At this point in the game the only people still living were usually those stealthy enough, fast enough or lucky enough to keep from being ripped apart. Lazy Eye had obviously been lucky until today.
She cleaned the blade on his clothes and checked him for supplies, food, anything. He had nothing in his pockets. His boots were too big for him and he wore three pairs of socks despite being out in the Florida heat of summer. “Where did you come from?” she whispered to his lifeless body before doing the horrific task of sawing through his neck with her knife to keep him from reanimating and trying to rape her again.
He looked decently well-fed and he’d bathed in the last few days. His underwear was clean and his shirt still had a slight laundry detergent smell to it, something Darlene hadn’t smelled in too long. He had a camp somewhere close, possibly a home where he had a makeshift washer.
She was in the dunes near the beach, with several undead lurking on the road behind her. Any noise would alert them. Darlene scanned the beach itself and watched as two zombies shambled from the surf and moved in different directions. They were everywhere.
Three days ago Darlene had cold-camped on a Georgia beach in a lifeguard chair. She’d woken to five zombies chasing after a child, no more than seven, down the sand. Before she could jump down and help three undead fell from the dunes behind her and gave chase as well. It was all she could do to sit in silence without making a sound as more and more came into view and went north in pursuit of fresh prey.
Now, she decided to journey the way Lazy Eye had appeared and see if she could find his camp. The going was slow, especially since she was trying to be as quiet as possible. A dead man, clothes shredded and covering only his shoulders, stumbled a few feet to her left and she froze. His penis was engorged with blood, rivulets dripping from its bloated head. He was one of the dangerous ones: the undead that still had a functioning sexual organ and would love nothing more than to use it on her, stretch her and rip into her and kill her. She shuddered at the thought.
Five tense minutes later he suddenly stopped and turned away from her and crashed through the sand toward the road. Darlene continued to move as the sun beat down upon her, sun-burnt and hurting. Six or seven months ago she was freezing, stuck in a blizzard during winter near Baltimore. She’d nearly died from sickness and watched as the living around her had succumbed to frostbite or the undead that hadn’t frozen. She imagined that by now they’d thawed out and were hunting for the living.
A service road came into view, devoid of immediate danger. She joined the sandy strip up into the dunes. From this vantage point she could see for miles: A1A ran from north to south, riddled with moving bodies; a small town was to the west, smoldering and destroyed; and to the north over a collapsed bridge stood a gas station, which looked intact from this distance. She decided to make for it. Maybe there was some food left over, a stray can of soda. Crumbs would suffice at this point. Darlene hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning and that meal was a rotting orange and some rain water. For weeks she’d stayed away from mirrored surfaces when possible, knowing that her once full figure was now a mess. “Even at the end of the fucking world you’re still worried about how your ass looks in a tight pair of jeans,” she whispered and grinned.
In order to get to the gas station she needed to traverse the broken bridge or wade through fast-moving sea water from the ocean. She didn’t know if she had enough strength to make it. That had never stopped her before.
Praying to a God she no longer believed in, she moved slowly in that direction, skirting the undead and glad that they were so spread out.
She wondered why there were so many zombies concentrated in this strip of land. Once she’d gotten safely across the river and onto A1A she thought she’d be safer. With the Atlantic Ocean to the east and the river to her west, land consisted of a block or two of houses in length at any given point, but where she stood there wasn’t much of anything but sand dunes. Usually the dead convened around destroyed towns, burnt-out buildings or car pileups.
There were no undead pulling themselves from the river as she stood on its banks. The bridge was unmanageable to cross, with a large chunk of it missing and presumably sitting at the bottom of the river. Darlene wondered how zombies could destroy a bridge like that, but decided that her fellow humans had most likely done the deed.
Most of the property damage she’d encountered since this had begun was man-made, with looting, raping and fires done without the zombies’ help. Man had turned on man. Instead of helping one another they’d decided to kill for that last scrap of food. Safety in numbers? Not if it meant having to share a can of soup. It was easier to bash your former friend and neighbor in the head with the can rather then sharing it.
With the sun overhead and the smell of the water before her, Darlene could almost imagine that everything was normal again. Somewhere a bird actually chirped and she could almost sense the fish in the water and the ants and spiders in the grass. She was on vacation with her father, enjoying the Florida beaches and the warmth before heading back to the harsh Maine winter. They would stop later and eat at an amazing local restaurant that sold fresh seafood platters, local beer, and had tiki torches and real palm trees adjacent to the open-air dining room.
She took in a deep breath to get the rich taste of suntan oil, mixed drinks and fried fish into her nostrils. When she choked on the stench of the undead moving silently toward her she sighed. The machete strapped to her back was quietly unsheathed and she said good-bye to her father and her vacation dreams once again.
Two
He was alone and his skin was sloughing off from so much time in the seawater. His clothes were missing as well as his left arm and his hair. Darlene stepped back and took a swing with the machete, slicing through its neck like butter. She didn’t even wait for him to fall before turning and stepping into the cold water of the river.
