highway to hell
by
armand Rosamilia
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without expressed written consent of the author and/or artists
This book is a work of fiction. Names characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
“Highway To Hell” copyright 2010 by Armand Rosamilia
“Rear Guard” copyright 2010 by Armand Rosamilia
Cover Illustration copyright 2010 by Ash Arceneaux www.asharceneaux.deviantart.com
First printing September 2010
Updated August 2015
A Rymfire Books Release
http://dyingdayszombie.com
[email protected]
This is for all the fans who bought and read my books and let me live my dream as a full-time author
You rock
Highway To Hell
One: Sex
I
Randy watched, repulsed as the two male zombies took turns with the barely-alive girl. He’d finished throwing up his lunch of cold chicken soup and dirty rain water, and knew that if he moved from his hiding place he’d be spotted. As cruel and inhumane as the scene before him was, he didn’t want the same fate as the girl.
He tried to focus on her face, but it was a mask of pain and fear, her features contorted as her body fought against her attackers. Randy imagined what she’d looked like six months ago, before the dead had returned to rape the living.
He judged her to be in her early twenties, around his age. He wondered if she was from around here – wherever here was – or if she’d followed the migratory path of the living from the Northeast until the dead had converged and herded them.
One of the zombies, a tall man with decaying strips of skin hanging from his naked body and sporting a dirty beard, grunted as the woman screamed. His putrid hand came out of her covered in crimson blood. The zombie switched places with his partner, his milky white eyes and loose teeth adding to the horrendous appearance. Randy thought that this one had fallen into a lake or river at some point. His clothing shreds were covered in mud and gore.
Two bullets remained in the pistol tucked into his waistband. At this range – he was crouched behind a dumpster in an alley just off of a main road somewhere in America – he might be able to shoot both of them in the head and kill them. He touched the gun but didn’t draw it.
Wasn’t it too late for her, anyway? He wondered. Already, the other zombie was working her over, pulling out strips of her innards and coating the pavement with her blood. There was no way she could survive that. Her screams had died down to sobs, as if she’d given up to her fate and was trying to relax and enjoy her last few seconds of life.
A horrible thought occurred to Randy a split second before the two zombies stopped their work and watched her die: in a minute there would be three zombies in this alley with him, and if they began to search for the living they’d find him.
In Allentown, Pennsylvania three weeks back he’d stumbled upon four female zombies, busy taking bites out of a man’s pubic area. One dangled his penis in her jaws while another slurped from his exploded testicles. The other two were squatting nearby, waiting their turn to feast on this man’s lower abdominal area. Luckily they were so engrossed in their feast that they’d failed to spot him, or smell him, or however it was they found the living.
Scenes like that had played out across the world. It wasn’t enough that the dead were marching through towns and cities on a killing spree. It wasn’t enough that every living person killed joined the ranks of the dead. The most disturbing was that they joined the ranks of the dead after having their genitalia eviscerated.
Randy wanted to save a bullet just in case he was cornered. He wanted to die with a shot to the brain instead of having his balls chewed off and his ass reamed by a zombie. Was that too much to ask for?
His legs were starting to cramp. Randy had been squatting in the same position for what seemed like hours, bouncing slowly back and forth on the balls of his feet. Pins and needles were working their way up his legs. Sitting would make it harder to get up and run if need be, and he was afraid that the noise of him sitting down in trash or hitting the pavement would spell his doom.
The three zombies rose slowly. They turned in different directions, seeming to sniff the air for him. Randy held his breath. Realistically, if they found him, he would never be able to escape the three of them. Even as slow as zombies moved, the alley was too narrow and he would be in reach of at least two of them at all times. He’d be next.
A car screeched tires at the other end of the alley. Immediately the zombies began shuffling in that direction. Randy still held his breath, watching them go and estimating that it would be another twenty minutes of excruciating pain on his legs and feet before they cleared the entrance.
That was better than being fuck-killed, so he didn’t complain. As he watched them shambling along, with the female in the middle, he wondered idly if she was still in there somewhere, pissed off that her killers were now her partners. A cursory glance at her ruined cavity would piss a normal person off. Of course, she was no longer normal and Randy didn’t want to know what horrors she would inflict on the living she now encountered.
II
The intestines were strewn across the BMW, emanating from the passenger side. Knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt but still curious, Randy took a peek as he strode by and cursed himself for doing it. The woman had been brutalized, her lower half chewed to a sludgy pile of goo. Her breasts had been chewed and regurgitated.
Randy gagged and dry-heaved, since he hadn’t eaten in two days. His pants were starting to slip from his hips. His belt was on its last notch and he’d need to find something sharp to poke another hole or two into it.
“Hello.”
