected the AR-15. “When we’re done here, if we have time, I’ll show you how to clean the rifle.”

I didn’t even have a clue how to clean my handgun. John, in all his wisdom, had left Taylor to teach me how to clean my weapon, but he hadn’t been a very good teacher. Taylor had simply taken the gun from me and cleaned it himself, and I’d gladly let him. I realized how bad of a decision that had been, since I hadn’t learned anything.

“As I was saying, this is an AR-15. It’s a semiautomatic and a civilian-grade weapon. I’m starting you off with this one to teach you better control of the trigger. ‘Spray and pray’ will get you nowhere but stranded in the middle of a horde, with an empty magazine, so we’ll move on to the automatic M4 once we see how this goes. This magazine holds thirty rounds.” Tim jammed the black piece into the gun for emphasis. “Some hold more, but thirty is the most common. The barrel is usually stamped with what ammo you need, so this model uses 5.56 mm rounds.” More pointing at the gun. “There are adjustable front and rear iron sights for personalized use.”

At that, my eyes glazed over, and I wondered what Mac would be concocting for us to eat tonight. Tim must have sensed my mind drifting.

“Let’s see how you handle it.”

He was testing me. Nothing like pressure to improve your aim. I took the AR-15 from his outstretched hands. The gun was a pound or two heavier now that he’d loaded the full magazine into it. He showed me how to position the sights so they worked better for me. They were kind of similar to the ones on the handgun, only these were adjustable. I propped it up against the apex of my shoulder the same way I held my old hunting rifle, except this rifle was more dangerous.

“Is this the safety?” I asked, pointing to the left side of the gun, near the trigger.

“It’s called the selector switch, and yes, it’s on the lower receiver.”

I flicked it to
fire
and aimed for a middle-distance target. Taking in a deep breath, I pulled the trigger. The booming sound exploded in my ears; it was deafening. I’d be kicking Tim’s ass if I had hearing loss after this. I gritted my teeth and ignored the distracting noise that echoed for miles.

If I wanted to show off, I needed to hit the target. After ten rounds, I hit the one I was aiming for a couple of times. After a few more rounds, I could control the recoil without ruining my aim. The metal ping of bullets hitting the flat steel targets rang out with every other round. I was surprised I could hear it over the gunfire, but maybe I was just imagining it. When the rifle clicked empty, I lowered the gun and turned to Tim, his face revealing nothing. The only movement from him was the rubbing of his thumb along his jawline. It was unnerving.

“You learn quickly.”

“Only because I’ve been taught this before,” I said. “Well, with a handgun anyway.”

“Who taught you how to shoot?”

“One of my friends, John. He was in the military.” I lifted up the rifle. “The kick was less than I expected.”

Tim nodded. “The recoil on any rifle is more than that handgun you’re sporting, but the extra weight actually helps to mitigate most of it. You’re also holding on to two different grips while pulling the gun back against your inner shoulder, which controls it as well. It’ll be a lot different with the fully automatic though.”

We traded weapons. I guess I must have passed his entry-level test. The new rifle looked nearly identical to the AR-15.

“This is the M4, the cousin to the AR-15. It’s a fully automatic military weapon. You could technically turn the AR-15 into an automatic too, but if the police were still around, you’d be doing some jail time. This one also holds thirty rounds, and it
only
takes 5.56mm rounds. Try using the same rhythm as with the AR-15. Short, controlled bursts are what you want. Otherwise you’ll drain the magazine and be no further ahead. Shooting on full auto is hard at first, since the continuous recoil causes the muzzle to rise up, which ruins your aim.”

I found myself nervous holding the weapon—more so than I was with the AR-15. It could do so much damage with just one pull of the trigger. I swallowed and calmed my heart rate. Using my newfound knowledge, I flicked the selector switch and squeezed the trigger. The recoil jerked me backward when it didn’t stop firing and the gun muzzle lifted into the air. The bullets flew into the sky, far above my targets. With effort, I released the trigger, settling the gun back down, and turned to Tim.

“I don’t think I like this one.”

“Don’t feel too bad. You should have seen Roy when he first started. Try again.”

And so it went until my arm got sore from the weight and recoil of the unfamiliar automatic weapon. I had to set it down and stretch out my arm, my elbow acting up again.

Tim held his hand out. “Let me see if I can add a few pieces to make it easier for you to shoot.”

He attached some black cylindrical parts to the gun, one on top, and one underneath the muzzle a good eight or so inches in front of the trigger.

“I just added an optic scope to magnify your target and a vertical foregrip with a button release bipod.” He hit said button and two legs popped out.

“That’s some sniper shit right there,” I muttered. It looked too advanced for me.