How many had she dispatched since it began? How many zombies had she destroyed? How many of the living did she have to kill as well? Barry came to mind, but he was only one of a score of men and women she’d had to fight and put down to keep from being killed herself. The first to die by her hands had been her father…
“Enough of this shit,” she whispered and began moving into the water, holding her machete and two guns overhead. Luckily this was a small tributary of the actual river so she got chest-deep into it before it leveled out and she could start rising again. Her head bobbed left to right, left to right, prepared for a zombie to grip her ankle or shoot from the water. Instead, she stood on the far bank and looked around at more dunes and the sand-covered road that led to the gas station. This side of the bridge no zombies were shuffling about. She wanted to be as quiet as she could so that they wouldn’t be.
As she approached the gas station she held out the Desert Eagle in her right hand and the machete swinging in her left. She was as wary about zombies as the living at this point. Friends were few and far between. Darlene figured that if there was anything of value in the gas station she’d be fighting for it. Just another day in paradise.
A chain-link fence surrounded the property, barbwire strung across the top. There was no discernable gate as far as she could see. She hated being so exposed but no trees, bushes or even dunes were between the water and the fence.
Darlene hesitated before moving to her left and away from the road leading to the gas station. Behind the property the back road wound up over another, smaller bridge, leading to a two-story house. It, too, was boxed in with the fence. The road leading between the two buildings was fenced in as well. Whoever was up in the house was probably watching her. Even now they would be getting into position with a rifle if they had one, her head in the cross-hairs. She closed her eyes and counted to five.
“I guess not,” she whispered when her head didn’t explode. It was almost… disappointing that she was still alive. She buried the thought in her head, swimming from the heat, lack of food and water, and the constant fear with each step she too
k.
To keep her mind off of it she checked and rechecked her weapons and she walked directly to the fence and stared at the gas station. If the owners were going to kill her they didn’t have long-range weapons. She guessed that they’d make their way down the fenced-in road soon enough. Best see what the lay of the land was like until the confrontation.
The pumps were still intact, although sand and debris had been flung up and around them. The road itself was nearly obliterated with the natural elements as well. When Darlene noticed that the windows were unbroken and the main door complete she smiled.
Hopping the fence was no easy task in her physical state but she managed it. Her jeans had become snagged on the barbed wire and one leg was shredded. Darlene had to stop at the top and keep her head from swimming and dumping her face-first to the ground. She’d lost way too much way too fast and her muscle mass was being depleted at an alarming rate, but the alternative was much worse. She breathed in the salt air as she approached the gas station with her Desert Eagle drawn.
She hoped that the owners weren’t inside.
The windows and doors had been covered from inside with cardboard. So far, so good.
The front door was locked as she suspected. She walked slowly around the building, trying to catch a glimpse of anything inside but there wasn’t even a crack.
The bay doors to the garage area were chained and padlocked from outside, the large windows covered as well. When Darlene got to the back she glanced at the house but didn’t notice any movement. For the moment there was no pursuit and no gunshots.
The back door leading into the garage was unlocked and she hesitated before turning the knob all the way and opening it. Caution made her stare intently at the door frame for tell-tale wiring or booby-traps. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
Six nights ago she’d come upon a camp of the living, nestled between a smoldering bowling alley and a dilapidated fast food restaurant. They had somehow dragged a damaged car into the gaps at either end and positioned guards with rifles to watch. She was pondering whether or not to reveal herself and perhaps join them when she tripped over a wire. Luckily it wasn’t attached to explosives but simply to rusted cans. When it clanged the alarm three shots had rung out in quick succession in the general area that she was moments before.
The undead in the area began moving toward them. Darlene had beat a hasty retreat, dodging the undead until she could escape into a used car lot and hide in the flatbed of a Toyota Tacoma until she fell asleep. The next morning there was nothing left of the group except for blood and a few scraps of food.
“Fuck it,” she whispered and turned the knob. It didn’t explode, no shrapnel flew from a hidden gun, and no green glop fell from the top of the door. Silence greeted her as she stepped inside and shut the door behind her.
It was dark and she waited for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. She held her machete out just in case something dead was moving on her in the blackness.
The garage area was empty save for some grease stains on the cement floor. She hoped that a red tool setup was present so she could find a few weapons: big wrenches, hammers or even a saw. Her machete was getting dull from so much use. She’d need to sharpen it or find another weapon sooner than later.
Even though she could now see that the room was empty, she took her time and stalked around. Maybe something was hidden in a dark corner.
The only thing she found was the door leading into the rest of the gas station. It was also covered with cardboard, which she found odd. Covering the windows leading to the outside made sense.
This door was also unlocked. Again, she checked it for wires before turning the handle completely. Darlene noticed her hand was shaking. Her nerves were shot and she wondered for the hundredth times today whether all of this was worth it or not. She was physically and mentally exhausted, each day another trial and tribulation.
