Dying Days: Death Sentence

by Brent Abell

  “We’ll be off I-4 tomorrow and take up I-95 in Daytona.”

  “Wow, we’re that close?”

  George sat down next to the van. Frank got up and licked George’s cheek. George smiled and rubbed Frank on the top of his head between the ears. Frank closed his eyes and looked like he was in ecstasy. George heard Frank kick his back leg and stopped petting him. The pug snorted and sat back down.

  “It should only be two days if we keep up the current pace,” George answered.

  Nora sat silent for a moment. “We’ve come this far in three or four days?”

  “Time flies when you’re having fun,” George joked.

  “What about our followers?”

  George looked over at Frank and petted his head again. “We have the best damn guard dog in Florida.”

  Frank snorted and wagged his cork screw shaped tail. When he calmed down again, his tail unfurled and looked like a regular dog’s tail. George knew when Frank got up again the tail would curl up, back to normal.

  “Seriously, George,” Nora scoffed.

  “We’re going to let them think we’re asleep and I’m going to head over to that Escape we passed a few cars back.”

  “Are you going after them?”

  “I’m not sure if I want to hit the woods at night or just watch our backs tonight,” George replied.

  “Do we really want to take I-95?” Nora asked changing the subject.

  George’s train of thought derailed and he turned to face her. He shot her a grimace and sighed. “It’s best if we stick to the interstate.”

  “Be careful,” Nora whispered. Frank snorted at him and licked his nose.

  “I’m going to see who we have tailing us tonight,” George said bluntly.

  “After dark?”

  “After dark.”

  ***

  Nora and Frank slept in the van and George sat on the road outside the door. They didn’t want to keep the doors open to the world overnight, so they broke the small back windows to let in air. The van’s interior was still stifling, but every so often a breeze would blow through and cool them off. George waited until they were asleep and climbed from the van.

  Outside, he sat down and waited.

  The moon was high in the sky so he figured it must be around midnight. It was silent except for the insects buzzing in his ear and he swatted at the mosquitoes landing on his arm and trying to drink his blood. In the moonlight, he could see the blood left behind from where he had killed the bastard trying to drain him dry. He wondered if their tails were asleep or watching.

  “One way to find out,” George whispered and climbed to his feet.

  George crept around the back of the minivan and scanned the other side of the interstate. Between him and the forest’s edge were the wreckage of two small coups and the burned out husk of a pick-up truck. The amount of cars still littering the highway surprised him. If this many people had been on the road, where’d they all go? Did they all turn and head south? Did they run to the north and make it to the FEMA camps? Did aliens pick them all up? He didn’t really think the last option was possible, but he never thought zombies were either.

  He didn’t see any movement in the pale moon light, so he crawled to the scorched truck remains. The chassis still reeked of fire and burning rubber. He ran his finger along the rear quarter panel and wiped the black on his pant leg. Carefully, he peeked out from around the truck’s rear and waited. He thought he saw something near the guardrail, but he couldn’t be sure in the dark.

  His mind drifted back to his time in Iraq. The cold desert nights would feel welcome compared to the humidity he was in now. At least in the Middle East, he knew what to expect from the enemy. Now, one had to worry about the living and the dead. With the dead he knew how to proceed, but the living posed the bigger threat, in his opinion.

  George began to leave the truck’s cover, but froze. The movement he thought he’d seen by the guardrail turned out to be something after all. Three forms moved slowly and he knew at once they were dead. Their forms jerked and walked un-naturally. He reached down to his belt and drew out his knife. He’d rather use the gun, but he didn’t want to announce himself, to the others, with a bullet. In fact, he hunkered down and waited. The zombies would be passing near where he had last seen the followers could be hiding.

  He’d let the zombies flush them out.

  And it didn’t take long for him to hear the first scream from along the side of the road. George shot to his feet and closed the gap between him and the zombies. The screaming continued and he felt the adrenaline surge through him. He felt like he was rushing head long into combat in the desert again. The zombies were the terrorists and he was a weapon honed to destroy those who wished destruction on him and his country.

  They never heard George coming until his knife’s blade sank deep into the rear zombie’s skull. He lifted the blade high and drove it down into the top of its skull. It dropped to the ground and he yanked his knife back out as the body fell. The man on the ground stopped yelling and the other two zombies turned to face George. One zombie was on the man on the ground and stood up to see what new meal had arrived. George pushed one zombie over on the ground and backed away. He didn’t see the other person he knew had been following them and he was concerned about his whereabouts.

  When George backed away from the fight, a zombie sank back to the ground and began to snap its jaws at the man on the ground crying. George stood back and waited. It didn’t take long before he felt the blade’s point poking him in the back.

  “Help him,” a deep voice whispered in his ear.

  “Help him your fucking self,” George retorted.

  The third zombie shambled toward them. On the ground, the man pushed the zombie to the ground and scrambled to his feet.

  “Todd, finish with that thing will 'ya,” the man behind George ordered.

  Todd kicked the zombie back to the ground and stomped on its head. “Take that bitch!”

  George calmly walked to the last zombie and thrust his knife into its right eye. The zombie dropped and George wiped his blade of on his shirt sleeve. He sheathed it and turned to the two men. “Now, who the fuck are you two and why have you been following us?”

