Dying Days Ultimate Box Set 1

by Armand Rosamilia

  Sarah’s smile didn’t waiver, pissing Didi off even more.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, man,” she said. “Ky says nobody gets anything without clearing it with the committee.”

  “I don’t give a shit about Ky and his committee,” Didi said. “I was only visiting this friggin’ hole and I got stuck inside. I don’t care about your damn rules. I just want something to smoke.”

  “Hey, I’m really sorry,” Sarah said.

  Didi pushed past her into the enclosed humidor room. “Out of my way, bitch,” she said.

  Before Sarah could stop her, Didi grabbed a small wooden box full of cigars. The label on the side said Gurkha Black Dragon, but as far as Didi was concerned it could have said dragon shit…she really didn’t care.

  She stormed for the exit, past Sarah, who was looking like she didn’t totally understand.

  “Come on,” Sarah called to Didi’s back. “Ky will be pissed.”

  “Fuck Ky,” Didi called over her shoulder.

  * * * * *

  She sprinted up the stairs into Uncle Brian’s condo and slammed the door behind her. She double checked the locks and went to the kitchen, the only room in the place without a window. She unwrapped one of the cigars and put it in her mouth. The box containing the rest, she put in the freezer. Nobody would look in there since there was no power, therefore, no way to freeze anything.

  She plopped onto the sofa and threw her feet onto the glass-top coffee table. Her hand trembled slightly as she held the lighter to the end of the cigar. She sucked as though she was trying to draw a life-saving breath but the thing wouldn’t light.

  She was beginning to get light-headed when she remembered seeing people in movies bite the end off of cigars. It worked and a minute later she was enjoying the feel of smoke in her mouth. She inhaled deeply and held it as if it were pot smoke, and then let it out slowly. She closed her eyes and took another deep drag.

  The dizziness and nausea crept up slowly. She ignored it at first; dismissing it to her nicotine withdrawal she suffered because of the shortage of cigs.

  After ten minutes, it was impossible to ignore and she sprinted for the bathroom. Before she reached the toilet, she vomited, violently, into the sink.

  Colleen

  Colleen Ciolfi brushed her long blonde hair out of her face, ignoring the stinging gnats hovering near them at the Intracoastal docks across from the European Village. "What are we doing here?"

  Big Al smiled, putting his fingers near his face like he was smoking a cigar. But he didn't have one and hadn't smoked one in weeks. They were running out of everything important. "We're supposed to be wandering the countryside scavenging."

  "Then why are we here?" Colleen asked.

  Big Al laughed. "I'm not going out there and getting killed. They don't pay us enough. I'd rather hang out here, enjoy the beautiful water, and then go back empty-handed. Let the other teams find food. I'm more interested in staying alive."

  Tanya, leaning against the rail and dressed in black despite the heat, snorted. "When we run out of supplies I can blame you."

  "No one is stopping you from finding food, Corpse Bride."

  Colleen had a headache. Her already small frame was taking a beating without the right food and drink, and she was weak all the time. "We need to find food."

  Big Al threw his hands up. "Not me. I have enough food."

  "What a selfish idiot," Kim Johnsen said. Everyone turned to see her as she sat on the pier and rubbed her foot. Her eight-inch stiletto show boots were off her feet and in her lap. She was clearly in pain.

  "What's the matter, couldn't find a higher stripper heel to wear?" Big Al asked.

  Kim's son, Austin, stepped forward. "I'd watch how you talk to my mother."

  Big Al laughed. "That's really cute. How old are you, kid? Twenty? Twenty-one?"

  "Sixteen," he said through gritted teeth. He was a big boy, like a man-child, with a full goatee and broad shoulders. "Watch what you say to people." He pointed to Leslie, who was standing close by. "She's my aunt. If you say something rude to her, I will take care of it."

  Big Al laughed and played with his imaginary cigar. "Relax there, man-child. I'm only trying to lighten up the mood." He turned back to Colleen. "You are the spiritual leader of our little group today. If you tell me to waste my day wandering the empty streets of Palm Coast, I'll do it. But I'd rather work on my tan." He rubbed his bald head and smiled.

