Still Dying: Select Scenes From Dying Days

by Armand Rosamilia

  The pickup disappeared behind the Cracker Barrel.

  "Shit." Steve didn't know what to do. He was halfway back to the tour bus, the man was still coming slowly at him, but he wanted to get the attention of the pickup truck before it sped off and left him here.

  Two more slow-moving people appeared from around the building and he knew it was more trouble.

  Steve moved to his far right, away from his pursuer and his two new friends, and in the direction the truck went.

  It appeared from around the Cracker Barrel. Steve watched in amazement as the pickup truck slammed into one of the newer people, driving over the body before stopping.

  "Crazy bastard," Steve said as he watched.

  The pickup reversed and bashed into the other person, then jerked forward and ran them over again.

  Steve began jumping up and down again and yelling.

  The pickup truck was stopped, still running, but it was too far away for Steve to get a good look at the driver. He hoped he saw him, but just in case Steve began hollering again and jumping around.

  The dead man (Steve was quite sure he was dead but didn't dwell on that maddening fact just yet) was within five feet so Steve scooted back to his left and put some distance between them, not surprised when he changed direction as well.

  Steve was tired, the sunrays were like daggers driving into his whiskey-soaked brain, and he wanted to throw up again.

  Just when he was about to give up and head back to the tour bus the pickup truck revved and shot straight towards him.

  It was moving fast and Steve now wondered if it was friend or foe. What if it was a looter, looking for a quick score at the burning Cracker Barrel? With it destroyed he'd be looking for another target.

  Steve glanced at the tour bus. Everything he owned of importance was in there, and it was pretty much his entire life.

  Steve started run, his bare feet scraping on the asphalt. He could hear the truck as it tore across the parking lot.

  A thunk forced Steve to turn. The pickup had run over the dead man and backed over him. Steve was still too far to outrun a pickup truck so decided to stay where he was and face the music.

  As the pickup drove over, slowly, a man leaned out of the window and smiled. He parked a few feet from Steve and got out.

  He wore a biker's outfit, with black leather chaps and a Harley bandanna on his head. He smiled easily, his goatee flapping in the light breeze.

  "Nice to finally meet another living person out here," he said and extended a hand covered in a fingerless leather biker glove. "Mike Ross."

  "I don't know what's going on," Steve said. "I'm -"

  "Steve 'The Breeze' Brack," Mike said with a laugh. He pointed at the tour bus. "If it wasn't for this baby I would've missed you." He stood back and raised his hands. "I cannot believe it's the end of the world, and I'm here with my idol. What are the odds?"

  "End of the world?"

  Mike nodded. "Shit yeah. People are biting and raping other people, dead people, and they're making more dead people. It's fucked up."

  "No idea what you're talking about." Steve just wanted to get back inside and sleep off his hangover.

  "Where ya headed?"

  Steve considered the question. Where was he going at this point? "South and home."

  Mike shook his head. "From the few radio reports I heard, south is screwed. These things are everywhere and spreading quickly. People are heading north and the main roads and back roads are packed. They closed off I-95 just south of Melbourne."

  "Then I'll head north," Steve said.

  The two just stood there staring at one another.

  Steve finally nodded and glanced at the dead man under the pickup truck. "Thanks for, uh, hitting that thing."

  "No problem." Mike shrugged. "I'm heading north as well. The pickup is out of gas, anyway."

  Steve opened the side door and stopped. He turned and smiled, flashing his movie star teeth. "Can you drive this thing, Mike?"

  Mike grinned. "Of course I can."

  "Then you're my new driver. We need to find the extra set of keys first."

  "Can you say it first?" Mike asked.

  "Say what?" Steve said but he knew. They always asked him to say it, like he did in the car insurance commercial last summer. He'd made a pretty penny for standing there, smiling, and saying his line. "Do you know who I am?" he said.

  Mike laughed and went in search of the extra keys.