  “We needed to be sure,” the man who had been holding the knife to George’s back answered.

  “Sure of what? Sure I wouldn’t kill you if I caught you?” George asked.

  “Greg, tell him,” Todd said.

  “We needed to be sure we would be better off joining with other people,” Greg said.

  “So, who are you?” George inquired.

  “I’m Greg Stephens and my friend over there is Todd Franklin.”

  George offered his hand out, “I’m George Harrison.”

  “Like the…,” Greg began.

  “Yes, and don’t say it,” George said.

  “Got it,” Todd answered.

  The three men shook hands and George led them over to the minivan. Nora sat in the open side door with her gun out.

  “I guess they’re good?” she asked.

  “I think we can trust them for now,” George said. His voice carried a menacing tone he hoped Todd and Greg would pick up on. He wanted to trust them, but he’d lost so much from trusting before.

  Nora put her gun down on the floorboard. Frank came out and sniffed the air. “If he doesn’t like you, I’ll kill you.”

  Greg put his hand out and Frank licked it. He snorted and looked over to Todd. Todd approached the van and offered his hand up to the pug too. Frank licked it and rubbed his hand under Todd’s open hand. Todd petted him and Frank sat back down. He wheezed and put his head down.

  “He’s sick isn’t he?” Greg asked.

  “Yeah, but we aren’t sure how bad,” Nora answered.

  Greg held his hand out to Nora. “And you are?”

  “Nora,” she said and shook his hand.

  George heard her introduce herself and realized she’d never even told him her last name. It
didn’t matter, but it bothered him to some degree. He wondered what else she was hiding from him. She had told him a little about how she had gotten to be in the convention center, but not a whole lot. The more he got to thinking about it, the more it disturbed him. He looked at her laughing with Greg and Todd while Frank had his head propped up on her thigh. He hated having the thoughts he was having rolling around in his head, but Harry kept popping up. He waited for Harry to speak to him again, but, with everyone else around, he stayed silent. It suited George; ghosts should be silent anyway.

  “You guys get some rest and I’ll take first watch,” George said.

  The others mumbled in agreement. Nobody wanted to deprive George of the opportunity to keep watch. They said their goodnights and climbed into the van. George heard them fall asleep and he listened for the soft snores from Nora and Frank. When he heard them and the louder snores from their new friends, George relaxed and scanned the highway for danger.

  ***

  “Rise and shine, kiddos,” George called out into the van.

  The others stirred and Frank rushed to the door so he could go to the bathroom. George picked him up and set him on the ground so he could go and sniff for a good place to do his business. The pug stumbled around and finally found a place to do his morning business. George noticed the dog was getting worse and he had managed to hide how bad he was. Any time he felt a cough coming, he’d force it back it down and wait until he was alone to let it loose. He figured Nora suspected something was wrong and he couldn’t let the two new additions in on his condition. George knew he’d have to come clean soon.

  Greg stretched and stepped out of one of the van’s middle chairs. “We didn’t even ask where you three were headed.”

  “St. Augustine,” George said.

  “What’s there?” Todd asked wiping the sleep from his eyes.

  “FEMA camp and I hope my son,” George replied.

  “What about you pretty lady?” Greg grinned looking over at Nora.

  “I just want to go north away from those fucking things,” she said. Nora climbed out and pushed past the three men standing beside the open van door.

  “Was it something I said?” Greg asked.

  Nora jogged off and looked over her shoulder. “I need to visit the little girl’s room!”

  Frank looked unsteady on his legs as he came back and lay down next to George’s leg. George opened his water bottle and poured some on the ground next to him. The pug licked it up, but slower than usual. George knew how he felt and it wasn’t good.

  “Were you going to stay on the interstate or go the coastal highway?” Todd inquired.

  “I prefer to stay on the interstate. Do you think it wise to avoid going into Daytona to get on the coastal highways?” George said.

  Greg thought about it for a minute. “I think I agree with you.”

  Nora returned and sat down next to Frank. The dog looked up at her and she stroked his soft ears. “We’ll hit I-95 and go north then?”

  “We can hit it today if we get a move on,” George said.

  The group packed up and headed down the highway. Nora tied a couple of tee shirts she found in the van’s back seat into a harness to carry Frank in. When they left, she looked down at him and he’d closed his eyes again.

  “So, anybody have some food?” Todd laughed as they tried to make the interchange by sundown.

  ***

  “Here we are,” George exclaimed as they reached the interchange, where they could get off I-4 and begin the next segment of their trek.

  A light breeze had begun to blow when the sun began to set. The day had been hot and muggy so the cool air felt like a blessing kissing their skin. It was a different feeling than the hot winds of Hell touching their bodies. Greg closed his eyes and held his arms out wide to welcome the breeze. The rest of the group stopped to enjoy some relief.

