Highway To Hell (Dying Days Book 1)

by Armand Rosamilia

  “What now?” Randy finally asked. If he was going to be killed he wanted it to be over quickly. He’d been running on edge for too long, holding his breath at every sound, jumping at imaginary – and quite real – monsters at every step. His nerves were shot. He felt tears welling up in his eyes and fought them back down. He knew instinctively that if this old man saw him crying he’d pull the trigger.

  “Now we make introductions.” The old man spit again. “I’m Dirty Jim. I own this piece of property and this lot.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Randy said. He looked around, both for effect and so that he wasn’t looking down the barrel of the shotgun anymore. “Nice place you have here.”

  The old man laughed.

  Randy turned back to him and was relieved that the gun was now pointing away from him but still in the old man’s hands. His finger was still on the trigger.

  “You looking to buy a used car?” the old man asked.

  Randy didn’t know if he was joking around or crazy or both. He decided to play along and see where it led him. “I’ve been looking. Something large. You never know when you’re going to start a family, right?”

  Dirty Jim nodded. “Indeed, indeed. How much do you plan on putting down for the deposit?”

  “I was thinking of paying it all off in cash upfront. Save some money and some hassles.” Randy tried to remember where he saw that bank the other day on the way back from the Home Depot. Surely there was a few worthless grand sitting around.

  Dirty Jim patted the top of the shotgun as he lowered it again at Randy. “See, here’s where we run into a little problem, you and I. Your green paper is just that, green paper, at this point.” He licked his lips. “Plus, there’s a charge for the gasoline you’ve already run off with from my prized automobiles. That will cost extra, I reckon. We can’t have potential customers sampling the stock like that, can we? I wouldn’t be much of a businessman if that were the case. There has to be some type of fine for that, I would reckon. I’m willing to take suggestions.”

  “What did you have in mind?” Randy asked. He was starting to dread this conversation and where it was heading. If he had to he would make a blind run for it, but he was sure he wouldn’t get too far through the maze of cars in the lot. Before he could raise the machete he would be dead.

  “I’m thinking we make some arrangement, a verbal contract with a handshake agreement. I’m not much for wasting paper these days, and the courts aren’t what they used to be. I offer you one of my fine automobiles and you barter with something in return.”

  “I’d feel more confident that it would be fair if you weren’t pointing that shotgun at my balls, to be honest.”

  “Honesty! I like that,” Dirty Jim said and spit again. He wiped the brown juice with a filthy sleeve. “I like that a lot. Tell you what I’m going to do, I’m going to put the shotgun down on my lap and then we can continue. Sound reasonable? That machete needs to be put on the other side of the room as well.”

  “Fair enough.” Randy complied.

  Dirty Jim sat down heavily in the chair and Randy could see that he was perspiring, even though the office was actually pretty cool this early in the morning. He couldn’t quite figure it out, but there was something wrong with the old man.

  “Gout,” Dirty Jim said and pointed at his left leg. “I need my meds and some whiskey.”

  “I see.” Randy thought he smelled the faint trace of rot, but with so much prevalent these days it was hard to tell.

  “I’ll give you the pick of the litter, so to speak, any car on the lot and a full tank of gas to go with it. You also owe me a full tank of gas previously. I need meds and two – no, three – bottles of whiskey. I’m partial to Jim Beam or Jack Daniels, but at this point it don’t matter to me what I drink. I just need to drink.”

  “I have no idea where I can get you meds. I’m sure the hospitals have been overrun at this point by the living looking for drugs. What drugs do you need?”

  Dirty Jim fished a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “This is everything I need to get better. I’m not expecting a miracle, mind you, just as much of this list as you can find out there.”

  Randy eyed the list. It looked daunting. “Colchicine? I can’t even pronounce half of these things.” Randy wanted to scream in frustration. “I have food and I’m sure I can find some alcohol for you. How about we trade that way?”

  Dirty Jim shook his head. “I need what I need. That’s my only offer. Supply and demand. And don’t leave thinking you’ll just wait me out, either, cause I can live with this shit for a very long time.” Dirty Jim patted the shotgun. “I can see anyone trying to enter the compound and I’m a damn good shot with this bitch. Understood?”

  “Understood. Is there a time limit?”

  “Does time even have a meaning anymore? I can’t tell you if it’s Thursday or Monday or what month it is anymore.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Well, I guess I’ll get started. The sooner I return the sooner we can trade.” Randy knew he had a huge task ahead of him. It might be easier to find another car out there but he wasn’t about to let Dirty Jim know that.

  “I’d also like to give you some free advice, if I may.”

  “Sure,” Randy said.

  “Be quiet.”

  “Ok.” Randy wanted to leave. He’d wasted enough time here and knew that it had been for nothing. “I’ll remember that.”

  Dirty Jim laughed. “They track you by sound, haven’t you figured that out yet? Loud noises, shit, any noise near them, and they move. I don’t know how they do it but they do it.”

