Dying Days 3

by Armand Rosamilia

  Eric White took the binoculars back from Chris Gray. "Anything?"

  "Nothing," Chris said.

  "I don't get it." Eric scanned the beach, the pier and A1A. There were no zombies in sight. He'd been quite proud of all the traps, pits and fences he'd constructed in this stretch of Flagler Beach. But he couldn't block the ocean off completely, and they'd seen more and more undead being swept in from the water and deposited here.

  "Two weeks ago we took out a dozen of them." Eric looked around.

  "Maybe they moved on?"

  Eric glanced at Chris, seated next to him on the dune buggy. He disliked the guy. Everyone thought he was creepy, and he was. He lived in the furthest stilt house and kept to himself. The only reason he was out here, helping, was because Darlene had forced him to. Otherwise, he'd ignore everyone until he ran out of something.

  "We'll check the pier." Eric drove the dune buggy up A1A, keeping his eye out for an ambush. Not that these mindless creatures were capable of setting a trap, but they could be just over the next dune, hundreds of them, swarming and, now, attracted to the roar of the engine.

  When Eric pulled into a parking spot, he wasn't surprised to see no zombies loitering. But the neat stack of bodies placed under the pier shocked him.

  Chris saw it as well, and hopped off with his baseball bat and rifle.

  Eric looked around, expecting to see a sniper on the roof of Finn’s, the corner restaurant, or movement across the street at Veteran's Park. But it was quiet.

  "Are we going down there?" Chris asked. He clearly didn't want to.

  "We need to ascertain what's going on, so we can report back. Come on, and keep your eyes open. By the look from here, I'd say we have living company in the area."

  They went down the steps to the beach.

  "Why spend time piling up the dead?"

  "Maybe there is a large group and they want to make this a safe haven. Who knows? I just hope they want to talk first and do not try to shoot us." Eric pulled his 9mm. "Move away from me, so they won't have a shot at both of us at the same time."

  "The bodies?"

  "No, whoever did this." Eric was going to have a word with Darlene when he got back about not pairing with this kid again. He was arrogant, lazy and thought he was in charge half the time.

  Eric took three steps down the stairs to the beach when the smell of decay and rot overwhelmed him and he gagged.

  "Suck it up, old man," Chris said with a laugh, but his eyes were watering. "Ain't you ever smelled bad pussy? It kinda stinks like this."

  Eric hopped down the last few steps, more to get away from Chris than to reach the bottom. He was about to yell at the kid for being such an idiot when the sheer volume of what he was seeing hit him.

  Under the pier and stacked in even rows were bodies, piled three high and running for about fifty feet in length. But, under the boardwalk itself were more of the dead. They were piled two high, three rows deep, and ran in either direction for hundreds of feet.

  "Shit," Chris said.

  Eric had to agree. He started counting and figured out a rough estimate. "I'm going to say three thousand bodies, maybe more."

  "That's a lot of dead. No wonder we aren't seeing any in the area. They've all been killed." Chris smiled. "This is good, right?"

  Eric shrugged, covering his mouth and nose. "I hope so. But this means a large group is in the area and cleaning house. I just hope they are friendly, and, if they head in our direction, we spot them before they spot us."

  "Should we try to locate them? They have to be here and close."

  "No. Not until I talk to Murph and Griff. I don't want to stir up a band, especially if they are nomads and will move on. This isn't a good thing, because supplies are already picked clean in Flagler Beach and Palm Coast. I'd hate to think a large group is around and fighting for the same scraps we are, and moving like locusts."

  Chris moved his lips to answer but puked instead.

  "We need to get back up top. I can only imagine the disease festering with all these bodies. Hopefully, they move along and we can start burying the dead." Eric jogged up the steps and scanned the buildings on A1A. He wondered if they were being watched.

  Chris came up behind him. "Now what? Do we head up 100 into Palm Coast?"

  "No. We report back. We need to figure out what we're doing. You ready to ride?"

  "Sure. I need to get back, anyway."

