Dying Days

by Armand Rosamilia

  Swearing to someday find them, she pushed her way through the crowd, loading and firing as she moved, and clearing a path.

  Darlene's anger got her safely down the street. She was naked and bruised but she was alive. And she had her Desert Eagle back.

  Chapter Seven

  Clothes Shopping

  Darlene Bobich didn't know which part was worse right now: being naked on the cold streets of Buffalo, New York or the fact there was a zombie apocalypse happening all around her.

  She decided that in the 'right here, right now' the freezing naked thing took precedence over the undead thing, so she tried doors and windows as she made her way down a suburban neighborhood that had been relatively unscathed. Here and there a home had been torched and most of the cars on the street were demolished, but the lawns were overgrown but not trampled like she'd seen everywhere else.

  Houses, dark, stared back at her. To her right a pickup truck, doors open, was halfway backed out of the driveway. Across the street the front door had been ripped off its hinges and propped against the bushes.

  Darlene realized the block reminded her of home, even though she was hundreds of miles away. The pretty, well-kept middle-class block, rows of likable houses. She imagined the kids coming inside just before dark, mom fixing dinner while dad pulled up in his Camry and parked next to mom's mini-van.

  Her daydreaming was shattered by the crash of glass somewhere close by. She ran across the street and up the driveway since the house looked still intact.

  The front door was locked and she heard footsteps, slow and methodical, from the street. Without streetlights and with only the thin moon above everything was in silhouette, but she didn't need to see to know there were undead in the area.

  Darlene ran to the garage side of the house and around through the side yard, careful not to crash into the low bushes or make any noise. The side door was locked as well, but not the back gate to the yard.

  She entered, Desert Eagle drawn, hand shaking, with only moonlight for a guide. Every shadow moved and attacked her and she had to stop and close her eyes and breathe before she panicked.

  "Nothing but the ghosts," she whispered. "And my nerves." Darlene made sure the gate clicked back in place.

  The back patio was strewn with leaves but otherwise untouched, the table and chairs waiting for the nearby grill to get started so the family could eat. The sliding glass doors were locked, the shades inside drawn.

  Darlene was standing there, gun in hand, nothing on, trying to come up with a game plan but her mind was blank. She didn't think she could stay in the yard all night like this. It wasn't freezing out but it was getting colder the later it got.

  The low growl near her ankles scared her so much that she slipped on the patio and fell to the ground, her weapon hitting the grass.

  When the large dog stood over her she thought she would either be bitten or it would bark and she'd be attacked by a horde of zombies. Instead, it sniffed quietly at her hand. She let the dog smell her and was relieved when its tail began to wag.

  "Where'd you come from, boy?" she asked, petting the German Shepherd. The yard was completely fenced in. Darlene went back to the sliding doors and looked around for a pet door or something she'd missed. Nothing, but it was so dark.

  "Throw me a bone, boy," Darlene said and then giggled at her stupid pun. The dog sat on its hind legs and stared at her, tail going a mile a minute.

  She felt around and found an opening to the far left of the door, next to the start of the bushes. It was larger than a normal doggy door but she didn't think she'd be able to squeeze through. "Not with these hips," she whispered.

  "Go inside, by, and unlock the door for mommy," she whispered at her new friend, but he only licked her hand. "Didn't think so."

  Darlene didn't hear any noise from over the fence, only the sound of the dog breathing. It sat down on its hind legs and stared at Darlene, tongue wagging.

  "After you?" Darlene said to the dog and pointed at the small opening. When he didn't jump in front of her -typical male, she thought - she got down on her hands and knees.

  "Let's get this big ass through the tiny hole," she whispered. "That's all I'm asking."

  She wished again she had a flashlight, because when she pulled the flap open and squeezed her head in it was pitch black. Her shoulders squeezed in and she managed to get her chest through with difficulty, but once she got to her hips - damn Bobich Family curse! - she was screwed.