  Noah Stern

  It was time for a new tire iron. Noah tossed the bent, bloody one in his hands over the counter and walked out of the Cracker Barrel with his finds in six plastic shopping bags.

  The parking lot was filled with cars besides the police cruiser he'd used to get here. He wasn't a cop, but he loved driving like one.

  Noah was also partial to the police-issue shotgun each car had. Eighteen of them were neatly stacked in the trunk right now, but he needed a new tire iron.

  Tabitha was sleeping in the backseat with the windows cracked, wrapped up in a thin blanket and nothing else.

  When he opened the door and put the bags on the floor near her she stirred, stretched her arms and smiled at him.

  "Put some clothes on," he muttered.

  "Why? You don't seem interested."

  "What if we get attacked? I killed three of them things in the restaurant. What if more were out here?"

  She shrugged and wrapped herself in the sheet. "I don't know if I'd really care at this point."

  "Well, decide if you want to live or die before I start the car."

  Tabitha grinned. "Why?"

  "I could use the room for food and stuff."

  "I could just kiss you, Noah. Kiss you all over," she said and fumbled for her shirt on the seat. "Did you bring me anything?"

  "Don't I always?" It was part of the game: he'd find a new place to raid and make sure he found something unique inside for her.

  "Is it a fairy?"

  Noah frowned. "I told you the last time, I won't take fairies with me. They freak me out."

  "How about beer?"

  "Booze is usually the first stuff people take, before clothes and eating utensils. Gotta have their liquor." Noah got in and started the car. "Where to?"

  "I say we keep driving north." She struggled to pull herself into a sitting position between the front seats, holding onto the headrests for support. "Get anything good?"

  "Not much. The bags are right there." He watched her in the rearview mirror hesitate as she looked at them.

  "I'll look later."

  "Suit yourself." He pulled onto the deserted highway and accelerated to fifty miles an hour. "We need to find someplace to hole up before dark."

  "How about a nice hotel near the beach? We can listen to the waves and the seagulls."

  "And get us a couple of seafood platters from room service and a bucket of cold beer," Noah said and glanced at her again.

  She fell back against the seat, arms folded, and her lower lip trembling. "That was mean to say."

  He knew he'd hurt her feelings. Shit, he always hurt her feelings. All she did was pout like a child, even though she'd said she was twenty. She acted half her age.

  They drove in silence for an hour, Noah weaving in and out of car pileups and doing his best to steer clear of undead as they stumbled across the highway.

  "Hungry?" he finally said, more to break the tension than to actually ask her.

  Tabitha refused to look at him in the mirror as he watched her. "Nope," she finally said.

  "Can you get me something to eat? There's stuff in the closest bag to you on the floor."

  "I guess."

  Noah sped past an overturned Ford Focus, a legless zombie pulling itself through the shattered windshield. The road ahead was relatively empty and he decided to stomp on the gas and get some miles into this journey. And get away from the freak.

  "Wow, oh wow!"

  He smiled when he looked back and saw her face.

  Tabitha held a wooden fig
ure in her hand. "You know I love these things! Remember the one a few days ago that was cracked? These are perfect. How many did you get?"

  "Six or seven. They were on a shelf in the stockroom. My guess is no one saw them. I figured you'd like them, and they are all different."

  "I love them. I love you, Noah. The next time we stop I'm going to kiss you and hug you, so be ready. Don't fight me off this time. I mean it, I owe you."

  Noah felt his face go red. "There's no need for all that, and you know it. Let's just get along and find a hiding place, alright? Fair enough?"

  Tabitha laughed. "Whatever you say, honey."

  Noah scrunched his face when a glance in the rearview mirror showed him what he'd been dreading all day: she was putting on her gaudy red lipstick and staring at him.

  It wasn't that he didn't enjoy her company. He did, he really did. But she was…a little different from what he was used to. That's all. Simple as that.

  They'd run into each other in Savannah. Well, he'd run into her…

  "I think I'll name this one Sissy. That's what we called my cousin Stella when she was a kid. She was godawful ugly but so much fun. Do you think I'm godawful ugly, Noah?"

