He stood over her, his mouth open. "You called me madman."
"No shit. Untie me."
"You can communicate?" he asked.
"I'm not dead. Look at my chest. I'm breathing. I'm talking. I need to pee."
He put his hand to his face and stroked his thin beard.
"What are you waiting for?" she asked.
"I have some questions before I let you go. Fair enough?"
"Fair enough?" she asked incredulously. "You have me strapped to a fucking chair."
"Do you suffer from Tourette syndrome?"
Darlene laughed and relaxed. "No, I just find the need to curse like a trucker when some madman straps me to a table. Weird, I know."
"I'm Madman."
"I know."
"No, no, you don't understand. My nickname is Madman."
"Should I even ask why?"
He leaned on the table near her right side and smiled. "It was back in high school, during chemistry class. The teacher handed out contact information sheets, things like that. One of the questions was your nickname. I put Madman."
"Why?"
He laughed. "Why not? It was funny; I was a kid and the name followed me for years. Everyone from high school still calls me Madman."
"Did you legally change your name?"
He looked confused. "No."
"Then what's your real fucking name? And when the fuck are you going to get me off this table?"
"I'm Russell, but my friends call me Russ."
"I guess you're a doctor of some sort."
"Me? Nope. I'm a computer programmer."
Darlene sighed. "That makes perfect sense with the day I'm having."
Russ put a hand on the strap holding her feet and stopped. "You've been bitten."
"I'm aware of that. My shoulder is killing me."
He tapped her ankle. "You were bitten before, an older wound. Yet, you live."
"I'm a modern fucking miracle, doc. Of course, if I lose any more circulation in my legs, you'll be amputating them anyway."
"I hesitate to unleash you. What if you are the next generation in the undead evolution?"
Darlene smiled at him. "Then we're all royally fucked."
"I suppose so." He un-strapped her, but she was too weak to move. "You've lost too much blood. I need to tend that wound as well."
Darlene's head started o swim and she closed her eyes. "I need to rest."
"I'll get you a pillow and blanket. You sleep while I fix you up."
"You're sure you're not a doctor?"
Madman smiled. "Yes, but tonight I'm the best thing you've got."
* * * * *
"Who's the redhead?" Tosha asked Ellen, trading a makeup bag for a shot of Absolut. She sucked it down, loving the burn down her throat.
"She's from the outpost at Matanzas Inlet, to the south. Why?" Ellen said and smiled. "Jealous?"
"Fuck that." Tosha snorted. "There's just one too many redheads in this bar tonight, and its slim pickings to begin with."
Ellen took the shot glass and cleaned it with a rag. "She'll be gone in the morning, and then you can have the bar to dick-tease all yourself."
Tosha laughed. "True. Can I get another shot?"
"Sure." Ellen smiled. "Whatcha got to trade for it?"
Tosha searched her pockets. By the time she'd gotten back to Flagler College, everyone was already gone and the kid's trail ended in town. But she was no mystical tracker who could follow someone on pavement. He was gone, but she'd find him.
"I don't have anything, but I'm good for it. They still owe me for today."
Ellen shook her head. "I'm sorry, Red, but I can't extend any more credit to anyone. I'm running out of everything. To be honest, I'll only be taking food after tonight."
"Shit. They're not giving out food to us anymore."
Ellen sighed. "I've got enough jewelry to open my own store. I don't even wear jewelry."
"There were refugees turned away this morning, I hear." Tosha stared at the new bitch, watching her as these idiots stumbled over one another and traded everything they carried to buy her a drink. "It's getting bad again. Too many of us in such a cramped space and no real crops to grow."
"What about the livestock?" Ellen asked.
Tosha shook her head. "Some idiot decided to kill the cows. Remember the big feast we had two weeks ago next to the college? That was the last of the meat. Some people are hoarding chickens, hoping for eggs."
"You've been out there, past the fences?"
"Yes, and there isn't much left out there. We've searched twenty miles inland on certain roads, and there are some hungry and mean groups that have formed out there."
Ellen pulled the shot glass out and poured more Absolut. She slid it across the bar to Tosha.
"What's this for?"
"Just for talking to me in this insanity. It's not often I get a break."
Tosha drank up. She handed Ellen the shot glass. "What's your real name?"
"Huh? Kimberly," Ellen lied.
"Not likely. The way you and your family act, you've never worked in the restaurant business your entire life, let alone owned this joint."
Ellen put her head down. "We got lucky, stumbling into Kimberly's at the right time." She lifted her head and smiled, extending her hand. "I'm Ellen."
"I'm Tosha." They shook hands. Tosha got up and winked. "And to me and everyone else you're Kimberly."
"Not sticking around?"
"For what? To see that bitch steal the losers from me? I'll go find something else to do."
Chapter Nine
Doug Conrad put the rifle down when he saw it was only Rusty returning. "Took you long enough."
"It's a big city."
"Well?"
"The kid got in," Rusty said. They both stood on a stretch of beach well to the northeast of the city. Behind them, all their men were busy fighting off undead with machetes and makeshift weapons.
"How do you know?"
"I talked to him an hour ago. He's been scoping out nearby buildings and watching the patrols. He's a good kid."