  "Busy? Jerry Springer on TV?"

  "Nope." Chris looked up into the sun. "I'm not a big fan of this heat, especially when you have air conditioning and cold water in the fridge. You can report back to Darlene and the others, but I'm going to take a nap."

  "You're quite the team player."

  Chris smiled. "I try."

  Eric bit his tongue and decided to have the talk with the others about Chris. He was glad he wouldn't be at the upcoming report meeting. The kid was an idiot. "Keep an eye out for people in the buildings and on the roofs."

  The dune buggy was started and they pulled away from the Flagler Beach pier and headed north. Eric kept to the center of the two-lane road and kept it slow and steady. The last thing he wanted to do was run right into a walking zombie or be going too fast to turn away and crash.

  Eric glanced at the Golden Lion, on his left. In better days, the restaurant was probably packed with customers eating fish and chips, having fruity drinks and enjoying the bright sunshine on the top deck. Now, it was filled with sand, the paint peeling and the tiki bar imploded. This far south, it was only used as a storage place. Eric pulled over.

  "What are we doing?" Chris asked.

  "I want to see if the stores have been taken from here. Come on, and bring the shotgun."

  They stepped over a crumbling wooden booth. Eric looked up at the marquee of a regal lion with sunglasses and sighed. Such a shame. "Follow a few feet behind me. Shoot anything that moves, but don't do anything stupid."

  Chris didn't comment, which was a rarity. Usually, he had some lame remark.

  Eric didn't see new footprints in the sand covering the floors, but the wind was blowing through the open areas and most of them would be wiped away quickly.

  Toward the back of the Golden Lion was a raw oyster bar, where they'd packed items they didn't immediately need but could be used in a pinch, like camping supplies, tents, furniture, motor oil, and lawn equipment. You never knew what you were going to need, and as items were destroyed, broken or ran out of their usefulness, they couldn't be easily replaced.

  Eric used his key to unlock the Master padlock on the door. Anyone with a foot could kick the door in, but Eric insisted on the extra precaution anyway. Everything was safe inside, items piled high.

  "Look," Chris said. He was pointing at some footprints around the door.

  "Barefoot," Eric said. "Might be a zombie, but they aren't necessarily fresh." Eric looked up. "The bar could've just blocked the wind at the right angle. They could be days or weeks old."

  "I guess. Can we go now?"

  "Sure. Keep your eyes open."

  "How many times are you going to tell me that?"

  "Until it really sinks in."

  They got back on the dune buggy and headed north again. The road was still clear ahead and behind.

  Eric picked up the pace. He wanted to talk to the others now. If a large group was in the area, he doubted they would skip over the Golden Lion and would have definitely kicked in a locked door. It didn't make sense.

  "Stop," Chris, suddenly, cried out.

  Eric pulled over onto the side of the road.

  "Back there. I thought I saw someone standing on the ramp."

  Eric turned the dune buggy around slowly. "Where?"

  Chris pointed at the Java Joint. "That coffee place. I swear, someone was just standing there as we drove past."

  "Get the shotgun."

  Eric pulled up to the bottom of the ramp and stared at the dark interior, but he saw no movement, especially from this low angle. "I'll lead. Give me the sh
otgun and stay a few feet behind me."

  They took slow steps up the wooden ramp, careful not to trip on debris. At the top of the ramp, they stepped onto the main deck, which wrapped around the building to their left. The front doors were open, the glass long since broken.

  Eric stepped inside and led with the shotgun. The tables and chairs had been jammed to either side. The wooden counter was still intact, but the cash register was on the ground in pieces. Two bathroom doors stood before him to the right. "Cover me."

  The men's room was empty. Eric flung open the ladies room but it was also unoccupied. Eric pointed to the counter. "Let's check out the kitchen."

  "I wish they had a cheeseburger and coffee."

  Eric smiled. "Maybe they will. Stay sharp."

  Behind the counter was a brush of sand from the broken side window. The cabinets were open and empty, and the soda cooler was a jagged mess. "I've been in here before. Months ago. It's been picked clean."

