Dying Days 5

by Armand Rosamilia

  “And my hearing wasn’t affected, so it’s a bit awkward to sit here while you talk about me. I’m John. Someone help me up.”

  “You’re our prisoner,” Heath said.

  “You’re an idiot. I need to find my wife and my baby.” John put his hand up and stared at Lincoln.

  “You need to rest,” Lincoln said but helped the man get to his feet. “You won’t last three steps.”

  “Do you have crutches?”

  “Not on me,” Lincoln said. The guy had balls. There were weapons drawn and aimed at him but he acted like they were old friends. “But Heath is right. You’re our prisoner until we straighten this out.”

  “There’s really nothing to straighten out,” John said and leaned against Lincoln. “The crew that attacked us and took my wife… which way did they go?”

  “East on Route 100.” Lincoln shrugged and looked at Heath. The man was wounded and not much of a real threat. And he was still breathing. Finding living people was getting harder and harder.

  “Then I need to go that way, right? I need to find Darlene and then we can find our baby. I really hope you aren’t going to make this difficult. Please don’t get in my way.”

  “You attacked us,” Heath said.

  John shook his head. “The people I’m going after attacked you. We were trying to hide. We didn’t want a confrontation with your group. You crossed paths with those maniacs, who ran into us. Wrong place, wrong time. You can either help me get my wife back and get revenge for what they did as a bonus, or go your own way. But I’m not staying here.”

  Heath put a hand on the pistol in his waistband.

  “That’s Darlene’s Desert Eagle,” John said. “I want it back.”

  “Finder’s keepers.”

  “It was a gift from her father. He worked in the plant where it was made and bought it for her and taught her how to use it. And I’m going to give it back.” John stared at Heath.

  Heath looked at Lincoln.

  Lincoln could see the anger and passion in the guy’s face. He was going to save his wife and there was nothing anyone could do about it. A man on a mission. “Where did they take her?”

  “Somewhere in Daytona Beach. On A1A. They have a zombie as their master.”

  A few people behind Lincoln groaned and began talking but he put his hand up and was glad they stopped chattering. It was more for him so he didn’t lose his nerve when he commented. “Then we will help you. But first we need to get supplies and gather our strength. We lost a few people and hopefully they’ll return in a day or two.”

  Lincoln hoped Dana never returned. But, perhaps, if she did, she’d have the baby with her? Then they could focus on helping John get his wife back. It would be good for the group to have a purpose right now. Sitting in the middle of a field repelling zombies wasn’t a way to live.

  “I need to leave now,” John said. He stared again at the Desert Eagle.

  Lincoln shook his head. “You need to rest or the wound won’t heal. You’re lucky it didn’t destroy your leg. Really lucky. It just ripped through the meat. You’ll live and you’ll walk normal, but it will take some time. Right now, another day isn’t going to hurt you. Rest and let us gather our things so we can help you. Alone you’ll get three blocks before a zombie, who can walk faster than you, attacks.”

  He could see John was thinking about it before finally nodding. “Fine. I appreciate your hospitality. I really do. If there is any way I can help with the prep, please let me know.”

  “You can stay out of the way. I’ll put him with the women. Maybe you can wash some clothes before we leave?” Heath was staring at John. Lincoln hadn’t known Heath for that long but he loved being second in command. He didn’t want to openly be the boss and knew the group wouldn’t follow him, but Heath knew if he had Lincoln’s ear he could persuade him. Heath had good ideas. He was just quick to the punch. Lincoln knew John wasn’t a pushover and the two men were going to come to blows at some point if he didn’t keep them apart.

  “I’m sure with one bad leg I could still outfight and outsmart someone like you,” John said.

  “Is that so?” Heath asked and stepped forward.

  “Enough,” Lincoln said. He wasn’t going to let this escalate, especially when they had so much work to do. And everyone was watching the exchange. He didn’t want to have Heath rile everyone up for no reason. John could be quite useful to them. “We’re wasting time. The area is full of zombies and you’re being loud. Like ringing the dinner bell for them. I need you to focus.”

