Afternoon (The Daylight Cycle Book 3)

by Kody Boye

  Dakota pulled himself from his thoughts and leaned forward to look out the front window. “It’s one of them,” Dakota asked.

  “And it’s coming toward the car,” Erik managed, dry-heaving again. “Jamie. Start driving.”

  “Let me finish,” Jamie said, cautiously eying the creature before he looked back down at the map. “My estimates put us outside Boise in exactly five hours, six if we take it slow like we are right now.”

  “Then fucking drive,” Erik growled.

  The creature in the distance raised its hand.

  Dakota paused.

  Is it, he thought, beckoning?

  To test his theory, Dakota lifted his hand, then waved.

  The creature waved back.

  Jamie started driving before Dakota could investigate any further. “Jamie!” Dakota growled.

  “What?” the military man asked. “You expect me to stop for something we don’t know anything about?”

  “The last one I saw warned us,” Erik said, somehow managing not to cough throughout. “Steve, Ian and I were making our way through a small town when we saw one of them alongside the road. It spoke to us, told us to run.”

  “Yeah,” Steve said, shivering as he turned to watch the creature out the rear window. “I wonder what that was—”

  A feral screech ripped through the air.

  “About,” the man finished.

  “Keep driving,” Dakota said, leaning into the front seat to make sure Erik was buckled in before leaning back and securing himself in his own place.

  “Goddammit,” Erik said. “I told you not to stop.”

  “I know!” Jamie cried. “Don’t fucking lecture—”

  The creature came barreling off a dirt road.

  He screeched.

  They collided.

  It bounced off the hood, onto the roof, then rolled off the back cab before hitting the ground behind them.

  “There’s more,” Steve said. “They’re following us down the road.”

  “They won’t be able to keep pace with us,” Jamie said. “Not for long.”

  “How fast are you going?”

  “Thirty.”

  “And the runners?”

  “Are blowing their kneecaps out,” Rose said. “Look.”

  The exertion placed upon their bodies was too much for them. As quickly as they’d start running, they’d go down—felled by the natural act of decay or by the icy roads.

  The vehicle slighted.

  Jamie grimaced.

  Dakota reached up to grip the man’s shoulder and held on for dear life as they turned into a skid, nearly hitting an overturned car in the process.

  That could’ve been us, Dakota thought, breathing as Jamie regained control of the vehicle and continued to make his way along the road. We could’ve been dead.

  Or worse—incapacitated and left for dead.

  He couldn’t imagine the undead drawing forward, their clawed hands reaching in to pull them out, their teeth sinking into their delicate fresh—

  He leaned forward and expelled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in.

  “Breathe, Koda,” Steve said, placing a hand on his back. “Breathe.”

  “They’re not going to catch up to us,” Rose said. “And besides—even if they do, I have these.” She pulled a satchel from the seat slip in front of her to reveal a number of jacks and marbles within. “Good for cars and zombies.”

  “I take it you’ve used the trick before?” Steve asked.

  “Marbles. On a zombie. It worked perfectly.”

  “I just,” Dakota thought, “don’t want—”

  He thought of Ian, dying at the hands of the zombie, then the man pushing a gun into his mouth to end his life.

  He sighed.

  He leaned back.

  He almost passed out.

  The thump thump thump of his heart was enough to make his head spin.

  “Just keep breathing,” Erik said. “You’re having a panic attack.”

  “They hurt,” Dakota managed, “this bad?”

  “When you’re not breathing they do.”

  “Do it with me, Koda,” Steve said. “In… then out… in… then out… in… then…”

  Out, Dakota thought, repeating the motions and falling into sync with Steve.

  Eventually, the hammering sensation in his chest died and his thoughts returned to a semblance of normalcy. His earlier thoughts about the whole world having been afflicted with PTSD rang all the truer now that he’d just experienced one of the worst panic attacks of his life.

  All because of a bunch of shamblers, he thought. All because of a bunch of slow, no-good, can’t-catch-anything deadfucks.

  He laughed—a shrill sound in the silence of the vehicle—before leaning back and closing his eyes.

  He wanted desperately to sleep, but knew that it wouldn’t come.

  Instead, he simply sat there, counting down the moments that it would take for them to merge onto the state road and then, eventually, toward Boise.

  One one-thousand, he began. Two one-thousand, three one-thousand, four. Five one-thousand.

  “Six one-thousand,” he murmured, then found his head bowing into Steve’s shoulder.

  He blacked out almost instantly.

  He came to later that day—when, as night was falling, and as the scenery around them was beginning to change from barren roads to suburbs, he opened his eyes to find them in a completely different location.

  Did I pass out? he thought, trying his hardest to remember what had happened before he’d fallen asleep.

  He remembered the dark-skinned humanoid, then the one that had come running at the vehicle shortly thereafter, but he couldn’t remember anything else. That was, until—

  The feelings came back almost instantly. The heavy chest, the hot lungs, the painful stabbing sensations along his ribs and then in his throat—

  He opened his eyes to find Rose awake and Steve asleep. Jamie—who’d continuously driven since they’d departed from Rigby earlier that morning—looked into the rear-view mirror. “You’re awake,” he said.

