Dying Days Page 16

  John edged up to Darlene as they paced. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” Darlene smiled at him.

  She knew she’d confused him and he stopped walking. “Huh?” he finally managed.

  Darlene looked away from him. “You have to know that I care about you.”

  “I care about you, too.”

  She looked at him and dropped her smile. “You know that I care about you.”

  It was his turn to smile. “And I care about you.”

  “Are you this stupid?”

  He stepped closer to her. “Right now, with everything going on… let’s just get through today.”

  “How do we know there’s going to be a tomorrow, John?”

  He shrugged. “I guess we don’t. But we have to try.” John looked away at the ocean. “If I give up hope that my family is out there, somewhere, alive, what do I have?”

  “You have this moment, you have people around you, surrounding you, that care for you now.”

  “You want to return to Maine. What if you found out Maine had fallen completely and there was nothing left there for you?”

  “I’d either drop or I’d keep going. You can’t base every action and every move on a what-if. You still need to get by. What if you found out she was gone, do you think she’d be happy to know that you then gave up? I think she’d want you to be happy and survive.”

  “I don’t want to stop searching for her.”

  “Who said to?”

  “It’s just…”

  “Getting involved with me, with anyone, doesn’t mean you love her less or forgot about her. It just means you’re living in the moment.” Darlene leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

  “I really care about you.” John grabbed and hugged her, burying his face in her shoulder.

  Darlene held him tightly as he sobbed. When Eric turned to investigate she waved him off and he nodded, moving away with the group.

  John gently pushed away and wiped a tear from his eye. “Not very manly, I know.”

  “If you were a real cop I would have thought less of you. I’ve seen plenty of mall cops cry.”

  John laughed. “That’s what I love about you.”

  They both stared awkwardly at one another before finally kissing.

  Darlene closed her eyes and probed his mouth with her tongue, feeling his body respond and press against her. His hands gripped the small of her back. She wanted to enjoy this moment forever.

  “Incoming,” someone yelled.

  John pushed her away and smiled. “You’re a pretty good kisser for a makeup girl.”

  “I bet you say that to all the mall workers.”

  They jogged ahead and joined the group.

  Eric had his binoculars out, studying the approaching group. “Damn, there must be hundreds of them.” He smiled and handed the binoculars to John. “We might have found a couple thousand survivors.”

  A few people clapped and Bri hugged John.

  “Okay, let’s go meet our new friends. I’m sure they’re tired, hungry and being followed by a horde of undead. We need to keep them moving, make sure no one has fallen behind, and half of us take up a rear position to keep the slower ones from getting lost.”

  “I’ll take the rear guard,” Darlene said. She’d walked many miles in this spot before. She felt elated just now, like she was accomplishing something positive in this negative world. “As cliché as that sounds,” she whispered.

  John got an arrow ready. “Watch for the undead coming from either side. With this many living moving and making noise, there’s bound to be quite a few others coming to investigate.”

  “We just need to get them back into Flagler and we’ll be safer there. A group from St. Augustine is coming up behind us and we’ll hand the refugees off to them.” Eric smiled. ‘This is going to be a great day for mankind.”

  The small group came into sight of the mass within fifteen minutes, people stretching across the two lanes and over the dunes.

  Bri began to wave and run ahead. Everyone smiled and laughed, the warm sun shining down on this wonderful scene.

  Bri stopped in her tracks and turned back, only feet from the refugees. She looked at Darlene with panic in her eyes. “They’re dead.”

  Indeed, hundreds and hundreds of recently deceased were shambling towards them.

  Sons of The New Patriots

  Doug Conrad tried his best to smile despite the six rifles pointing at his head and genitalia. “We seek sanctuary. We are starving. We have women with us who need help.”

  He noticed at least two rifles suddenly dip and point away from him. Doug loved horny dudes thinking with their genitalia. All it took was the mention of some pussy and they forgot about ass-fucking zombies and malnutrition and disease. You couldn’t trump the lure of pussy.

  He rubbed his face to look weary, but it was actually to keep them from seeing his smile. He knew that the gate to the shipyard would be opening any moment. They’d be cautious and take his weapons – but not his blade, they’d never find the blade – and escort him to their leader. They’d trade news of the outside world, trade a few weapons, foodstuffs, supplies, then the shipyard boys will get all friendly and see what it would involve to get a pussy or two for the evening. If it turned ugly or these shipyard boys were desperate and/or starving they’d simply try to kill them and take the supplies, food and women.