  Heath gave him a funny look but then nodded. “My bad. I’m going to walk the perimeter and make sure the road out of here will be clear for tomorrow.” He glanced at John. “No hard feelings.”

  “Not a problem. Forget about it,” John said. Lincoln knew neither man would forget about it. Why did everyone always have to fight?

  Heath smiled and pulled the Desert Eagle from his waistband. “It’s out of ammo, anyway.” He handed it to John, who took it.

  “It’s been out of ammo for weeks. But that isn’t the point. The point is it isn’t yours,” John said before hobbling away.

  Lincoln knew he needed to watch them. As he looked around at the survivors, he didn’t know who, in this group, he could really trust anymore. Too many agendas and too much in-fighting.

  If they survived another month, he’d be amazed.

  Chapter Five

  Mitchell relaxed when he realized what was going on. He wasn’t in the wrong line.

  The old biker dude had begun separating the pack into two groups, and it was obvious what he was doing: the old and injured went to one spot and the seemingly healthy and the kids to another.

  “Where are you taking them?” the Puerto Rican chick asked the biker. Mitchell had heard her name was Lola and the big man from the bathroom was Juan. They were standing next to him and twelve others who’d either come with them or were already here.

  The group had been led off the bus and directly into a corralled-off area of the parking garage. Under watch by armed men, but no one was cruel.

  “Everyone is going to be safe,” the biker said. He kept staring at each person before herding them towards one of the lines.

  Mitchell had actually learned a lot about where they were and who their mysterious benefactor was. A damn super-zombie had rescued them, and wasn’t going to eat them right away, as far as he could tell. In fact, it looked like he’d be helping them to survive. Mitchell had a hard time wrapping his head around it, but he wasn’t going to fight it, either.

  Food and water had been brought. One of the men guarding them said the reason they were being quarantined was to make sure no one had been infected. There would be a thorough check of everyone before they were allowed into the compound, only a block away. They’d be safe. They could work and contribute and stay if they wanted to.

  Mitchell wanted to stay and not have to run and look over his shoulder. He kept to himself but listened in on every conversation. He needed to survive.

  “I don’t like this,” Lola said. She was shuffling back and forth.

  Mitchell wanted to tell her to shut up and relax. She was in the line with the healthy and the people who were going to survive. But he decided not to. It was no use getting too close to anyone anymore. What was the use? Everybody died too soon.

  When he shuffled up another few feet, he could see three armed men standing down the ramp in the parking garage talking. Mitchell waved to them and one approached, which he didn’t think was actually going to happen.

  “Yeah?” the man said. He looked bored but well-fed and clean. Mitchell didn’t know the last time he’d truly been clean.

  “Will there be showers?” Mitchell asked. He really didn’t have a question, it had been an impulse.

  The man stared at him before smiling. “How old are you?”

  “Me? Pushing thirty.”

  The man turned to the biker. “Claude, mind if I pull this one out? Jeff needs someone to do a run t
o the bridge and make sure it’s secure.”

  Claude, the biker, waved is hand and went back to separating people.

  “Come with me,” the man said. “Have you ever used a rifle before?”

  “No. But I’m a fast learner,” Mitchell said. This guy was going to give him a weapon?

  “You’d better be. Because you’ll be heading right into Zombie Central in South Daytona,” the man said.

  “I’m Mitchell.”

  “I don’t care.”

  * * * * *

  She’d found her calling: helping the old and the sick. Taylor wiped the clammy face of the old woman and smiled. Inside the makeshift triage, she could tend to those in need of help. Some of them were calling her their granddaughter, which she thought was sweet.

  Taylor had never had a stable environment in which to thrive. She never had a purpose in high school, going through the motions and hanging out with her friends. Music was her escape. Her parents weren’t cruel people. They were just busy with work and running the farm. Taylor didn’t want to be another illiterate farm girl. She didn’t want to plow fields and pick oranges. She wanted more out of life. And, maybe now, she’d found it.

