Dying Days 3

by Armand Rosamilia

  "I didn't say snuggle. That's wimpy. I said cuddle. Much more masculine."

  "Um… no. Not even close. I was hoping you wanted to, well… do it again."

  John sat up in bed. "Why, Darlene Bobich, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were attracted to me."

  "Nope." She started walking to the door. "Forget it. I'll go over to Eric's place. Any port in a storm, right?"

  She got two steps before John was upon her, arms wrapped around her waist. He picked her up and carried her to the bed, where he tossed her down and jumped on top of her. Darlene was laughing like a schoolgirl about to get her first kiss, and she couldn't stop.

  John propped his arm up on an elbow next to her and laughed with her.

  "Are you going to do me or not?" Darlene asked, suddenly attempting to act serious. She couldn't help grinning.

  "Why can't you say make love to me?"

  Darlene rolled off the bed and stood up. "You do know I'm not a lesbian."

  John looked confused, which only made Darlene laugh again.

  "You're acting like a fucking chick, dude. Lighten up and get hard. Let's go again before I get hungry."

  "I like you taking charge," John said.

  "I do, too. Now shut up and slide to the center of the bed, and get ready because I'm about to ride the Murphy Ride."

  "Do you need a ticket, ma'am?"

  Darlene mounted John and smacked him lightly on the cheek. "Please stop talking, unless it's to scream my name and God and shit like that."

  "Understood."

  * * * * *

  Darlene and John were out of the deck, snacking on stale crackers, and enjoying the moment.

  "Any regrets?" Darlene asked.

  John stopped chewing and looked at her. "None."

  "I hope not."

  He took her hand in his. "We were past ready for it. I know I've kept you at arm's length, and the constant flirting and innuendo is damn fun, but we needed this. I know I did. I should've gotten my shit together sooner, and realized how special you are to me."

  "You never realized it?"

  "I did. I just kept denying it, and hoping my wife would magically walk up the road and we'd be reunited. But I knew it was never going to happen, and if I really thought she was alive, I would be out there looking for her instead of making excuses."

  "I just never want this to have been a mistake. I'm not asking you for marriage and babies and getting old together, I'm asking you for today and tonight. I never had anyone that important in my life. I wasn't much of a dater, and no guys in my town interested me. I was perfectly content to go to work, hang out with my close friends, and spend time with my father." Darlene squeezed his hand. "What I'm getting at is this: let's just enjoy the moments we have together, and finally be able to physically express what we both feel. It's really simple. There's no such thing as marriage and boyfriends and girlfriends and going steady. It's all about living this shitty life to the fullest. I want to do that with you today, and tonight and, hopefully, tomorrow."

  "Sounds good to me. Tomorrow we need to keep sweeping Flagler Beach, and looking for more supplies. We're getting really low."

  Darlene pulled him closer and kissed him. "Shut up about tomorrow. Aren't you listening? Let's worry about right here and right now."

  "Gotcha." John hugged her and kissed her neck.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Frank watched the school burn and ignored the screams from the young woman he'd recently fucked. He was troubled, but not because he was killing her (again), but because he'd been unable to complete the deed, seal the deal, and fill her with seed.

  He was still hard, like he'd taken ten Viagra. He thought it ironic how civilized he thought he'd become since his transformation, yet at the sight of a young piece of ass his animal instincts had kicked in and he'd mounted her like a dog.

  She wasn't screaming in pain; she was angry. Mad because he never untied her and let her burn. She wanted to join him and feast on the living. She was short-sighted. She didn't care about other zombies gaining intelligence, thinking we'd all live happily ever after. It was never going to happen. Too many cooks in the kitchen, as the saying went.

  There was a very limited supply of people. Frank didn't need to feed like a shark, but, with every bite of flesh and taste of blood, he grew stronger. He didn't know what the ceiling was but he wanted to find out. Lack of sleep, actual food, burning energy… none of this affected him. He had unlimited stamina and endurance. He wanted to see how superhuman he could become.

  The fire was drawing zombies in droves, but for now Frank ignored them. He had all the time in the world to rid the area of potential threats, and he considered them more of a threat than the living. The living would mount a weak defense against him, but in the end he was superior. He didn't want to go toe to toe with another creature with his strengths. It was obvious from the woman (who'd finally stopped screaming) there would soon be more and more of them.

  As a zombie stepped past Frank, on his way to the school, Frank reached out and broke its neck. He dropped it to the ground and decided to destroy as many as he could. It was time to get back to work.

  He'd broken six more necks when he noticed the zombies stopping just short of the flames, grouping up three and four rows deep, just staring at the burning school.

  Were they waiting for something? He thought they would be marching right into the fire, but couldn't remember if he'd seen them do it previously. Had they gotten smarter, or did they never get close to fire? More importantly, Frank now knew, from the woman, fire would destroy them. He'd need to keep this in mind.

  Some of the zombies kept pushing through, and knocked those in front of them into the flames. They walked blindly, without a sound, getting twenty feet or so before collapsing and crackling, adding themselves as fuel.

