Dying Days Read online

  Once again, before going back inside to continue her cleaning project, she stepped around the side of the station and looked at the house.

  It was quiet, as she knew it would be. She almost wished they’d found a way out, one at a time, so she could finish them off and grab the treasure inside. She felt like Laura Croft or Indiana Jones, only they weren’t too scared to kick down the door and start shooting and killing with a trusted machete. Instead, she decided to go inside and keep scrubbing with a damn toothbrush.

  At first the noise was so unexpected and so far away that she ignored it and went back inside. It seemed like a distant memory. Every now and then, especially after a fitful night of nightmares, she would sometimes wake and hear a voice or a radio playing or traffic in the distance. Fully awake she would cease to hear anything but the wind or the undead.

  As it got closer she stopped and stared at the ceiling. “What the Hell?” she whispered. Back outside she stared at the sky.

  She heard a plane.

  “Where are you?” Darlene spun in a circle, looking and looking. There was no cloud cover. It grew louder, the sound of the engine. It might be a Cessna, something small. It wasn’t a commercial airliner. Did it matter at this point, anyway?

  Darlene couldn’t remember the last time a plane, helicopter or air balloon had been spotted in the sky. She shielded her eyes from the glare and wished there was a sunglass rack inside. It made her laugh to think of her standing out here with a pair of huge white tourist sunglasses on and one of those huge weaved hats on her head.

  She was positively giggling by the time the plane, indeed a Cessna, shot overhead from the west, glided straight out to sea and then shot up the coast to the north.

  Immediately a score of zombies appeared and began to follow the smoke trail in the sky.

  Darlene ran inside, locked up, grabbed two bags of groceries, and decided to follow.

  Chapter Six

  She lost sight and sound of the plane by the time she hopped the fence. Getting back across the water was easier because it was low tide, but she still watched for submerged undead. Back across she moved as fast as she could on A1A. A mob of zombies were ahead of her, following the plane. She knew from experience that they would give up once it was completely gone. She didn’t want to be around when that happened. A single zombie or even two or three wasn’t a problem in wide open spaces, but twenty or thirty could easily surround you or trip you up.

  After half a mile the undead began veering off into random directions. Most of them moved toward the east and the beach. Three stayed course on the road. Trying to be as quiet as possible while still moving, Darlene quickened her pace and was soon past them. One of them grunted but when she saw that none were before her she began to jog.

  Bad move.

  The noise of her bags jangling brought two undead from out of nowhere, directly in her path. She shouldered through them, getting slashed with rotting fingernails as she moved. Now she was running. Two abandoned cars were in the road and she stayed as far away as possible. It was a good thing because a zombie, legless, was behind the lead car. She could hear its jaws snap as she ran past.

  Up ahead, about a quarter mile, a solitary zombie was heading north. Darlene slowed her pace and watched it. She was breathing heavily from her short run and was frustrated to be so out of shape. “You’re fucking thirty-five, not eighty-five,” she whispered.

  The zombie suddenly fell forward and was gone.

  Darlene stopped and looked around. Only open road and sand greeted her. She walked quickly to the spot where the zombie had been and saw a crater in the road. Ten feet below the zombie struggled to move, run through on a bevy of sharp wooden spikes in the hole. He wasn’t alone. Three more had been caught as well, their bodies falling to pieces on the spikes. Darlene looked around again. The trap was man-made, running across the road. To either side large wooden stakes had been driven into the dunes at angles meant to impale.

  On the other side of the pit she noticed several tripwires. The dunes to the west were covered in short pieces of sharpened metal. She’d have to proceed with caution. The paranoid feeling of being watched came over her and she ducked down instinctively and moved toward the beach, careful to watch what she was stepping on.

