Dying Days Ultimate Box Set 1

by Armand Rosamilia

  Aiden, her little one at only a year old, shuffled in his car seat. She turned and smiled at all three of her children, all snoring softly. Bradley, a year older than Aiden, snuggled his blanket in his Big Boy Chair, refusing to sit in a baby seat even though the law said otherwise.

  "What law?" Amanda whispered. Catherine was slumped against the door, two years older than Bradley but seeming like a teenager the way she spoke. Amanda wondered what kind of world her kids had to look forward to growing up in.

  Brian tapped on her window and scared her nearly to death. "There's a bridge up ahead but I see a few of them shuffling around it. I think we can make it."

  "Get in," Amanda said. "And don't do that to me again."

  "Sorry," Brian said sheepishly. She wanted to kiss him just then but decided to wait until they were safely over the bridge.

  They still had enough natural light that she didn't need to put on the car headlights, but the road was filled with potholes and large rocks, so she went slowly. She just wanted so badly to turn them on, like a nightlight when she was a child.

  As she pulled around a bend a shambling silhouette pulled itself from the weeds to their left. Amanda gasped, even though she'd seen countless undead in the last few weeks. She swerved to avoid it, which wasn't hard. She was only going about ten miles an hour but still much faster than the enemy.

  "Speed up but not too fast. No use in kicking rocks and letting the world know our position," Brian said. "The shotgun is the last resort." He pulled out his knife from its sheath on his right leg and leaned forward. "When I yell stop you slam on the breaks and I'll bail."

  "I'll wake the kids."

  "Shit." Brian closed his eyes. "When I put my arm up you slow down and stop the truck so I can get out."

  "Then what do I do?" Amanda hated being without him so close, and always feared for the kid's lives when he did things like this. She knew in her heart he was doing it for a reason and it always worked out. But one day, Lord Above, my man isn't jumping back in this pickup truck… I just know it. She felt foolish even thinking this, feeling like she was betraying Brian and all he'd done for them since coming back from the war.

  "I'll use the hand signals. You remember the hand signals, like we practiced?"

  "Yes, of course. Even the kids know them."

  The way ahead was getting too dark now, the weeds and dirt road melding into grays and blacks. Amanda corrected the wheel when she felt the front end hit the slight embankment on the right. "This is getting too dangerous for me to drive. Why don't you?"

  "I need to jump out and clear the road, baby. Slow down if you have to but I don't want to be swarmed like in Breeding."

  Amanda gripped the wheel and eased off the gas. Breeding had been a disaster. They were part of a convoy of six vehicles and nearly thirty people but when they'd stopped to clear a burning car from the road the undead came from everywhere. Brian managed to clear a path with his driving but Amanda was useless with the shotgun. She still remembered the horrible sound of them raking dirty, broken fingernails on the sides of the truck and the crunch when Brian ran them over.

  No one else from the convoy had survived.

  "Stop," Brian said, pulling her back into the present and forcing her to focus. She eased off the gas and hit the brake, glancing in the rearview mirror to make sure the kid's were still asleep.

  "Don't scare me again," she said but he was already out the door, closing it silently. He was instantly dragged into the dark shadows and she put a hand instinctively on the light switch but knew better. "What good are hand signals when I can't see you?"

  A thin, red light appeared in front of the truck, spinning. It was Brian using the pen pointer, which was actually Catherine's from a school report presentation.

  Amanda had no idea what it actually meant and put her hands up, as if he could see her.

  He stepped around the car to her window and she rolled it down. "Sorry, baby, but I don't know what 'spinning light' means. I can't drive anymore without being able to see. It's dangerous."

  "I know." Brian wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "The mosquitoes are eating me alive. Wish these damn walking dead would eat them instead." He looked around. "There were only a couple ahead of us, but I took care of them. Turn the lights on. I can hear the river up around the next bend. Once we cross the bridge we should be alright."