  Frank went behind a line and forced them forward, momentum carrying them into the flames. It was easier than breaking necks, and because of the volume of zombies appearing, he could wrangle three or four at a time and toss them in.

  He began singing a song as he went, and finding fun ways to toss zombies into the fire. A small undead child looked up at him, just as he scooped her into his arms and tossed her as far as he could, her body smashing through the plywood covering a window.

  Frank laughed. He was doing a rousing a cappella version of "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey. He'd always loved that song. It had come out when he was in middle school or maybe his first year of high school, and he had the cassette he'd play in his Camaro and he and his buddies would sing along. In college, he saw them in concert in Montreal. But he hadn't thought of the song or the band in years. He realized, with a smile, he could remember old thoughts and forgotten memories sharper and more clearly defined now, and knew it was another part of his growth.

  He moved down the line of zombies like a game of dominos, knocking them in the back and watching them fall. If they didn't reach the flames, he kicked them forward until they caught. Some of them managed to rise and stumble away, but they had no concept of patting the flames out or stop, drop and roll. It actually helped because some were inadvertently catching others on fire as they moved.

  Frank decided to add another car to the fire. He'd started the blaze by driving a pickup truck into the main doors of the school and then siphoning gas out through a small hose and stuffing the gas tank with a rag. Periodically, he would drive another car into the building and open the gas cap, adding a rag and lighting it. The school was surrounded by flaming vehicles.

  There was a large shopping center just west of the school, and Frank decided once he was satisfied the school would be demolished, he would head into the stores and destroy them as well. He would tear down every building and every living creature, and gut the world around him. He didn't know why but it made sense. Frank was getting angry, and he could feel the rage coming on again.

  He embraced it and his world went red.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  "What did yo
u two do last night? I don't recall seeing John-John come home," Eric said.

  John's face turned red and he nearly ran into the next house they were searching.

  Eric turned to Darlene. "Well?"

  "None of your fucking business," Darlene said with a smile.

  Eric threw up his hands. "Aren't we all friends here? Why should we hide things, have secrets? If I got laid last night, I would tell you."

  "Shut up," Abby growled.

  Darlene looked at Abby. "No… did you…"

  Abby gave Eric the finger. "I knew you'd do this, old man. I knew you'd be so excited to finally get your rocks off, for the first time since the Nixon administration, you'd have to brag."

  Eric turned to Darlene and shrugged. "Did I say anything?"

  "It was implied," Abby said.

  Darlene looked at Abby, who was visibly upset but also being over the top dramatic about it. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were getting mad because you might have liked it."

  Abby stopped and gave Darlene the finger, now. "Screw both of you."

  "I'd be more than interested in that," Eric said.

  John came to the door. "Am I going to do this myself?"

  Darlene leaned toward Eric. "Not a chance, old man. I would, literally, kill you."

  "Ah, to die a happy man." Eric stopped as he looked down the street. "I think we have some company."

  There were four zombies coming slowly down North Center Street, about three blocks away between 16th and 17th. It was hard to tell if they were male or female, since they were filthy and covered in shredded clothing. Not that it mattered.

  "Who wants to do the honors?" Eric asked. "How about you, or are you too worn out from last night?" he asked Abby.

  "I hope you enjoyed it, because you'll never get me again."

  "It was pretty good, I have to admit. Although, it's been so long, I almost forgot how good it was. And by the noises you were making, Abby, I'd say this old cowboy still has some moves in the saddle."

  "Fuck off." Abby picked up her machete. "I'll be right back."

  "You're going to take on four of them?" Darlene asked.

  "They're spread apart, slower than shit, and I'm bored. We're out here wasting our time. We haven't even found a toothpick to scavenge."

  "You need any help?" Eric asked.

  "Does it look like I need help?"

  "You didn't seem to need help last night when you were doing that thing…"

  Abby stopped and waved the machete. "I swear to God, I will cut it off if you say another word to me. You just blew your chance for another round, too, old man."

  "Blew?" Eric smiled.

  Abby let out a frustrated bark and walked up to the lead zombie, the machete slicing through the rotting neck with ease. She took the next two down quickly, and was moving to the fourth, which had veered over to the right and was in a driveway.

  "Come here, where you think you're going?" Abby walked up, spinning the machete in her hand. "It's too hot for me to chase you."

  Darlene noticed the zombie moving, away from Abby, down the street. "Something's wrong," she whispered. She pulled her Desert Eagle and began running down the block just as a dozen zombies, hidden around the house, swarmed over the stunned Abby.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Frank walked over the bridge into Flagler Beach and stopped. There were scores of zombies in town, as if he'd never cleared hundreds of them out. Some milled about, while others stalked in various directions in small clusters.

  Where had they come from? It looked like time had been reset, and he was becoming aware again. They were everywhere. Frank walked up Moody Avenue to A1A, breaking necks as he went, but not making any real dent in the numbers.

  They were coming from the south, long ranks of zombies. Some were wading in the surf, others on the beach, but the bulk of them were coming up the road. Most disturbing were some of the looks: some of them were beginning to turn again, and there was intelligence in some of their eyes. This wasn't good.