  "Then let's get out of here," Chris said.

  "Not until we check the back."

  "I have your back," Chris said.

  Eric wasn't too relieved by his words. The kid would run in a heartbeat, if there was trouble. "Ready?"

  He didn't wait for Chris to say anything before stepping into the kitchen area. It was a wreck but just as he remembered it. There were also bare footprints in the dirt and dust on the floor. Eric didn't like it, but figured a zombie had wandered in at some point recently. More than likely, it was now piled under the boardwalk.

  "Clear. Let's get out of here." Eric walked out and back into the sunshine, breathing in the clean air. At least with the demise of the human race, the pollution and noise had stopped. The air was fresh with no vehicle exhausts, cigarette smoke, and music playing. But it was lonely.

  They got back into the dune buggy and started driving away.

  "I'm almost positive I saw someone," Chris said.

  Eric nodded. Normally, he would doubt anything the kid said, and they'd walked through the Java Joint. But Eric couldn't help the feeling they were being watched.

  Chapter Three

  Griff's stilt house was dark, the blinds all closed, when Darlene came up the stairs and knocked. "Hello?"

  There wasn't any noise coming from inside. Since their return from St. Augustine and having to tell Griff both his son and daughter didn't make it, the old man had fallen quiet and into a depression. It was understandable. The old cliché you never want to outlive your kids was poignant, even in times like this.

  "Griff? Open the door. I have your supplies." Darlene knocked again.

  She walked around the deck, checking if one of the windows was open or the blinds open enough to get a peek inside. Two zombies were just coming over the dune below and Darlene wished she had the crossbow or compound bow to practice with while John was busy. She was still a terrible shot, and he wasn't helping her any when he tried to teach her. Darlene took stolen moments, by herself, on the beach, but never hit her target in the head, or she missed completely. At least she was a great shot with her Desert Eagle, and her arms were muscular from swinging the machete and baseball bat each and every day. Who knew all it would take for her to drop the extra weight was a zombie apocalypse?

  "Enough already, Griff. I'm frying out here. Murph needs cigarettes and whiskey. I need to talk to someone not a Murphy. Open the damn door." Darlene pounded on the frame.

  "Any luck?" John yelled from below. "And I heard your comment about us Murphy's. Very hurtful."

  "Whatever." Darlene went to the top of the stairs and looked down at him. "You know, there are zombies down there."

  John lifted his crossbow. "I killed them. Want to try again?"

  "Go to hell." Darlene turned back to the door. "I swear, Griff, I will kick this bitch in. You'd better not be touching your little pecker again. I brought the machete and I will cut it off this time."

  John came up the stairs.

  Darlene turned to John. "Can't I get five minutes alone?"

  John looked hurt. "Wow. What's gotten up your ass today? You get your period?"

  Darlene swung the machete between them and frowned. "Fuck off."

  "Nice comeback. You put me in my place."

  "Someday you are going to really piss me off, John John. Then I'm going to gut you like a fish."

  "I love it when you talk dirty." John stepped around the machete's reach and slammed his palm against the door. "Last chance to open up."

  "What if something is wrong? When's the last time you checked on him?"

  "Yesterday, I think."

  "You think?"

  John looked annoyed now. "I'm not his keeper."

  "No, his keeper's are both dead." Darlene closed her eyes. "I'm not blaming you. I should've come to see him, too. And not just for supplies."

  "Stand back," John said.

  "Are you going to get all manly and kick the door in?"

  John smiled. "Of course. I just hope I don't overdo it and crush this side of the house in. I've been known to do it."

  "Or you could just use the key," Darlene said. "I took Griff's since he never leaves the place. He didn't seem to care." Darlene folded her arms. "But feel free to be all macho and kick it in."

  "Fuck off."

  Darlene smiled. "Nice comeback." She pulled the key from her jeans and jammed it into the lock. I hope he's just sleeping. Shit, I'd even take walking in on him jerking off, she thought.