  The waves were strong today, slapping against a horrific sight: a whale, half submerged in the surf, was being eviscerated by a group of zombies. Darlene nearly puked when she saw one of them trying to ejaculate on the dead, bloated creature as other zombies pulled off chunks of flesh. The scene was surreal; gulls fought with the zombies for pieces. She wasn’t surprised when one of the gulls got too close and his head was promptly bitten off.

  Sticking to the dunes, Darlene tried to ignore the scene and not fall apart. She’d seen some disgusting things in the last few months, things that might have made the old her go mad. Now she tried to chalk it up to just another nauseating sight in the long line of many. There were plenty more in her future, she guessed.

  She supposed that the secret was to keep moving and not think too long on any one thing. When this first started she tried to think of pleasant thoughts like vacations on the Maine coast as a child or going to see the Red Sox with her family or playing in the park at the end of her street. Nightmares about zombies coming out of the surf, Fenway Park overrun by the undead and other children dismembered on the slide and the swings at the park forced her to look ahead. Always look ahead.

  She circumvented the road pit about two hundred feet north before trying to get on stable ground once again. The road was devoid of footprints and traps. Up ahead a charred school bus was on its side, blocking the path. To either side the sand had built up, creating an effective barrier. Darlene doubted that it was natural.

  There was no movement from inside or around the bus but she proceeded with caution. If there was going to be an ambush – from undead or living – this would be perfect. She had the machete and the Desert Eagle at the ready as she took tentative steps forward, eyes darting all around her.

  To the right, closest to the beach, was a path through the dune. She could either try to climb the bus or follow the trail and go around it via the beach.

  Ignoring a nagging feeling in her head, Darlene moved quickly, leading with the machete. The dune sloped up and it was a hard climb. When she reached the top, she slid down, then ran onto the beach and stopped. A crude wooden fence had been built on the sand to the north, braced with debris and car parts, creating an effective barrier for the thirty or forty zombies that were trying to move past it.

  “What the Hell?” Darlene managed before the group turned as one and began moving toward her. She knew that climbing the loose sand behind her would only get her caught so she decided to make her stand. If today was the day to die, so be it.

  Instead of standing back and letting them come to her she took the battle to them, slicing at the closest with the machete and connecting with its arm. The limb was tossed through the air. Moving to her left, she chopped at another. Her goal was to get to the fence and try to climb over before she was grabbed and killed.

  A zombie to her right suddenly staggered, its head shattered. A thick arrow protruded from it. She caught a glimpse before it fell and was swallowed up by the moving horde.

  She glanced to the north, in the direction she assumed the arrow had come from, just as another was shot from above on the dune. It ripped into the face of a zombie. Darlene thanked whoever was helping her out and slashed and jabbed with the machete, dropping two more as she got closer to the fence.

  She was a whirlwind of motion, clearing a path before her. Arrows filled the air around her. A zombie stood between her and the fence. As she swung to decapitate it she felt a stinging in her left arm.

  Looking down, she saw the blood and the arrow, which had neatly pierced her forearm and lodged the tip into her side. She made a frantic swing of the machete at the nearest undead but her vision clouded.

  She fell to one knee, still trying to defend herself,
as the darkness overtook her.

  Chapter Seven

  Darkness.

  Not gloomy like the middle of the night, sleeping under a cloudy sky with the undead all around you. This was black, stifling, closing in on her. Darlene tried to scream but her throat was too tight, her body unable to move. The night had weight and it was pressing against her, holding her under like an ocean.

  “Fuck,” she managed to croak and turn on her side. There was a bed under her, soft covers and pillows. The air was cool, and she heard the distant hum of a central air unit. She smelled bacon cooking. She stretched her legs and thought she was dreaming.

  A pain shot up her side and her left arm and she nearly passed out. She was awake, unfortunately. She remembered the fight on the beach and the arrow. Gingerly she felt her arm. It was bandaged, as well as her side. She realized with a start as she came fully awake that she was naked.

  She rose on wobbling legs, her feet touching cold tile floor. Reaching in the dark, she found an end table and a lamp with her fingers. She clicked the button, figuring that it was futile. Instead, the lamp came to life, casting the room in a soft glow.