  It was like a slow, unstopping leak, and Frank decided his only option was to plug it. He stepped onto A1A and began moving toward the pier, breaking every zombie in his path. He broke necks and ankles and shattered kneecaps. His goal was to slow them down and then go back and finish them off.

  Several got behind him, in their shuffle, and he had to double back and get them from behind. He had to reposition to the corner, right near the Finn's restaurant, because they were moving through Veteran's Park and coming from South Central Street.

  Frank estimated at least three hundred, all moving north, at varied speeds, depending on the damage to their bodies. He broke another neck and turned when he noticed two zombies stopped, both staring at him in the park.

  "Well, hello," Frank yelled and walked at them. The two immediately spread out, trying to get on either side of him. Frank decided to bring the battle to them, and rushed the one on the left, as he suddenly ran.

  Frank knew these zombies weren't as advanced in the recovery process as he was because they couldn't move quickly enough. The one barely got its hands up to defend itself before Frank had its head in his hands and was crushing the life out of it. The other zombie came up from behind and punched him in the back, but it didn't even faze him. When the first zombie stopped struggling, Frank dropped him to the grass and turned slowly. "Seriously, is that your best punch?"

  The zombie hit Frank in the chest but it didn't even move him.

  "Good bye," Frank said and grabbed it by the hair, pulling it down, before wrapping an arm around the neck and twisting until it went limp. Annoyed and unsatisfied, Frank scanned the crowds to see if anymore of the advanced zombies were around. If he had to fight more and more of them as they came awake, he'd be in trouble. Sheer numbers could defeat him, especially if a score of them banded together.

  A1A was filling with them, all heading north. Frank decided to get just ahead of them and create a bottleneck area, where he could control the flow better. A couple of cars positioned around a bend or where houses were still intact across the street, and the middle area could be filled in. He didn't know if he had enough time to manage it, but he'd try. If nothing else, it would staunch the flow enough so he could crush a few more heads.

  He was starting to lose focus again and felt the bloodlust rising in him. Despite his plan to get ahead of the horde, he began ripping through them with tooth and nail, destroying all in his path. He was biting and kicking and slamming heads into the pavement. He wanted to see and taste the rancid blood, even though it did nothing for him. He just wanted to annihilate these inferiors, and his rage was becoming unbearable.

  How dare they live in His world? How dare they walk on His Earth? Take up precious space, and have the gall to think they can evolve as He had before them, and try to take what was rightfully His. No more.

  Frank moved as quickly as his body would allow, punching zombies and tripping them and then stomping them into new death. His own hands and feet were shredded and bloody but he felt no pain. He only felt exhilaration as the lines thinned out, and he welcomed the bloodlust into his mind.

  Like last night, when he'd calmed down after the school fire and realized he was next door, at the shopping center. Or what was left of it. He'd killed a massive amount of zombies and tossed them into the new fires he'd started. When the bookstore had gone up in flames, the merchandise left had fueled it, and he drove every last car into a building and watched them explode.

  There was a pile around his feet so he stepped away and started a new one, bodies hitting the pavement and most shattering due to the rotting. How far did the body decay until it began to rebuild? He wondered. How far gone would a corpse be before it could not regenerate and grow? Clearly fire was a good destroyer, but Frank wanted to test as many theories as he could. What if he hacked up the bodies into little pieces? Could they reform, or individually grow again? Would it create more and more zombies?

  Many of the undead were shuffling past him, but Frank
kept moving. Two steps back, one broken neck, one step back. He kept moving in tandem with the shuffling horde, dropping the lead one whenever possible. No more offered resistance, some trying to move around him and others tripping on the bodies on the ground. Frank made sure to toss the lifeless corpses into the walkers to slow them down, even if only for a step.

  Frank began counting how long it was taking him to silence each zombie, and got into a rhythm where he could get five per minute, if they were close together. At this pace, he could eliminate 300 an hour. He was never going to tire, so, in theory, he could down 7,200 a day, nonstop. There were nearly 20 million people making Florida home, and, for arguments sake, Frank figured they were all dead and shuffling around now… so, even at this pace, it would take him almost ten years to rid Florida of zombies. Of course, they all seemed to be converging to the south, so he might eventually have to destroy not only the United States and Canada's populations, but the worlds. They were slipping out of the surf at an alarming pace as well.

  Imagine the new wars when the zombies began fighting among themselves, trying to gain a foothold in this rotting world. Frank needed to clear the area and forget about the future, because he was sure he'd live forever. What did time even matter, when he could never stop to rest, eat or even defecate again? He didn't have to. He just needed to keep breaking necks.

  He was near Tenth Street when he heard the engines. He turned to see the two dune buggies, carrying three passengers, shoot onto A1A and turn north.

  Frank decided to follow, even though he was on foot.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Darlene spent the last of her ammo before getting to where Abby was standing, plowing into the zombies with her machete. Eric was next to her, slamming them in the face with his rifle butt. She knew John wasn't going to be too far behind, especially once she'd started shooting.