Darlene saw a thick blue line, several inches above the cuts, on both legs. "Okay."
Russ pulled a pen from his pocket and touched the blue line before gliding the pen down to the wound. "When I secured her, she had no feet. I marked the tip of the stumps with the blue marker. That was seven months, two weeks and three days ago."
"But…"
"They are learning," Russ said, "And they are regenerating. They will not rot and fade away."
Chapter Ten
David scooped the last three ibuprofen from his pocket and sucked them down his throat without water. He didn't have time for this tonight. His wife was going to kill him, but he had a job to do. One he hated right now.
He knocked on the door of the tour bus, ignoring the giant Steve 'The Breeze' Brack face smiling at him. Actually, it was more leering than anything else, the four-foot tall painting of his head looming.
The driver answered the door, stinking of booze. He simply stared at David through bloodshot eyes.
"I need to speak to your boss." David wanted this over quickly.
"He's busy entertaining."
"This bus needs to move from this spot."
"It's not hurting anyone. In fact, we shared some food with the locals today," Mike said and scratched his crotch, which was in line with David's face.
David looked away. Asshole. "Get Steve out here, please."
"I told you, he's busy." Mike winked. "At last count there were three in there with him. I bailed after the first. I'm too drunk and need some sleep." Mike started to close the door.
David, now thoroughly pissed, stepped up and pushed his way past the drunken driver. "Looks like you were robbed."
The inside of the tour bus was a mess. Empty beer bottles, the smell of burnt hot dogs, cheap cologne, and various women's clothing items hanging from chairs, curtains, and a red thong in the sink added to the sense of chaos.
Mike grinned. "He's in the master bedroom."
David walked down the short hall, stepping over an empty whiskey bottle. He knocked lightly on the closed door.
A woman giggled.
David knocked louder. "Steve?"
"Mike, bring us more wine." A different girl giggled. "And grapes, do we have grapes?"
David wanted to spend a quiet evening with his wife, get a drink at Kimberly's Bar, and go home and relax. He slammed his palm on the door. "Steve, we need to talk."
After a pause Steve laughed. "Come in."
David opened the door but didn't enter.
Steve, completely nude, was spread-eagle on the bed. A naked young brunette had his manhood buried in her mouth while another girl fondled her from behind. The third woman was servicing herself with an empty wine bottle.
David had a mission here, and this wouldn't deter him. He couldn't open his mouth and form words, though, right now.
Steve pointed at the woman taking care of herself. "Hey, Danny, see if she needs a hand."
"David. My name is David. I need this bus moved."
"Not a problem," Steve said and put a hand on the back of his oral partner's head. "Can I finish here first?"
"I'm not kidding," David said.
“Neither am I." Steve laughed. "Are you going to just stand there and stare or jump into the fire?"
David turned away and stomped back down the hall.
Mike was sitting at the small table, trying in vain to light a wet cigarette.
"You need to move this tour bus," David said.
Mike grinned. "Is that what this is about?"
"I specifically told you—"
"No, you told Steve, who in turn, lied to me to get us to park here."
"I don't care who's to blame," David said.
"We were planning on moving in the next half hour. Once we grew bored with those three chicks."
"I don't believe you."
Mike smiled when the cigarette sparked. "Seriously, man. We had a nice day here, hanging with the refugees. I cooked over a hundred hot dogs and traded them for alcohol, even though we have enough to kill a person ten times over." Mike stood, puffed on his cig, and opened the shelves above the stove.
Bottles of whiskey, wine, rum, vodka, and homemade mason jars were jammed into the space.
"You want something?" Mike asked.
"Like a bribe?"
"Man, you always play the cop around here? I swear this bus will be moved. We've already driven through any of the good snatch around here. It's on to bigger and better things." Mike hefted a full bottle of pineapple rum. "For you, kind sir."
David wasn't stupid. He palmed the bottle. "One hour."
"You got it."
"Where do you think you're going to park?"
Mike smiled. "Wherever Steve can find more ladies."
* * * * *
Tosha was drunk. Beyond-fucked-up-drunk, slobbering drunk right now. She knew because her dead twin sister was sitting on the bench across from her on Spanish Street.
"Don't start with me, Mathyu," Tosha said, referring to her sister's stupid nickname. "I'll be fine."
Tosha just needed to get home, but right now she wanted to put her fuzzy head down on the bench and sleep.
The last hour was now a blur. After leaving the bar, she'd run into Bobby, still nursing a swollen lip and jaw from her boot kick. To make it up to him—and because he carried a fifth of gin—she sat under a tree with him on Hypolita Street and shared the bottle. The entire bottle. Now she was gone, since she hadn't eaten a thing all day.
Bobby was left passed out under the tree and Tosha had a new wristwatch and his shoe laces.
Mathyu stared, unmoving, but with judgment etched on her face.
"You don't know me," Tosha whined and laughed. Of course she knew her. Who else knew her like her sister? Who else knew what she was going through on a daily basis, with survival, emotions, conflicts that arose not only from the zombies but from the asshole living she had to deal with.