  Colleen had known Big Al for years. At one point, they were roommates. She knew how stubborn he could be when he set his mind on something, and, hovering around fifty years old meant, he was pretty much set in his ways. But were there really any set ways anymore? Everything had been turned upside down and destroyed. They lived in constant fear, constant hunger and constant pain.

  "I can't go anywhere. My feet are hurting," Kim said from her spot on the ground.

  "I'll go," Austin said. "We need to find food. I'm hungry, and bored."

  Colleen smiled at the boy. Someday he'd make a good leader, if he could survive that long. "I'll go with Austin and one more volunteer. The rest of you can stay here and do nothing. I don't care. But if we hit a mother load of supplies, you will come and help." She looked at Big Al with her best dirty look. "Understand?"

  He smiled. "Of course, sweetheart. I'll be the first one to help. You know me."

  Colleen threw up her hands. "Who else is going?" She looked at Tanya and Leslie, both looking the other way. "Anyone?"

  "We don't need them. They'll only slow us down," Austin said. He went over, bent and kissed his mom on the cheek.

  Kim smiled and looked surprised. "Be safe." She turned to Leslie. "What a bad mother I am. I can't believe I'm letting him go, at sixteen."

  Colleen could see Kim's conflicting emotions etched on her face. "I'll take good care of him. At any sign of trouble, we'll head back here."

  "I'll be waiting," Kim said.

  Without another word, and to get away from the others, Colleen began walking down the road. Austin caught up, slowing his pace for Colleen's shorter legs.

  "You're a brave kid," Colleen said. Then she corrected herself. "You're a man now, right? The end of the world makes you grow up fast."

  "I guess so." He didn't make eye contact with her. "I wish I was back playing Call of Duty and killing zombies in a game instead of doing it in real life."

  "Have you had to kill yet?"

  "Not yet." He brandished a baseball bat and swung it in front of him as he walked. "But I'm looking forward to it."

  Colleen stopped him in the street. "I know you're young and you have to act brave, but don't go looking for trouble. Between the zombies and the looters, there are enough problems coming your way without you being so impatient to find them."

  "I understand," Austin said. He swung the bat again. "But I'm still ready."

  "Let’s go find some food and make Big Al look silly," Colleen said with a laugh.

  Tiki

  Tiki needed to regroup and figure out his next move. He went upstairs to his apartment, wanting to sit in his small bedroom and think. Or take a nap. He was hot, tired and hungry. He supposed everyone else in the compound was as well.

  Even with the doors to the balcony open, it was still too hot in the apartment. Without electricity, most days were brutal and Tiki only came upstairs if he needed to get away or finally sleep.

  Crista Colletti was on his couch, eyes closing as she fought a nap. Tiki stopped and stared at her for a minute. She always gave the impression she was a tough girl, but he knew the truth. After all they'd gone through together both before and during the zombie apocalypse, he considered her his best friend. Of course, the fact that she had such a great smile and a wicked sense of humor helped ease the pain of the shitty world they lived in.

  Crista casually pushed her flowing blonde hair from her face and smiled without opening her eyes. "I can smell you."

  Tiki laughed. It was a joke they'd shared since they'd met, when he was a bartender at The G
olden Lion and she was a customer. He was busy flirting with her when he tipped over a jar of green olives onto his pants, and, every time they'd been together, she would always say she could smell him. He supposed, right now, it wasn't too far-fetched, since there were no working showers and he'd been outside in the heat all morning.

  He leaned over her and kissed her lightly on the forehead, making her sigh.

  "How did your revolutionary spiel go?" she asked.

  "Bad. Really bad. I need to rethink this before it's too late."

  "Want me to go to my place?"

  Crista lived next door but they spent most nights out on the balconies, talking and reminiscing about the better days they'd never see again. Last night, the pitcher of daiquiri was finished off and Tiki had no idea if it was going to be their last.