The voice came from somewhere nearby and Randy turned in a full circle, staring at the abandoned cars on the dead highway. A pileup had occurred months ago, guessing by the blackened cars and charred remains poking from cracked windshields. Behind him the city of Baltimore was sending acrid smoke into the sky.
“Who’s there?” he asked lamely.
“Over here.”
“Motherfucker, where are you?”
The laugh came from behind him and he wheeled, preparing to fight off the first talking zombie that he’d encountered.
Instead, a female stood before him. She was clad in black jeans, black T-shirt, her hair pulled up into a black baseball cap, and her cheeks were covered in dark soot. She carried a large hunting rifle over her shoulder and a duffel bag at her hip.
“Hi.” Randy sighed. She was definitely alive, the first person alive he’d seen in forever.
“Hungry?” she asked.
“What do you think?” Randy immediately apologized for being rude.
She tossed him a Snicker’s bar and smiled as he tore into it. “There’s more food where that came from.”
It was delicious, but it only whetted his appetite. “Where?”
“Follow me,” she said and started to walk away from him.
“Wait! Where are we going?”
“Does it matter? I have food and shelter.” She turned her back on him, slung the rifle from her shoulder and began walking quickly. “Stay close,” she said over her shoulder.
Randy followed her as she weaved in and out of the husks of automobiles, making sure that he didn’t see what was inside. He didn’t feel like puking
again. She was moving quickly but obviously knew where she was going, turning to the left here, and scooting under a disfigured car there. She glanced back only once and smiled at him, waving for him to follow.
“What’s your name?” he asked, trying to keep up.
“Shhh. We’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”
“I’m Randy.”
She ignored him and increased her pace, shimmying down the side of the highway and into the underbrush there. Randy hesitated for a moment before following. What did he have to lose? At least she was alive, and cute in a Rambo sort of way. At the bottom he pushed through the bushes and emerged onto a sidewalk.
Randy watched the girl entering through a hole in a chain-link fence and stop. He stayed on the sidewalk and watched her. He wasn’t sure what her intentions were with him. It had been too coincidental that she’d been right where he was and was now leading him into something. A trap? Safety?
She turned back and stared at him.
He had two choices: he could follow her or he could run away. She held the rifle in her hands and she looked like she knew how to use it. He glanced to his left. Nothing but abandoned buildings, burning cars and blood. The same thing to his right.
When Randy turned back to the girl he froze. She was pointing the rifle at his head. He didn’t want to die. He’d come too far, survived too long to be killed by another living person. He thought that there might be some irony in there somewhere, but right now he was concentrating on the weapon pointed at him.
She closed one eye and cocked her head. He was about to die, and not by his own hand like he’d hoped. He had no chance of pulling his pistol out before his head exploded. He fell to his knees, figuring that begging for his life was all he had left.
The girl fired the rifle and the bullet whizzed over his head. He imagined that it had come so close that it had clipped some hair. He couldn’t remember any prayers to say before she fired again. Down on his knees he had no chance to get away now.
Something heavy thudded behind him. He spun around and landed on his ass.
A huge monstrosity of a zombie, with brains freshly splattered on the ground and probably on Randy’s back, was spread-eagle on the sidewalk. Its hands still twitched and its left leg still moved, but it was dead. It was already dead. It’s now dead again, Randy thought.
Tears came to Randy, both from the stress and the relief. All he wanted to do was sit here and cry until this nightmare ended.
The bushes started to shake and he saw a zombie woman stumbling off of the highway above into the shrubbery.
“You might want to come on,” the girl called. “There are six of them that just dropped in on us. They’ll get to their feet soon enough.”
Randy stumbled-crawled-flipped to right himself as he watched the bushes part and another male zombie exit.
“I know you’re not in a hurry, but I am,” she said.
Randy turned and slipped through the chain-link hole. The girl pulled out three pieces of bent metal and began spinning them around links. “This will hold them for a few minutes, enough time for us to escape.”
“To where?”
“To my secret lair.” She winked at him. “Actually, the top of the building on this lot is home. It’s surrounded on four sides by this fence and other things, and I have a garden growing and I stockpiled enough food to last a few more weeks.”
“Then why risk being out?”
She took his hand and they ran across the dry dirt lot to the six-story building. “I saw you coming from my vantage point. I figured the way you were coming that you’d be on the highway and almost running into about fifty zombies another quarter mile.”
“Oh.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Um, thanks.”
“You owe me big-time.”
Randy swallowed nervously and said nothing.
She stopped. “My name is Becca.”
“Is that your real name?”
“It is now. Did you think I was going to shoot you?”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
“Glad you fell to your knees, or I would have definitely hit you before he grabbed you.”
“Great.”
“Are you crying?”
Randy looked away and wiped his face. They came to a door and Becca produced a key and unlocked it.