  She had four huge rooms of the Ocean Center to work in. At one point, she guessed, at least two were dressing rooms for bands and their crews. Cots and supplies covered the hallway outside. Taylor wasn’t a nurse and so far they hadn’t found any from the survivors, but she was here to help these poor people in their last days.

  The group she’d been with in the house was in the next room. She’d been able to keep them together. They needed her.

  And it wasn’t only old people. There were three children with life-threatening illnesses, who would die soon without treatment. And there was no way to get it for them. You never watched a zombie movie and saw people who had asthma or cancer or lost a contact. Real life got in the way of the best intentions of survival. All Taylor could do was help those in need and make room in the small number of beds and cots for someone else when a person expired and was carted away.

  Taylor also knew her most important job was the woman Jeff and his cronies had brought back from their journey. While Bri and Russ were absent (and no one had told her what happened to them but she could guess), the woman currently on the other side of the Ocean Center was gathering The Lich Lord’s full attention. She was special but Taylor didn’t know why or how. She was Darlene, the one Bri and Russ had wanted to find.

  Nothing bad could happen to the woman. Even Jeff had been ordered to stay away from her. Taylor tended to her while she recovered from giving birth and the trauma of what she’d been through. They’d all been through something.

  When one of the men moaned, Taylor ran to him. This was her calling.

  “Kill me,” the man whispered. “Put the pillow over my face and let me die.”

  Taylor shook her head. “You have much to live for.”

  He shook his head, drool pooling at the corners of his mouth. His eyes focused and unfocused on Taylor. “I want to die.”

  “You need to hang in there. No one is going to hurt you,” Taylor said. “Do you want a glass of water?”

  He gripped her arm, his long fingernails digging into her skin. “I don’t want to be here. I want to go to Heaven with my wife. I want to die. Why won’t you put me out of my misery? My body hurts. My eyesight is shot. I can barely talk without wheezing. Help me.”

  Taylor pulled her arm away and ignored the trickle of blood, covering it with her hand. “I’ll get you some water.”

  She tried to walk calmly out of the room. As soon as she got out into the hallway, she began to cry.

  Chapter Six

  The zombie had been a pretty female, but now she was dripping flesh and dried blood over ripped clothing and worn shoes.

  As she stumbled over a hubcap in the road, her head exploded.

  “That’s how you do it,” Jeff said. He spit on the ground and handed the rifle to Mitchell. “Your turn.”

  “I’m not sure…”

  Jeff punched the young man in the shoulder. “I didn’t ask you, pussy. I told you. We need to kill the fuckers on the bridge before we can go over there.”

  Mitchell wanted to ask why they didn’t just ride over the bridge and knock them off instead of climbing onto this building roof for target practice, but he decided it wasn’t a good idea. Jeff was easily the biggest asshole he’d ever met.

  There were six men on the roof but no one else had fired a shot. It was up to Jeff to tell them what to do and when to do it, Mitchell guessed.

  Mitchell put the rifle on his shoulder and used the crosshairs to find a target. A large naked male zombie with an open gut and engorged penis was the easiest mark. He pulled the trigger and hit the zombie in the crotch, his privates exploding.

  Everyone laughed except Jeff, who took the rifle away from Mitchell. Jeff looked at everyone in turn until they stopped laughing. “What a waste of ammo. You’re an asshole. I thought you said you never shot a gun before?”

  “Lucky shot,” Mitchell said and looked away from Jeff, who looked pissed.

  “You aim for the fucking head.” Jeff aimed the rifle and fired, blowing the zombie’s head open. He handed the weapon back to Mitchell. “Load it and clean up the bridge. We have work to do. By the time I ride to the top, it better be clear.”

  Mitchell nodded and loaded the rifle as Jeff and the other men started climbing down the ladder.

  There were three more zombies on the bridge. A wall had been built out of cars and debris at the peak of the bridge but it looked like someone had pushed through a spot. Now the zombies were walking right over to this side.

