Dying Days 4 Read online

  Dying Days 4

  Armand Rosamilia

  Edited by Jenny Adams

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without expressed written consent of the author and/or artists

  This book is a work of fiction. Names characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living, dead or undead, is entirely coincidental.

  Dying Days 4 copyright 2016 by Armand Rosamilia

  Cover Illustration copyright 2016 by Jack Wallen

  First printing June 2014

  Updated April 2016

  [email protected]

  http://dyingdayszombie.com

  Special Thanks to Special Gal, Shelly, who has helped me in so many ways, I feel like a simple mention on this page isn't going to be nearly enough… but it's a start, right?

  Margie Colton, Robert Chazz Chute, Mark Tufo and Joe McKinney for the kind words and edits and inspiration galore

  Jenny Adams, who took my first draft and beat it into shape

  Mom… the woman who got me into reading horror books, even though she refuses to read my zombie work… someday…

  The Dying Days series from Armand Rosamilia

  Highway To Hell

  Dying Days

  Dying Days 2

  Still Dying: Select Scenes From Dying Days

  Still Dying 2

  Dying Days 3

  Dying Days: Origins

  Highway To Hell 2

  Dying Days: Origins 2

  Dying Days 3

  Dying Days 4

  Dying Days 5

  Dying Days 4

  Chapter One

  There were two of the rotting fuckers, set on either side of abandoned cars with their backs to the dunes, waiting to ambush whoever came down the road. The only weapons they carried were their natural ones: teeth and fingers, but they were in the advanced stages and they wore clean clothes and the bloodstains had been washed away.

  And they were whispering back and forth across the stretch of open road between them, joking and laughing like there was nothing wrong in the world. One of them, the larger of the two, was scratching something into the sand with a small stick. They looked bored.

  Tosha Shorb noticed the chain running across the road between the cars. She'd been on this stretch of A1A for hours without a car coming by. What were they waiting for?

  She heard the engine the same time her two new friends did. They gave a quick thumbs up before squatting behind the cars. Tosha got comfortable in the dunes with her Bushmaster M16 A2 Carbine and was about to take both zombies out when she saw movement in the dunes on the opposite side, closer to the beach. At least four zombies were getting into position and two of them carried rifles.

  "Motherfuckers," she growled quietly. Now they were arming themselves. This was getting worse and worse each day. She'd had to abandon the tour bus when zombies began setting up road blocks like this. And about half of them were banding with others to hunt the living while the other half wanted to destroy both the undead and those still breathing. And there weren't many left still breathing.

  Three vehicles were coming down the road: a custom van with a hole cut out of the roof to allow the two gunmen easy access, a pickup truck with a dozen armed people piled in the back, and a black SUV in the rear.

  They were driving right into an ambush but Tosha moved her finger from the trigger. This wasn't her fight. She wasn't going to leave just yet, though. There might be food and supplies left over after the massacre. Luckily the zombies didn't worry about eating (except breathing people) or drinking. They also never seemed to tire and never slept. She'd observed some becoming inactive, just leaning against a wall or even sitting and staring into space. But their eyes didn't close. Ever.

  And they were healing. The gunshot wounds, severed limbs and stilted walk were going away, slowly but surely.

  There were a half a dozen zombies creeping down the dunes, from her side, in anticipation of the ambush and she instinctively put her finger back on the trigger. But pulling the trigger would alert every zombie in the area to her presence, and she didn't feel like dying today. Or any day soon.

  The other unnerving thing with these zombies was the fact they could sense people. She remembered being in a McDonald's storage room and two of them coming in, talking about her smell and trying to find her. They had but she had put a metal bar between both their eyes and crushed their skulls in for good measure. What was most disturbing were the smiles they wore as they attacked. They were showing emotions… except for pain. Tosha remembered the confusion on their faces as they were being killed yet again. As if they believed in their immortality.

  There were too many of them in the area and it didn't matter how armed these people were because they'd be ambushed any second.

  "It's not your fight," Tosha whispered to herself, but she kept her finger on the trigger and looked through the scope at each zombie as it got into position.

  Her red hair was tied back and she'd tossed off her shoes a few miles ago because they were ripped and it hurt worse than bare feet to walk in them. Her jeans were ripped in several places (luckily not in the crotch since she'd stopped wearing undies a few days ago) and so was her shirt. Her pale skin was burnt and she'd give anything for some makeup, a pair of sunglasses and a cold beer right now.

  Maybe these people had clothing. A pair of shades. A pair of thongs for her ass, which was getting rubbed raw by the jeans right now. Not your fight, she thought once again. Just fade away and go find a spot to sleep tonight.

  The convoy was getting closer to the chain and the car pileup and they were slowing down. She heard someone in the SUV yelling something and the SUV stopped.

  Tosha used the scope to look at the people in the SUV but she couldn't get a good look at any of them. There were at least four occupants but they had the windows up.

  As she watched, they began to back up, away from the cars in front of them, just as zombies swarmed over the dunes like ants.

