Dying Days [Book 9] Page 4

  “I don’t understand what the point is.”

  “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

  Mister Borden sighed. “True.”

  “She needs to use as much of her energy as possible. I need her weak. I’m looking for the advantage.”

  Mister Borden smiled. “You want to cheat in a fight against your mommy?”

  The boy looked pissed.

  “I want to make sure I win. She wasn’t a great parent and never taught me how to fight fairly. Not that it’s any concern to you,” the boy said.

  “Just curious.”

  “The thought has already crossed your mind to join up with her to defeat me,” the boy said and grinned. “It would take a dozen of you to come close. If I see the idea in your head again, I will cut you into little pieces and turn you human again. It will ensure you feel every slash on your body. You will wish you were burning in Hell. Do I make myself clear?”

  Mister Borden had had enough of this already. No matter what he did he was going to die. Might as well make the most of it. Stranger things have happened. Maybe I’ll defeat his mommy and he’ll spare me since he is so happy.

  The boy was grinning.

  Chapter Nine

  He could sense his mother destroying zombies and those bent on destroying The Promised Land. She was powerful enough to turn the tide of this battle.

  If he hadn’t called in reinforcements from miles away.

  She could only sense the initial thousands he’d lined into perfect formation up the road. It was the obvious enemy, the visible force to contend with.

  Ten thousand also aligned ten miles west, along with nearly a hundred smart zombies who could be manipulated, had been hidden from her sight.

  He’d wait to reveal them soon enough.

  Perhaps right when his mother thought she’d turned the tide.

  Before anyone got a breather from the carnage.

  Mister Borden had reluctantly wandered off to prepare for the fight ahead. He’d need to be monitored constantly.

  He wasn’t powerful enough to make a difference but, if he sided with Her, it would cost unwanted energy to defeat both of them.

  Even though he’d talked a big game with Mister Borden, it was still even odds whether or not he’d be able to defeat his mother if they were both at full strength.

  His goal was to keep her well below full strength.

  He put the call out again for more zombies.

  Even though it might take them weeks or months to reach The Promised Land, he kept thinking long-term for this battle.

  If he thought she’d get the best of him, he’d simply run and hide. Let more undead fight in his stead until she was at her weakest.

  Then he’d swoop and destroy her and this world once and for all.

  He searched his troops to see where his father was and if he’d survived so far, which there was an excellent chance he would.

  John Murphy had been placed securely in a pack of zombies, their only goal to protect him until the time came he was needed.

  What was left of John Murphy, anyway.

  He was fighting it, the boy knew. His father was strong. Mother was strong.

  Because of their unnatural blood and gifts, the boy had become Unique.

  Superior.

  Mother knew his dad was out there, hidden in the wings. He’d told her as much, thinking her love for the man would keep her in check. She had to know the only way to get through this was to destroy her former love.

  If he had a conscience, he might feel bad about pitting his parents against one another.

  Instead, he smiled and sent out the call as far as he could without overtaxing himself.

  He needed more and more zombies. Especially the smart ones. There could be nothing left of the living and his mother once the final battle was fought and won.

  To stand upon the bodies of the dead before he annihilated the planet would be his last parting shot. His final destiny. The only thing he’d been born to do.

  It felt right.

  It was the slap across the face of God, who had no part in his creation.

  He would destroy Creation. Everything would fall before his might.

  One of his final pieces, to make it easier in the event his mother taxed his power, was to setup the nuclear reactors for a simultaneous meltdown.

  Four hundred and forty-nine reactors spread across thirty countries. All still at his disposal. All ready to blow and create the blast he needed to help him blow it all.

  There were over sixteen thousand nuclear weapons as well. All armed at a single thought from him.

  All ready to blow and create the energy needed to finish this.

  Even if, by some miracle, his mother killed him, he’d set things into motion she’d never be able to stop.

  He smiled as he watched the sun set over The Promised Land for the last day.

  Most likely the last day the planet would see the sun as well.

  Chapter Ten

  Someone was shooting at her but Tosha couldn’t locate where they were hiding.

  “Come out and face me, you fucking coward. I’m unarmed,” she finally yelled and stood up.

  The next shot missed her by inches, bouncing off the crumbling wall to her left.

  “You pussy. Come out and fight a girl,” she yelled.

  Tosha looked behind to make sure no one was trying to flank her. She’d need to move quickly before whoever was firing figured out she wasn’t lying about not having a weapon and made a move.

  “Surrender now and I’ll spare you,” a female voice responded from behind a nearby wall.

  “How about we talk this out? Woman to woman? I guess me calling you a pussy was correct but in an anatomy kinda way,” Tosha said, moving to her right and hoping to get behind something that might block a bullet or two.

  “Woman to woman? Sounds good.”

  Tosha stopped, halfway across an open space, as the woman stepped out. She slipped her pistol into a holster at her side and grinned.

  Her gray eyes stared at Tosha across the distance.

  “You’re a fucking zombie. No fair,” Tosha said. She looked both ways, checking to see if she had enough of a lead to run. Maybe if she could find a real weapon she’d have a fighting chance.