  “I could use a dip in the ocean or a pool right now,” Todd said and wiped the sweat beading on his brow. His long chestnut hair blew in the breeze and he had to push it back so it would stay out of his mouth. He scratched his chin where a beard had been taking over his face like a kudzu invasion. In the pre-dead world, he tried to stay clean shaven, but now he saw he should’ve let it grow for the ladies. He had an ex who told him he’d be super-sexy with a beard, but he had never believed her…until now. He noticed the way Nora looked at him and he marked it up to the beard. Todd had become a disciple in the sexy-beard cult.

  “Are you okay, Todd,” George asked. He noticed the way Todd had been staring off in the distance with a goofy grin on his face.

  “Oh…yeah…fine,” Todd muttered as he snapped back to reality.

  Greg looked out toward Daytona from the interstate and the urge to run through town to the beach almost overtook him. He savored the chance to relax and let his bare feet sink in the warm, wet sand as the tide washed up. Greg started to take off down the road when Todd grabbed his shoulder.

  “What the fuck, man?” Greg yelled.

  Todd pointed toward the city and, in the distance; he could make out the large moving mass. “Horde.”

  The group froze and their gazes locked on the dark forms emerging from the Daytona streets. A foul pungent stench blew at them on the breeze. George drew his gun and backed away from the interstate exit.

  “What’s the plan?” Nora asked. She took Frank out of his carry-on and put him on the ground. He quickly relived himself and sniffed at the air. He circled and a low growl came from the small pug.

  “You ready to dance, little man?” George asked the pug and bent down to pet his head. The movement made his insides burn and his chest tightened.

  Nora watched George go pale and she became worried. A lot of zombies were approaching and George looked like he was about to keel over and die on them. “You okay, George?”

  George stood back up and waved her off. “I’m fine.”

  “I don’t know; you don’t look too hot,” Todd added.

  “Look, focus on the dead people and worry about me if we live,” George said.

  Greg pointed up the exit. “I think our path has been chosen.”

  “Let’s go!” Todd said and broke into a run back up the exit ramp.

  The moans of the damned grew louder as the crew rushed up the broken asphalt lane. Weeds sprouted up in between the cracked pavement and, like in most places, nature had begun to reclaim what was once hers. Through all the chaos and fight for survival, it was the one thing George thought about all the time; nobody he knew had any idea how it had started. The group ran and when George looked back over his shoulder, he saw the darkness fall over Daytona. There were no lights and no hustle and bustle of a thriving civilization. There was nothing, but a tidal wave of hungry dead people chasing them.

  Maybe that was her plan all along, George mused.

  The zombies were fast, but not fast enough to catch up to the living. Their bodies were limited to a fast-paced walk and were not able to pursue the living at a run. George felt glad, because his heart beat in his chest like it wanted to explode from his body. His lungs burned and he waited for the coughing to overtake him. He struggled to keep up with the others. Frank dropped back too and the two sick warriors slowed.

  Greg glanced back and noticed them slow down to a crawl. “Wait up,” he told Todd and Nora.

  Nora turned to see George doubled over, coughing, and Frank leaning unsteadily against his leg. Both looked worn and exhausted. The horde was out of sight, but she knew it wouldn’t take long for them to catch up if they didn’t keep moving. At some point, their luck would run out.

  “George, hurry!” Nora cried out.

  George could hear the shambling horde approaching. Each moment he spent bent over in agony brought the zombies another step closer. Frank turned away from George’s leg and began to frantically sniff at the air. The Florida evening began to smell of rot and decay. Frank yapped loudly as the first zombies came out of the shadows. George turned to face them and drew his knife. He f
elt like a samurai ready to make his last stand. The last coughing fit made him realize how close to the end he was getting. If he could give the others a few minutes lead, he’d die with purpose.

  The first zombie to reach him groaned and reached out for him. Frank grabbed its tattered pant leg in his teeth and tugged wildly back and forth. George looked into the man’s dead eyes and stuck the blade deep in its eye socket. The eye exploded with rancid black ooze and it spilled down the peeling, ruined cheek.

  For George, everything became a haze. He lashed out with the knife, trying to dispatch as many of the zombies as he could. They reached for him from every direction. A hand fell on his shoulder and two figures appeared next to him and started to strike at the zombies. Bodies fell in the wake of the attack.

  “George, we need to go now! We can’t fight them all,” Nora yelled next to him.

  George barely heard Nora calling out to him. In his mind, he was back in the desert and the zombies were the same people who had wiped out the village he’d been on patrol near. They represented the death and misery he’d witnessed. They were his path to redemption. From the corner of his eye, he saw Todd and Greg fall back and they each grabbed one of his arms. He fought, but he gave up and let the men drag him back from the front of the battle.

  “Snap out of it!” Greg said. He pulled George harder and made sure Frank was behind them. “We need to fall back and outrun them. I promise, we’ll fight them again and you can do what you need to do then, but there’s too many of them right now.”

  George looked back at the slowly advancing zombies and, on their faces, he didn’t see the decayed faces of the undead. When George looked at them, he saw the faces of those who were wiped from the planet when he and his men missed a chance to take out a warlord and his men. To him, the dead stare at him with accusatory eyes and blame him. He always kept the memories and feelings buried deep within him, but, as he can feel the Reaper breathing down the back of his neck, he can feel the guilt surface and he can no longer hide.

  “Okay, make sure Frank is still with us,” George said.