  "You can stay. I get a better breeze here. Take a nap."

  "Suit yourself. If I snore, too bad."

  Tiki laughed and went out to the balcony, looking down at the people wandering around, empty tents flapping in the breeze where, months ago, a small refugee camp had been growing. Now, most of the apartments were empty, people spread out and the threat of attack growing. Garbage was being tossed out the windows and there were dead bodies, still needing removal. The air was thick with horrible smells, and it was getting harder and harder to move through the courtyard. People were cranky, sweaty and exhausted.

  "It's like a powder keg ready to go off," Tiki said.

  "Did you say something?" Crista asked from his couch.

  "I think we need to leave as soon as possible."

  "I've been saying that for weeks." Crista came out to the balcony and put a hand on his shoulder. "Just the two of us?"

  Tiki shrugged. "Maybe. I'm not sure anyone else will actually leave. There are some opinionated people around here."

  Crista smiled and Tiki nearly melted.

  "Whatever you want to do, but have you thought of where we would go and how we would get there yet?"

  "Saint Augustine is the destination. I have a feeling it is still operational. Brewski and Didi came from there and said so, but Ky refuses to believe them."

  "He's scared if we get everyone moving and then by the time we get there it is overrun, we'll be screwed," Crista said. "I can see his point."

  Tiki scoffed. "I don't. We're just waiting to be overrun here. How many people can actually fight now? Most of the men who left never came back. We're sending out women and children to scavenge. This is getting ridiculous."

  "Then let's get out of here. What are we waiting for?"

  "Give me a few hours to see who wants to come."

  Crista leaned over the rail, her hair flapping in the warm breeze. "Just be careful, okay? If Ky thinks you are taking people, he might freak out. Who knows what he'll do if he doesn't get his way."

  "I'm not scared of Ky," Tiki smiled, "but I'll try to get everyone ready to go soon, so there isn't a standoff. No use getting him worked up. I don't wish him ill. I just don't think staying here is the right idea. Maybe I'll talk to him first."

  "If that's what you think you need to do. Just bring some backup with you."

  "Who?"

  "I know Brewski and Didi want to get out of here and go back north. Those two for starters." Crista raised her hands and made fists. "Of course, if you need real muscle to back you up, you can't go wrong with the Colletti Crusher." She threw a few punches.

  Tiki hugged her. "I need a quick power nap and then we can go and have a chat with Ky and Ambroz."

  "I'll rest, too. I might need to kick some ass. The couch is mine."

  Kim

  Kim Johnsen loved her shoe boots. The black, lace top, silver zipper and diamond charm attached to the zipper were perfect. Back before the world crashed, she'd been eyeing the pair in the window of the shoe store in European Village. Now they were hers, but she wore them with a price: her feet were ready to explode. Maybe they weren't the right choice to wear today, but they matched her outfit and she knew she looked damn hot in them. What was a little pain when you looked this good?

  Tanya laughed at her as she rubbed her feet. "I wore sneakers," Tanya said.

  "Yeah, black high tops that match your outfit."

  "I could've worn heels."

  Kim laughed. "You never wear heels."

  Big Al cleared his throat. "Are you gals going to chat about shoes all day?"

  Kim ignored him and kept rubbing her swollen feet.

  "There's a boat coming under the bridge," Leslie said. "A sailboat."

  Big Al threw away his imaginary cigar and walked to the end of the dock. "Sweet. We can wave them in, and then get out of this hell-hole."

  "You mean we can flag them over and then load up as many people as we can?" Leslie asked. "Instead of being selfish?"

  Big Al began waving. "Feel free to rally the troops. I'm going to be first on board."

  "What if it's looters, dumbass? You're calling them over and giving away our location," Tanya said. "Should I run back and open the gates for them as well?"

  "It doesn't matter to me. I just hope they have a nice cigar onboard."

  Leslie screamed behind them.

  Kim turned from her perch on the ground and joined in the screaming. There were at least a dozen zombies coming at them, and one was already dragging Leslie to the ground, blood spurting from the bite wound on her neck.

