The Lich Lord seemed to think she was important enough to let her go without a fight, and would welcome her back with open arms if she found her baby and needed a refuge.
Darlene didn’t know how far she could trust The Lich Lord, but in a pinch she would have to test it.
Right now north was the only way to go, and Junior was the only focus she needed.
Past the smoldering bodies she saw a cluster of zombies, bumping into one another and moving off to the side of the highway.
Keep going. Nothing to see, Darlene thought, but she walked slowly in the direction of the zombie mob, knowing it wasn’t going to be good.
She was right.
The zombies were actually slamming into one another in their quest to get the last scrap of meat off what might’ve been a woman before she’d died.
At least four zombies were pulling strips of flesh from what remained of her leg, and a dozen more were trying to get around them to taste the human flesh.
Darlene sighed.
They were fighting over the scraps. Did they not know they’d survive and turn into something even more powerful? Of course not. They were rotting away to nothing, on the brink of being unable to continue. Yet… if left unchecked, every one of these zombies would someday gain their intelligence and cunning back and be a threat.
The human race will never survive, Darlene thought. She didn’t know if they were meant to, either. The Lich Lord had talked about the evolution of man into zombie and beyond, and she was starting to think he was right. They were more akin to vampire once they fully turned, which was still odd to her. What was next? Werewolves and mummies? Elves and trolls?
None of the zombies paid her much thought, engrossed in their meal.
One of the zombies pushed his way through and managed to get a grip on the leg, stiff-arming his way from the group, who followed.
Darlene knew he was turning by his actions. He was showing symptoms of intelligence, now heading away from the group with his prize.
He looked back at the following mob and then Darlene, catching her eye. He knew she was alive and he hesitated.
Darlene pulled her Desert Eagle and fired, striking him in the face.
The leg dropped to the ground, where it was wrestled by two zombies, another two trying to grab it.
If I find Junior and manage to hide, what then? In time there will be millions of smart zombies looking for every last human alive, and what chance will we have? Darlene didn’t like the odds of surviving.
“One thing at a time,” she whispered. She’d rather die with her baby than alone on this bloody highway. Darlene turned and began walking.
She walked half a mile and stopped. Up ahead, coming at her down the center of the road, was six people. Living, breathing people.
They noticed her a second later, all stopping and raising weapons.
Darlene put up her hands and kept walking slowly towards them to get away from the zombie group behind her. If they got too close, they’d be attacked. She didn’t know if they were actually friend or foe just yet.
They also approached. Darlene sized them up quickly.
Two women and four men. Only one of the women and one of the men had rifles, and they way they were carrying them she knew they were out of ammo. They carried them too loose like they’d use them as clubs if it came down to it.
Everyone looked dirty, underfed and scared.
She wondered how they’d survived this long and where they were headed.
One of the men, at least a head taller than Darlene, with a thick brown beard and unruly hair, put his hand up. He had a rusting axe draped over his shoulder.
“Hello,” Darlene said. She stopped fifty feet from the group. She still had her Desert Eagle in hand.
“Did you fire a weapon?” he asked.
Darlene put her hands down, keeping the gun at her side, and nodded. “Back there is a shitload of zombies. One got too close for comfort.”
“Put down your weapon,” he said.
Darlene shook her head. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll hold onto it. I don’t want any trouble. I’m just heading north. I’d like to keep going, if you don’t mind.”
“It got really bad downtown,” the woman with the rifle said.
Darlene shot a thumb over her shoulder. “It isn’t nice back the way I came, either.”
The man turned and gave the woman a withering look before turning back to Darlene.
“Drop the weapon and your backpack and empty your pockets,” he said.
Darlene smiled. “Again… no. This won’t end well for any of us if you keep giving me commands.”
“We have two rifles aimed at your head,” he said.
Darlene raised the Desert Eagle. “And I have one aimed at your face. What’s your point?”
He didn’t look happy.
“You go your way and I’ll go mine,” Darlene said. “I have no beef with the living.”
The woman lowered her gun and stared at their leader.
He turned to her and shrugged. “What?”
Everyone in the group seemed to relax but Darlene was taking no chances.
She kept her weapon trained on him as she moved to her left. “I’m going to be on my way.”
“Where are you headed?” the woman asked.
“North.”
“Jacksonville is a mess. I wouldn’t go near it. There’s a smombie running it now,” she said.
“A what?” Darlene asked.
“A smart zombie. We call them smombies,” she said.
The man groaned. “You call them that, Bernice. It sounds stupid.” He turned to Darlene. “Doesn’t that sound stupid?”
Darlene smiled and nodded, still holding the gun and moving around the group. She was taking no chances and if they were trying to lull her into thinking she was safe they had another think coming.
“I’m going to go my way and you can keep going to the south. If you manage to get to Daytona Beach there’s a smart zombie letting survivors into his camp. He’s keeping everyone safe,” Darlene said. She refused to use the word smombies. Ever.
The man narrowed his eyes. “Is that where you came from?”
“I came from Maine. Right now I’m heading back in that direction,” Darlene said. She was past the group now and they didn’t look like they were going to attack, but you never could tell nowadays.
The woman, Bernice, pointed north. “In Jacksonville, at the stadium, is a smombie gathering survivors, but he’s using them for food and slave labor. We lost a few friends there a couple of weeks ago.”
“Shut up, Bernie,” the man said.
“Why? She’s one of us, Latham. We need to learn to help those in need,” Bernice said.
“I don’t need help. I need to keep moving before it gets dark,” Darlene said. She waved and kept sidestepping, keeping one eye on the group and one eye on the road ahead.
When she was sure she was far enough away she turned and kept pace, keeping as far away from zombies as she could.
A mile up the road, as the sun started the climb to the horizon, she looked back and saw the group following her. They weren’t trying to hide and she knew they’d argued about where to go and what to do and in the end Darlene offered an alternative.
These people were wandering aimlessly and trying to find a safe haven.
Darlene stabbed a zombie in the face as it crossed her path. The last thing she needed was for the group to realize the zombies (not smombies, never smombies) were ignoring her.
Armand Rosamilia is a New Jersey boy currently living in sunny Florida, where he writes when he's not sleeping.
He's written over 100 stories that are currently available, including a few different series:
"Dying Days" extreme zombie series
"Keyport Cthulhu" horror series
"Flagler Beach Fiction Series" contemporary fiction
"Metal Queens" non-fiction music series
he also loves to talk in third person... b
ecause he's really that cool. He's a proud Active member of HWA as well.
You can find him at http://armandrosamilia.com for not only his latest releases but interviews and guest posts with other authors he likes!
and e-mail him to talk about zombies, baseball and Metal:
[email protected]
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