  “Yeah,” Dakota managed regardless of the feelings coursing throughout his body. “I am.”

  “They taught us in therapy to imagine things that make us comfortable—to remind us that whatever it is we’re going through is only temporary and isn’t going to last forever. I can’t imagine how you’d do that during the zombie apocalypse, but it might help the next time you start feeling that way.”

  “What else did you do?”

  “Breathe,” Steve mumbled. “Always remember to breathe.”

  “And remind yourself that the feeling is only temporary,” Jamie continued. “Because you’re not going to feel like the world is going to cave in on you forever. It’s just a temporary feeling—even here, during the end of the world.”

  “Which is why we’re working to make a better future for ourselves,” Erik said. “By taking me to Boise so they can study my blood and whatever’s happening in it.”

  “Where are we?” Dakota asked, leaning forward.

  “We’re almost to the city,” Jamie said, pausing to consider the lighting coming from the far west of them. Though the sun had not yet begun to set, its dangerous descent signaled that nightfall would soon be upon them, and with it all the mysteries it harbored. “I’m thinking of pulling over at a rest stop and having us bed down in one of those rec centers—you know, so we can spread out, get some decent sleep, take watch, that sort of thing.”

  “Sleeping in the car wasn’t exactly the best thing in the world,” Rose agreed, stretching her arms over her head.

  “So if everyone’s comfortable with that… then I guess that’s what we’ll do.”

  Rose was the first to enter the recreational center, followed by Jamie and then Steve. Dakota—who’d chosen to remain back in order to protect Erik—stood with his gun drawn, eyes and ears alert for anything that might creep up on them from the road or surrounding area.
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  Not that I wouldn’t see it, he thought.

  Out here, near the middle of nowhere, a lone figure walking amongst a white sheen of nothing would’ve easily been seen, but that didn’t detract from the fact that the undead were prone to silencet.

  Erik—leaning half-in, half-out of the vehicle—vomited the contents of his stomach near Dakota’s feet. “Sorry,” he managed to say before throwing up even more.

  Dakota shook his head, knowing that the man wouldn’t see him but also in the hopes that Erik would understand that he understood, before gesturing to Steve, who stood just outside the rest center. “Is anything there?” he called.

  “No!” Steve called back. “Bring Erik in.”

  After taking a moment to drape the last remaining blanket around himself, Dakota offered Erik his shoulder and helped him out of the vehicle. The man’s frame—though always light—seemed weightless as they began to walk toward the center.

  “You could probably carry me at this rate,” the man commented, as if reading Dakota’s thoughts.

  “I’m sorry you’re so sick,” he replied.

  “It’s these pills. Don’t worry yourself over it.”

  He wasn’t—or, at least, wasn’t trying to—but it was hard not to be concerned when his friend was throwing his guts up when he’d barely eaten anything at all.

  Inside the center, Steve secured the doors while Rose went to work blacking out the windows with whatever pieces of paper she was able to find. She smashed the glass outside a safety container and pulled the crowbar from its brackets before returning to the group. “Here,” she said. “Catch.”

  Jamie caught the weapon in mid-air and examined its curved surface, nodding as he swung it about before settling it down on the ground. He pulled, from their pack of belongings, a series of crackers and a can of refried beans and set it before them. “Dinner’s served,” he said.

  Dakota idly nibbled on his portion as he watched the sun go down, nervous but at the same time thankful that they had found some adequate shelter. Though cold, the walls would at least protect them from the wind; and while the floor was little more than polished marble, it would at least allow them the space to sleep comfortably for the night.

  After everyone finished eating, they arranged the blankets beside one another and bedded down for the night. Steve—who’d elected to take first watch—drew a chair up from the far wall and placed it beside their sleeping arrangements.

  “Do you want me to stay up with you?” Dakota asked.

  “No,” Steve said. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll wake you or Rose up when I’m ready to be relieved.”

  “All right,” Dakota said.

  With that, Dakota closed his eyes, curled up into as small a ball as he could, and waited for the coming night.

  The storm hit with a ferocity none of them could have anticipated.

  From the north it came, blowing in with a vengeance, driving home the reality of defeat and the likelihood of entrapment. Even from inside the building they could hear its howls—wicked in intent and foolhardy in its adamant approach. It quickly created a layer of snow beneath the doors and forced the five of them to huddle together for warmth.

  “At least no one one’s going to be walking around out there,” Steve said through chattering teeth.

  No, Dakota thought, but that didn’t mean someone wouldn’t try to be getting in.

  “I think we should barricade the door,” Dakota said after a moment’s consideration. “Just to be safe.”

  “You think someone’ll try to get in?” Steve asked.

  “If they’re stuck outside they will,” Rose said. She stepped forward, removed her sweatshirt, and began to tie it around the handlebars as tight as she humanly possibly.

  “Are you sure you’re,” Dakota started when she turned and started back in only her T-shirt.

  She shook her head. “We’ll keep each other warm,” she said.

  And they did—by placing two of the thick quilts on the floor and then using the remaining blankets to create a fortress of warmth around them. Even Steve—who had initially decided to remain in the chair—huddled down with them, but sat up and kept a sheet wrapped around him to try and trap the warmth against his body.