  Randy thought about it. “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “Of course I’m right. Did you hear that explosion this morning?”

  “Not really.” Randy didn’t want to get into how weird his night had been. “I must have slept through it.”

  “There was another explosion to the west of Baltimore. I watched dozens of them things slide past here this morning, following the noise. It died down about an hour ago, but hopefully it drew enough of them from here.”

  “Hopefully.”

  “I’ll make this trade, but the noise from the engine will attract them from blocks away. Keep that in mind. You can easily outpace a couple of them but a mob of them are trouble.”

  XI

  Becca was awake, tending her garden, when Randy returned. He’d spotted a liquor store two blocks over but it had been ransacked, the few bottles left broken on the floor. The streets were relatively quiet and he thanked the big explosion Dirty Jim told him about for that. No cars were left without massive damage to them, most burnt husks or flat tires.

  “I picked up some more cans of food while I was out,” Randy said. Becca ignored him. “Do we have any whiskey?”

  She stopped moving the tiny spade in her hand. “Downstairs we might have a bottle of Crown Royal or something like that.” She turned to him. “Why?”

  Randy told her about the deal he’d made with Dirty Jim. She seemed disinterested and made no comment, finally going back to her garden.

  He wanted to confront her about last night, about her drugging him, but he didn’t know how. His anger was justified but he felt silly for bringing it up. Did you slip something into my beer last night? It sounded foolish.

  A part of him was also angry that last night hadn’t changed the tension between them, it only heightened it.

  Back inside, and watching Becca to make sure she was still involved in her work he searched casually for the bag of pills. He couldn’t find it.

  “Can you turn a generator on? I’d like to cook something tonight,” Becca called out.

  “Sure. What did you have in mind?”

  Once again she ignored him.

  His search over, Randy went downstairs and went through the supplies until he found four bottles of Crown Royal. He smiled. Half of his mission was complete. He also found a bottle of Evan Williams and a Wild Turkey. Maybe Becca would like some hard stuff with dinner tonight.
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  The generator was turned on downstairs in the foyer and within minutes he could see shapes outside getting closer to the fence line. Within two hours they would be surrounded again. The noise would attract them from miles around.

  If he had a wealth of ammunition he could take out so many of these creatures, picking them off one at a time at his leisure. He still carried his pistol even though his bullet supply had dwindled.

  Randy wondered where the government and local police had gone to. No helicopters or planes had flown overhead for so long he forgot what they sounded like or looked like. The radios and televisions had gone down almost immediately. All communication had ceased, and most power grids had shut down.

  He imagined that somewhere out there was a safe haven, a place where Becca would be free to live with him. There had to be a city, maybe New York or Chicago or Los Angeles, where survivors had turned the tide on the zombies and were even now restoring an order from the chaos. They just needed to find out where.

  In the distance he heard another explosion. Baltimore was not the answer.

  The scent of grilled vegetables greeted him when he got back upstairs. Becca was turning skewers of tomato, zucchini and onion. Small chunks of meat rested on a plate nearby.

  “Where did you get that?” he asked.

  She didn’t bother looking at him. “I picked the meat from a few soup cans. We can add it to the veggies and make kabobs. It will be something different. I’m getting sick of eating veggies from cans and the garden.”

  Randy put his hands on her shoulders and she flinched. “What’s wrong? What have I done that is so horrible, and so quickly?”

  “Nothing. It’s not you.”

  “Ever since he showed up, you’ve been cold and distant.”

  Becca gently pulled away from him and went back to her cooking. “He has nothing to do with anything.”

  Randy had the immediate reaction to choke her, and he was scared at this extreme reaction. He took a deep breath and moved around her, putting him between the grill and her body. “I know we’ve only known each other for a short amount of time, but we’ve dealt with so much together already. I thought we were on the same page when it came to us. I thought we were soul mates, meant to be together. Isn’t that how you felt as well?”

  She stared blankly at him before speaking. “I’m so confused right now.”

  “About us? Is it because of him?”

  “Stop saying that. Don’t be the jealous boyfriend, OK? I’m just cycling right now in a depression. I need some space.”

  “I love you.”

  “What?” Becca said.

  “I love you,” he repeated. He knew that he did and knew it was so right to tell her that at this moment.

  “You’re making this complicated. I need some space.”

  “You want me to leave?” he asked incredulously.

  “Of course not. I’m not an idiot. I haven’t forgotten about the millions of zombies circling us out there. I just need to have my own space right now. Maybe we could live in separate parts of the building right now. I’m willing to give you this loft and I’ll take my old place, but I need to do my own thing for awhile.”

  Randy was stunned and hurt. “I haven’t had too many girlfriends, so maybe I’m not the best person to be with. But I thought we had a connection, something real. Was I wrong?”

  “I don’t know anymore. Maybe it was the initial passion, maybe it was the situation.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Randy said.

  “I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

  “Did you drug me last night?” Randy blurted.

  Becca started to cry. “I thought if we shared that we could be alright. I’m so sorry.”