  “If you try to run, I’ll make your death even longer. You can’t outrun me. I’m twice as fast as you and can see further. I don’t tire. I don’t quit,” the zombie-woman said.

  “I wish I’d known all this before I called you out.”

  “I promise I’ll only use my hands to kill you,” the zombie said.

  “How about we make this even and you give me your weapon? Then it would be a fair fight.” Tosha kept casually walking to her right. She wasn’t going to stand her ground and get run over by a monster.

  “I don’t believe in fair fights. Very overrated. I do believe I’m going to rip your pretty hair out and use it as a wig. Maybe see if your jeans are my size, too.”

  Tosha snorted. “I can see from here your ass is too fat. I have a great ass, bitch.”

  “Taunting me isn’t going to make me kill you faster.”

  “Who said I was going to let you kill me?” Tosha put one hand behind her back, touching the back of her jeans. Hoping to bluff the zombie into thinking she was armed.

  The zombie laughed. “If you had something to fight me with, you would’ve pulled it like a weakling.” She took a few steps forward.

  Tosha knew if she didn’t hold her ground the zombie would pounce.

  “I’m trying to sucker you to get closer so I can shove my knife in your neck,” Tosha said. She smiled despite wanting to cry. Her hands were shaking. “Just a few more steps, you ugly fucker. I bet you’re so pissed because when you were a human you were a dog. Dudes never bothered looking at you. Am I right?”

  “Go to Hell.” The zombie was visibly upset, which surprised Tosha. She was going for nothing more than distraction. She had no idea the smart zombies could be pissed off so
easily.

  If she lived another day, she’d try to use it to her advantage.

  Maybe even today.

  “Couldn’t make it as a human so God turned you into a poser?” Tosha asked.

  The zombie smiled but her mouth twitched.

  “I’m sure you know what a poser is. You look old enough to remember the fake motherfuckers back in the day. The wannabe group who tried so hard to fit in with the real heavy metal kids. You wore your brand new Metallica shirt your aunt bought you for Christmas, thinking you were one of the cool ones. You couldn’t name one of their songs except off their sellout Black album. You’d never even heard of Cliff Burton. No fucking clue who Dave Mustaine was and his history in the band before they got famous. Not that it mattered to someone like you, right? You were in this for the fashion and the burnout dudes who never paid attention to you. Was it the braces? Your bad haircut? Maybe it was because you had a horse face and you really can’t cover that up with makeup and too-bright lipstick,” Tosha said.

  She’d been taking a step or two forward as she spoke, getting within a foot of the zombie-woman.

  The zombie looked down to the ground, shoulders slumped.

  Was she going to cry?

  Tosha reached out her hand to grab the weapon from the holster. If she could get to it before the zombie knew what was happening, maybe…

  The zombie’s hand flashed out and grabbed Tosha by the throat.

  “Did you really think anything you said had any meaning to me? The past is the past. I don’t have actual feelings. I’m better than you, bitch.” The zombie began to squeeze and Tosha felt absolute pain in her throat.

  Tosha tried to fight off the hand but the zombie was too powerful. Tosha wrapped her legs around the zombie’s torso.

  “Just so we’re clear, too: I wasn’t the slut like you were. I also thought metal and hard rock were for losers. I was into Britney and Pink and Top 40 radio. That was real music, not the noise you pretend you like to look cool in front of the guys using you as a sperm-dump,” the zombie said.

  Tosha felt the darkness closing in on her and struggled to breathe and keep her eyes opened.

  “Don’t have anything to say for yourself?” The zombie released her grip and tossed Tosha on the ground, where she flipped over and landed, panting, on her side.

  Tosha gasped for air.

  “I said I was going to kill you but strangulation is so personal. This isn’t personal. I’m going to kill you slowly. You tried to act tough. Tried to show no fear,” the zombie said and took a step to Tosha, lifting her leg. “I think I’ll start by kicking you until I break three, no, four ribs.”

  “Back the fuck off,” Tosha growled, her throat raw.

  “Make it five kicks.”

  The zombie kicked Tosha in the side, spinning her onto her back and howling in pain.

  “Fuck you and fuck Top 40 radio,” Tosha said.

  The zombie was smiling but faltered when she saw what Tosha held in her hand.

  “You arrogant cunt,” Tosha said and fired the weapon.

  The bullet caught the zombie-woman right between the eyes.

  Tosha shot her twice more in the face, making sure there was no chance she’d rise and attack again.

  Chapter Eleven

  Unless his eyes were playing tricks or his exhaustion was turning his brain to mush, Mitch swore there was a canoe on the riverbank. With two oars on a seat as well as two large plastic coolers.

  Ready to be cast into the water and to the other side.

  It was too convenient. Too easy.

  The bulk of zombies was still south of his position but they’d be spreading out and looking for him or anyone still breathing.

  Mitch scanned the overgrown lawns of the houses across the street. Most of the houses had collapsed or been destroyed at some point.

  Way too many hiding places.

  Too many… he saw the telltale brief flash of sunlight off a weapon in the top right window of the house directly across the street.

  Someone was watching. Waiting.

  Mitch needed the boat.

