Dying Days 7

by Armand Rosamilia

  “There might be a videogame store,” Jeremy said.

  Tosha twirled her metal stick in her hand, wondering how many seconds would pass before stupid Jeremy realized she’d stabbed him in the face and he died. She almost regretted sleeping with him now, too. “We have very specific instructions for being out in this shit risking our lives. Trying to get the last copy of Madden isn’t on the list. Got it? We need supplies.

  Bernie bent down and stared at one of the zombies.

  “This one’s been shot in the face,” Bernie said. “It might even be recently.”

  “How can you tell?” Jeremy asked.

  Bernie stood and shrugged. “Just a hunch.”

  Tosha walked over to the closest zombie and frowned. It had also been shot in the head. Right between the eyes at an angle.

  Tosha looked up and around, eyes stopping on the roof of the mall. She didn’t see anyone up there but that didn’t mean there wasn’t.

  “We need to get off of the parking lot and get to a place where we are less exposed. I feel like we’re being watched,” Tosha said.

  “Are they friendly?” Jeremy asked.

  “They have a long-range weapon and know how to use it. Feel free to stay here and be involved in their target practice,” Tosha said. She didn’t wait for Jeremy to answer. He’d only say something stupid.

  She led the group across the parking lot and put a torched hotel between them and the lot. Her gut told her the mall was where whoever had been killing zombies was hiding out. They needed to put some distance between it right now.

  One of the others was told to watch their backs to make sure nothing tried to get behind them. If they got shot in the face, Tosha hoped they’d scream out to give warning to the rest of the team, too.

  The racetrack, once a gathering place for thousands of racing fans, was to their left and in ruins. Since the last time Tosha had been this way, the stands on this side had collapsed, opening a gap right to the track itself.

  “Where are we going?” Jeremy asked, coming up next to Tosha.

  “Stop talking or you’ll be the next guy with a bullet in your skull,” she said.

  Jeremy smiled and leaned closer to Tosha. He smelled like he hadn’t bathed in a couple of days, which was probably true.

  “When we get back to The Promised Land, why don’t you come over and cook for me? Then we’ll have some dessert, if you know what I mean,” Jeremy said.

  Tosha turned and kicked him in the nuts.

  Jeremy went down on one knee and Tosha put up a hand to keep everyone else away from them. She saw Bernie, who’d taken point, stop and keep her distance.

  “Let me get this straight… you think because I let you go down on me I now want to be your fucking cook? You want me to wash your fucking laundry, too? If you were any good, we’d be still doing it, little boy. Consider yourself very lucky I did you to begin with,” Tosha said.

  As she turned to walk away, she heard Jeremy call her a bitch under his breath.

  Tosha winked at Bernie, who frowned and turned away.

  “I don’t think I heard you,” Tosha said to Jeremy without turning.

  “I called you a bitch. You’re also a whore. I did you a favor, old lady. I threw you a bone because I was horny. I would’ve fucked a sheep if one was around. Don’t flatter yourself,” Jeremy said.

  Tosha turned and put a bullet right between Jeremy’s eyes.

  “Anyone have a problem with that? The guy’s an asshole,” Tosha said.

  No one else said a word. They didn’t seem shocked at her actions, either.

  They all knew he had it coming. The Lich Lord would give Tosha shit about it but she didn’t care. He wasn’t a survivor. He was a whiner.

  “We need to move. If there are any zombies left in the area, they’ll hear the dinner bell,” Bernie said.

  Tosha told the others to take his gear.

  “We’ll circle to the right and see what’s that way. If there are apartments we can start going through them. See how many we can recon before it starts getting dark,” Tosha said. She had three cans of spray paint in her pack, which she’d use to mark doors they’d already searched.

  It was a primitive system but it worked. When other patrols went out in search of supplies, they’d already know which places were done.

  Just across the bridge on this side they’d also set up a temporary camp, where laborers were busy pulling apart every building. They needed the wood, the bricks, the siding and anything else they could repurpose for the new homes and buildings in The Promised Land.

  Tosha knew their movements would also help to find intact buildings and anything of value since supplies were so limited.

  It felt like half of the world had already burned and The Lich Lord was trying to save the other half and jam it on to the peninsula between the Atlantic Ocean and the Intracoastal Waterway.

  Tosha didn’t know what his end game was and if she’d survive to see it. She just hoped, if this was an elaborate trick on his part, she’d be the one to put a bullet in his head.

  Like she’d just done to stupid Jeremy.

  Chapter Two

  If Darlene Bobich was still alive, The Lich Lord couldn’t find her.

  He’d sent out his thoughts to her every six hours, hoping for contact. Find out what she was doing. If she needed help on her quest to find her son.

  If she were still alive or now fully a zombie.

  Darlene scared him, and he thought it was an emotion he’d never feel again. It felt good in a way. It let him know he wasn’t just some monster and he could still be a part of the society he was creating.

  Because it was still day time, he’d been confined to his chambers in the former Ocean Center, now the hub of the progress going on outside. At night he’d roam the surrounding areas, using his powers to find building materials, supplies, weapons, survivors who weren’t intent on doing harm to his people, and anything else of value.

