"They seem to be going past us," John whispered.
Darlene focused her binoculars at the caravan of boats heading north offshore. "Survivors from Orlando?"
"Could be. Maybe, when they were attacked, they got lucky and got the boats."
Darlene counted seven crafts. "If they're the survivors, there aren't many left. Do we flag them down or let them go?"
"Not sure. I'd better get my dad."
Darlene concentrated on the lead ship, a larger yacht with at least twenty people on deck. "Wait," she said and gripped John's arm.
"What?"
"Let them pass." Darlene held the binoculars away from her face and felt the tears begin to roll down her face. "I know them."
"How?" John asked and put a hand on her shoulder.
"That's Doug Conrad and his militia." She turned to John and buried her face in his shoulder. The bastards that held her captive.
Chapter Two
For three days, Darlene barely spoke or ate, preferring to sleep in Murph's spare bedroom. She was glad that the men left her alone and didn't pry too much.
She finally stopped crying and went into the kitchen to find something to eat. She was famished. Eric was sitting in the living room with a steaming cup of tea and a buttered biscuit. He put on a big smile when he saw her but said nothing.
John, Murph, Eric and Bri were gathered and they all looked at her expectantly.
"How'd you get up here?" Darlene asked.
"Ladder," Bri said with a smile.
Darlene nodded and rummaged for something to munch on. She found a box of stale crackers and asked Murph if she could have them.
"What's mine is yours, honey, you know that."
She sat down on the couch, after weaving through them, and dug into the food. Finally she couldn't take it anymore, as no one was talking. "Is this an intervention or something?"
John laughed uncomfortably. "We're just worried about you."
"Fine. I get that. When did the ladder go up?"
"This morning. I took it from the Anderson's house." Eric shook his head. "There wasn't much left over there, and I didn't have enough material to repair your stairs."
The Anderson's stilt house had been the first attacked but it was six houses down on the end and no one could've reached it in time. Darlene didn't need to ask about any survivors.
"We need to get to St. Augustine and warn them about those boats," she said and grabbed her boots. "I can't believe I went into a coma over this shit. I thought I was stronger than that, thought I was past those assholes who tried to break me, thought I was over it." She was crying now, struggling through the tears to get her left boot on.
John sat down next to her on the couch and put a hand gently on her back. "Darlene, as soon as you said who it was, I sent word to St. Augustine. They'll be ready for them."
Darlene stopped fighting her boot, took it completely off and threw it across the room. She buried her head on his shoulder and cried.
When she finally raised her head ten minutes later she looked around and laughed. "That's one way to clear a room."
John nodded. "You're freaking everyone out, but we all understand. You went through a really dark place back then but you came out on the other side."
"They… hurt me."
"But you survived, don't you get it? They didn't break you."
Darlene wiped snot from her nose. "I can't stop crying."
"Exactly." John stood and helped her off the couch. "If they'd broken you, beat you down and out, you'd have no emotions left. You'd be hard and callous and like a zombie." He wiped the tears from her cheeks. "They only made you stronger."
"I need to kill them."
John smiled. "I can't stop you there. All the rules have changed. You do what you need to do to get yourself back to where you belong."
Darlene went to the sink and washed her face. "I need to get caught up on where we are right now."
"First, you need to get some real food in you. And then you need to put some makeup on. You look like shit," John said with a laugh.
* * * * *
"We need to get some supplies. John, grab Peter and see what Griff and them need," Murph said.
"I'll go," Darlene said.
John and his dad looked at one another before John walked away.
"I need you here with me, little girl."
"Don't treat me like a child."
"You are a child compared to me. Besides, you haven't been cleared to make the runs to St. Augustine yet. Until I get that for you, it would be better you stay here. Those people get antsy around strangers."
"If you would let me go, I wouldn't be a stranger."
Murph smiled. "I'd hate to watch my Bruce Willis movies by myself."
"I'm sick of Bruce Willis movies." She turned away. "John-John, you chicken-shit. Get out here."
John came slowly down the hall with a smile on his face. "Yes, ma'am?"
"When you go into town, I need some tampons, anything with chocolate covering it, and at least two romantic comedy movies that have no action other than cheesy romance. Got it?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Darlene turned back to Murph. "If I'm stuck with you, old man, we're going to start watching some real movies and eating cookies and crap while doing it." She turned back to John. "What's the chance of getting some Diet Coke?"
"Maybe flat."
"Better than nothing."
Murph winked at his son. "You know what I need," he said and shook a half-empty bag of Redman. "And get another John Wayne movie. Better yet, see if they got any old Burt Reynolds films. I haven't seen White Lightning or Gator in forever."
"How do we have stuff to trade? I was just hoping about the tampons and chocolate," Darlene asked.
"We burned the bodies a mile down the road in the pit, but first we looted the bodies. Watches, rings, necklaces, and piercings. You name it, we took it. We're hoping that will be enough, but spread over so many of us it might be tight. Food and water comes first," John said.