  "We need to find a safe place." Amanda turned the headlights on, expecting a thousand monsters to be packing the road. Instead, only the multitude of bugs swarmed in the glow. "Get back in?"

  Brian nodded and ran around. As he got in he leaned over and kissed her cheek.

  "What's that for?"

  "Just because." Brian smiled. "Let's get out of here."

  Amanda drove around the bend. So many bugs slammed into the windshield she had to use the wipers, bloody streaks covering the glass.

  She smiled when she saw the warning sign about the bridge being one lane only. "Here we go."

  But as the headlights lit up the entrance to the old steel bridge she let her foot off the gas and coasted. A wooden barricade had been erected, blocking the entrance. "What now?" she said.

  "Let me go check it out," Brian said and was out the door before she could respond.

  Once again she glanced in the rearview for the kids, but something else caught her eye in the red glow of the brake lights. Movement.

  She started to roll the window down to yell to Brian when a bloody hand slammed into her door, rattling her. One minute it was dark and quiet, the next she could feel bodies pushing against the pickup on both sides.

  Two stepped in front of the headlights, shambling toward Brian. He was still moving quickly to the blockade.

  Amanda wanted to scream. If he hesitated at all they'd catch him. She couldn't stand the thought of losing her husband and watching him ripped apart by these things.

  She beeped the horn, once, and Brian turned. He fired the shotgun, the blast ringing even with the windows closed, and waking the kids.

  "Drive," he said and pointed at the barricade. "Now." Brian shot again but there were so many of them.

  She jammed her foot on the gas pedal and the pickup caught in the loose dirt for a moment, sliding sideways and knocking a zombie down. She gained traction - was it the body she just climbed over? - and drove toward the bridge.

  Brian was swinging the shotgun in a wide arc, keeping them at bay.

  Amanda slammed on the brakes next to him.

  "What are you doing?" Brian said as he got into the truck.

  "You think you're getting away from me that easily?"

  He laughed. "I guess not. You need to back up, though, if you want to hit that wall with enough force."

  Amanda put the truck in reverse, hitting undead as she backed up.

  "There are so many. They must've been just over the hill or something. I think the noise of the engine or the headlights got them riled up." Brian loaded the shotgun.

  "Here goes nothing," Amanda said and put the truck in drive.

  "Try to keep it straight, because once you're through that wall you might skid in either direction. Hit it as cleanly as you can."

  Three zombies were between her and the bridge. Amanda gave it more gas and watched with satisfaction as they were thrown like leaves on the wind.

  She held the wheel tightly. A glance in the rearview at all three kids, crying and scared, made her want to cry. "Get down on the floor, babies, like we practiced."

  The pickup truck, reinforced with metal plates, coverings over the tires, and a wedged steel grill added to the front, slammed into the wooden fence at thirty miles an hour, ripping and splintering it into fragments.

  "Holy Mother of God," Amanda whispered.

  The pickup went another ten feet, running over the horde of undead crowding the bridge on the other side. They rose up as the bodies began to catch underneath, pinning the right side of the truck against the thin railing and forcing them to stop.

  Bodies, bloody and drool
ing, punched at the car and the bullet-proof windows.

  The children began to scream and Amanda reached back and tried to comfort them, even though she was crying herself.

  "I can't get out of my side," Brian said.

  Amanda looked at her door but it was shoulder to shoulder zombies, all crowding and attempting to get to them. "There's no way I'll be able to open this door."

  "They can't shatter the glass and the sides will hold. We need to hide, keep out of sight, and maybe they'll get bored and move on," Brian said. "Move over, kids, we're coming back there to join you."

  "I'm scared, daddy," Catherine said.

  "We're going to be alright. They'll leave us alone if we keep quiet and hide."

  He pulled two blankets and handed one to Amanda. "This will be like camping, only in the truck. It'll be fun."

  Amanda smiled and put the kids back down on the seats, covering them as she sat on the floor behind the driver's seat and put the blanket over her head. Despite the raging slams against the truck and the shaking with so many pressed against it, the kids were fast asleep within minutes.