  The bedroom was small. The bed, covered in navy blue sheets and six matching pillows, was only part of the meager furnishings. The end table with lamp and a plush chair in the corner were the other half. She moved slowly, her body stiff and her arm and side on fire, to the door she figured was the closet. It was empty.

  She opened the other door to a dark hallway. Beyond it a candle was lit on a kitchen table and she smelled bacon again. Her mouth watered.

  “Are you awake?” a male voice asked softly from the kitchen.

  Darlene was startled. It sounded like her father. But her father was… unconsciously she went for her Desert Eagle but it was gone. “Where are my clothes?”

  “Oops. Sorry. They just came out of the dryer.”

  “Dryer? Where the fuck am I?”

  The man laughed, his silhouette suddenly blocking the candle. He was big, wearing dark clothes and some sort of hat. He was covering his face with one arm and holding a laundry basket with the other. “Sorry, I lost track of time. Here are your clothes. I took the liberty of washing them, although they are a bit rough. You’ll find some undergarments in there that might fit you, they are brand new. Some shirts and a pair of jeans John-John thought might fit you.”

  When Darlene didn’t move the man placed the basket slowly on the floor and walked back into the kitchen.

  “Where are my weapons?” she asked, scampering to the clothes and grabbing them. She stepped back into the room, keeping the hall and kitchen in her sights.

  “I cleaned the Desert Eagle. Nice piece. The Sig Sauer is actually mine. Your machete is pretty rusted and nicked, but I imagine I could sharpen it for you.”

  Darlene dumped the clothes on the bed. Her ripped undies were there but a new pair of black thongs was a better choice. She slipped them on. They were a tad small but they hugged her skinny hips and didn’t dig too deep into her ass crack. A black T-shirt and tight blue jeans were perfect. She almost cried when she saw white socks, actual white and not gray, and smelling of liquid Tide and not puddle water. Her sneakers had been cleaned a bit, although they had multiple holes in them.

  “Where am I?” she asked.

  There was a pause as dishes were clanged. “I won’t bite you. You’re a guest in my home. Please join me for breakfast.”

  Darlene went down the hall and stepped into the kitchen. It was small and cozy, with wood paneling covering the walls. The small window over the sink had been covered with a painting – Darlene recognized it as a reprint of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Her mother had the same print above the television in her living room. The kitchen table was covered with boxes of ammunition, tools and electronic instruments.

  Despite the candles spaced on the counters, Darlene could see that the electricity was working. The refrigerator hummed and she could hear the ice maker working. The bags she’d taken with her were sitting on the far counter.

  Bacon was sizzling in a frying pan on the stove, a plate of scrambled eggs nearby. “Want toast with that? I have strawberry jam.”

  “Sure.” Darlene was motioned to take a chair at the table. While she pushed boxes of shotgun shells to one side she stared at the man.

  He was in his mid-sixties, with a shock of gray hair under a John Deere baseball cap. His clean-shaven face wore a mischievous smile. He winked at her with clear and piercing blue eyes. He whistled off-key as he sliced from a loaf of bread. “Just be a second,” he said over his shoulder. “Have a good sleep?”

  “I guess.” Darlene remembered her manners. “Do you need any help?”

  “Nah. Almost finished.” He put two pieces of bread into the toaster on the near counter. “Actually, you can fetch us a couple of cold beers from the fridge.”

  “Isn’t it morning?”

  He shrugged and laughed, almost choking as he tried to stop himself. “It’s actually about noon, little lady, and high time for a beer. When’s the last time you had a cold one?”

  “I can’t remember.” Darlene stood and went to the fridge, feeling safe but off-kilter in the home and with this stranger. “I’m Darlene, by the way. Darlene Bobich.”