"I know where food and water might be available," Darlene smiled. When she'd first come to this area, she'd run into—alright, she actually ambushed and killed—two guys playing cards in a gas station. The house behind them was supposedly filled with supplies as well as zombies. She'd never told anyone about it and just remembered it. She was sure she could find it again.
When she told Murph and John, they both nodded. "As soon as John gets back, you can take a crew out there and find it. That will definitely help," Murph said. "In the meantime, pick us a nice John Wayne movie and a couple of beers."
Darlene laughed. "Not a problem. John, I really do need tampons."
"Not a problem."
Darlene grabbed a random movie from the pile, knowing Murph would be asleep on the couch before the first ten minutes had played.
At that point, she was going to gear up and find that abandoned gas station.
Chapter Three
"I need you to untie from the dock and go away," David Monsour said and tapped his Browning M1911.
"Or what?" the big guy on the boat asked.
A shot rang out from the sand dunes, and the bullet ricocheted an inch from the leader's foot. He didn't move.
David turned back and grimaced. "Tosha, wait for the signal."
The redhead popped up with a grin. "I thought him being an asshole was the signal? Next shot is to the chest."
"We are seeking food and shelter and nothing more. We're trying to survive just like you."
"We already know who you are and what you're capable of. Word's come down about your militia. I suggest you find another place to survive."
"I don't understand. I led a group of survivors from Orlando. That has to count for something."
"They're all dead."
"Not my fault. If we can just come in, rest and purchase supplies, we'll be gone."
David shook his head. Was it his imagination, or were there more men on the ships this morning? They'd been under const
ant surveillance since docking two days ago. "I've got fifty barrels pointing at your chest right now. I suggest you take my word as-is and leave."
The chain-link fence between them was topped with barbed wire, but it was only to keep the dead out of St. Augustine. The makeshift fence—wooden in spots, cars piled in others, and sometimes natural formations—surrounded the main city but a living person could find a hundred spots to enter, despite the patrols.
"Look, my name is Doug. I'm from up North and just trying to find other like-minded people who will welcome me into their community. Would you let another human being die?"
"Doug Conrad," David said and smiled when the guy looked pissed. "Trust me, we know all about your exploits in Buffalo."
"You're mistaken. I helped people survive."
"After you raped them. She told us."
"Who?" Doug asked.
David had said too much already. He tapped his weapon again. "This conversation is over. If I see you're still here in the next hour, we will open fire. We vastly outnumber you and I can gather another three hundred if need be. But I don't think I'll have to."
* * * * *
"What is wrong with you?" David asked Tosha as they watched the boats pull away from the docks.
"There's nothing wrong with me. I could've hit him if I'd wanted to."
David frowned and looked down at the girl… woman, he corrected himself. Despite her diminutive size she was bigger than life, with strawberry blonde hair, a pretty light complexion, tight clothes, black leather boots, and great curves. Tosha also had a smile that could stop a man at ten feet, and she knew it. She dripped sex appeal, like a stripper locking onto that next ten dollar bill.
"I'm going back to report in. Stay here until they clear the island and let me know if they head North or South."
Tosha made an exaggerated salute and grinned. "I'll report back to you at Kimberly's Bar tonight?"
"No, you'll come to the college."
"Then we'll go to Kimberly's and get a beer?"
"Perhaps I'll see you there with my wife," David said.
"Why, your wife wants to get a beer with me?"
David didn't know if he wanted to rub his temples toward the impending headache he got every time he worked with Tosha or if he should just walk away. He decided to walk.
He wondered if asking to transfer her to another sector would work. It wasn't like he thought he'd cheat on his wife, and he knew Tosha was more interested in getting a rise out of him because he was so uptight than actually doing something. But the girl—woman, he thought, as she was in her late twenties—was trouble. Especially in Kimberly's Bar.
David hoped the business with Doug Conrad and his militia was over with, but he knew it wasn't even close. He'd see that imposing bastard again, but he hoped it wasn't inside the confines of St. Augustine. In the last year or so they'd managed to create a safe haven, one where you weren't attacked on the streets, where food and water were plentiful, the power still worked, and everyone pitched in or they were booted.
No one had been tossed out in almost a year.
As David approached the Flagler College, now main headquarters to everyone who had some form of guard duty, he sighed.
Stepping from his overblown tour bus—with a huge painting of himself standing next to his world-famous number 75 race car on the side—was Steve "The Breeze" Brack.
"He just might be the next to be booted," David said quietly. He steered away from Steve, hoping he hadn't been noticed.
No luck.
"Dennis! Over here," Steve yelled.
Motherfucker. "My name, for the fiftieth time, is David."
David wasn't surprised when Steve ignored him and did that condescending light hand on the shoulder bit.
"I've been thinking."
"Great."
Steve pointed at his tour bus and smiled, then turned—and moved David as well—and spread his free hand before him. "I don't like the view."
"And?" David had work, actual work, to do and didn't need a twenty minute one-sided conversation with this douche bag.
"I know you're in charge around here."
"I'm not. I'm just one of the people assigned to keeping us safe."
Steve grew excited. "Exactly! Safety is a big buzz word around here, I get that. I need to be safe, and my driver Mike needs to be safe. We're not safe in this spot."