  "You're a great dad," Amanda said.

  "And you're a great mom."

  "If we get out of here…"

  "You mean when we get out of here," Brian said.

  Amanda composed herself and wiped the tears from her eyes. "I love you."

  Before Brian could answer the truck pitched to the right violently.

  "What's going on?" Amanda said, keeping her voice down. Despite the movement the kids hadn't woken.

  "I think we're being tipped," Brian said. He got out from under the blanket with his shotgun and pulled himself back into the front seat. "This is going to be loud."

  Amanda covered the children with both blankets, knowing it wouldn't do much. "Please be careful. God, please protect us."

  She heard the driver's side window cranking down and then the shotgun blast.

  All three kids screamed. Amanda's ears were ringing and she didn't know if she was also screaming, blinded by fear and tears.

  The pickup truck tipped again to the right and she heard Brian curse and another shotgun blast. They hung at a forty-five degree angle for a few seconds before banging back down to the bridge road.

  Brian suddenly pulled part of the blanket away and stared at Amanda. "They're getting under the truck. They're trying to tip us into the water."

  "What? How?" Amanda shrieked.

  "I'm going to jump out and let them follow me so you and the kids can escape."

  "No, you're not."

  "Yes. It's the only way you'll survive." Brian looked at the kids and then closed his eyes. "Daddy loves you."

  "Brian, don't leave me."

  Before he could answer the truck went to the right again, this time twice as far. They all slid to the passenger side, piled up against the door. The truck didn't tip back the other way.

  Amanda could hear the undead pounding on the truck's under-carriage. She could see the night sky and stars through the bullet-proof window, now directly above her.

  "Baby, are you and the kids alright?"

  "Yes, just squished. Are we on our side?"

  "I guess so. I'm going to climb out and see if I can distract them. Stay quiet."

  "Please don't," Amanda whispered.

  "I have to. Eventually they'll rip the truck apart." Brian unlocked the door overhead and opened it, forcing himself out. He knelt on the pickup and looked back down. "I love you," he said before closing the door.

  Amanda could do nothing but sob, holding the children as close as the cramped space would allow. She closed her eyes and once again prayed to God to protect her family.

  Bradley screamed first when the pickup began to slide to the right, his brother, sister and mother joining in the chorus.

  The pickup suddenly stopped and Amanda prayed harder.

  She felt it moving again to the right, another foot, another foot.

  Was that a shotgun blast? She couldn't tell with the noise of the pickup's side tearing as it sluiced across the asphalt. The floor - the passenger side door in the back - was actually getting hot under her feet and she didn't know if it was a fire or the friction from sliding.

  "Mama, I scared," Bradley said.

  "I know, honey, but it's going to be fine."

  Before Amanda could say another word the pickup truck slid again, several feet, shaking them about the interior.

  The kids screamed again and Amanda's breath caught in her throat. She remembered as a child going to Six Flags with her family and getting sick on the Log Flume ride. The sensation of dropping through the air only lasted seconds but it was enough to scare her.

  Her head was slammed into the seat when the truck slammed into the water and she threw up. For a second her world went black and she fought to stay conscious.

  "Mama, my shoes are getting wet."

  Amanda willed herself to move, getting the kids up above the water seeping into the truck. She grabbed Catherine. "Honey, I need to lift you up to the door. You need to open it and climb out. Then I can hand you your brothers. Can you do that?"

  Catherine looked petrified but she nodded.

  Amanda handed Catherine up, steadying her on her shoulder. "Got it?"

  She heard Catherine trying to get the door opened.

  Already, Amanda's feet were soaked. Waterproof was never an option or a thought when Brian was outfitting the truck.

  She heard the door pop above her. "Catherine, I need you to climb out and grab Aiden."

  "Okay, mama."

  Her daughter's weight was lifted off of her and Amanda looked up to see her beautiful little girl kneeling on the side of the pickup, hands outstretched.