  Mitchell fired, the shot blasting through the face of a zombie. He’d fired guns before but he wasn’t going to tell these assholes where and why. It was none of their business. He’d help them and hope he didn’t have to do this shit work anymore.

  He took his time with the next two shots, hitting the mark easily. From this distance, and with no wind factor, he could sit and shoot for hours. Mitchell watched as another zombie got into the breach and he dropped it with a shot; the zombie crumpled in the hole. That would keep them at bay for a few minutes, until Jeff and his crew could get there.

  The motorcycles shot into view below, riding up the bridge.

  Mitchell aimed the rifle and kept a bead on Jeff as he rode. All it would take was a tap on the trigger and the asshole would be dead. One shot.

  Jeff had ridiculed Mitchell right away. “You’ll ride that Harley.”

  “I can’t. I’ve never ridden a bike before,” Mitchell had said.

  Jeff looked disgusted. “Then you’ll ride bitch with one of us. But not me. I don’t want your pussy ass behind me. You might try to fuck me.”

  Mitchell heard the rest of the group laugh but they were doing it to stay out of Jeff’s way. The guy was rotten to the core. And now he was lined up…

  A zombie pushed through the gap, falling through but righting itself. It stopped and looked at the motorcycles heading its way. Mitchell could see it smile.

  A fucking smart one, he thought. Mitchell took the shot and watched the head explode. Were there more behind it?

  Yes. Two more went down. Mitchell checked his ammo. He didn’t want to run out.

  Jeff and his team made the breach and fired a few shots of their own while they started filling it in with the debris on the bridge.

  Mitchell had clear shots at a few zombies on the other side of the bridge but decided against it. There was really no point except target practice. He toyed with the idea of a stray bullet in the back of Jeff’s head but decided against it. He was too far away from Staples to go back, and he had no food or supplies. If he shot Jeff, he’d have to shoot all of them and run out of ammo.

  He figured he’d get his chance at some point, and then the guy was going to die.

  Mitchell was shocked at himself to be thinking such a crazy thought. He was going to seek revenge and shoot someone because they we
re an asshole? Revenge fantasies were always a big thing in his head, like everyone else, but he never thought he’d actually be planning for one.

  He covered them as they finished closing up the gap and then met them in the parking lot.

  Jeff rode right up to Mitchell but didn’t turn off his Harley. “Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”

  “My dad taught me.”

  “There might be some uses for you yet. Get on,” Jeff said.

  * * * * *

  Vee watched the children as they helped the adults in the garden digging up the soil to plant vegetables. In the last two days, they’d successfully pulled down another building and begun chipping away at the foundation for more room.

  But there was so much more work to do just inside the compound. Dilapidated bars and stores were on the verge of collapsing into the street, and there was so much debris an army of zombies could hide out and they’d never be noticed.

  “Are you Vee?”

  She turned to see a big man and a small woman approach. “Yes. Can I help you?”

  “Hi. I’m Juan and this is Lola. We’ve been assigned to the western end of the block, I guess. We were told by Claude to come and see you. He said you had a ton of work for us to do to earn our way and be protected.”

  Vee smiled. She was about to answer when she saw five more people coming up the street. “Are they with you?”

  Juan nodded. “Yes, ma’am. You have seven new recruits. What do we need to do?”

  The Full Moon Saloon was the staging ground for all of the tools and supplies, for building, they’d collected. Jeff and his crew had found two hardware stores in the last month and taken every last nail and screw they could find. Vee led the newcomers over, once introductions were made.

  “At the end of the block, just past the cemetery, is a gas station. It needs to come down. Everything of value needs to be brought to the other end of the street. You’ll see a couple of smaller storage areas. If you can save wood and metal, please do. We can’t waste anything. Don’t just take a hammer to it,” Vee said. “The electricity is live, so be careful. Shut off the breakers first. Stay away from the gas pumps. We’re only interested in taking the building itself down right now.”