  ‘You can call me Murph.” He slid the bacon off of the skillet and onto a paper towel on a plate. “Give me a Bud, if you don’t mind.”

  The refrigerator was loaded with items Darlene thought she’d never see again: four different kinds of beer, a plastic jug of milk, a small tub of butter, bags of various vegetables, and bottles of ketchup and mayonnaise.

  “How is it possible you have all of these… luxuries?” she asked.

  “We trade with a nearby city. They have animals and we’re able to get a few farm fresh items.”

  She pulled a Bud and a Corona and sat back down. Her plate was waiting and she nearly drooled at the sight.

  “Toast will be right up. Did you say yes to jam?”

  “Yes, yes.” Darlene wanted to wait for her host but Murph must have seen her staring at the food.

  “Eat, Jesus, girl, don’t wait for me. I’ll catch up.” The toast popped and he tossed it onto a plate. “I have too much food here sometimes.” He turned to her and winked. “You happen to be visiting at one of those times.”

  The eggs tasted like heaven, the bacon like sex. She ran her fingers around the plate when she thought he wasn’t looking, getting every last crumb into her mouth.

  Murph laughed when he sat down across from her and handed her a slice of jam-covered toast. “I guess you were hungry, Darlene Bobich. Can’t say I’m surprised. You seem absolutely wasting away to nothing. Those clothes were hanging off of you.”

  She gripped the toast but hesitated to bite it. “Who undressed me?”

  Murph’s face grew red and he put his head down. “I did. I needed to dress that nasty wound, and your clothes were falling off.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “You’re welcome.” He looked up at her. “I didn’t do anything to you, just so you know. I’m a gentleman, by and by.”

  Darlene smiled and bit into her divine toast. “I’m afraid my best years are behind me.”

  Murph laughed. “I may be sixty-six but I’m still a man. You clean up nicely. There’s a shower down the hall when you’re done with breakfast.”

  “Thought this was lunch.”

  “In today’s world, I can call this Murph-meal and no one could argue, right? The rules have all changed.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “I think your arm will be just fine. The arrow poked right through without hitting anything vital. It only skinned your side. It might be sore for a few weeks but you’ll live.”

  “Thanks. Who shot me? You?”

  “Nah, I’m not that good a shot anymore. Twenty or thirty years ago I would have killed you, and you’d have been dead before the arrow was through your skull.”

  “Pleasant.”

  “Um, s
orry.” Murph scooped up some scrambled egg. “John-John shot you.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “My son. He’ll be around shortly. He came by to see you yesterday but you were still sleeping.”

  “How long have I been here?”

  “Almost three days. You had a fever and lost a lot of blood.” Murph put down his fork. “You also gave me a scare with that nasty bite on your ankle. It seemed to be… old.”

  Darlene stood suddenly and grabbed her plate. “I’ll do the dishes if you want. That would be fair.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Go take a shower; there are some towels and pajamas that should fit you in there already.”

  “Thank you for everything.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Darlene tried to ignore Murph when he glanced at her ankle as she went past him and went to take a real shower.

  Chapter Eight

  “Care for a pinch?” Murph asked Darlene, holding out some tobacco from a plastic bag.

  “Not a fan, but I’m glad for the beer.” Darlene leaned back on the couch and put the cold Corona to her forehead. She was sweating despite the air conditioning. “All I’m missing is a lime.”

  “I could probably get a few.” Murph put the pinch in his mouth and grinned. “I went almost a year without. I’d rather die than be without it. Everyone needs a vice, right?”

  “I guess so.” Darlene closed her eyes. After the shower she felt tired again, but at least she finally had real shampoo and hot water in her hair. Murph had even put some mascara and lip gloss in the bathroom, which she took her time applying.

  “You look better, especially with the makeup.”

  Darlene must have given him a look because he put his hands up. “I’m just saying that you clean up better, that’s all. Shit, I’m too old for you, missy. I have a daughter your age.” Murph looked away. “Had a daughter.”