Dying Days: Origins 2 Page 10

  He thought of the girls, who would never be safe if someone knew of their hiding place. They’d wait him out and shoot Chris as he exited, leaving the girls alone.

  Step after step Chris took, keeping his eye out for another hunter or anything else. He hadn’t seen a zombie yet but that didn’t mean they weren’t close.

  It was a zombie.

  Chris cleared a copse of trees and got a clear look at the hunter. Orange cap and vest, ripped pants and decaying face and arms, still gripping the rifle. It was stumbling over the uneven ground, precariously tripping every few feet. And heading right at where the shelter was. Chris hoped it was pure coincidence and nothing had alarmed or called to the monster.

  I have to protect my family, Chris thought. I need to keep it as far away from my daughters as possible. I need to dispose of it quickly before others are drawn to it.

  Chris felt sick to his stomach knowing zombies wandered in these remote woods. Even out here he wasn’t truly safe. And the girls wouldn’t be able to come outside when it got nice and play like normal children. He knew they were fine right now because the bunker was new and they’d found a box of pens and printing paper, but at some point they’d want to leave. The fact they’d also found a Playstation 3 and a box of games helped, too. He wasn’t about to get them started on schoolwork or chores or anything right now, but in the future he’d have to start thinking further than the next couple of days.

  He took a step and crunched dead leaves underfoot.

  The zombie turned and looked right at him, changing its stride and angling right to where he stood.

  Was he more than a zombie? Chris wanted to dispatch him quickly and quietly. But there was a rifle in the zombie’s hands, even though he wasn’t aiming it.

  Chris pulled a knife from the sheath on his side and went to swing his rifle onto his back when the zombie stumbled and the rifle slipped down and aimed right at Chris.

  Without thinking and protecting himself, Chris had his rifle back in hand, knife falling to the ground, and he pulled the trigger, shooting the zombie in the chest. It didn’t do anything more than blow a hole through his rotted chest plate.

  The second shot from Chris clipped the left side of the zombie’s head, taking out a chunk of brain and the ear. The zombie pitched forward and fell to the snow.

  Chris felt his heart racing and had to close his eyes and try to relax before he passed out. Even though the zombie wasn’t on top of him, the fear had overwhelmed him. Had the zombie aimed the gun at him or was it just falling from its arms when he stumbled? Chris didn’t know.

  Zombies can’t shoot you, Chris thought. He was being irrational. They were mindless creatures. They didn’t do much more than hunger and try to slake their thirst on humans. Right?

  But what if they could? What if some of them were smarter than others? What if…

  Chris opened his eyes, expecting the zombie to be standing with a rictus grin and pointing the rifle at his head. But he was still down in the snow.

  There were no more sounds of zombies coming and no one else.

  Chris had shot twice, which wasn’t a good thing. He’d broken the only hunting rule he knew. He’d need to be quick.

  He knew there was a ravine not too far from this path, and he needed to drag the body to it and toss it over. Maybe a bear would feast when spring came. But Chris didn’t want it found until then.

  Chris kicked the body over but it was finally a dead person. He took the rifle, still clutched in one hand of the zombie, and went through the rotting pockets of the former man. He found ammo for the rifle, a dead cell phone, a Ziploc bag of jerky, and a wallet.

  Where had he come from? Chris looked back the way he’d stumbled. Maybe there was a hunting cabin in that direction? What if it was packed with food and supplies? Obviously a zombie had gotten to this man, but maybe it was long gone.

  Chris would head in that direction another day. He had all the time in the world right now. His only goal was to keep his daughters alive and well.

  He grabbed the hunter by the orange vest and began dragging him to the ravine.

  Dying Days: Official Business

  Officer George Barnes cursed when he pulled his squad car into his driveway and saw his son sitting on the porch smoking a cigarette.

  “How many times do I have to tell you not to smoke while you’re living in my house?” George yelled and slammed his door. He wanted to throttle Bubba and put his hand on his holstered gun, dreaming of someday shooting the useless bastard in the head. As much as his mama coddled him, George was angry and spent far too much time yelling at him. He’d been out of high school for three years, dropping out halfway through the third time through tenth grade.

  Bubba was going to amount to nothing, and George wasn’t too happy about it.

  “I ain’t smoking in your house. I’m outside,” Bubba said and flicked the cigarette stub onto the driveway. “Besides, ma bought me the pack.”

  “I’ll be having a chat with her as soon as I get inside.”

  Bubba stood up. “You’d better talk loud. She took off twenty minutes ago to get Aunt Nadine.”

  “What?” George couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I told her to pack and stay out until I came home.”

  “That was four hours ago, pops. She got bored and her sister wanted to come with us.” Bubba clapped his hands. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”

  “Nothing. We’ll eat when we get on the road.” George took out his cell phone and tried to call his wife but the lines were already down. Had it been four hours already? He’d gotten back to the police station; intent on cleaning out his locker of his extra weapon and clips, but the police chief had cornered him.

