Dying Days Page 5

  "You know you have a bottle of wine?"

  "Sweet. Bring it up, we'll cannonball it with the beers and get ripped."

  She stuffed cookies in her mouth and washed it down with the warm beer. Not a bad meal when you hadn't eaten in days.

  Darlene decided that she'd rather die drunk and full of stale cookies in a car crash than bitten and sexually abused by a dead person.

  * * * * *

  "Where are we?" she said, sitting up in the Trans Am. Her body was stiff. When she realized they were parked she slowly rolled out of the car and stretched her legs. It was nighttime.

  R.J. tipped his hat. "Connecticut."

  "I thought we were going to New Jersey."

  "We are. But we can't very well swing through NYC and fight a zillion zombies, can we? Most of the roads were blocked off as we headed south so I had to turn west." He was siphoning gas from a pickup truck. "I'll fill 'er up and we'll be on our way."

  "Did you search this place?"

  "Nah, just stopped a few minutes ago and took a leak. You've been sleeping for about twelve hours."

  "Maybe we should hide out until daybreak. It's probably not a good idea to drive at night, when you can't see far enough ahead."

  "Agreed. Even with it being such a clear night, it was getting dicey there the last couple of hours. I just wanted to put some distance between us and that last city I skirted, because it was crawling with the dead. It looked like an ant swarm or cockroaches or something."

  "Where are we?"

  R.J. laughed. "In Connecticut. That's all I know."

  They were parked right off an exit from a major highway in a strip-mall. The windows had all been smashed out, but nothing on fire. Darlene was thankful for that.

  There was a pizza place, a hobby shop, a tanning salon, Chinese takeout, and a liquor store. "Finished with your wine?" she asked.

  "Almost." R.J. finished filling the Trans Am. "Let me get my machete and we'll go look for something expensive. I prefer a white wine, if possible."

  "Beggars can't be choosers," Darlene said. "We'll start at the end at the liquor store and work our way to some fine pizza."

  The liquor store was open, all the glass doors and windows shattered. The shelves were empty, but they searched anyway.

  "In every movie I ever saw about a zombie apocalypse, there is always a bottle of something for the heroes to find," R.J. said from behind the counter.

  "Who says we're the heroes?"

  "You think those things are the heroes? If that's the case, it means we're all fucked."

  "We're fucked regardless." Darlene wished right now she had a flashlight, because scampering in the dark with glass everywhere was not a good move. Besides, she knew this was a bust.

  "Did you hear that?" R.J. said at the same moment she heard the car engine.

  * * * * *

  "Two guys, ones big and looks like a biker, the other is small with glasses." Darlene leaned forward and watched the odd pair as they exited the beat-up station wagon.

  "Are they heading our way?" R.J. asked.

  "So far they're standing outside the car and whispering. I can't make out what they're saying." She turned to R.J. "I don't want to fight living people if I can help it. If they leave us alone I say we leave them alone."

  "Sounds like a plan. The last time I ran into people they tried to shoot me and take the Bandit."

  Darlene thought about the worst time she'd run into people and what they'd done to her, but she pushed it down, deep out of the way, before it consumed her again. No sense in dwelling on the past when the present was so fucked up.

  They stayed in the shadows and waited. Finally, Darlene watched with relief as the two men pulled shotguns from the car but went into the hobby store a couple storefronts away.

  When she told R.J. he nodded. "We wait them out."

  Darlene was fine with that. Within ten minutes the duo reappeared, lugging large white boxes. "What did they find?"

  R.J. took a peek and chuckled. "They're taking the comic books and baseball cards."

  "Seriously?"

  "Looks like it. Shit, if that place went untouched they might be in there for a couple hours between searching and loading up the station wagon."

  "Great." Darlene wondered if there was someplace comfortable to crash in here until then.

  "We need to leave," R.J. said suddenly.

  "I think we just sit tight and the geeks will be gone stealing Iron Man comic books in a few. Then we can drive out of here."