  "Hey," John said and walked in before Darlene could.

  "Always my knight in shining armor," she said. The living room was dark, as they entered. "The bedroom?"

  John nodded.

  Darlene went down the hall and opened Griff's bedroom door. It was gloomy with the windows shuttered and shades drawn, but he wasn't there.

  "Darlene," John said from the opposite end of the house.

  She got a chill at his tone and knew what it meant. She walked slowly down the hall. "Where are you?"

  "Kayla's room. Don't come in. Go get Eric."

  Darlene didn't want to look but she had to.

  John was in the doorway. "Please go and get Eric."

  "He's on south patrol today. Is he…"

  "Yes."

  Darlene didn't want to cry but she felt the waterworks coming. She genuinely liked Griff. She knew the death of his children was devastating, but when he'd dismissed their initial concerns she sighed in relief. But what else was he going to say? He would wait a couple of weeks, obsessed with the pain, and then take his own life? Of course not. "We should have seen this coming. We should have stayed here and watched him."

  "There was nothing anyone could have done, and you know it. Griff was his own person. I can't imagine even pretending to be alright once Kayla and Peter were gone. But he managed for a little bit. He was a strong bastard."

  "Your father will be crushed."

  "Murph will be pissed at him for doing it and not telling him so he could talk him out of it. Which is why he didn't say anything, I'm sure."

  Darlene made her way to the front door. "Let's clean this up. We don't need Eric."

  "I don't want you to do this."

  "I'm not some little girl, you know. I've seen plenty of death."

  "But not this way. Please find someone else."

  Darlene pushed past him and into the room.

  Griff was hanging from the ceiling fan.

  Darlene turned and threw up against the wall, dropping to one knee. "Dear God."

  John put a hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it off. "I'm fine. We need to bury him." Darlene stood on shaking legs and tried to compose herself.

  She ended up crying until she couldn't shed another tear, but they buried Griff in the lot next to the stilt house. By the time Eric returned and called an emergency meeting, she was already spent. She wanted to curl up and sleep, but knew it was the worst thing for her to do again. Instead, she had to suck it up and move on.

  Chapter Four

  He could feel the power returning to his
body, slowly but surely. All the movement from destroying zombies was having a positive effect on his limbs, and he could even feel blood beginning to flow again.

  It wouldn't be long before he was back to his normal self. Whatever that really meant. The hunger was still there but he was learning to control it, keep it in check, and not dwell on it.

  When the two living people came into the Java Joint, he made a quick exit down the back stairs and hid in the vacant lot. There was no use showing his self before he was strong enough. He had all the time in the world and, besides, they had carried a shotgun.

  Frank didn't get weak or hungry for actual food or water. Frank didn't seem to need sleep, and he wasn't getting tired. He didn't know if he really needed blood to survive. But he yearned for it. He wanted to consume it, drench himself with it, and he wanted to violate the living. Male or female, it didn't matter.

  He knew they'd seen the bodies on the beach and would go for reinforcements, if there were any. Frank smiled. He could gauge their strength and numbers. Until then, he would keep searching each house from A1A to the Intracoastal, looking for survivors or zombies. Either way, they would all be destroyed.

  Frank was careful not to disturb too many places and made any path he took look like another mindless zombie was on the move. He decided to go back to the bridge and see if more were streaming across it. They were getting few and far between, and he needed to figure out how to attract more before another began to think and tried to usurp his budding kingdom.

  His legs were tight but the muscles were beginning to move on command, and he could jog short distances before they stiffened again. He walked down A1A, until he reached Moody Avenue and what would turn into Route 100 West, and over the bridge into Palm Coast. Right now, it was barren of movement. Frank began the trek to the bridge, looking both ways and listening with his healed ears for any sounds.

  As he got to the corner of North Flagler Avenue and Moody Avenue, he stopped. There was a sound to his right. A Dollar General discount store had been gutted, and only the sign still remained. The buildings to either side of it were charred rubble, but on the very corner stood a small building Frank initially took for a bank or small restaurant.