  What had started many months ago as a single block, namely Main Street, had grown for miles, north and south. A team was in the process of securing the remaining streets of Ponce Inlet to the south, where they’d be able to add over a hundred houses to their total and then control the fishing with boats and from the erected walls they were building.

  They needed more survivors for the plan to really work.

  He knew they were at eighteen percent capacity right now but there would come a time when growth was stopped because the peninsula would become too big and unmanageable. Right now everyone had specific tasks to do and too many of them to stop and rest.

  Progress was being made daily. They’d added another dozen cows and had two births. The many gardens were flourishing and this past week enough vegetables had been harvested to have a grand feast. They were stockpiling gasoline, weapons, ammo, toilet paper and anything else they could find thanks to the nightly prowling of The Lich Lord.

  Many of the survivors had stepped up and taken over parts of this operation without prodding. The Hand’s had been instrumental in getting not only the excess shoes and clothing in order but the jewelry, makeup and accessories as well. The Lich Lord had almost forgotten what it was like to be human. With some mascara and a new blouse, he’d seen many women walking around happy again. Men with new work boots and sporting a favorite team’s baseball cap.

  It was the little things he never wanted to forget.

  The cache of old school upright gaming machines was a perfect example. When he’d found them packed away on pallets in a warehouse in Port Orange, he’d ignored them at first. Worthless toys that wouldn’t help with their survival.

  Yet they had been instrumental in relaxing everyone, and not just the kids. Grown men and women, who hadn’t thought about playing Pac Man or Frogger in years, were suddenly getting their work done so they could spend an hour a day on a game to get the high score.

  The little things.

  His goal was to replicate everything needed in a few miles. The school was being buil
t and classes had begun in trailers, with the curriculum more about survival and how to grow crops than math. Reading was a big part of the children’s education, and the makeshift library was rapidly growing with over ten thousand books.

  A small hospital was operational, as well as a fire department. Six fishing boats were bringing in daily catches and their livestock had tripled in the last month.

  A week ago they’d shown Jaws on the side of a hotel and nearly two hundred people had brought lawn chairs and watched, even though The Lich Lord was sure they’d all seen it a dozen times. It was about community and normalcy and getting back to the basics of life.

  The Lich Lord missed it sometimes.

  While he had the trust of the people, he could sense their fear as he walked among them. He’d decided to keep it to a minimum. His weekly meetings had been cancelled when it became impossible to reach everyone at once. Instead he’d had a weekly recording done by some of the more technologically advanced members of The Promised Land, who could play it for anyone who was interested.

  The Promised Land was something that made him smile as well. It had been coined by some of the incoming survivors and it had stuck. They’d had signs erected for miles out to bring people in and let them know it was safe.

  The nightly influx of new members to the group was welcome but tedious for The Lich Lord. Word had spread no one with evil intent was going to get over the bridge and so far so good. There hadn’t been many violent occurrences or theft. There was plenty of food and other items as long as you earned your keep. You were given a furnished home and a supply of food as you entered and given a job schedule based on your interviews.

  The Lich Lord was the judge and jury and everyone knew he was fair but final. He’d simply read your mind to see what the real problem was and mete out justice accordingly.

  Yet, so many additional members each day meant more chances for something bad to happen. A few had petitioned him to create a police department but he’d kept the idea at arm’s length. He knew power corrupted even the most worthy of people. The system was working because everyone was an equal. The farmer and the builder and the woman running the newly erected yogurt store got equal shares of food and supplies.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the outer door. He scanned to see who it was and told her to come inside.

  It was Taylor.

  The girl had grown into a hard woman after Scotty had been shot dead, a pain she still carried with her even after months had passed. She did her duty at the hospital well but nothing else. There was no social release for her. She rebuffed the many eligible men trying to talk to her. She lived for healing the sick and nothing more.

  “I’m running out of basic supplies again,” Taylor said, always getting right to the point.

  The Lich Lord smiled. He genuinely liked the girl. He remembered when he’d saved her and the original wounded from the house where she’d been caring for them. It felt like a hundred years ago.

  “I see you cut your hair. It looks nice,” The Lich Lord said, trying to seem human. He’d decided to work on being more normal to the people. Maybe then they’d stop wasting time fearing every word he said or thinking it was an angle.

  “It was getting in the way of my work.” Taylor crossed her arms and sighed. “I made a list of what I have left and how long each item should last in an ideal situation. I’ve also listed a few items for future use as well. With you allowing alcohol into The Promised Land it will lead to more problems. Ones I cannot possibly cure. How is your search to find a suitable doctor going?”

  They were once again without a medical doctor. The last one, Doctor Blair, had spent more time injecting drugs into his veins than helping the sick. He’d lost sight of his life purpose and The Lich Lord had relieved him of his duties. The man was never going to be anything other than a junkie. He’d been relegated to another deckhand on a fishing boat after The Lich Lord had apprised him of his other options.