Doug laughed. "He's alive, which is all that matters right now." He glanced back. "We need to finish this up and go. Did you secure a spot for us to get in?"
"Yes, not far from here, in fact. I have two men waiting in case the patrol comes back, but they have miles to watch. We might not have to kill them."
"Too bad. Leave a man or two behind to take care of them, on the off-chance we need to leave the way we came in." Doug needed a good night's sleep, but knew he wasn't going to get one for quite some time.
"I'll get everyone ready."
Doug gripped his right-hand man's shoulder. "We also need to have some of these dead mothers following us. The more the merrier. We need to punch a few holes in the fences."
Rusty stared at him without saying a word.
"The only way we'll be able to get into this city is by creating some chaos. Then, while those idiots are fighting the monsters, we can get in, grab their supplies and get out."
"That didn't work too well in Orlando, Doug."
"Orlando was a big mess to begin with. They were too spread out and didn't have enough food for everyone. I bet these guys running the show here know what they're doing. We might even be able to get our group into position in the event they beat back the zombies. When they return, they return to us in charge."
Rusty shrugged. "Sounds like a plan. A very similar plan to the one that just got fucked up, but a plan nonetheless."
Doug squeezed Rusty's shoulder. "Did you say something?"
Rusty pulled away from Doug. "Just agreeing with you, boss."
"Thought so. And tell them to stop killing the monsters, we need them alive." Doug laughed. "Alive, get it?"
Left alone, Doug paced on the beach. He wasn't a bad man, just a man who got his way. When he set his sights on a prize, he usually got it, or no one got it. It was simple as that.
The Sons of the New Patriots wasn't a militia anymore, to h
im. It was him. The men had been thinned so much in the last few months he could count on one hand those originally sworn to the cause who remained.
And, of those, only Rusty could be trusted. He'd been with Doug since the beginning, before it all happened, and Rusty was the only friend Rusty had at this point.
But can he really be trusted? Doug thought. He didn't want to think that way. Negativity never got you anywhere in life. Only strong action did.
Painted on the cabin walls back in Connecticut—and later in Buffalo at Rusty's bar—were several slogans, words that the group swore by.
Doug watched as his ragtag group of thirty men - and two captive women - started stripping the boats of supplies for the march inland, and wondered if any of them knew what his ideals were.
Only the strong survive.
Death to Inferiors.
You are your own God.
Doug Conrad doubted one of these dirty, scared, weak men could recite one of those sayings. And he doubted they knew the true meaning of the words or what they meant to Doug and Rusty and to so many fallen brothers over the years.
"We're ready. The kid is waiting," Rusty said as he walked past Doug.
Doug joined his men climbing up the dunes to the fence. They'd already cut two holes and were easing through. It was dark, warm, and the moonlight cast shadows across the world before him.
"No guns," he whispered. "Machete or stick only."
Doug took a final look at the boats that had helped them get to this point, skirting miles of hostile beaches, roads and the undead. That plan had worked, and he hoped this next part would as well.
Rusty did have a point about screwing this up, but it was better than the alternative: fending for themselves, trying to feed thirty men, and not getting eaten.
A zombie slammed into the fence before finding the tear, and entered into St. Augustine, followed by a score of his brothers.
* * * * *
Darlene sat up and felt her shoulder tearing beneath the bandages.
"Careful, you'll pull the stitches out."
"Stitches?" Darlene sat up, a bit light-headed, but fine. She was thirsty and hungry.
As if reading her mind, Russ put a tray of sliced oranges and a cup of water on the table next to her.
"Thanks." She ate and drank and immediately felt better. "Where are we? Is this a school?"
"Yes." He sat in a chair and put his feet up on a school desk, picking at a plate of apple slices. "Welcome to Flagler-Palm Coast High School, home of the Bulldogs."
"Where?"
"About ten miles from where I found you."
Darlene rubbed her eyes. "You have electricity this far south?"
"I'm running generators. This entire town was evacuated when I got here. At some point, the other end of the school and the auditorium were used for refugees, but they're long gone. I use this as my base of operations, and scour the countryside for supplies, and damsels in distress."
"There were zombies everywhere," Darlene said.
"Lucky for me, I travel light, carry grenades and a flamethrower, and can weave a motorcycle in and out of traffic."
Darlene sat up. "You're Azrael."
"The cat from the Smurfs? Not likely."
"No, the Angel of Death."
"Really? Who calls me that?" Russ said and held an apple slice near his mouth.
Darlene looked away. Probably the smartest thing right now wouldn't be to piss this guy off. "Forget it."
"They call me Madman. That's my nickname." He stuffed the fruit into his mouth and sighed. "Apples are getting harder and harder to find these days."
"Most things are."
He stared at her and Darlene forced herself not to look away. He was starting to creep her out. She wondered what the proper protocol was for leaving. Thanks for saving my life, stitching me up, feeding me, giving me bus money, but it's time I hit the road.
"I remember you," he said.
Great. This is not going to end well. "Do you? Are you sure? Lots of women look like me."
"At the bridge, you and your boyfriend."