  Doug knew that wasn’t going to happen. Even now he had ten of his trusted men scaling fences and hiding on buildings, flanking the boys with the guns pointing at his balls. At a simple hand gesture they’d fire and kill anyone in the compound. Doug didn’t want that. He didn’t want the shooting. Not because he hated violence or bloodshed. He was simply tired of those fucking zombies that had been following them all the way from Orlando.

  Central Florida had been a bust. As soon as they got there the damn internal strife of such a large, unorganized city had reared its head. Factions opposed to taking in new refugees clashed with the old-school save-everyone group.

  The road from Connecticut had been long and deadly. Doug remembered all of his loyal men he’d lost over the months, especially in the beginning. He didn’t believe in God but he believed that the human race had pissed someone or something off pretty fucking bad, and payback was such a bitch these days.

  He’d learned early enough that despite the world being fucked, ‘normal’ people didn’t trust bikers or militia. He’d ordered his loyalists to hide or remove their Sons of The New Patriots insignias and shirts to try to blend in with the locals and gain access. It was a waste of bullets and manpower to storm into a town and kill everyone just to find three bottles of swamp water and a half-eaten candy bar. Diplomacy had gotten them farther south than the noise of gunfire. Doug figured that close to a million undead were moving in his general direction from the northeast, and he wanted to keep moving away from them.

  Without tipping his hand he glanced and saw that Rusty Byers was in position with his AK-47 to the left, in perfect range to kill everyone in the yard if it came down to that. He hoped it didn’t, because any stray bullet could puncture a gas tank or punch a hole through one of the boats. They needed every boat they could get and as quickly as possible. He glanced back at the dozens of people milling about up the road, waiting for him to save them. Like a fucking messiah. Doug would sacrifice every last one of these losers to save himself and his loyalists. They were meat to him, trading pieces to get his way. Even the women were expendable, although he’d made a mental note of about ten that would be fun to fuck once they got onto the open water and had a brief respite.

  Already, hundreds of the refugees had turned to the north and to ‘freedom’ in St. Augustine. He knew they’d never make it and he was surprised that they’d all managed to get this far. The old and the weak had been overrun as soon as they hit I-4 in Orlando, and that was the distraction that they needed to get away for the time being. But the undead didn’t rest and they were still coming and picking up stragglers ev
ery mile with all of the damn noise thousands of people make.

  A boat or two would get them north without having to fight a horde of zombies, and if there were women to fuck and food to eat, so much the better.

  He wanted to yell out for them to hurry the fuck up, but decided not to. Instead he walked slowly in a circle and kicked at some pebbles on the road. He began counting backwards from one hundred. By the time he hit one, if they didn’t open the gate, he would crack his knuckles and that would spark the bloodbath.

  The people behind him thought he was a sound and honorable person. They thought he had been a simple school teacher in New Britain, Connecticut. They thought he had a loving wife and small child he was trying to find. They were sheep, stupid and easily lead by a stupid heart-wrenching story.

  Before this was all over he would end up killing most of them, sparing only the ones who joined his cause. He’d rape as many of the women as he could before slitting their throats and leaving them for the zombies. That was just the way it had to be.

  Fifty five… fifty four… fifty three…

  Nothing personal. Doug Conrad needed to survive above all else. If he’d ever bothered to have a wife and kids he would have sacrificed them by now. No big deal. Prison had taught him about survival but the Sons of The New Patriots had taught him about getting what he wanted despite the corrupt government, God and the religious crazies interfering with his Constitutional rights, conservatives screaming about guns killing people, and the flood of minorities ruining the America he loved.

  Ten… nine… eight…

  “You can come in, but only you. Show us your hands and no funny business,” one of the armed men yelled from the shipyard.

  Funny business? There was going to be nothing funny about the way this played out. Doug put on a grim face and walked slowly into the compound.

  They patted him down, missing his blade like the bunch of idiots that they were. “My name is Doug. We seek help.”

  “Shut up,” one of the men said. He was dirty but looked well-fed, which was a great sign. There was food here. “Charlie will be out soon. Until then you need to shut up.”

  Doug nodded and wanted so bad to crack his knuckles but decided not to. No use in wasting a good bullet on this peon. He wanted to see who the fuck Charlie was and then go from there.