  He didn't need to look to know she was staring at him. "Of course I don't."

  "You don't sound particularly convincing. Everyone has beauty, even if it's inside them. Do you believe that?"

  Noah was forced to take the next exit because of a burning tractor trailer in the road. Out of habit he slowed at the first intersection, even though there was no one else around and the lights didn't work.

  "Well?" she asked again, her voice cracking.

  "I don't think you're ugly," he finally said.

  He swung the police car around a twisted pickup truck and jumped the median. Straight ahead up the ramp he gained speed and was doing fifty again and cruising back on the highway.

  "I don't believe you."

  Noah was about to reply when a shadow swooped down on him to his left. He instinctively took his foot off the gas and almost screamed.

  It was a huge tour bus, barreling down the fast lane and nearly clipping him.

  "That's a race car driver, I've seen him on the television," Tabitha said excitedly. "The boys used to root for him. Billy always promised he'd take me to Daytona Beach to meet him. You think he's in there?"

  "Who?" Noah said as he watched the bus disappear in the distance.

  "Steve 'The Breeze' Brack, driving the number 75 car. That was his bus."

  "No idea." Noah calmed down and sped up, trying to at least keep pace with the tour bus. He didn't know who was driving it, but most people he'd come across were selfish and didn't care about anyone else. He didn't want to find out who was driving, but he could use them like his rabbit and keep pace. Let them hit the next pileup or looters or undead. "It's probably not him."

  "Why not?"

  "We're driving a police car. I'm not a cop and you're not a cop. I bet it's someone who found his tour bus. It's not him."

  "I think it is. Maybe at the next stop we can get his autograph? I'm a big fan. He's a good-looking guy, too. Not married, no kids, just a big smile for his fans. You know what his catchphrase is?"

  Noah didn't care about racing. He was from Pittsburgh, and the only thing you followed there was the mighty Steelers, and sometimes the Pirates. The Penguins weren't half bad.

  "Guess," she said. Tabitha wasn't going to give up this conversation so he sighed and decided to play along. What else did he have to do?

  "Guess what?"

  "His catchphrase, silly. Need a hint?"

  "Sure."

  "It's about him."

  Noah laughed. "That could mean anything." He looked back at her and his smile dropped. "Oh shit."

  Behind them, coming up fast, was a Dodge Ram pickup truck, with at least three men standing on the bed holding rifles.

  "Where'd they come from?" she asked, straining to turn around and look.

  "Maybe they saw us when I had to get off the highway, or they're following the bus. Either way, we're in trouble. You might need to grab this shotgun." Noah wished he'd brought a couple more from the trunk at the last stop, but how was he to know? They hadn't run into anyone in days.

  "Just outrun them."

  "I intend to, but just in case." He glanced down at the gas gauge and shook his head. Less than a quarter tank. Noah cursed himself for not stopping in the last day for gas instead of stupid wooden dolls. He did the only thing he could and put the proverbial pedal to the metal. This was an older cop car and didn't seem to have the engine or the power he thought it would.

  Tabitha moved behind the passenger seat and twisted around to see. "They're fading back."

  Noah was clenching his teeth as he watched them start to slowly gain ground. If they were friendly they'd back off and see he wasn't interested in communicating. There was no exit coming up, only the highway and trees to either side.

  "Here they come," Tabitha said.

  Noah decided he had two options: keep running or slow down and see what they wanted. Stopping was not an option.

  "What are you going to do?" Tabitha asked.

  They were gaining and if they'd been smart enough to fill their tank in the last day Noah knew he was screwed.

  Noah saw the tour bus, a speck on the horizon, and decided to catch up. Maybe there was help there. Worst case scenario: out of the frying pan and into the fire, with another bunch of bastards with guns. If anyone from the NRA was still alive they'd be in their glory, since all the gun laws had been repealed and everybody carried half a dozen guns at all times.

  The pickup truck was on their bumper now and the driver was beeping his horn.