  Of course, that was the moment the dog began to growl low and mean.

  Darlene, panicking, tried to push herself back out but she was firmly stuck. I'm going to die, trapped in a doggy door, all alone, she thought. Of all the shitty ways to die.

  Something brushed against her leg and she stiffened. She hoped it was only the dog. A strange, calming thought came to her just then: she wondered what the dog's name was. Maybe he had a tag on his collar.

  Darlene closed her eyes, since she couldn't see anyway. Very slowly she started to rock her hips, her hands pushing against the sides of the wall as she did.

  "Please don't bark," she whispered when she heard him growl again, right behind her on the steps. There was another noise, but it was so muffled and she was inside the house that she wasn't sure she'd actually heard it or not.

  She tried turning her hips on an angle and pushing her way in. She was sweating. Look on the bright side: at least I don't have clothes on to hinder me more. She wiped her thick mop of soaking hair with her hand and went to touch the floor when she stopped.

  It was quite humid in the house. There was no telling how long the power had been out and the family closed up the house. It was hot. Darlene started wiping her face, neck and hair and rubbing whatever parts of her hips she could touch.

  She rocked back and forth again, and after what felt like six hours but was likely six minutes she was free. Pulling her legs in, she turned and held the door open.

  The German Shepherd was growling at something she couldn't see, stepping forward with head raised and teeth bared.

  "Come on, boy, come inside," she whispered. "Come to me."

  The dog barked, once, loudly.

  "Shit." She knew she'd be pushing it if she tried to get back outside to grab the dog. She put her head back out and looked around, but she didn't see anything or anyone. Of course it was still so dark outside that she couldn't see past the back patio.

  "Please, please, please, come here," she whispered.

  The German Shepherd stopped and looked at her. She smiled and waved her hand at him.

  She heard the gate being pushed slowly open.

  The dog started barking and moved out of her sight.

  Darlene came fully inside the house and stood, holding onto the Desert Eagle. She looked at the sliding glass back door, currently covered in shades, and nearly punched herself in the head. "Stupid bitch," she whispered. The fucking door is right here. I'm still crawling on my hands and knees from inside the fucking house.

  She clicked the lock to the door at the same time she moved the shades using the Desert Eagle. The dog was lost in shadows but she could hear him growling and barking.

  The door slid on its hinges with a slight squeak. She froze, the door only half a foot wide. Cool air entered the house and brushed against her naked body, cooling her off. The sweat still on her hips and sides gave her goose bumps when mixed with the night air.

  Darlene could clearly hear footsteps now on the lawn, moving toward the patio. She moved back into the house, angling so she could still see out the crack in the door and fire if need be.

  "Calm down, little doggie," she heard a gruff male voice say. "You'll alert the damn neighborhood."

  "Just shoot the damn thing," a whispering female voice said with disdain.

  Is that Barbara and Doug? She started to sweat.

  She watched the figure kneel and pet the dog, who stopped growling and barking. "Traitor," she whispered but knew the dog was starved for attention. Another figure, obvio
usly the woman, was suddenly next to him.

  "Let's try the house," she said. "I don't like it here."

  Darlene took several steps back before turning. Her eyes had gotten adjusted to the gloom and she could just make out darker objects - the living room couch, the entertainment center, and the coffee table - and avoided them as she scampered down a hallway and looked for a place to hide.

  She heard the sliding door opening as she entered the bathroom, closing the door behind her as quietly as she could. Stupid move, she thought. Trapped myself in the bathroom. Naked.

  Darlene climbed into the bathtub and pulled the shower curtain closed, pointing the gun in front of her. Hands shaking and trying not to cry, she slid down into the cold tub and waited.

  The couple - she was sure it wasn't Barbara and Doug - began moving about the house but so far neither had bothered entering the bathroom. If they did she would simply shoot them.