"Why?"
"Look around, Dennis. We're stuck on the sidewalk of some church…"
"It's a college."
"…and across the street from some old apartments."
Davis laughed. "The Casa Monica is one of the ritziest hotels in the area. They used to get over two hundred people a night staying there."
"The Setai in Miami Beach costs me about three grand a night. That's ritzy. This place is for loser tourists and people too stupid to go to Miami. Now, I was thinking…"
"I'll catch up with you later." David tried to pull away but Steve hooked his fingers into his shoulder and steered him back to the bus.
"I think I'm going to have Mike park us on the lawn of the fort, overlooking the water. That would be a better view."
"Are you serious? We have the fort overflowing with refugees, and the lawn as well."
"Move them."
"That's not going to happen."
"Why not?"
David pulled away. He wanted to punch this diva in the face. Instead he walked away as quickly as he could and crossed the street, ignoring Steve's shouts.
He had actual work to do.
* * * * *
Mike Ross dreamed he was riding his Harley near Sturgis, with the hills on both sides and a beautiful woman riding bitch behind him. He could feel the wind; the warm sun beating on the asphalt below as the tires gripped and propelled him along at seventy miles an hour. Heaven.
"Get up, we need to move."
"Shit, you wake me in that spot every time. One day I'm going to pull over and nail that chick."
"What chick? We got a better spot to park," Steve said.
Mike narrowed his eyes. "You actually got the OK to move?" He'd known Steve only a few months but already knew that just because he wanted something didn't mean he'd gotten actual clearance to do it. Steve's motto was usually 'do it and we'll worry about the consequences later, rather than being told no now.' Since coming to St. Augustine three weeks ago, Steve had managed to wow the locals with autographs and his racing stories, getting free beers in Kimberly's Bar while having the crowd in the palm of his hand.
But the guy could be the biggest douche bag if unchecked.
"Don't you know who I am?" Steve said, one of his favorite catchphrases. He flashed his perfect teeth, his matinee idol looks one of the many reasons he got his way, and ran roughshod over everyone in his way. Exactly like he did on the racetrack.
"Where are we parking? And if you tell me the lawn next to Fort Matanzas I'll know your bullshitting me."
Steve stared at Mike and grinned. "We probably need to move a few people and their dirty tents, but it's a done deal."
"Bullshit." Mike closed his eyes and snuggled back into the driver's seat of the bus. If he was lucky he'd fall back asleep and park that bike and finally meet the chick hanging behind him he'd still never seen.
"Start this bus up and drive. It's only up the street."
"I don't believe you."
Steve leaned in close to Mike, who could smell his minty breath. Where the fuck did this guy get gum or Tic Tacs from? It’s the end of the world and this guy has fresh breath. "Drive or I'll find another crew member."
"Shit," Mike muttered. He opened his eyes and frowned. The last thing he wanted was to be replaced. "Why are you doing this?"
"Don't you know who I am?" Steve said and patted Mike on the shoulder. "You want to be out there? Look at them."
Mike followed Steve's gaze down the block, where a small tent city was overflowing onto the street, the fort jutting behind the mass of humanity.
"No," Mike whispered.
"I can't hear you. Do you want to be dirty, smelly, like sardines in a can? Pressed up against other gross, weak people isn't the answer for me. How about you, driver?"
"No." Mike started the bus, listening to the engine roar.
Steve laughed. "You want a Corona?"
"Sure."
"Not while you're driving. And we're down to the last two limes, so you don't get a slice. Put that on your list for tomorrow, by the way. We need more limes."
Mike put the bus into drive and pulled slowly off the sidewalk. As much as he hated to admit it, Steve 'The Breeze' Brack was right. Mike didn't want to be mixed in with the commoners; he was special.
He glanced in the rearview mirror at Steve, who was digging around in the refrigerator. Mike Ross decided he'd keep pace with the superstar, good or bad, and ride those coattails to a better future.
Chapter Four
The gas station was just as Darlene remembered it. She'd lost track of how long it had been since she'd been here. Leading with the Desert Eagle, she unlocked the fence and entered the building through the front door with the keys she still possessed.
Dust swirled and she laughed, remembering getting down on her hands and knees and scrubbing the place, as if she planned on spending her days here, reading magazines and eating beef jerky while the world died on the outside.
The power was still on and she grabbed a cold bottle of water from the soda case. She didn't worry about the rest of the supplies there just yet. The house held the real treasure.
"Time to see the house," she whispered. Even though she'd rushed out on Murph as soon as he had fallen asleep, and jogged south on A1A until she found a Ford Explorer with gas and drove the rest of the way here, she'd kept the house out of her mind, focusing on simply finding the gas station again.
Unfortunately, the bridge to this side was still out—damn zombies couldn't have at least rebuilt it for me? she mused—and she'd spend several hours lugging cases of food and water across the shallow river until high tide.
She knew she was being stupid. A child could see the crybaby attitude she was showing. I can't go to St. Augustine with you? Fine. Then I'll go to this dangerous place by myself and find more supplies than you can find and drop boxes of food at your feet with a big Fuck You.
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