  Amanda reached down and grabbed Aiden, who was being held above water by Bradley. The river was almost two feet deep already in the interior. She hefted her son and handed him to his sister, who struggled to pull him free.

  "Bradley is next," Amanda said and plunked him from the water, where he was splashing around. "What's going on up there?" she yelled.

  "I see daddy," Catherine said excitedly. "He's swimming to us." Catherine screamed. "The dead people are in the water and they're all around the truck."

  As if in response she heard another shotgun blast.

  "Take your brother." Amanda handed Bradley up and Catherine lifted him on put him on the car, where he clung and cried.

  Amanda was now up to her neck in water. She started to climb but the seat gave way underneath her and her mouth was suddenly filled with water as she went under.

  Before she could recover the truck slid and tipped, the water black and enveloping. Amanda lost all senses of up and down, struggling to right herself in the cramped quarters as her air ran out.

  She stopped struggling and gave herself to God. Take care of my babies and my husband, Dear Lord, and keep them safe, she thought before she drowned.

  * * * * *

  Brian stood on the bank in the false dawn light and stroked Catherine's wet hair. All around him the living worked, eradicating the undead as they crossed the river.

  The pickup truck was gone, pulled away in the fast-moving current.

  "Sir, we have food and clothing for you and your children. The safe zone is just ahead," a man with a hunting rifle said with a smile.

  Brian wrangled the kids together, stared another moment at the swirling water, filled with body parts and blood, and turned away with a sob.

  Geneva Archer

  The dead were too far below to hear Janis Joplin wail through Piece of My Heart, but Geneva had the stereo set on two just in case. No use drawing attention.

  On a clear day the portable stereo could be heard for miles, it seemed, and the monsters would gather three stories down on the street and stare up at her. It was all quite unnerving.

  But as long as she had her CD's, her diet soda, and her bags of stale chips, she'd be fine. Food was not an issue.

  With twenty-four apartments in the building, she'd neatly
organized all the food, drink and supplies into certain rooms on the top-most level: all of the perishables were in Mister Munson's living room while the canned goods were neatly stacked in his kitchen, vegetables on the table and everything else in the cabinets and the counter.

  The Cordero's apartment across the hall now had all the drinks, and Geneva's favorites (pretty much anything diet since she didn't want the diabetes to take control again, especially without doctors and a depleting pill horde) were right inside the open doorway. She'd cleared the non-diet, sweet tea and juices into the back bedrooms once Warren left…

  She had enough Band-Aids and Advil to fix a third world country, all in neat rows in the Dunston apartment. The Publix down the street (before someone or something torched it) had yielded so many carts of supplies, medicine, health drinks, toilet paper, napkins, feminine products and toothpaste. There were still six shopping carts in the foyer downstairs she needed to get to.

  Only Geneva had no desire to put things away where her OCD said they belonged, not anymore. Instead, she sat on her lounge chair, here on the roof, sipped warm diet Mountain Dew, listened to her Joplin, Zeppelin, Cream, Bad Company, and Sabbath tunes and ignored the dying world around her.

  It was better this way. Better than feeling the way she felt and never getting the same feelings back from a man. Damn Warren…

  At first, he'd done everything he was supposed to: he listened to her stories, he held the door for her, he bought her roses and cards, he wrote her poetry, they saw the movie she wanted to see and ate at the restaurants she wanted to eat at.

  But after six months Warren became distant, sometimes not leaving his apartment for days unless she forced him. Even then he stumbled through the night like a zombie.

  Geneva laughed at her little joke even though she didn't find much amusing these days. She sipped from her soda can, repositioned the giant umbrella to block the sun, and kicked her feet up. She'd spent more and more hours up here on the roof since it began, but her Irish complexion wasn't conducive to ten hours of sunbathing a day.

  "With my luck I'll get skin cancer," she said. Geneva only had herself to talk to now, ever since Warren left…