This Would Be Paradise (Book 2)-A Zombie Novel

Chapter 1

I had that dream again; the one where I was stumbling around in the desert, no idea of where I was going. The heat was bearing down on me, drawing out my endless thirst. I used to chalk the dreams up to watching The Mummy one too many times as a kid. Even as an eight year old I could see that Brenden Fraser was a hunk. But I no longer thought that was the cause.

No, the endless daunting future hung over my head like a guillotine. It was the result of my nerves slipping into my sleep. I had a plan. Well, maybe a plan was being generous. Driving towards a long shot was more appropriate. John's gun shop was my current goal. Having a goal in life helped to keep me centered. There was a time when I was more than happy to flounder, unsure of what I should do in the future.

Chloe and I had been hunkered down in this house in Gibson for just over a week now. A week since I had taken a life. Didn't cops get at least a month off after shooting a perp?

Right now, time didn't look like the answer. I couldn't tell Chloe about what I had done, so I've been keeping it to myself. According to her, I've taken to talking and sometimes yelling in my sleep. This was a new development. I was a light sleeper, but I never so much as made a peep before. One of my ex-boyfriends used to check to make sure I was still breathing at night.

I didn't need a shrink to tell me I wasn't handling it well. I would sometimes dream of that night, unconsciously forcing myself to relive it. It was like a movie reel loop and I was continually unable to change the outcome.

What would the others think of me now? They would be disgusted no doubt. I would be. But perhaps John would be a little more sympathetic. He had killed before, right in front of my eyes. Two of Riley's goons. Did it matter if the person deserved it? I'd like to think it did. I really could use John here to help me get through this.

I hugged my knees to my chest. I was sitting on the couch propped against the front door. It was late at night and I had jerked awake in a cold sweat. Chloe was lying on the mattress we brought down, still fast asleep.

After that day, she had started talking to me again. I think she has forgiven me for my shitty way of handling her grievous wound. The antibiotics had started to kick-in and the wound no longer had off-colored veins running from it like melted wax.

For the first few days she was really sick. A fever had broken out and it scared the shit out of me. She was shaking and deathly pale, with sweat constantly coating her skin. All the food that she had eaten came right back up. I wasn't the praying type, but I prayed that day.

Chloe's little body was shaking so bad that the blanket wrapped around her rippled. Dark circles hung under her eyes like crescent moons, the rest of her face was colorless. I felt her forehead and it was burning. I dug through the bags and found some Tylenol to help reduce the fever.

"Bailey," she rasped. "I feel really bad."

I had to help hold her head up to get her to drink some water; I had absolutely zero experience in caring for a sick person. She sputtered and returned to her shivering. She had just eaten a few canned peaches and immediately threw them up, so I grabbed a bowl from the kitchen for her to retch in. I hadn't noticed how badly off she was when she ran outside to meet me, but once we were settled back inside the house, it became clear. I had to goad her into trying to swallow the pills I had brought back.

By the time night fell, she was sleeping fitfully. I made sure to give her more pills before she fell asleep. Maybe if I just pumped her body full of antibiotics, it would ward off the sickness. I ran my hand through my hair, just as Ethan used to do. I couldn't catch a break. What would I do if I lost Chloe? I didn't even want to think about it; my stomach churned at the thought.

I looked to the ceiling and prayed that she would make it through this. I said I would forgive all the shit that happened to me over the last few months if someone up there would just see Chloe past the sickness. We would be square. Even. Of course I got no answer, but I'd like to think someone up there took me up on my offer.

I dozed off; half lying on the bed Chloe was situated in. When I woke up, her shivers had stopped, but she still had a fever. I shook her awake and had her take more pills and water. Thank god she wasn't allergic to any medication; I hadn't even thought to ask.

I was used to being scared for myself, but that night I learned what it was like to be truly scared for someone else's life. It took a couple of days of me force feeding her the pills, but eventually her health returned. She was able to keep food down and her strength started to come back.

So here I was, sitting on the couch wide awake struggling with what to do. Chloe was well enough to travel, but was I? It would be just her and I on the road trying to head back towards New Orleans. I deeply regretted coming here for Mardi Gras and wished to hell that I had not given in to Zoe's celebration idea. The ugly face of resentment was starting to show through.

I could be home right now, with my family and at least know if they were alive or not. Instead, I was an entire country away from them, in an unfamiliar place, dependent on people I hardly knew. In the grand scheme of things, how well did I know any of our companions?

I scrubbed my hands down my face trying to stop my train of thought. I needed to go over the plan again. While Chloe was recuperating, I had made another run to the general store for supplies and syphoned the gas from the neighboring vehicles. If I had to guess, I'd say we had about two more tanks worth. Hopefully, that would be enough to get us to John's gun shop just outside of New Orleans. There was enough food and water to last us about one week, granted I monitored it. We could probably scavenge some more supplies along the way, if need be.

I would rather make a straight shot for the shop, but as much as I didn't feel it at the moment, I was still human. I needed sleep, so finding a secure place along the way was also a priority. There were so many variables, so many uncertainties. I had bit my lip so much, that I tasted blood. This wasn't some fun road trip I was planning; any details left out could spell death. And I hadn't come this far to be next on the chopping block.

"Bailey?" a groggy Chloe muttered from her bed.

"Yeah?"

The bruising on my neck had started to turn that sickly yellow color, the one that let you know it was healing. I could speak without pain now, but my voice still came out like I hadn't drank any water in days and smoked two packs a day. Another souvenir of Riley, as if the trauma of killing him wasn't enough. Every time I spoke, would I be reminded of him?

"Why are you up again?"

"Can't sleep."

Through the dim moonlight I could see her small outline look away.

"Is it because I got so mad at you?"

"No, Chloe, that's not it."

"I'm sorry I got so mean, I know you were just helpin'."

"It's fine. You have nothing to worry about."

The double meaning in those words was only evident to me. She seemed to stare at me for a while, like she was trying to tell if I was serious or not. Then she said something I wasn't expecting.

"Thank you."

I nodded, "You're welcome."

"Are we leavin' tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Well then, you better get to sleep," she said sternly and for the first time in a week, I cracked a small smile.