Two people were stumbling down the empty street. Tosha shook her head to clear it, although it didn't really help. She needed a few hours to relax, sleep, and sober up.
"Shit, that kid is still loose," she whispered. She'd be in no position to track him in the morning.
As the couple approached she saw one of them was a large man, well over six feet tall, with long reddish hair and a few extra pounds of fat.
But Tosha was more interested in the woman with him, the redheaded whore from the bar.
She decided to fuck with them before heading home. As they got within twenty feet of her, Tosha stood and pointed her pistol. "Stop or I'll shoot."
They were both drunk, and the redhead fell against the guy before he righted her. "Seriously? You're going to rob someone?"
Tosha giggled. The gun was shaking in her hand. "Give me your pants."
The redhead took a step toward Tosha and smiled. "I saw you in the bar, but you left before we could talk."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm Kayla and this is my brother Peter."
Peter gripped his sister's arm. "We need to get back."
Kayla smiled. "Why? This might be interesting."
Tosha still held the gun. "I said I want your pants."
"How about my undies? Want them as well?" Kayla asked.
Tosha smiled. "Yes."
"Too bad. I'm not wearing any." Kayla unbuttoned her jeans. "Do you live close?"
"What about the giant mutant?" Tosha asked.
Kayla looked at her brother and laughed. "He'll wait outside while we get to know each other."
Tosha ignored her silent sister, still sitting on the bench.
Chapter Eleven
The house was silent by the time John dropped his boots on the floor and climbed into the strangely familiar bed.
How many times had he slept here? Ten? Twelve? How many others stayed here, members of western or northern outposts who came into town from time to time and traded information and supplies?
John always felt bad because so many families were g
athered in the center of town, either near the monument or on the lawn of Fort Matanzas. He supposed they had a choice, and if he had a family to protect there was strength in numbers.
These houses were old and drafty, and that was before the world ended. Now, they stood in silent rows with chain-link fences and hastily-built walls on two sides. They were literally at the end of civilization.
Someone from the group had left a chunk of hard bread and a warm beer for him. He genuinely loved these people and would do anything for them. They were his family.
John took a bite and washed it down with a sip of beer. He didn't feel like drinking but beggars could never be choosers in these trying times. There was no such thing as wasting food or drink.
He thought of Darlene suddenly, sitting on the deck of her stilt house and smiling at him. There was an attraction there, between them both. She was beautiful, sexy, funny, made him think, made him question many things, like what he was holding onto at this point…
John decided he would ease up and see where this all led him. In his heart, he knew his wife was gone, but it was the hope that kept him going. It was the reason he got up in the morning, fought so hard, and did the right thing.
Or was it?
What if Darlene was the reason now? John supposed it made sense. Hell, Murph had said it over and over as well, telling him he had a real live woman in front of him and if he were younger or she was passed out, he'd hit that.
John hoped his dad was alright, but knew he was in safe hands with Darlene. Ever since she'd stumbled into his life—actually, he'd shot her with an arrow, he remembered—it had been better. He no longer had to worry about his dad being alone during these supply trips.
John finished the beer and put his head on the lumpy, familiar pillow.
In the morning, he'd round up the troops, gather their things, make some quick trades, and they’d be on their way. He didn't think he'd push it with Darlene just yet, but he'd subtly show her he was more receptive to her advances and really did feel the same as she did.
With a smile on his face, John Murphy closed his eyes and fell asleep, waiting for a bright tomorrow to come.
* * * * *
Dylan couldn't wait to see the look on Doug's face when he saw what he'd done: huge holes had been rent in the fences, and at one spot he'd pulled down a barrier of cement blocks and bricks, letting at least twenty zombies into St. Augustine.
Doug had come to him right before he'd left and told him the plan, and let him in on a secret: no one else knew it yet. Only the two of them.
Dylan was happy he was such an integral part of the team. He moved toward the west. His goal was now simple; to create as much havoc as possible.
He started by putting gashes in the fence every twenty feet or so by either pulling up the posts or chopping through them with his nicked machete.
The noise didn't seem to be attracting anyone in this part of town, which looked abandoned. All the streets were empty. The buildings stood in silent rows, empty and dark.
What if this was all a scam, and no one but a few people lived here? Doug talked about a large force camping here with plenty of supplies, weapons and security. So far Dylan hadn't run into anyone save the redhead earlier today.
Now he started to sweat. What if he was doing something stupid? What if the town was empty, and even now Doug and the others were rounding them up and pissed at the carnage he’d unleashed?
He ran back the way he'd come. Already, zombies had found the holes and were staggering into town. These he easily avoided, using his skateboard to zoom past a cluster of them.
"Freeze."
"It's me, Dylan," he said. He recognized Rusty's voice.
Rusty and six men came into view, weapons drawn.
"How's it going?" Rusty asked.
"It's going great. I ripped open a ton of fences, and they're already through." Dylan waited for Rusty to look shocked or say something but he only nodded.
"You've done well, kid. Run up ahead and figure out where the main storage place is so we can get in and get out."
Dylan smiled. "You got it. Want me to keep letting the zombies in?"
