Dying Days 6

by Armand Rosamilia

  The only sounds from below were the zombies crowing one another as they tried to get to Tosha. One of them slammed into the ladder and Tosha looked down to see a small gap in the zombies just in sight, from the way she’d come. Were they moving along, already bored with her?

  Not quite.

  A zombie was tossed into another and as they fell to the floor another joined them, one ripped in half and spilling lazy brown globs of blood to the floor.

  Another zombie stepped into the gap but didn’t look up at Tosha. It reached out and gripped another zombie by the neck, twisting it until the zombie went limp in his hands. He tossed the zombie to the ground and stepped on its head with thick bloody work boots.

  When the zombie looked up, he was smiling.

  “What do we have here? A fresh one, and pretty, too?” the zombie said.

  “Fuck off, asshole.”

  The zombie laughed. “Too bad you aren’t wearing a skirt. I wonder if you’re wearing any pretty undies?”

  “You’ll never know, asshole. I’m sure you’ve got a small dick anyway. Zombie dick or not. Why don’t you do me a favor and get your friends out of here? Give me a head start and let’s make this interesting,” Tosha said. This zombie would simply climb up a couple of rungs, grab her leg and yank her down. She’d be dead in seconds.

  Tosha banged on the hatch again.

  “Look, I’m sorry for calling you an asshole. I have a real problem, though: there’s a real zombie and he’s going to come up the ladder in a second if you don’t open up and help me. Seriously.” Tosha pulled a weapon but, by the time she aimed, the zombie was out of sight.

  “That’s not playing fair, you know?” the zombie was hanging around and another destroyed zombie was flung across the stockroom. “If you toss down your weapons, I promise I won’t hurt you.”

  “Somehow I don’t believe you,” Tosha said.

  The zombie was laughing. A finger was tossed under the ladder. “I pinkie swear. Get it?”

  Great. She was about to be killed by a comedian zombie.

  “Go away,” the guy from above yelled. “You’ll get us all killed.”

  “You’re going to let me die? I’ll turn into a zombie. I have weapons. I have food and I have a safe haven to get to if you help me,” Tosha said, knowing she was stretching the truth a little. A lot.

  Another zombie was dragged out of her sight and it didn’t return. The good news: about half of the zombies below were now gone. The obvious bad news: the smart zombie was taking them out one by one.

  “What if I let you live for a day? You could follow me around on a leash and I could show you what fun it is to be a zombie,” the zombie said.

  “I’ll pass but thanks for the tempting offer,” Tosha said.

  She pushed her head as close to the hatch as she could.

  “Please, please open the hatch and let me live,” Tosha said and tapped on it for good measure.

  “I can’t,” was the immediate answer from above.

  “Why not?”

  “You might be trying to trick me.”

  “I’m not sure how I prove it but I’m not. I swear,” Tosha said.

  She felt the pressure on the ladder and fired a shot before she had time to set and look.

  When she did, she saw the bottom of the ladder was empty.

  “Good shot. You literally came within two inches of shooting me in the head,” the zombie said from somewhere in the stockroom.

  “What was that?” the guy from above asked.

  “I was trying to shoot the zombie,” Tosha said. Her arms were getting tired and her legs would cramp soon from just standing on the rungs. She couldn’t do this all day and night.

  “Why?”

  Tosha stopped herself from calling him an asshole again. She needed to get him to open the hatch. At some point the zombie was going to grow tired of this game and make his real move, and she didn’t know if bullets could keep it down.

  “He’s trying to kill me. I’d much rather be safe on the roof. I could be an asset to you. I have things. I know things,” Tosha said. She sighed, knowing every guy was the same in the end no matter what was going on. “Look, I’ll give you a blowjob if you open the hatch.”