  “Everyone feeling warm?” Steve asked.

  Everyone, except Erik, nodded. “I’m fucking freezing,” he said, his entire body trembling as he struggled to get comfortable on the floor between Dakota and Jamie.

  “Spoon him,” Steve said.

  “Spoon me?” Erik asked. “What the fuck kind of gay shit is—”

  Jamie pulled the man back against his chest before he could finish. “It’ll keep you warm,” he murmured. “Does that feel any better?”

  “Not really. Goddamn it, Jamie. Let go.”

  “Did we bring any benadryl with us?” Dakota asked.

  “We did,” Steve said, reaching for the sacks of equipment at their side. “Just give me a second to… aha! Found it!”

  After withdrawing a capsule from its container, he passed it over to Dakota with a bottle of water, who then handed it to Erik. After swallowing the pill, the man settled down—still trembling, still unwilling to be held even though Jamie was adamant to ensure that Erik was not freezing to death.

  Dakota—trapped on the space near the outskirts of their blanket fort—shivered as the temperature dropped. He didn’t even want to think about how cold it was in here, let alone outside. They’d had tough winters up in the east, but nothing compared to this.

  At least not in my lifetime.

  He closed his eyes and settled back against Erik—who, though cantankerous, said nothing.

  He fell asleep not long after that.

  It was Steve who woke him in the dead of night.

  “Dakota,” he whispered, taking a hold of his shoulders. “Dakota. Wake up, Dakota.”

  “I’m awake,” Dakota whispered back, heart racing and head pounding. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I think I heard someone trying to get in.”

  “What?”

  The sound of the crowbar clinking against the handlebars sliced through Dakota’s ears and directly into the danger sector of his brain.

  Shit, he thought.

  What would they do now? They were trapped—stuck in rest stop center with only one way out. Sure, they could always wait out whoever happened to be outside, but if they happened to be the undead rather than ordinary people, and there were a lot of them…

  Dakota looked over at Steve, who merely drew his gun and reached over to shake Rose.

  “What?” she whispered.

  “We think there’s someone outside,” Dakota replied.

  Jamie stirred from sleep, standing and taking into his hands the rifle he had brought along for collateral damage. This he aimed at the door, careful not to make any sound as he flipped the safety off and gestured Dakota to grab the blankets. “Pull them toward the back,” he whispered.

  He, Erik and Rose did as asked, while Steve and Jamie trained their weapons on the door that someone was still trying to force open.

  Finally, whoever was attempting to break in stopped.

  Dakota froze.

  The sound—which had been so persistent up until that moment—had simply ceased to exist.

  Had whomever been trying to enter simply decide to move on?

  Either way, it didn’t matter, because the next moment someone was knocking—a clear, pristine sound that cut through the night like a knife. “Hello?” a voice—this one clearly female—asked. “Is someone in there? Can anyone help me? It’s so cold.”

  “Don’t respond,” Erik growled.

  “But,” Dakota started.

  “Please,” the woman said. “I’m all alone and need some help. It’s so cold out here. Please! If anyone can hear me! Let me in!”

  “You can’t trust anyone out here,” Rose replied, aiming her gun at the door.

  As if on queue, a series of lights appeared from above where Rose had m
anaged to secure posters and cardstock along the windows, completely contradicting the woman’s initial pleas for help.

  “Told you,” Rose whispered.

  Someone kicked at the door, but still, it wouldn’t budge—not with Rose’s sweatshirt tied so expertly around the handles and the crowbar blocking any further entry.

  “We should just move on,” another man said, his voice just deep enough to be heard above the wicked winter gale.

  “Clayton,” someone replied. “Are you sure we should—”

  A light faltered, then bobbed suddenly, as if someone outside had just been slapped. “Go see if you can rig the truck up,” the man named Clayton said. “Fat chance the keys’ll be in there, but maybe we can hotwire it and get the hell out of here.”

  “Shit,” Jamie hissed.

  The lights—which had been moving at that point—stopped.

  Dakota froze.

  Surely they couldn’t have heard that. Could they?

  Someone tried the door again, this time with more persistence and enough force to where it appeared one of the knots Rose had expertly tied would come undone. After several eager attempts at trying to push the door open, the crowbar—which had been expertly fitted so it would not shift against an unmoving door—clattered to the floor.

  The doors were pushed inward as far as they would go.

  A man’s face appeared.

  Steve chambered a bullet.

  The man—who, in a white hospital gown, had been trying to push the door open—stopped to look at them. “Dear God,” he said. “There are people—”

  “Tell us what you want,” Rose said, “and maybe we’ll let you live.”

  The man—who, though dressed in warm winter clothes, appeared to be freezing—paled the moment he saw Rose. “Please, miss,” he said. “All we want is a warm place to spend the night.”

  “Then why try and trick us into thinking there was only one of you?” Rose replied.

  Jamie stepped forward to reveal his semi-automatic rifle in the light streaming from one of their flashlights. “If you leave now,” Jamie said, “and without our vehicle, I may let you live.”