  Randy grabbed her and held her in his arms. “I forgive you. But the pills have to stop. You’ve been taking so many of them.”

  “I know, but they make me feel better. I need more.”

  “I can’t sit by and watch you kill yourself.”

  “I’m not.” Becca wiped her eyes and smiled at him. “They get me through the day, that’s all. I’ll be fine once we locate more, I promise.”

  “I actually need to find some drugs to make that trade.”

  “What trade?”

  “I told you about it before.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m guessing there’s a doctor’s office or even a hospital nearby that I can get what we need,” Randy said.

  “We can get what we need. I’m coming with you.”

  “The food is burning.”

  “I don’t care. I love you. Make love to me right now.”

  XII

  Baltimore Memorial Hospital was smoldering, but it hadn’t collapsed and it was still accessible in several areas. There were no zombies coming or going through the Emergency Room doors, so they pried them open and entered.

  Their flashlight beams penetrated the darkness before them. The waiting area was drenched in dried blood and body parts.

  “Stay close,” Randy whispered. “I have no idea where we need to go.”

  “There has to be a directory. We need to find the pharmacy.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  They kissed, a long and lingering tongue exploration. Since yesterday they’d made love three times, Becca screaming in ecstasy. She’d wanted more and more and it was well after midnight before they’d fallen asleep in one another’s arms.

  The slow journey to the east side of Baltimore had taken most of the day, but they’d traveled light and brought food and water in backpacks. A few zombies had spotted them but they were never close enough to be a threat and they’d not had to waste time defending themselves.

  “It’s creepy in here,” Becca whispered.

  “It could be worse.”

  “How?”

  “That horrible elevator music could be playing.”

  “Or zombie nurses could be walking around with syringes full of blood.”

  Randy shook his head. “You’re sick.”

  “I’m not going to deny that. Let’s hurry up.”

  The pharmacy area – or what they assumed was the pharmacy area from the gore-drenched directory between the elevators – was located directly below them. They had to walk down a flight of broad stairs, stepping gingerly over five pieces of a gutted doctor. Randy slipped on his intestines that had dripped down the stairs like a Slinky, but managed to keep from falling.

  “I won’t now, but when we’re home safe again I am going to make fun of that,” Becca said.

  “I meant to do that.”

  “It’s like a videogame,” Becca said. They entered a hallway and their flashlights lit on more rotting bodies, blood-spattered walls and an overwhelming stench of rot and death.

  “I don’t remember video games smelling this bad,” Randy said. Despite the grotesque conditions they were making a huge effort to keep the mood as light and jovial as they could, and so far it was working.

  Something crashed in the far room down the hall. They both stopped, Randy holding his breath and the machete. Becca crouched down and held the hunting rifle in front of her.

  “I hope that isn’t the pharmacy,” Randy whispered.

  “I guess we need to find out.” Becca took the lead and Randy felt like a wimp for letting her get ahead of him. Act like a man, damnit, he cursed himself.

  Three doors before their destination they reached the pharmacy. The door was intact but locked. Becca tried it several times in frustration. As if in answer they heard a loud banging from the other room again.

  “Force the door open,” Becca said. “I’ll shoot whatever the fuck hear’s it.”

  Randy put his shoulder to the door but it didn’t budge. They froze, waiting for the doors around them to burst open and pour a horde of zombie’s at them. It didn’t happen.

  “Again, but together,” Becca said. They counted to three and slammed their weight against the door, which popped open with a wood-splitting crack.

  The door w
asn’t a total loss – just the lock itself – so Randy did his best to close it. They scanned the dark room with their flashlights.

  Becca stopped her beam on several cabinets at the far end of the room. “Bingo,” she said and laughed. “It hasn’t been ransacked.”

  Amazingly the room hadn’t been touched. Shelving took up most of the room with marked boxes in neat stacks. The three sides away from the door had cabinets of drugs, all clearly labeled.

  Becca began dumping the food and items from her backpack.

  “What are you doing?” Randy asked.

  “Making room for the important stuff.”

  “Do you want to work together with the list?”

  “What list?”

  “The stuff we need to find to make the trade,” Randy said.

  Becca laughed. “I have my own list.” She tapped her temple. “Try to find another backpack in here or a strong bag.” Before Randy could reply she was moving among the shelves.

  Suppressing a scream he pulled out his list and went to work. He realized at that moment how naïve he’d been to think that Becca was here for the common good of the both of them. She was here for her own pill fix, to get high and stay high.

  “Bingo,” she said several times, filling her backpack with containers of pills. “I need your backpack.”

  Randy had done well, with about a third of his list done. “I need it for the actual stuff we came here for.”

  “How much room can you possibly need?”

  He held up the list. “I’m not even close to halfway done.” He glanced in the backpack. “I might have some room.”

  Becca took off her shirt. “Pour your crap into this and tie it up.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  “No, but…”

  Becca squeezed her breasts. “If you ever want to touch these again, I’d empty the backpack.”

  “This is crazy.”