  Charlie appeared within a few minutes and Doug was not impressed. He was old and walked with a cane, his gray hair and wispy beard framing his tired eyes and thin lips. He coughed into a liver-spotted hand as he stopped six feet from Doug and simply stared at him.

  “I come seeking help,” Doug finally said.

  “You’re not wanted here,” Charlie croaked. “You need to take all of these dirty people with you.”

  One of Charlie’s men whispered into his ear, pointing at the gates.

  “I’ve no use for that,” Charlie said.

  “But the men do.”

  Doug couldn’t help but smile. It always came down to the pussy. He decided to cut to the chase. “I have women with us, women who you can keep in exchange for two boats and supplies.”

  “How many?” Charlie asked.

  Doug pointed back to the gate. “There are scores of them to choose from. Would ten suffice?”

  The man next to Charlie spat on the ground. “There are twice as many men here.”

  Charlie shook his head. ‘You idiot,” he muttered.

  Doug grinned. “Twenty women for twenty men seems fair,” he said loudly. “If we can just complete this deal and be on our way –“

  “I’ll have to think on it,” Charlie said.

  “We have no time for that. There’s a horde of zombies following within minutes of us, and we’d just as soon leave.”

  Charlie glanced behind him at the gate. “We’ve counted at least a thousand people out there. How do you plan on getting a thousand people onto two boats?”

  “I don’t. I plan on getting as many as I can.”

  Charlie shook his head. “I don’t believe you. If your intention was to save as many as you could, you would have asked for as many boats as we’d be willing to part with. Instead, you’ve already decided how many of these people will survive.”

  “That might be the case, but right now I’d just as soon make the deal and be on my way.”

  Charlie stared at Doug and scratched his cane into the dirt. “I’ll think on it.”

  A scream from outside the compound shattered the moment.

  Doug ran to the gate and could see the people pinned between the gates and the road behind them. Most began moving north, abandoning him and his plan.

  “I need an answer now.”

  “When I am ready.”

  “Damn you, you’ve sentenced these people to die,” Doug said.

  “My loyalty lies with the people under my command and not some vagabonds that beg on my doorstep.”

  “Fuck you,” Doug finally said. He cracked his knuckles and pulled the blade from the sleeve of his shirt.

  The sound of quick gunfire sounded and bullets hit targets all around the yard. Before Doug could reach Charlie his head exploded.

  “Get the gates,” Doug yelled. “Follow the plan.”

  The gates were opened but as soon as people tried to enter they were met with guns in their face.

  Doug strode forward. “Not so fast. We can only take a handful of you with us.” He pointed at two women at the gate. “You two can come in.”

  As the two women ran past Doug a man called out to one of them and tried to enter. He was shot in the face.

  “I decide who enters.” Doug ignored the animalistic noises coming from the back of the refugees. Flanked by three gunmen, he began methodically picking women to enter.

  “We need some men as well,” Rusty said as he came up.

  “Sorry, sometimes my dick gets the best of me.” Doug pointed at three random men who looked like they could fight.

  “What about the rest of us? Will you leave us to die?” someone screamed.

  “I don’t care what you do. Once we leave you’re welcome to take the yard. But we need the supplies and the boats first.”

  A boy of no more than fourteen stepped forward carrying a skateboard. “I’m going.”

  Doug laughed. “I don’t think so.”

  “Fuck you, old man; I’m going with you and the rest of your loser friends.” The boy stared defiantly at Doug.

  “You got balls, kid. Fuck it, you can come. Grab some supplies and let’s get moving.”

  Finished with picking the survivors, they marched backwards towards the boats, making sure that no one tried to get past them or attack.

  “We’re ready to go. All aboard,” Rusty called out.

  They had to shoot a few people that tried to board the boats, but most people were simply plunging into the water or trying vainly to hide behind the remaining dry-docked boats and the few buildings.

  As they pulled away from the dock, Doug stood on the deck and watched the chaos unfold, a smile etched on his weathered face.

  Armand Rosamilia is a New Jersey boy currently living in sunny Florida, exactly in the area these stories take place… creepy. He writes all day (and sometimes at night), and has amassed over 70 releases to date, with many many more on the horizon.

  Want to buy all of his books so he can get fatter, sitting around in Flagler Beach, eating cinnamon raisin bagels with tuna and drinking banana bread beer?

  http://armandrosamilia.com will get you all the details. He likes tips and bags of M&M's as well…

 

 

 
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