  Shots were fired on either side and a man pitched off the back of the pickup truck and hit the ground. Everyone else leapt out and tried to take cover on either side, but there was nothing to hide under or behind, and the zombies began firing at them like fish in a barrel, while at least a dozen zombies ran down the sand and jumped onto the pinned down living.

  Tosha watched as the van tried to drive through the trap, but the chain was hit at about thirty miles per hour and slowed the van down, pulling the two cars on either side against it. The two original zombies scrambled onto the top of the van as it tried to back up, and both zombies fell into the open pit on the roof.

  The SUV kept backing away without anyone stopping to help or fire a shot.

  The living, from the pickup, put up a good fight, shooting at zombies and getting many headshots. The driver of the pickup managed to turn it around, doing a U turn on the soft shoulder of the road and running down two zombies.

  Just when it looked like they'd escape, a zombie shot the front tires and they both deflated, forcing the driver to overcorrect and end up smashing into a dune on the side of the road.

  Zombies shooting guns, Tosha thought. What is this dead world coming to now?

  She was once again reminded of ants because so many zombies appeared from over the dunes and she shuddered when she realized at least twenty had been hiding, buried in the sand on either side of the road, and now popped up, swiped sand from their bodies, and joined the attack.

  The people in the pickup truck didn't stand a chance. Another three shots were fired before the zombies dragg
ed everyone out of the truck and rounded up the survivors in the road, ripping them apart and stripping them of their flesh.

  Tosha turned away when she saw bloated sexual organs. These motherfuckers were sick. She wished she had a bazooka to blow up the entire lot of them in one fell swoop.

  The ocean was rough today despite it being so warm and not many clouds in the sky. She'd been working on her tan for too long and now she was burnt. She wondered if she'd ever just tan without it feeling like she was on fire.

  This beats the snow of Pennsylvania, she thought. She had no idea what month it was and Tosha had lost track of time since running from her home. All she knew was it was warmer here but filled with zombies, all seeming to march to the sea for whatever reason.

  If she could figure out what time of year it was, she could maybe head back north and arrive during the summer so it wouldn't be too bad. But she doubted a thousand mile trip back, after all the shit she'd had to endure getting to Florida, was in her future.

  A stray zombie appeared in the surf, one of the mindless ones. Tosha didn't remember the last time she'd seen a 'newer' zombie. As they'd matured and became cognizant, the zombies had taken to killing not only the living but the newer zombies as well.

  The horde of zombies on A1A was a rarity, and for that she was relieved. If they decided to stop killing one another and march across the country, the living would be killed quickly.

  A zombie appeared from the dunes not too far from where she was hiding and jogged down the beach, angling toward the new zombie.

  Seeing it run was jarring, as was the fact the zombie wasn't bloody, with gaping gunshot wounds and stringy hair or a missing jaw. It looked like a normal living and breathing person, jogging happily down the beach. Except… it wasn't breathing, and the zombies had an odd malevolent look in their gray eyes, another way to see they were really undead.

  But, from a distance, with zombies walking and talking like normal people, wearing nice clothes, driving cars and using weapons, opening doors and waving at you like they were friends, the danger was worse than ever. Even with so many older zombies eliminating the newer members of their sick society, it was worse.

  The zombie walked right up to the one coming out of the surf. Newer zombies couldn't sense anything but living, breathing people, and it did what they always do: walked right past the older zombie, who stepped behind and grabbed it by the neck.

  Tosha didn't want to see another massacre and had nowhere to turn her head without seeing death and decay.

  She closed her eyes.

  Chapter Two

  "I can smell the three of you up there… wait, is there a fourth? A baby, perhaps?"

  Darlene put her hands on her full belly and sighed. She could barely move on the bed and no matter what she did she couldn't get into a comfortable position. It had been like this for weeks.

  Murph, looking so frail sitting in the corner chair, wheezed as he slept fitfully, his head lolling back against the wall. In the weeks since their escape from the stilt houses, they'd found little shelter or food. Circling through the Palm Coast area had been a nightmare as more and more of the zombies began to talk and do things a living person would do. It would be harder and harder to know the difference between the zombies and the living soon enough.

  "There's only one of them," John Murphy said, glancing out the window. "He's standing on the porch."

  They were holed up in the upstairs apartment above Kokomo's Café in Flagler Beach, where (in better times long past) the spectacular view would allow one to see the ocean a block away and the tourists and locals in Veteran's Park, and enjoy the smell of good coffee from below.

  Now the only smell was death and smoke. The view was burnt buildings and Rorschach blood spatters on every surface.

  "Maybe he'll go away," Darlene said unconvincingly. It was only a matter of time before they were rooted out of another hiding place. It kept happening over and over, the baby like a beacon to these monsters.

  John looked back and gave her a faint smile. "We can't keep doing this." He glanced at his father on the chair and back to Darlene. "Neither of you can be moved. It was a bitch getting you up the stairs."