  Kim tried to roll over and get her other shoe boot off before two of the undead attacked her. She was panicking, trying to get it off her swollen foot.

  Tanya and Big Al ran past her but they were both driven to the ground by the swarm. There must have been a hundred of them, clogging the pathway to the docks and crashing through the bushes to get to the group.

  Kim got the shoe off just as a zombie bent over and tried to grasp her shirt. She swung the eight inch stiletto heel and jammed it into its eye, but it didn't stop attacking.

  The zombie lowered its head, the vile breath almost making Kim pass out. She put her hands up to ward it off, but it had the advantage of being above her and forced her arms down. She swung her hand but then felt a sharp pain and realized it was biting her middle and ring finger. The blood began to trickle down onto her face and her throat was hoarse from her incessant screaming.

  Kim glanced over, before she passed out, to see at least a hundred zombies crowding around and feasting on Tanya, Leslie and Big Al.

  David and Jill

  David Royall stood at the helm of the 40-foot sailboat, Shibumi, and squinted into the sun. In days past, the trip south from St. Augustine on the Intracoastal Waterway was as enjoyable as could be—not anymore. Now it was all about survival.

  Jill came from below and stood next to him, her hand gently rubbing his back.

  “We have enough food for a few more days, but we’re almost out of water,” she said with a smile.

  He took his eyes from the horizon and admired her pleasant features. Even in these dying days, she managed to smile. They were existing on canned vegetables and rationed water, but it never seemed to bother her. The sun brought her red hair to life and made her blue eyes dance. David leaned in and kissed her, thankful they had survived together. Life without her would be unimaginable.

  “We can put in at the Intracoastal docks; the European Village might not be totally desecrated yet,” he told her.

  “Okay,” she said. “Do you want me to take the wheel so you can stretch a bit?”

  “Sounds good,” he stepped aside for her and went below to gather the water jugs and some canvas sacks in case they found more food.

  The muscles in his neck and back were stiff and sore from the hours at the helm. They didn’t dare crank up the diesel unless absolutely necessary and it seemed as though the zombies had even found a way to get rid of the wind so they were creeping along at less than 4 knots. It made the 20 mile voyage feel like a sun-baked marathon.

  A few minutes of tai-chi would loosen things up a bit. He kicked his sandals off and began the kata. After 27 years
of practicing, he quickly fell into the peaceful flow of the movements of the form. The tension in his neck was dissolving nicely when he heard Jill call from the deck.

  “Problem?” he asked when he emerged from below.

  Jill handed him the binoculars without a sound and pointed to the west bank ahead. There was no longer a smile on her face. David raised the binoculars and watched as a horde of zombies finished devouring four people on the dock.

  A cluster of zombies stepped back from the corpse of a large bald man, gore dripping from their faces, and turned to go in search of another victim. The corpse rolled off the dock and bobbed in the surface of the intracoastal, a thick red pool spreading from it as it drifted slowly south.

  “Shit,” David said. “Heave to. Let’s keep our distance.”

  Jill turned the helm into what little wind there was, to take the wind out of the headsail, while David scrambled to the bow where he let out 45 feet of anchor chain. Their forward motion continued as the 41,000 pound vessel dragged the anchor along the sandy bottom. With practiced precision, Jill reversed the helm. Without the driving power of the sail, the boat slowed considerably, but was still moving toward the dock faster than Jill would have liked.

  “David,” she said, as if he could somehow stop the craft before they got too close to the massacre.

  “It’s out of our hands,” he said. “She’ll stop as soon as the anchor grabs.”

  With less than 500 feet to go, the anchor found purchase and Shibumi came to a grudging stop.

  David and Jill stood at the wheel and watched the carnage in silence.

  Ike and Brewski

  Having spent several days on the roof as a lookout, Brewski knew the best approach from the bridge would be from the east, and he knew Ike well enough to know he would see it also.

  He told the sentry he was going out to do some recon. “Don’t shoot me,” he said, as he walked through the gate.