  R.J. began wringing his hands. "I need to get home."

  "All in good time. Don't start freaking out," Darlene said. She casually moved away from him, making pretend she was looking for something they might have missed. "Did we check the stockroom?"

  R.J. seemed to relax. "I'll do that. You keep an eye on those two."

  Darlene hoped it would keep him busy and preoccupied until these guys left.

  They were carrying out another two boxes and adding them to the back of the station wagon. She wondered what would possess them to take items that were worthless.

  She could see loading up the car with boxes of canned food or gallons and gallons of water, but cards and comics didn't make sense.

  Then again, what really did make sense these days? Dead people eating living people was pretty much out there in space as well. It felt like all the rules had changed, and you survived and that was the bottom line.

  Darlene sat in the shadows near the front window and watched as the two continued bringing out their finds. She wondered what they'd been like before this happened. It was a safe assumption they'd been heavily into comic books and video games.

  She remembered an old Saturday Night Live skit from years ago when William Shatner was at a Star Trek convention and he asked one of the geeky kids if he'd ever kissed a girl. Darlene wondered if either of them had, but with her luck they were more than likely psycho rapists. At this point, based on who'd she'd met so far in her journey, three out of four guys were horny serial killers.

  For a second she just stared blankly when she saw the brake lights of the Bandit flash. By the time she stood and went to the doorway the car was driving away.

  When the two guys came out, shotguns drawn, she faded back into the store and held the Desert Eagle.

  "Dumb wannabe hillbilly," she whispered.

  The Trans Am shot out of the parking lot before he turned the headlights on.

  After a minute the two guys went back inside to complete their mission.

  Chapter Nine

  Lords of the Flies

  Darlene Bobich, feet tired and down to her last can of corn, rested against a wall of the Havenwood High School. She felt like she'd been walking for days, because she had.

  When R.J. ran off with the Bandit (the Pontiac Trans Am) and left her she was furious. That anger sustained her for the first couple of hours on the walk, but now she'd wash his damn car if he pulled up and offered her a lift.

  She was skirting the New York - Connecticut border, slipping in and out of small towns while she moved. But she didn't find much. It seemed like a great horde were just over the next ridge, pillaging the houses and stores a mile ahead of her and clearing them out.

  Living and undead were in scarce supply and at least that was something to be grateful for. She knew the school might not offer a comfortable resting place but it might offer some shelter, especially if she could hide in one of the classrooms and sleep.

  Maybe a teacher hid some candy bars or an energy drink in their desk, she thought. At this point she'd be happy with stale crumbs in the bottom of an empty potato chip bag.

  As she got the strength to move again a strangled cry sounded from just around the building. Darlene led with the Desert Eagle.

  The girl looked to be no more than ten, with curly blonde hair and wearing a light blue dress. She sat on top of a picnic table in the enclosed courtyard, hands in her lap.

  Darlene stopped short and lowered her weapon.

&nbs
p; The girl smiled at her. "Hi," she said, as if they'd met in a store or restaurant. "My name is Stephanie."

  "I'm Darlene. Honey, what are you doing out here alone?" Darlene moved slowly toward her. The girl was clearly living and she didn't seem to be bleeding or have any noticeable bite marks. "Do you know how dangerous this is?"

  The girl, still smiling, nodded and kept her eyes locked on Darlene's without blinking. It was unnerving.

  "Freeze."

  Darlene was too late to react when she felt the muzzle pushed against her side.

  "Move a muscle and I'll shoot you, lady."

  Darlene slowly raised her hands but kept the Desert Eagle. She turned her head slightly and looked. The shotgun ended in a boy, maybe twelve, with reddish hair and freckles. Behind him were seven or eight other kids, all wielding baseball bats, hockey sticks or steel bars. "I don't want any trouble," she said.

  "Too late. This is our territory, lady."

  "I understand. I'm going to turn around and walk out of here and no one will get hurt."