"No. I want you to do what I just told you to do." Rusty pointed toward the main hub of the city. "I imagine it's that way. Go on and find out so we don't waste our time or get into a shootout with these idiots. We'll wait here."
Dylan ran as fast as he could, elated that he'd done well. If this didn't get him into Doug's inner circle, he didn't know what would. He was on his way to being an integral part in the master plan Doug had. Whatever that master plan was.
A zombie stopped and turned when Dylan came up, but a slap to the head with the skateboard put it down. Dylan felt invincible as he trotted into the heart of St. Augustine, a slow-moving army of undead following along behind him.
Chapter Twelve
Kayla felt bad for Peter until Tosha shut the door and gently kissed her cheek. The girl smelled of gin, sweat and sex already. Kayla was going to enjoy this.
She wondered if this was her first experience, or if Tosha was bisexual. There was no way she was gay by the way she moved and watched the men in the bar.
Kayla could tease, play the role, and get what she wanted from men. This one clearly enjoyed dick too much. She'd do her best to convert her, she thought half jokingly. She was still drunk and feeling fine.
"How old are you?" Kayla whispered as Tosha kissed her neck.
Tosha laughed and slid her tongue down to Kayla's shoulder. "How old do you want me to be?"
Kayla pulled away. "You look young."
"I'm not even thirty. You?"
"Guess."
"About the same."
Kayla kissed Tosha's lips. Almost thirty? She knew the girl was bullshitting her to get in her pants, but wasn't that the point tonight? And she knew she looked great for being in her forties.
Tosha was aggressive, which was a turn-on for Kayla. The few lesbians she'd dated over the years tended to be submissive and let Kayla control things. Not this one.
Their hands moved quickly, tearing clothing off with abandon as they kissed lips, necks and breasts.
Tosha pushed Kayla down on the bed and stood over her with nothing on but a thong. When she put her fingers in the waistband to remove her panties, Kayla shook her head.
"That's my job."
"Only if you do it with your teeth," Tosha whispered and crawled on all fours onto the bed. They kissed again, slow and passionate.
Kayla's hand found Tosha's firm ass and squeezed. Tosha responded by sliding her tongue deeper into Kayla's mouth.
They lightly touched each other's breasts at the same time and smiled.
Tosha lifted her leg. "You said you were going to take these off?"
Kayla slid underneath Tosha and bit the thong playfully. She could smell her, and it was driving her mad. She'd never wanted another person this bad in her life, and she was going to enjoy this night.
Tosha laughed when Kayla gripped her butt cheeks and pulled her crotch to her lips. Already her desire was clearing Kayla's head, the alcohol a distant memory.
As Kayla felt Tosha squirming above her in delight she closed her eyes and prayed this would never end, and there would be many more nights of bliss like this.
Kayla even thought of staying here in St. Augustine, if that's what it would take to be with this person she'd just met but wanted to stay with so badly. She didn't think it was the booze talking, either.
Suddenly her ears were ringing and Tosha was off her, leaving her confused.
Kayla slid off the bed to find Tosha.
There was a person in the room with them, large and bleeding, sprawled motionless on the floor. Peter.
"What did you do?"
Tosha held the pistol in her hand. She was shaking. "He burst into the room! He knocked the fucking door down."
Kayla went to her brother. This can't be happening. Peter, don't leave me. The bullet had found its mark, taking off the right side of his
face.
"He's been bit," Tosha said.
Kayla saw the bite marks on his arm and leg but they didn't register. "You shot my brother."
"He knocked the door down!"
Kayla had been stupid to come here, stupid to think she could find happiness, even for one night. This world was hopeless, and she'd been fooling herself for too long. She hugged her poor brother, who'd been by her side through thick and thin, who'd had her back no matter what.
And Kayla had failed him.
Tosha was firing the gun for some reason but Kayla didn't care.
All she cared about was her dead brother. She wondered how she could go on without him by her side, watching over her, defending her. She wiped tears from her eyes, but didn't remember crying. How would she tell their father this?
When the first zombie bit into her exposed shoulder she didn't flinch. The gunshots had ceased and something was pushing against her.
Kayla simply hugged her brother and closed her wet eyes as two zombies began eating her.
* * * * *
Steve was naked as he crawled into the passenger seat with a bottle of water.
"Dude, cover your junk," Mike said as he drove, driving the huge tour bus through empty streets.
"Honk the horn and wake these motherfuckers up. It's time to party with The Breeze."
"I don't think so. I'm tired and still drunk. I think I hit a mailbox back there."
"That sucks. No one is going to get their Victoria's Secret catalog now. You're a real dick." Steve laughed and drank half the water. "Want some? You need to hydrate, especially after all that liquid release, if you know what I mean."
"Where are we going?"
"To the beach. We'll park under the moonlight and in the morning I'll take a nice skinny-dip in the ocean."
"The ocean is filled with zombies."
Steve laughed. "Not every part of it. That's like saying the ocean is filled with sharks. Sure, every once in a while, if you're not careful, a shark will swim up and bite your dick off, but usually there's too much water for them to get near you."
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