  George had spent far too long patrolling the business area of town, making sure no looters decided to run off with a widescreen TV or a refrigerator. With the news of the zombies heading straight south and being in their path, they had no choice but to try to keep law and order.

  Zombies. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it. They were slow moving according to the news reports, but they were spreading like wildfire. Everyone caught in their path was bitten and became a zombie as well. Add in travel and people infected in cars on major highways and they were talking about the virus or whatever it was already jumping in so many directions you’d never stop it.

  Bubba walked past George.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get something to eat. I’m starving.” Bubba opened the door of his dented Kia. “You got any money?”

  “No. Stay out of town. It’s no longer safe,” George said.

  “I’m going to Zach’s house to pick him up. I’ll be back in an hour.”

  “No. Your mom will be back soon.”

  Bubba shook his head as he got in the car. “No she won’t. It’s a half an hour one way to pick up Aunt Nadine. And I’ve been listening to the news. Most highways are blocked already. People are panicking. Ma ain’t coming back.”

  “I can’t believe you just said that. I can’t believe how callous you are,” George said.

  Bubba started the car but didn’t drive away. He stuck his head out the window. “I’ve always been an asshole, pops. And I know you can’t stand me. I’m a fucking disappointment. I get it. If I were you I’d be embarrassed to have me as a kid. I dropped out of school. I’m dumber than a doornail.”

  “Don’t say that,” George said defensively. “Come inside and we’ll find something to eat.”

  “You don’t get it, old man. You never will. I’m leaving. I put my shit in the back of the car. I’m going to Zach’s house to get drunk and smoke some weed. The fucking world is ending and I’m going to die a stupid redneck. Might as well do it drunk and high.”

  George was mad and he took three steps towards the Kia.

  Bubba laughed. “Are you going to shoot me, pops? I wouldn’t blame you. I’ve been a thorn in your side. I’m a typical cop’s kid. Always in trouble and always with an attitude.” Bubba p
ointed at his father. “But I’m going to leave you with a few things about me you don’t really know. Because once I pull out of the driveway you will never see me again.”

  “Come inside,” George said without conviction. He suddenly felt horrible, because he wanted Bubba to drive away. He wanted a simpler life without the constant fighting. Maybe without his son around he could work on his failing marriage.

  “I’m leaving, pops. But before I do…” Bubba lit a cigarette. “You knew about the drugs. You knew about the drinking. So did ma. But you both chose to ignore it, which was fine with me. You couldn’t have stopped me anyway. It woulda made it worse, right? Being a cop’s son in a small town meant I got away with lots of shit, too. Drinking in public. Hanging with the wrong crowd. Underage drinking. Lots of women who liked bad boys.”

  “Is this your confession time?” George asked and stepped up to the Kia. He didn’t know where his son was going with all this but he was curious. They’d had such a convoluted relationship over the years. George had been a dominating father who didn’t give his kid an inch. Bubba fought every step of the way. When he was sixteen they’d come to blows and George wasn’t too proud of the ass-whipping he’d given Bubba. The boy never raised another hand in anger. He never really said much after the incident. George guessed he’d gotten back in other, more subtle ways.

  “I guess I am confessing. I’m going to tell you all of my sins. I’m also going to tell you what I’ve been accused of I didn’t do. You ready, Pops? Want a cigarette?”

  George was about to decline and tell his son about the dangers of smoking and how disappointed he was he was doing it, but stopped himself. He put out his hand. “I quit smoking the day your ma told me she was pregnant. I’d been smoking since I was fifteen.”

  “Me, too,” Bubba said. He handed his dad his pack of cigarettes and lighter.

  George lit up and leaned against the car.

  Bubba shut off the engine and tapped on the steering wheel. “Alright. Here’s the thing. I’m a bad seed. I get it. I’m guilty of enough stuff to put me away for awhile, but so are most guys my age. No one is perfect, despite what you tried to beat into me. But I’m not angry with you, Pops. I’m just… angry. I’m bored. I have problems. I think I need meds. But you and ma ignored it so I self-medicated.”

  “That sounds like convenient horseshit to me,” George said. “I guess it’s easier to blame your parents for a drug problem than to look inside and see the truth.”

  Bubba shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. Who knows? But there are more problems than drugs with me. And you damn well know it.”

  “I was tough but I let the little stuff slide,” George admitted. “I was really upset when the Bayley girl accused you.”

  “And she later admitted she made it up. I didn’t touch that bitch. But I’m sure you thought I was guilty,” Bubba said. “I’m sure I was an embarrassment for you with your cop buddies.”

  “What do you expect? Half the time there was trouble they were calling me to come get you. If it wasn’t for me your rap sheet would be three times as long.”

  “Or maybe I wouldn’t have one? Maybe if my dad was the county’s best plumber I’d be in college right now.” Bubba flicked his ashes out of the car window.