  He slipped back through the overgrown grass, keeping his body pressed as far to the ground as he could without crawling. He’d need to run if a shot rang out.

  The block the houses sat on was still relatively intact with trees and weeds trying to take over, which made it easy for Mitch to circle the property and come up to the yard of the house behind it.

  Mitch took his time, scanning the broken windows and open back door for signs of movement. With the rising sun, it was easier to see shadows and movement.

  Satisfied he wasn’t in immediate danger, Mitch began crawling across the yard, angling to the right side where the grass was higher.

  He was taking his time and that’s what saved his ass from getting shot, because halfway across the yard he saw the sudden flash as someone just inside the downstairs door lit a cigarette.

  Mitch stopped.

  “You see anything, Bushy?” It was from deeper in the house.

  “No. Just taking a break. This is stupid.”

  Even with the sun rising, Mitch couldn’t see into the darkness of the house. The glow of the cigarette butt was bobbing back and forth but the guy kept pacing in and out of sight, just enough to keep Mitch guessing but enough to know he was still watching the yard.

  Mitch didn’t dare move.

  “Haven’t seen a person in hours. I need to sleep at some point.”

  “You’ll sleep when you’re dead. Ain’t that a song, Bushy?”

  “If it is, it sounds like a bad country one. I’m taking a power nap. Wake me in thirty.”

  “Bullshit. If I gotta stay awake so do you.”

  The argument had gotten enough distance and echo inside for Mitch to know the men weren’t on the same floor but the smoker had moved to the interior to talk.

  Mitch rose and ran across the backyard, careful not to kick anything or make too much noise. His ruffling clothes were too loud as it was.

  He got to the side of the house next to the back steps and dropped to the ground again.

  Fifteen minutes passed before he made his move. He could still hear the faint creaking of the floors upstairs as the man above paced, keeping a watch on the boat.

  He stood and took his time going up the steps, his head swiveling in all directions.

  Mitch stepped inside the cool shade of the house, through an open foyer door and smiled.

  The kitchen he’d stepped into was packed with weapons. The counters were piled with boxes of ammo. The open and un-working refrigerator was being used to store handguns, the kitchen table piled high with rifles and assault weapons.

  Kevlar vests were piled neatly on a chair surrounded by riot helmets.

  Dark blue FBI and Police windbreakers were draped across the stove.

  Mitch felt like a kid on Christmas.

  He could hear soft snoring in the adjacent room.

  Mitch picked up a Sig Sauer from the bread compartment in the fridge.

  “Can I help you, brotha?”

  Mitch turned and pointed the weapon at the man, who was smiling. He had a pistol in his hand.

  “Those weapons aren’t loaded. It’s a safety issue. You understand,” he said.

  Mitch grinned and pointed at the man’s head. “This isn’t from your collection. I brought this one from home.” He held the weapon low enough the man hopefully couldn’t see the clip was missing.

  The man winced and Mitch ducked as the shot was fired.

  Mitch slammed the fridge door forward, hitting the man and knocking him back long enough to distract him and force the gun from his hand with a punch to the face.

  The man opened his mouth to say something and whoever was upstairs stopped moving.

  Mitch didn’t let the man take another breath, shooting him at point-blank range in the head.

  “What’s going on down there?”

  Mitch went to the kitchen table and selected two rifles, matching ammo
from the counter.

  “Who the fuck is down there? I’ll start shooting. We all will. There are six of us.”

  Mitch put the two rifles on either side of the kitchen door and picked up a sawed-off shotgun, slamming the ammo as loudly as possible. Locked and loaded, he thought.

  He put the rest of the shells in the pocket of his new windbreaker. Mitch didn’t put it on until he found the proper Kevlar vest, hoping he had time to put it on.

  The man was still walking around upstairs.

  “I’m giving you until the count of three to leave or we’re coming down.”

  Mitch put on the vest and the windbreaker over it. He was trying to be as quiet as possible. No use alerting the guy where he was. If he was carrying anything powerful, he might start shooting holes in the floor, looking for his prey.

  It’s what Mitch would do.

  “Last warning.”

  Mitch walked very quietly into the living room, aiming above.

  “I’m counting now. Three…”

  Mitch guessed approximately where the man was standing, which was at the top of the stairs. A sheetrocked wall was the only thing keeping the man from seeing Mitch.

  “Two…”

  Mitch fired the shotgun.

  He reloaded even though he heard the grunt and something heavy slam into a wall.

  Mitch didn’t want someone playing possum and making him look foolish.

  And putting a bullet in his head.

  The man was making gurgling noises as Mitch rounded the corner and aimed up the steps.

  The shot had ripped through the man’s chest and neck and blood sprayed onto the walls and floor.

  Shaking fingers tried to grip the rifle as the man, face a mask of pain, watched Mitch as he went up the steps.

  “One,” Mitch said and unloaded again before the man had time to pick up the weapon.

  Chapter Twelve

  “What do you see?” April called up to Carlie.

  “Shut up.” Carlie squeezed through the gap in the ceiling, trying to get to the roof and a better view.

  Her waist got stuck when she was halfway through and she nearly panicked, flailing her arms. Gravity would toss her two stories to the concrete if she wasn’t careful.