  "If you take one step I'll fill you full of lead," the boy said.

  Darlene wanted to laugh at the cliché he'd just said, and every other one he'd make before this was over. Too much TV watching for this kid, Darlene thought.

  "Kid, where are your parents?" As soon as she said it she cringed. Of all the stupid things to say. "I mean, who's in charge here? You?"

  He pushed the shotgun into her side, harder, and nodded. "I'm in charge here. This is my school and my playground and my town. You're trespassing. Do you know what we do with trespassers?"

  Darlene shook her head, casually glancing at the other children. They hung on his every word, fear, awe and hunger clearly etched on their faces.

  "We gut them and eat them."

  "Bobby, don't say that. I'm not eating anyone," Stephanie said. "You wanted to lure the monsters in so we could kill them. She's not a monster."

  "I make that decision, not you."

  "Who said you were the leader of us, anyway?" another boy said. "You're only calling the shots because you have your dad's rifle."

  "Don't challenge me, Brent, or I'll kick your ass."

  "You can try," Brent said.

  Darlene knew this would quickly escalate into in-fighting, with someone likely to get hurt. She didn't want any part of this, especially with kids involved. If Bobby accidentally pulled that trigger or turned the gun on the group and fired she didn't know if she could live with that. "After all I've been through, kids killing kids would suck," she whispered.

  Bobby turned his attention back to her. "What did you say?"

  "I said you and I need to talk."

  Bobby smiled but Darlene could see he was scared. The muzzle brushed against her side but he couldn't hold it steady. "There's nothing to talk about. I'm in charge and I call the shots." Darlene watched in horror as his fingers kept flexing on the trigger.

  "You do know that shotgun wouldn't do anything to me at this close range?"

  Bobby looked down at the weapon, which was what Darlene was hoping for. She pushed it aside and had her Desert Eagle out and pointed at his chest.

  The group scattered.

  "That just broke my heart to put a gun to a child. But, Bobby, this standoff needs to end right now. I need to leave."

  He nodded his head, tears starting to form. "I'm just scared."

  "I know you are." Darlene took a step back and lowered the gun but reached out and grabbed the shotgun from his limp fingers. "We all are."

  "Not you."

  "I'm pissing my pants, Bobby."

  He laughed at her joke and wiped at his face. "Stay with us, be our leader."

  "How about you all come with me? I'm heading south before the winter comes."

  "We live here. This is all I know and the rest. Besides, my parents are here somewhere. When this all started my mom drove out to get my grandma and my dad was on his way from work. I need to stay close to my house and take care of my sister."

  Darlene nodded. "But you're a bunch of kids."

  Bobby laughed. "A bunch of kids that have survived this long. We have a house full of food and water, and we built a tunnel. That's the only way into the garage now."

  "I can't just leave you."

  "It looks like we're doing better than you. When was the last time you ate something?"

  "True."

  Bobby called for Stephanie, who came running. Darlene put her Desert Eagle back in her waistband. "Sis, go get this lady something to eat from the house, and some water. Take Jimmy with you."

  "I can't cut into your supplies like that," Darlene said.

  "Just through the woods there is a shopping center. We cleared out all the food from the big store and all the small ones. We have three rooms packed with food."

  "Thank you." Darlene said. "Sure you don't want to come?"

  "We're fine here. These are my friends and they look up to me."

  "You're a natural born leader, Bobby."

  Darlene went and sat down on the picnic table. She was about to leave a group of little kids alone, to fend for themselves, during such trying times.

  "All the rules have changed," she whispered and smiled when Stephanie approached with an opened can of corn.

  Chapter Ten

  Rear Guard

  Darlene Bobich knew the fallacy in Barry’s statement.

  “The living leave a heat signature, and I can easily pick it up with my scope. If they’re cold as, well, a fucking dead person, I blow their fucking head off. Case closed.”