  Noah had buried the needle but the steering wheel was shaking in his grip. There was clear highway ahead of him, which was not to his advantage. He had visions of doing what they did in all those cheesy movies and cop shows during pursuits and cutting the wheel at the last second and watching the pickup truck hit a stalled car, flying through the air in slow motion, and crashing down before bursting into a fireball.

  Instead, there was open road, and the tour bus seemed to be doing over a hundred miles an hour as well, because he wasn't closing the gap.

  "Get down," Noah said to Tabitha. He looked back and saw her pressed against the back window, staring as the pickup came up along side them.

  Noah was glad they were in a cop car, because Tabitha might have done something stupid like opened the window otherwise.

  The driver, a bearded man with a bald head, was waving at Noah as they pulled up neck and neck at one hundred and twenty miles an hour.

  Reluctantly, Noah rolled the window down on the passenger side. There were three men cramped in the front seat and three in the back holding rifles. "What?" he yelled.

  "Pull over. Wanna trade or something?"

  Noah waved at him. "No thanks."

  He took his foot off the gas and slowed to under a hundred but the pickup kept pace. He prayed there was an exit coming up, especially on the other side of the highway. If he could just cut across the median and get away before they could correct…

  "Buddy, I'm not really asking you. I'm telling you," the driver shouted. "We'll trade you food and water for your baby-girl there."

  Noah looked over and frowned. The bearded guy was looking right at Tabitha, and a glance back showed Noah she was smiling and returning it.

  "What the heck are you doing?" he asked her, incredulous. "They'll kill you, after they rape you."

  "Maybe they want to trade."

  "Maybe they'll kill me and use you up and throw you away."

  Tabitha sighed loudly. "There's not much left of me to use thanks to you."

  Noah ignored her and gave the police cruiser gas. He was quickly running out and needed to do something soon.

  "Last chance, buddy. We're trying to be fair and nice about this. What do you say? Baby-girl, you want a beer? We got beer and pot with us. We could have a party if you want."

>   "Don't talk to her," Noah shouted. "Just leave us alone."

  "Noah, pull over. I want to go with them."

  "What? You can't be serious. If I pull over they'll kill me."

  "No they won't." Tabitha pulled herself forward, sticking her head between the seats and gripping Noah by his shoulder for support.

  "I should've kept the divider in," Noah mumbled.

  Tabitha ignored him and strained to see the driver from this angle. "Promise you won't hurt him!" she yelled.

  "Shut up," Noah said.

  "I promise. Scouts honor."

  Noah glanced over to see the driver laughing.

  "Please pull over," Tabitha said in his ear. "You owe me that."

  "I don't owe you my life. I'm not stopping and that's final."

  Tabitha lunged forward and grabbed the steering wheel, jerking it to the right. The police car spun across the path of the pickup truck, its rear passenger side struck, and they shot off into the tree line.

  The front end slammed into a tree and Noah felt the windshield crumble around his face before he passed out.

  * * * * *

  The pain was unbearable. Noah opened his eyes and stared into the bright sun pinned behind half a dozen smiling faces, rifles pointed at him.

  "Help him up, boys."

  Two of the men picked him up and placed him on the back of the ruined police car's trunk. Noah leaned on his elbows and assessed the damage: he was sure his right kneecap was shattered and his left ankle broken. Otherwise he'd emerged unscathed.

  "How ya feeling, buddy?" the driver of the pickup asked.

  "I think my leg is broken," Noah managed.

  "Your leg is broken? Ain't that a bitch. Bring me my new baby-girl, let her have a look."

  Tabitha was carried by two men forward. Noah looked away from her ruined body, cauterized stumps where the legs used to be.

  "What do you think of that, baby-girl? His legs hurt."

  "I wish mine hurt. That sonofabitch ran my legs over."

  Noah looked her in the eye. "I'm sorry. It was an accident, I told you. You were lying in the middle of the road, how was I to know you were still alive?"

  "You did this to me," Tabitha said and spit at him.