  "Little pigs, little pigs, let me in," the zombie called from below. He started laughing at his own joke. "Toss down the baby and let me play with it. Is it a boy or a girl? Does it look like its mommy or daddy? Does it have my eyes?"

  John went to the bed and kissed Darlene on the cheek. "Do we have anything I can kill it with?"

  She shook her head. "I'm out of ammo for the Desert Eagle and for the shotgun."

  "I'm out of arrows and bolts and haven't found anything to fashion new ones with. I need something… damn," John said and pointed at his sleeping dad. "A leg of the chair would do just fine."

  "Don't wake Murph. You know how pissed he gets," Darlene said. "And I don't want you going down there."

  "I have to. All this yelling will only bring more of them. And they aren't mindless anymore. This one will be expecting us. Remember the attack at Matanzas High School? They let me waste all my arrows and bolts and I only hit half the time. They aren't so easy to kill."

  "Seriously, are you coming down to let me in or not? This is just plain rude. Are you Yankees? Huh? Whatever happened to Southern hospitality? I demand some respect as well as a sweet tea and a slice of key lime pie," the zombie said and laughed loudly at his jokes.

  "I'm going to kill him," John said and shook his dad, sleeping on the chair.

  The old man, despite his advanced age, came up swinging and John had to hold him down and tell him he wasn't being attacked.

  When Murph finally relaxed, he winked at Darlene and tipped his dirty baseball cap. "I still got some fight in these fists yet. That'll be the last warning you get, John John. Next time I break your dang nose."

  "I need the chair," John said.

  "You can't have it."

  "I need it."

  "For what?" Murph asked.

  "I'm going to break a leg off and kill a zombie with it."

  Murph stood slowly and stretched. "I guess it's as good an excuse as any. But now you owe me a seat. And I'll bother you until I get one. Understood?"

  "Yes, Dad," John said and winked at Darlene. He picked up the chair and smashed it against the floor, pulling a jagged chair leg off of it. "I wonder if they still need to be killed by smashing in or jabbing into their heads."

  "I wouldn't take the chance," Darlene said. "They're regenerating. Even the ones we thought had obvious head trauma were healing. If we had the time and resources, I'd say we burn all of them. But we don't have the option."

  John hefted the wood in his hand. "I know what the option is right now. I'll be back." He started to walk to the door but stopped and broke another two legs off the chair, handing one to Murph and one to Darlene without a word.

  He opened the door a crack, expecting the zombie to attempt to push through, but the stairs down were empty. The door on the bottom was still intact, as well.

  "Good luck and be safe," Darlene whispered.

  He couldn't look back at her. He needed to focus. John put a foot down on the first step and heard it creak like a gunshot. He tried to balance his weight as he put his left foot down but the next step did the same. These wooden steps had taken a beating in this Florida weather over the years, and without air conditioning or a heater to regulate the temperature, the wood was warping at an alarming rate.

  Even without the threat of zombies, the building would eventually collapse in on itself and be too dangerous for them to stay. John wondered what he was going to do with Murph and Darlene if they had to flee again. He didn't think they could at this point.

  He creaked down to the door, knowing the zombie knew he was coming. He decided to get this over with, unlocking the door and kicking it open. John led with the jagged piece of wood, shielding his eyes from the sun.

  The zombie wasn't standing on the deck anymore and the door to Kokomo's Café was wide open. John knew it
hadn't been more than a few minutes ago when he looked out the window.

  John looked around to make sure the zombie wasn't faking him out and hiding around the corner or crouching next to the deck.

  "I'm in here," he heard the zombie say from inside the former café.

  John could do nothing but walk to the door and look inside. The zombie was sitting on a chair next to the counter, right hand playing with shards of glass from the broken pastry cooler.

  "When's the last time you had a good meal, buddy?"

  John stiffened when the zombie turned to him and smiled, his steely eyes locked on John's. He lifted the chair leg in front of his chest.

  The zombie laughed. "What's your name?"

  "Huh?"

  The zombie plucked a large shard of glass from the cooler. "My name is Earl."

  "Uh, I'm John."

  The zombie laughed. "I'm just kidding. Don't you remember the show? I love saying that, right before I kill someone and strip their flesh from their bones while they scream. Such a sweet sound."

  John moved three paces closer. "Get up so I can prove you wrong."

  "Mark is my real name. I was born in Maine."

  John hesitated. "Maine? Where?"

  "Swanville. Ever heard of it? Maybe someday I'll go back, but I am so enjoying the warmer weather."

  John had no idea where Swanville was in Maine and if it was a real place or a nickname for something else, but he'd heard Darlene talk about Dexter and maybe Bangor. "Why are all of you zombies coming south?"

  Mark shrugged and continued to play with the glass shard. "I can't really say. It's like I was being compelled to come south. I can't say because I don't remember anything about walking to Florida. One minute I was driving to the hardware store and then stopped at a red light. A car plowed into my rear end and when I got out I remember a mob surrounding me. The next thing I remember was the sun on my face. And being really, really hungry."