  “Recently deceased people still have a small amount of heat.”

  “Nah.” Barry dismissed her with a wave of his hand as he scanned the highway behind them. “They die and the heat goes with them. It only takes a few minutes. My daddy was a doctor, trust me.”

  “Your daddy was a doctor?” Darlene asked skeptically.

  Barry winked at her. “He was a janitor in the state hospital in Rhode Island. Same thing. He knew stuff.”

  “By that logic I’m a five star general.” Darlene held up her Desert Eagle semi-automatic. “I know how to shoot a gun at things.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere.” Barry wiped the sweat from his forehead. Even in his early sixties, Barry had more energy than most of the people she’d met. His wiry gray beard stopped right below his large ears, his head bald and sunburned. A single diamond earring in his left ear was his only jewelry, his clothes nondescript. He wore over-sized work boots and carried a hunting rifle with his bedroll and supplies tied to his back. A Beretta PX4 was always in his hands.

  They’d been moving steadily south for three days, with Barry and Darlene part of the Rear Guard. Six groups of two were spread out across a half-mile line, and the occasional sound of a weapon discharging had become so common that no one bothered to investigate unless signaled.

  Darlene was the only female in the Rear Guard and only because she was one of the few females that had a weapon and knew how to use it. It was better than being on the Death Squad or on the Scavengers.

  “It will be light soon,” Darlene said. She didn’t know if the nights or the days were worse; at night the undead would enter their flashlight range from out of the blackness, rotting limbs and gore-streaked clothing. The males were the worst, with engorged dicks and wagging tongues. During the day it was easier to see them, but it was easier to see how many followed the group. Sometimes the road took them past a large metropolis and hundreds of the former residents would get in behind them.

  Barry estimated that they’d been leading over twenty thousand behind them at this point, shuffling slowly from New Haven, Connecticut to their present location just south of Baltimore. It was pretty impressive when you considered that they currently had about two hundred living people in their makeshift caravan. The odds were against them.

  “We need to get moving a bit faster,” Barry said loudly. The rear walkers of their group were right behind them, the slow and the weak stragglers. Several times each ni
ght they would be yelled at, pushed and cajoled or risk behind left behind.

  Darlene was reminded of the ambush in Weehawken in Jersey about ten nights ago, when scores of undead came from all sides and wedged them into a parking lot, where they used too much ammunition and lost too many living to escape. Most of the ‘back group’ had been sacrificed, torn to pieces as the healthier broke free and got away.

  It seemed like every few miles another two or three living would hear them coming, see the spotlights from the trucks, buses and cars and join them, bringing whatever food and weapons they had.

  There was no organization. Six military men, still in uniform and using their Army lingo and hand signals, were trying to lead the group toward an unspecified rendezvous point due south. Darlene hadn’t bothered to speak with them personally. They seemed either too shell-shocked or too arrogant to deal with.

  Barry had been to the front of the group each day to get the same orders as the last: guard the rear, shoot the undead and keep people moving. So far they’d done a serviceable job of it.

  Darlene had been in the group about three weeks, hooking up with them just outside of the Connecticut/New York border. At first she’d followed at a safe distance. The last large group she’d encountered before that had been in Buffalo, a militia faction from upstate that had taken the apocalypse as reason to kill the living and the undead. She’d escaped with her life and only a few bruises.

  “Incoming,” Barry said.

  Three silhouettes appeared just beyond flashlight range. “Living,” Jonathan shouted from their left. He was in his late teens, a gangly kid with glasses and a few wisps of a moustache. He’d been the first person to befriend Darlene and to recommend her for the Rear Guard.

  They stopped and watched warily as the three approached. Lately the living were presenting problems as well, with beggars and thieves latching onto them. Two nights ago a man, who everyone thought had been paralyzed from his waist down in an attack and who rode on the back of one of the pickups, tried to highjack the truck with a box cutter. He had perfect use of his legs, running away when his robbery was thwarted.