  “Hey… uh… my wife and daughter are up here. How dare you,” the man yelled, a little too loudly. Tosha was sure he was red-faced and embarrassed, which made her feel a little better.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just hanging on for dear life. Not figuratively, either. I can help you and your family. I’ll make sure I protect everyone. Please,” Tosha said, letting her words get high-pitched and whiny, which always seemed to work on dudes when they thought she was begging.

  Guys were idiots.

  “I should be offended,” the zombie said from below. “All this time I thought you were playing hard to get. We could’ve been something. I’ve never dated a redhead.”

  “And you won’t, if I can help it,” Tosha said. She was about to tap on the hatch again as her left calf cramped.

  The weight from above started to move and she heard it sliding away from the hatch.

  Tosha looked down as the zombie rushed the ladder, attempting to climb it quickly.

  She fired three times, hitting it in the head and shoulder and finally in the chest as it fell to the ground. Tosha pulled the trigger to fire ten more times but the gun was empty.

  The zombie was staring, lifeless, up at her.

  Faint sunlight filtered from above as the hatch opened.

  The man was standing there, looking scared.

  “Thanks,” Tosha said. She climbed up and pulled herself onto the roof.

  “What were you firing at?” the man asked.

  “I killed the zombie,” Tosha said and looked down the hole.

  The zombie was gone.

  A woman and young girl, no more than ten, were standing off to the side. They’d built a makeshift structure with tents and cardboard boxes in the center of the roof.

  The man and Tosha piled the heavy items off to the side back onto the hatch.

  “I’m Farley,” the man said.

  Tosha put the .22 to his head and smiled. “I’m Tosha.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Bernie couldn't outrun the zombie but she was going to try. She'd rather die trying to flee than stand still and let the zombie have his way with her.

  Her heart was racing too fast, even for someone running, and she knew she was in a blind panic as she ran back onto the road and slammed into a walking zombie, stumbling.

  Now she was really in a panic as she began to fall, putting her hands out as her feet skipped across the pavement, trying to get a grip on the road.

  Bernie stumbled a few feet but didn't go down, her momentum carrying her down the embankment and into a retention pond, where her feet sunk into the muck.

  "You got yourself all dirty. Was it worth it? Now I'll have to bathe you like a child before I rip you apart," the zombie called down. He was standing at the lip of the pond with hands on hips, smiling and seeming to enjoy her new plight.

  Bernie didn't waste energy yelling back. She pulled herself free from the mud and climbed up the other side, watching to see if he was going to cut her off before she got out.

  He seemed satisfied to simply stare at her. He was going to draw her terror out before he caught Bernie and ripped her apart. She knew it.

  When she started to run towards the exit ramp to the highway, the zombie began his pursuit, walking quickly but not running. His smile told Bernie all she needed to know: he was going to string her along. This was a game to him.

  "I'm not sure where you think you're going, sweetheart," the zombie yelled.

  Bernie easily dodged past a couple of zombies and was on I-95 heading north, but there were too many zombies on the road. She'd never make it, either getting attacked or these zombies slowing her down so she couldn't escape.

  She wasn't sure if simply hiding in an abandoned car again would work, especially since so many zombies wer
e now focused on her.

  "Downtown is a mess, honey. The traffic is bumper to bumper. You thought the park had too many homeless people before? Now it's packed with them, all looking for a bite to eat. You'll be the perfect meal. Come back and let me finish you off quickly," the zombie yelled.

  He was still taking his time, arrogantly walking down the median in the middle of the highway while Bernie had to get around so many zombies trying to get her. She kept looking back to make sure he hadn't tried to sneak up on her. If she could put some distance between them and not get hung up, she had a slim chance.

  Bernie started to run, heart pounding and dodging zombies as she moved.

  If she could keep him amused, following at a distance, perhaps she could find a weapon lying around on the ground or an escape route.

  "Was it something I said? Bad breath? Are you mad because I slept with your sister?" the zombie yelled.