  George thought his son was a bigger asshole now than ever with the shit he was spewing. Convenient crap. Push off the blame for your own mistakes.

  Bubba laughed. “Shit, I don’t actually believe any of that. I’m just fucking with you.”

  “What’s with all the cursing?”

  Bubba shrugged and pulled out another cigarette. “It feels good to finally be able to talk to you. That much is true. There was always this wall between us. I could talk to ma when you weren’t around. We got along. But when you were home it was tense. Dinner when you were working day shift was brutal, man. Especially if I had something to say you didn’t want to hear. I just wanted to run away all the time. Because of you. I know you did what you thought was right but it didn’t work in the end. Did it?”

  “What do you mean?” George asked.

  Bubba sighed. “Ma didn’t just go to get Aunt Nadine. She went with Stuart from down the block. She’s been having an affair with the widowed old dude for over a year.”

  “Bullshit,” George said. He dropped the cigarette and put it out with his boot. “No way…”

  “Sorry. There’s a note inside. She’s wanted to leave for months but I told her to stay. Because I knew it would crush you.”

  George wanted to cry. Was it possible his wife had been cheating on him? He stared off down the street. He could see Stuart’s house. The guy was ten years older than George. A likeable fellow. He’d been over at the house a couple of weeks ago to borrow the hedge clippers. George shook his head. The guy had been over having sex with his wife and used the clippers as a ruse when George got home early from his shift.

  It made sense. The fights. The distance between them. Silent dinners and watching TV a few feet from one another but miles away.

  Bubba started the car again. “Come with me, pops. We can start over.”

  “This is my home,” George said. “This is all I have.” He looked at his house, paid for over the years with overtime and extra shifts and no real vacations. The dream home they’d always wanted.

  “One last thing before I leave… I’m gay.”

  George looked at Bubba and slowly nodded. “I knew it. I always did. And for the record, I never thought you touched the Bayley girl. I was just afraid she’d out you. Something like that is tough in a small town.”

  Bubba sucked on his cigarette and grinned around it.

  “Is it Zach?” George asked. The two boys had been friends and inseparable since first grade.

  Bubba shook his head. “Hell no. He ain’t my type. But he knows I’m gay. He understands me and lets me vent and shit. Zach is a great guy. But he has his own problems. We’re going to hit the road and see what kind of trouble we can get in.”

  * * * * *

  George turned off the TV. It was nothing but static anyway. He’d pulled his easy chair near the front window and turned all the lights out in the house when the sun dropped.

  He had the remnants of his microwave chicken pot pie on the table near him and the last of his long-neck beer bottles. Empty.

  George wished he’s asked Bubba to leave the pack of cigarettes. Even after all these years, one puff and he was hooked again. He supposed it didn’t matter.

  In one afternoon, his country had become overrun by reanimated corpses bent on killing and eating everything in sight. The police department had fallen away as it became every man for himself. His wife had left him and now George knew she’d been cheating. His son verified he was gay and ran off with not only his personal belongings but both shotguns and the ammo.

  George had his service revolver and twelve shots.

  Through the front windows he could see what used to be his neighbors shambling across his lawn. Someone screamed down the block. There was a thud on the front porch.

  George decided to use eleven bullets on his former friends and the last on himself.

  Author’s Note

  I don’t write a straight-line story, as you already know if you’ve read any of the previous Dying Days releases. I like to mix and match characters at various timeline events in the overall story, but the only story that follows a definite timeline is the actual Dying Days books, currently up to Dying Days 4. Everything else (which encompasses the Dying Days: Origins, Highway To Hell and Still Dying series) are all over the place, dropping into the main story at various points and then dropping back out.

  Case in point: while this is titled Dying Days: Origins 2, it has nothing to do with the previous book. It has everything to do with the character David Monsour, who had a big part in Dying Days 2. Also, the opening chapter here originally appeared in Still Dying: Select Scenes From Dying Days release. I took the nugget that began David’s journey and added to it.

  You can also
find the ongoing story of Scotty and if he ever makes it back to North Carolina by reading a couple of the Dying Days stories I’ve published in the State of Horror anthology series (from Charon Coin Press).

  Will I write about these characters again, and especially the new ones introduced? Of course. In some instances I already have…

  Armand Rosamilia

  Armand Rosamilia is a New Jersey boy currently living in sunny Florida, where he writes when he's not watching the Boston Red Sox and listening to Heavy Metal music…

  He's written over 100 stories that are currently available, including a few different series:

  "Dying Days" extreme zombie series

  "Keyport Cthulhu" horror series

  "Flagler Beach Fiction Series" contemporary fiction

  "Metal Queens" non-fiction music series

  he also loves to talk in third person... because he's really that cool.

  You can find him at http://armandrosamilia.com for not only his latest releases but interviews and guest posts with other authors he likes!

  and e-mail him to talk about zombies, baseball and Metal:

  armandrosamilia@gmail.com