  “I thought a couple of the veterinarians were being helpful.” The Lich Lord shrugged. “I haven’t found a suitable replacement yet. No matter how far I look. Who would’ve thought an actual doctor with real skills would be so hard to find in this new world?”

  Taylor was staring at him, arms still crossed. “I can’t magically learn everything. There are only so many hours in the day for me to read crumbling medical journals. The vets are busy with all of the new animals coming in each day. They need to ensure our future food is healthy. I need to save the old and dying, but I can’t do it all myself. I need help. Yesterday.”

  “I’ll double my effort. We’re short on many needed skilled workers. We have a new church ready to be built but no clergy. No gifted musicians or writers to keep the people happy. Not a single engineer to help me with moving us back into this century,” The Lich Lord said.

  The survivors were doing the best they could with the limited supplies they had. Putting together housing that wouldn’t survive long-term. Patching walls in the hotels and homes destroyed previously to make decent living conditions. Roofs had been torched or fallen in and these were simply replaced with tarps or rigged to stay up another few weeks or months.

  The Lich Lord couldn’t do it all himself. They had plenty of manual laborers and unskilled men and women who could learn the basics of carpentry and fishing but in order to really survive they needed to find or train for the future.

  “You swear every time we have a conversation you’re working on it. These people are running out of time. I’m running out of patience. I lost another one last night. Misses Virginia passed,” Taylor said.

  “What did she die from?”

  “Her heart stopped,” Taylor said. She looked down at the ground. “Some of these deaths cannot be stopped, but others… we can prolong lives and make them as comfortable as possible until their time has come.”

  “I can only heal the sick as they enter The Promised Land. I do random checks if I see anyone at night on my wanderings. But I cannot tell the future and can’t magically see everyone who is sick and dying. You heal those with broken bones or the flu or some minor boo-boo. If they are riddled with cancer after I’ve screened them into the compound I can’t help it,” The Lich Lord said.

  Taylor’s looks softened and she uncrossed her arms. “You think I’m blaming you for Misses Virginia’s death? I’m just letting you know how serious my situation is. I’m sure you’ve been probing around in my head and know I don’t think you did anything wrong.”

  The Lich Lord stared at Taylor. He didn’t need to read her mind to know she was being truthful. She just needed help at the hospital they’d built for her and an experienced hospital staff. She’d come a long way from the little girl who wandered the halls of the Ocean Center trying to figure out what was wrong with the sick.

  “Make me as big a list as you can and I will send out two more recon teams specifically for your needs. I’ll go out tonight and search every hospital in a twenty mile radius. With any luck I can find enough supplies to justify sending people into the unsecured areas. Deal?” The Lich Lord smiled.

  Taylor nodded but didn’t say a word as she turned away.

  Chapter Three

  Where had all the zombies gone?

  Mitch had been on the roof of the mall, covered with a tarp and waiting for the next group of zombies to approach so he could eliminate them. It had been hours since he’d had even a hint of a shambling monster in his sight.

  The group had walked across the parking lot, survivors who looked well-fed and well-armed, and he’d let them pass. No sense in starting a fight against half a dozen people when Mitch felt like he was here to cover their six.

  Yet… there was nothing to shoot at.

  He estimated he had enough ammo to kill four hundred and sixty two more zombies with the boxes he had secured on the roof. He had enough rations to get him through the next sixteen weeks and he had twenty one paperback books he still hadn’t read.

  Mitch Gill was set for quite a
while.

  But… he was bored. Every gunshot brought more zombies. More zombies meant more kills and fewer zombies. He knew he couldn’t rid the world of them but maybe this little part of the world would be fine.

  At night he wrapped up in a blanket and kept watch on the roof. He was in Florida. He didn’t need to find shelter in the mall below unless it started to rain and it was heavy. No sense in getting blown off the roof, having his gear ruined or catching a cold.

  In the mall he had five hiding spots for ammo, weapons and gear. In case of emergency, he could get to a spot, load up and make a run for it.

  The only thing that would make him run from this sweet spot on the roof was an armed force of survivors who wished to take over the mall or a smart zombie. He’d never actually encountered a smart one but one of his men, before he’d been bitten and Mitch had put a bullet in his head, had sworn he’d encountered one near the Georgia border.

  Mitch hoped to God the man was delusional or it was just a rugged and dirty survivor he’d mistaken for a smart zombie. Heaven help them if the creatures had gained some intelligence.

  He was still bored. Mitch hated the fact his mind dwelled on stupid shit. He’d been trained better than this. In Kuwait he’d once sat on a rooftop in searing heat for sixteen straight hours, only flexing his muscles a little at a time to keep from stiffening up. In the end he’d come off the roof without firing a single shot or seeing an enemy but he’d done his job.

  His job was still to rid the world of the enemy, only the zombies were former friends and family. It didn’t matter. He’d sworn an oath to his country. To defend it from any enemy.

  The gunshot rang out and Mitch was up and running across the roof, dropping down in the direction of the shot. He’d set up a tarp and cushions on all four sides of the roof so he could watch in all directions.

  He scanned past the parking lot, judging the sound of the shot and the distance.