“I don’t want crybabies sharing my space,” she said with a laugh.
“I’ll try to remember that.”
“It’s been so long since I’ve had live dick. You can cry after I finish fucking you.”
III
“Interesting place you have here, Becca.”
“Thanks. It’s one part shit-was-here-when-I-got-here and two parts shit-I-found.”
The top floor of the building consisted of one small room with sliding glass doors overlooking an old pigeon coop and a few rows of plants and vegetables.
A small dining room table and three plastic outdoor chairs were the only furniture present, with a pile of pillows – throw pillows, bed pillows, and ornate pillows – deposited in one corner.
“Where do you, uh, pee?” Randy asked.
“Why, need to go?”
“Yeah.”
“Go down a flight of steps and the first apartment door is opened. I go in there.” Becca took off her T-shirt, revealing a black pushup bra. She had small, perky breasts that Randy tried not to openly admire.
Becca put her fingers on the zipper to her jeans and smiled. “Go piss so I can get dressed. Pervert,” she said but she winked at him.
She liked to wink, Randy thought as he went downstairs. The hallway was quiet and dark. He tried not to stumble and break his neck. Wouldn’t that suck? I finally have a chance to get laid and I could end up dead at the bottom of the stairs.
Randy was a virgin. It was as simple as that. Or pathetic as that. He didn’t consider himself to be a good-looking guy, although he was no hunchback with a club foot, lazy eye and missing toes. But sometimes it felt like it.
Sure, he’d dated in high school. He’d gotten to third base with Brianna Conroy a couple of times, but she was holding out for marriage. If he’d known that the world would end up fucked up like this he would have popped the question that night, fucked her brains out, and then three years later run away. As if I’m that big a dickhead, he thought.
The apartment door was unlocked and he stepped inside. Through the weak sunlight sneaking in through the blinds he spied neat rows of canned goods stacked in the living room. There was a flashlight on the nearest stack so he lit it, marveling at the order to the room: to the left were stacks of vegetable cans, separated by first kind and then brand. To the right were the fruit cans, all organized and each labeled and facing the aisle between them. Behind the two rows and piled to the walls and almost touching the ceiling were boxes, all clearly marked: toilet paper, cleaning supplies, batteries, candy (bars), candy (bagged), candy (loose), cookies, crackers, and so on. A corner easily held five hundred cans of soup, all neatly ordered. A clothing rack stood against the opposite wall, with dozens of outfits – all black – put together and covered in plastic.
Randy was hungry but decided to refrain from taking any food just yet. He didn’t really know Becca, and didn’t know if she were some psycho bitch that looked at him as her prisoner. If the world hadn’t turned fuck’s-side up she wouldn’t give him a second glance on the street. He wondered if that bothered him enough to keep his dick in his pants. I have pride, goddamnit, and morals. I’m not going to fuck this chick because the only reason she would fuck me is because I might be the last man on Earth. Fuck that. Randy was prepared to die a virgin. It was better than selling out.
The bathroom stunk despite three dozen air fresheners strategically placed around the small quarters and the five spray bottles.
When he got back into the hallway Becca called down from above. “I’m so rude. You’re probably starving. Feel free to grab us a couple of soups each. Take whatever you want. To the fa
r right is also some crackers and bring a six-pack of beer. It’s warm but better than nothing.”
He found the proper supplies and trudged up the steps with his arms full.
“I know, I know, I’m totally O.C.D. when it comes to shit like that. Did you find everything OK?”
Randy nodded dumbly. Becca was wearing a black thong, fishnet stockings and black patent six-inch stiletto heels.
As Becca walked slowly across the floor, got on her knees in front of him and unzipped his pants, Randy dropped the food. When she took him into her warm mouth he forgot all about his pride and morals and tried not to finish too soon.
IV
They woke to sunlight streaming through the glass doors. They rose together, hugging, before taking turns going downstairs to the bathroom. Becca brought up a can of coffee, creamer and a bag of sugar with her as well as some maple syrup and a box of instant pancakes.
She cooked their breakfast on the patio, overlooking the garden on the propane grill with the skillet. She added some fresh strawberries while Randy made the coffee by boiling two mugs of water and pulling them from the grill with a towel.
They ate on fancy China plates, sitting in two of the plastic chairs. “It’s so beautiful this morning,” Becca said between mouthfuls.
“I hope it stays just like this. Fall is right around the corner.”
“I need to get some blinds or a curtain for the doors. The sunlight smacks me right in the face every morning.”
“What’s stopping you?” Randy said with a laugh.
“I do need to go shopping.”
“You said you had a couple of week’s worth of food here. It must be more like a year’s worth.”
Highway To Hell (Dying Days Book 1) Page 1