  At least he had a sense of humor, Bernie thought. He'd make her laugh before he eviscerated her. She knew she was slipping away and, if she didn't get a grip on her thoughts and concentrate on escape, she'd simply fall to her knees, close her eyes and wait for the killing strike.

  Bernie was getting tired and she knew the zombie wouldn't ever be slowed unless he was preoccupied with another victim.

  She felt horrible inside thinking about it, but it held true: if he saw another, an easier victim, he might go after them. Bernie didn't need to outrun the bear; she needed to outrun the other human.

  If she could find one.

  The only people moving on the highway were already dead and she knew the advanced zombie was invisible to them. She was the meal running around like she was ringing a dinner bell, getting them all excited to pursue in their creepy, slow pace.

  Bernie had gotten maybe half a mile away. She looked back to see he was still in pursuit but he'd fallen back for some reason, but was still in sight. If she could only increase her pace and find somewhere to hide...

  There was nowhere to hide. The zombie could sense her presence and he'd find her soon enough. She was winded and had to slow her pace to a crawl and catch her breath but it was so hard and she was so tired and what did it even matter at this point?

  She saw the overturned truck on the highway ahead and used it as a landmark to get to before she collapsed. Maybe she could find a weapon inside or some help.

  Bernie was glad no one was moving around inside, dead or undead, and she collapsed onto a pile of furniture as soon as she got inside and the truck blocked the unrelenting sun from her body. It felt like it was a hundred degrees inside but it was better than nothing.

  She took a few deep breaths and forced herself to get up, using the pile of furniture to finally stand. When she turned she saw the zombie was running right at her, apparently done with this cat and mouse game and now coming in for the kill.

  Bernie screamed and turned, running into the dark truck. She had nowhere to go but she wasn't going to stand there and get run over.

  At the back of the truck was an overturned stack of wooden chairs, most broken now. She scrambled through the mess to find a sharp chair leg. Anything to use as a weapon against the monster.

  "I see you've found us a quiet, romantic spot," the zombie said, his form blocking out some of the light. "If we had more time, I'd go find us a radio. Maybe play a little Barry White. Get us in the mood."

  Bernie could feel the truck slightly vibrate and knew he was walking slowly into the truck.

  None of the pieces were sharp or thick enough. She needed a stake to impale the bastard. This was her last stand.

  As she yanked on a broken leg down in the pile, it came loose and the chairs collapsed, forcing her back and closer to the zombie.

  Bernie turned. If she was going to die it would be looking the zombie in the eye instead of being setup from behind.

  Then she saw the shotgun, leaning against a table. A severed hand and arm was still attached to it and at first she didn't want to touch it, but what else could she do?

  The zombie stopped walking, now halfway into the truck. He had his arms up and to the side, as if he were praying. Bernie was reminded of a preacher giving a sermon for some reason.

  "Would you like to dance before you die?" the zombie asked.

  "I'd much rather see you die," Bernie said and lifted the shotgun, intent on sweeping the severed limb away and hoping the weapon was loaded. Maybe she could bluff her way out of the truck and the zombie would think she was too much of a pain to continue to chase.

  "Do you think a bullet can hurt me?" the zombie asked.

  Bernie didn't know. What if he was beyond pain and suffering? What if he was immortal and couldn't be stopped?

  "I think I need to find out," Bernie said and yanked at the hand on the shotgun.

  It didn't move, stiff and welded to the shotgun.

  Bernie panicked and almost dropped the weapon, using her free hand to pull on the arm but it wasn't going to budge.

  The zombie began to laugh.

  She was about to bang the shotgun against the wall but thought better of it. What if she broke it in her panic or it fired the only shell loaded and she screwed herself?

  The zombie stepped closer and put a hand out. Even though it was dark, she could imagine the grin on his face as he spoke.

  "Please, let me have it. You'll shoot your eye out. Those things aren't toys, you know," the zombie said.

  Bernie took two steps back but she couldn't get any farther away with the chairs behind her. She was afraid she'd fall back and lose grip on the shotgun, too.