"He's not my boyfriend," she said quickly, and felt her cheeks warm like a schoolgirl with a crush. "We're just friends."
Russ laughed. "I helped you escape."
"You shot at us."
"No, I shot near you. There's a difference. If I hit you, I probably shot at you."
"Everyone talks of you like you're the boogeyman, riding around on your motorcycle and killing the living and the dead."
"Not me. I do have a sweet collection of bikes, though."
"I can imagine. Why are you out here by yourself? We have a nice group near the inlet, and St. Augustine is just up the road."
"I'm not what you'd call sociable. I have my own things I like to do, my routine. I've had it forever, ever since I was a kid."
"Did you grow up here?"
"No, no. I'm from New Jersey, land of Bon Jovi and Springsteen. Of course, my tastes fall more toward the real musicians like Jaco Pastorius and Led Zeppelin, great jazz and legendary rock musicians you don't hear anymore."
He grinned. "I used to play bass growing up. I was good. Listened to guys like Billy Sheehan and Bootsy Collins."
Darlene had no idea who he was talking about but she could feel his passion when he spoke. "Did you ever do anything with it?"
"Sure. My parents sent me to Boston to study music at Berklee. I learned quite a bit. I also learned how to survive with no money, eat Ramen noodles until I wanted to die, and improvise when it came to getting by in life."
Darlene slowly rubbed her shoulder. It wasn't as tender as it was a few minutes ago. She could actually move it. It wasn't her shooting arm, which she was grateful for. "Where's my weapons?" she suddenly asked.
He pointed to the back of the classroom. "Your boots and things are in there."
"Thank you." She thought it would be rude to get up and retrieve them right now, so she waited. "And after Boston?"
"My dad worked for the government. This was late eighties, early nineties. He'd bring home his computer and show me cool games, all these text-based programs. I loved it, so I started researching and writing code myself. I made quite a good living off it, in fact. I was in Germany, working on a big project, when everything started to happen."
"Wow. You're a long way from Germany. And New Jersey."
"We got rerouted. One thing led to another and I ended up here."
"Is any of that computer skill of any use in this new world?"
"Sure." He stood and rubbed his hands together. "I've been experimenting, recording data, and I know things the common man—or woman—does not."
"Such as?"
"Why don't I show you?" Russ walked out the door and down the hall, Darlene struggling in her weak state to keep up.
They passed several empty classrooms, the auditorium and the lunchroom, and came to a closed door. Russ stopped and smiled.
For some reason, Darlene was reminded of Willy Wonka. There was obviously something not quite right with this guy, but she thought he was harmless. Relatively harmless, she decided, remembering her previous encounter with him.
"I usually videotape any experiments, but I can't find any battery packs. But, especially in the beginning, I taped all of it. Do you want to see the tapes or the live stuff first?"
Darlene had no idea what he was talking about so she shrugged. "Surprise me."
He tapped his chin with a finger and grinned. "Follow me, we'll do the video presentation first."
Luckily for Darlene, the next classroom was their destination. Russ pulled two chairs up close to the front of the room where a widescreen television and DVD player had been hooked up.
Russ grabbed the remote control with a flourish. He was clearly enjoying this.
Darlene remembered the weeks and months she'd spent alone, wondering if she were the last person alive. She almost went crazy in a few spots.
"Watch this and tell me what you see."
The vide
o came on, a single steady camera filming through a glass window in a door between it and the subject, a man who was clearly dead but moving.
Darlene watched for several minutes as the zombie shuffled around the room, walking in and out of frame, knocking into chairs and desks in the classroom.
"I'm not following you," she said.
Russ stood. "Watch! Watch!"
The zombie moved out of frame again. At least thirty seconds went by and a faint scraping noise could be heard.
Darlene was about to stand when the zombie reappeared suddenly, chair in hand, and began smashing the door with the chair. The camera shuddered with each blow.
"Do you see?" Russ yelled.
A final blow knocked the door open and the camera toppled. A single gunshot could be heard before the camera was turned off.
"I don't follow," Darlene admitted.
"It picked up a chair and used it as a weapon."
Darlene stood and joined him. "Back at the stilt house, some of them figured out how to pull the barricade down. And when their comrades fell, they pulled them out of the way instead of tripping over them."
"Really? Excellent," Russ said excitedly. "I'll have to get a full report from you for the files. I wish I had a working camera."
"How is that excellent? That's frightening. They're getting smarter, learning…"
"Or perhaps remembering? I'm not yet sure which. That could prove to be important."
Darlene sat back down. "If they begin to outsmart us, we'll have no hope. We're all assuming they'll be easy to kill one at a time, or they'll simply rot, run out of food, and we'll rebuild."
Russ put out his hand. "Come with me."
"Do I want to?"
"No, but you need to."
They went back to the hallway and entered the original door they'd stopped at.
Russ opened the door and hit the light-switch. Strapped to a table in the center of the room, similar to the setup Russ used for Darlene, was a female zombie. She fought her bonds but she couldn't move.
Darlene didn't want to go in.
"It's fine, she's been here for months."
"How is that possible?"
"I'll show you." Russ escorted Darlene to the zombie's feet. Both were severed just above the ankle. "Notice the blue lines."
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