  There were no windows in the room and the darkness enveloped her. As a little girl she'd never been really scared of the dark, only when it suited her needs and she wanted to get closer to her daddy. They'd vacationed in Vermont a few weeks after her mom had died, daddy so quiet and sad. They spent a week in the woods, in a small camper, getting back to nature. Fishing and canoeing. Daddy had cried softly that first night, wrapped in his sleeping bag with the camper top open to the stars. Darlene had feigned being scared of bears and climbed in next to him. He stroked her hair and sobbed quietly until she was fast asleep.

  * * * * *

  Darlene woke with a stiff neck. She had to pee and laughed at the stupidity of that. I'm in a fucking bathroom. She stretched, rubbing her muscles. Her legs and arms were needles and pins. There was no way to tell what time it was, but from the way her body felt she'd slept for a few hours at least.

  Not that it helped. She felt more exhausted than when she'd broken into the house. Crawled into the house.

  After taking care of personal business (and enjoying the comfort of an actual toilet and toilet paper) Darlene crept to the door and put her ear to it. She didn't hear anything, idly wondering if doing this actually worked outside of movies.

  At this point, lured into a false sense of security, our heroine opens the door and the chainsaw-wielding maniac in the dead skin mask attacks, she thought. "Better than crouching naked in a bathroom until you starved to death," she whispered and opened the door a crack.

  The hallway, of course, was dark, but there was a faint natural light tint to everything. She guessed the sun was up. She opened the door and stepped out into the hall but she wasn't attacked and she didn't hear a sound.

  Back into the living room she wasn't surprised to see the sliding glass doors closed and locked. The couple was still in the house.

  Her initial urge was to simply leave and find another house to search, but she needed clothes now. She knew it was stupid and made no real sense, but she walked back down the hall and opened a door at the end of the hall.

  The couple was there, completely naked, lying on top of the bed covers. They were both filthy, with small cuts and bruises covering their arms, face and legs.

  Darlene, holding the Desert Eagle, went to the closet, which was slightly ajar. She fingered through the hanging clothes, finally settling on a green blouse, at least two sizes too big. Great, I find the house that the Chubby Family lived in. None of the clothes would fit her comfortably, and the pants were way too big, even if she had a belt on.

  She turned when she heard one of them moving on the bed and was not surprised to see the man, .357 in hand, sitting up.

  They stared at one another but when his eyes lingered to her naked body she turned and gave him a full view and smiled. "I just wanted clothes," she whispered.

  "This is our house," he said loudly. The woman stirred and woke, frowning when she saw Darlene.

  "It's not your house. I got here about ten minutes before you did last night."

  "Bullshit. We been here for hours," the woman said. "Put some damn clothes on before you give my husband a heart attack."

  Darlene didn’t point out the obvious: that the woman was also naked. Instead, she stared at the man. "I'm not here for trouble; I just wanted to find clothes."

  "Yeah, well, fat people live here… lived here. We're just passing through as well." He smiled at her. "I'm Ron."

  "Don't tell her your name," his wife squealed.

  Ron laughed and stood, still staring. Darlene saw with horror that he was getting hard. She didn't like the way he was looking her over.

  Darlene raised the Desert Eagle and pointed it at his dick. "I'll be leaving now."

  He was still holding the .357 loosely in his hand and in her general direction. "What if I asked you nicely to stay?"

  "Sorry, but I think it's time for me to leave." Darlene took a step toward the door.

  "You motherfucker, you think you're gonna put that dirty dick in this whore while I'm still alive?" the woman asked.

  Ron ignored her and smiled again at Darlene, now fully erect.

  Another step closer to the door and Darlene figured she was almost free of this nightmare scene. "I'm leaving," she said firmly.

  "Why don't you stay? Safety in numbers, you know." He took a step closer but held the gun to his side. "The three of us could band together."

  "I don't think so, Ronnie." The woman glanced at Darlene. "Not with her. No offense."

  Darlene wanted to laugh. "None taken." She took another step sideways to the door. "Good luck to both of you."