  "You do know if I kill you but don't destroy anything vital, you can someday rise again and join me in conquering the world, right? A king needs a queen. We could sit on thrones made of the bones of our enemies. Nations would bow down to us," the zombie said and stepped closer.

  "I'd rather kill myself than have anything to do with you," Bernie said.

  "You really have no choice. I'm going to torture and kill you slowly because you're so tough. We'll see how strong you are when I begin peeling back the layers of skin on your limbs. I wonder how long you'll scream," the zombie said and his hand was inches away from the shotgun.

  This close Bernie could see the hateful gleam in his eyes.

  She hooked her finger behind the rotting digit on the trigger, lifted the gun to head level and managed to pull. The sound of the cracking finger was music to her ears, almost as much as the discharge of the shotgun.

  The blast was deafening in the enclosed truck and Bernie dropped the shotgun and covered her ringing ears too late.

  The zombie's headless body stood for a few seconds before it dropped forward and fell into the pile of chairs.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Her baby was close. She couldn't get the exact location but she'd only been this close to him when giving birth. It felt like forever ago she'd been in that diner.

  Jacksonville looked like a war had been fought, the battle destroying street by street.

  Her dad, who'd served in the Marines alongside a few of the Talbot men on her mom's side, often called poverty-stricken cities and ghetto locations 'downtown Beirut' and Darlene never understood exactly what he meant. She did right now, because she felt like she was on foreign soil or on a war movie set.

  If the United States Armed Forces had held their ground and made a stand in Jacksonville, she couldn't tell which side had won. There was dried blood and bones here and there but she didn't see tell-tale signs of a stand like command center tents, military vehicles or anything other than a ruined city. The wildlife was beginning to take over and out of the corner of her eye she saw a deer run across the road.

  The weeds were breaking through the sidewalks and streets. Darlene could imagine how this silent scene would look weeks, months and years from now. She looked up, expecting to see the high-rises leaning down, ready to topple.

  Scattered zombies roamed the streets and sidewalks, sometimes tripping over the debris. If it wasn't for the fact they wer
e former people now looking to kill other people, she would've found their stumbling quite amusing.

  Despite her lack of sleep and food, Darlene was still feeling energetic and decided to explore some of the buildings in the area since she couldn't get a perfect bearing on where her son was.

  She walked up what was once Laura Street, now a series of demolished buildings and where a lot of bloodshed had occurred. There was the faint smell of rotting bodies mixed in with the rubble, and, as she approached what was once a grand library, she saw a pile of blackened bones in a massive open grave strung out between the library and the nearby park.

  Darlene stared at the ruined lives for too long before pulling her eyes away to stare at the gaping wound in the library. It looked like something had detonated in the lobby. The doors and front of the building were shattered and the second level drooped down slightly. Any day now the weight of the structure would be pushed down by gravity and fed to the pile of burnt bodies on the street.

  There was no one inside.

  Darlene was stunned she'd only been thinking about seeing if survivors were holed up inside when the answer hit her: she'd scanned for people and found no one alive.

  A zombie walked within inches of her position, startling Darlene. She pushed the rotting corpse and it tripped over some of the bones and fell face-first into the pile.

  Darlene walked slowly down the street, looking around at the buildings and concentrating to see if what she'd done was a fluke or if it really worked.

  She passed a church on her right, a bookstore on her left.

  The next building she scanned wasn't empty, the one right after the church. Darlene looked up and concentrated on each floor as she went.

  Several people were inside but only one was really at full health. A man. Darlene found him on the eleventh floor, surrounded by tortured men and women. What was he doing? Saving or killing them?

  Darlene needed to find out.

  She ran across the street and entered through the broken ancient glass doors of the building and into a foyer.

  The bank of elevators on her left was closed. The suite to the right had been ransacked. Darlene found a stairway door to the rear of the foyer and ignored the rotting body on the floor to the side.