Darlene composed herself and shrugged her aching shoulders. “Get over it, bitch. Time to kill something.”
The knob turned easily enough and she swung the door open, leading with the Desert Eagle. The first thing she noticed was the hum of the coffee makers, then the lights glowing from the soda coolers, and then the two men sitting at a table playing cards.
“Deal me in, boys,” she said and realized how stupid and cliché it was. Darlene didn’t care. The coffee smelled like heaven and she hoped they had cream and sugar.
Three
“Holy shit,” was all one of the men could say before Darlene was upon them, holding the gun to his head.
They were both middle-aged but clean. They smelled of deodorant instead of shit. They wore coveralls and baseball caps, clean sneakers and they were clean-shaven. Darlene hadn’t shaved in God-knows how long. I could scare them with my damn bush, she thought.
They stood in this pose for at least two minutes, Darlene with the gun to one’s head and eyeing both. She had no idea what she was going to do at this point. She was too tired to take them both on and knew as soon as she pulled the trigger on the first one the second was close enough to grab her.
“Can I help you?” the second one managed, hands in the air.
“You can start by getting me a cup of that coffee.”
He smiled slightly. “When was the last time you ate?”
“None of your fucking business. Move before your lover here gets his brains splattered on the floor.”
“Yes, ma’am. Just relax, we can work this out.” The man took three strides to the coffee pots. Darlene pressed the gun to the other’s head and tried not to let him see her hand shaking.
“Never tell a woman to relax.”
“Sorry,” he said as he turned. He had a small-caliber pistol in his hand.
Darlene pulled the trigger on instinct and it saved her life. The explosion of his partner’s head wasn’t expected and his shot went wide. Darlene shot him in the stomach and he fell to the floor.
When she heard him moaning she swung around the table and leveled the gun at his head. “Move and you die.”
“Too late, I think. You bitch.” He tried vainly to cover the blood pouring from his midsection. His eyes were already glossing over.
She went to him, standing over him with the gun. “I can end this now or leave you here to bleed to death.”
“Doesn’t much matter,” he choked out the words.
“Oh, but it does.” Darlene leaned closer. “All I wanted was some fucking coffee.”
He actually laughed at that, and began coughing and screaming in pain.
“Shut up.”
He complied.
“It’s your choice.”
“Kill me,” he managed.
“Who’s at the house?”
“No one.”
“Liar.”
“I swear. Joe and I were the last two left. The others turned about a week ago.”
“Then why were you sitting here playing cards?”
He coughed blood. She repeated the question.
“Why the fuck not? We had enough food and drink here, and the house was overrun with dead fuckers. We trapped them inside and came out here. What else could we do?”
“It doesn’t look like there’s a ton of food left in here.”
He tried to roll onto his side but she threatened him with a kick and he stopped moving. “The bulk of the food is stacked in the house. There’s enough food and water there to last a lifetime. Fucking Gary fucked up. Why did he have to go out and explore? Fuck.”
“How many in the house?”
“Eight.”
“What about that fucker I met before?”
“Who?”
“The asshole with the lazy eye.”
He shook his head. “No idea who you’re talking about. We’ve been cut off from everything since this shit started. We were smart enough to raid two Publix in the area for supplies.”
“How is the power on?”
“Shit, the whole grid never shut off. You got power from here to S
t. Augustine. Fuck,” he said and squirmed on the floor. “Shoot me.”
Darlene pulled the trigger without preamble and shot him in the head. She hoped the fences around the building would keep the undead out. She was sure they had heard the commotion and gunfire.
At this moment she didn’t care. All she wanted was a sip of the coffee. She poured a cup, added powdered creamer and chipped off a chunk of hardened sugar from a bowl, and held the cup to her nose. She remembered this smell, although she knew the coffee was stale, it had been burnt, and watered down. As soon as her tongue touched the hot brew it sent a ripple through her body. She remembered having a favorite coffee mug, a taupe one with an old, grumpy woman on the side. Below her it said ‘…not before my first sip…’ Darlene started to weep softly as she took a seat and held the cup with both hands.
Four
The undead had heard the gunshots. They came in twos and threes, walking across the channel and standing at the fence, dripping water and body parts. Darlene counted at least twenty at one point, all directly in front of the gas station and bumping against the fence as they tried to move forward. She kept quiet and watched them through a small hole in the cardboard covering the door. After an hour most of them moved off in random directions.
Darlene chewed on her fifth and final beef jerky strip. The two men had minimal supplies. They could have survived about a week on the snacks. Four cans of soup and three vacuum-sealed packs of noodles. Darlene admired what they’d done: the coolers had been cleaned out, and the spoiled milk and flat carbonated beverages replaced by various sizes of containers of water, crammed onto the sliding shelves and stacked inside the coolers themselves. She estimated about three hundred bottles of water, enough to get her through the next six months or so. Not to mention that the faucets in the bathroom still spat water and she could easily refill as she drank.
Dying Days Ultimate Box Set 1 Page 37