  Ron dropped the smile as he stared at Darlene's crotch. "You're not going anywhere."

  "Ronnie, so help me God -"

  The woman never finished her sentence before he turned on her and shot her in the chest.

  Darlene reacted and pulled the trigger, the bullet slicing through his neck. She didn't wait to see who lived and died because she ran down the hallway, crashing into the wall and knocking family collages off as she went.

  The back door was locked, she realized too late as she went crashing into it, but it didn't shatter. She heard one of them moaning from the bedroom. She turned, ready to shoot, but no one appeared. Reaching back blindly, she unlocked the door and stepped backwards into the cool morning.

  She broke and ran for the side gate, which was open. Darlene started to run, getting six houses away before she stopped to catch her breath and push the fear down. The street was empty.

  "What happened to the dog?" she whispered.

  With no one in pursuit and no zombies in the immediate area she began a methodical search of the houses. She needed to find some clothing, food and more bullets.

  Chapter Eight

  Hitch A Ride

  "The greatest song ever. Am I right?" R.J. didn't wait for an answer from Darlene. Instead he cranked the song - AC/DC's seminal Highway To Hell - and floored the Trans Am. He began warbling along completely out of tune.

  Darlene closed her eyes and prayed that he wouldn't kill them both. Since 'meeting him' in the Wawa he'd been cordial, if a bit eccentric.

  R.J. had a Jersey accent and crazy look in his eyes, but wore a cowboy hat, faded blue jeans and a huge Confederate flag belt buckle. He'd been punching the fountain drink machine to magically get it to work, even though the store had been ransacked and the power was off.

  He'd made no move for a weapon and didn't seem fazed when she drew the Desert Eagle on him. Instead, he tipped his cowboy hat in her direction, winked, and asked if she knew how the soda machine worked.

  "Yeah, I know how it works. With electricity," she replied sarcastically.

  "None of that around here. I guess I'll mosey along to other parts of the range, eh?" he'd said but in a thick Joisey accent. Darlene thought it quite unsettling but he didn't seem to be a threat. After what she'd just escaped from…

  She watched him warily but went about trying to find something to eat or drink.

  "You won't find anything else in here, ma'am," he'd said. "Picked it clean and stored it in the Bandit outs
ide."

  "Bandit?"

  He pumped out his chest and went to the broken glass windows at the front of the store and pointed. "I call her Bandit, like what Burt drove."

  Outside, parked by itself, was a white Pontiac Trans Am.

  "His was black," Darlene said matter-of-factly.

  He grinned. "Well, no shit… sorry 'bout the language… I'll be painting it as soon as I get back home and making sure the gold eagle is touched up and fancy."

  "Where's home?" She was waiting for some bullshit answer like Dallas or Oklahoma City.

  "Swedesboro."

  "Never heard of it," she admitted.

  "South Jersey, nice and quiet. I just need to get back home and then I'll have time to paint my new car, wrangle up some horses, and plant some corn."

  "Sounds like a plan." Darlene's stomach was growling. "Any chance you'd be willing to share some of your food with me? I haven't eaten in a few days."

  "Need a ride? I could always use someone riding shotgun."

  "Sure." Darlene didn't know what else to do, and she was getting sick and tired of walking. Two long weeks and she was still firmly inside New York State, and knew she'd been heading in an eastern direction due to zombies, road blocks, fires and hostile living people.

  Now they were cranking tunes and driving way too fast.

  "You said you had food," Darlene screamed over the guitar solo.

  R.J. pointed a meaty finger behind him. "Grab whatever you want. The stuff is all over the place, but see if you can find me a beer. I should have a couple left."

  She rummaged through some bags and found a warm can of cheap beer. "You probably shouldn't drink and drive," she said as she opened it for him. It was said as a joke but she was also concerned.

  "Who's going to arrest me, the zombie police?"

  "True." She found another beer and held that one for herself. "How bad are these cookies?"

  "Stale as shit but still considered food."