John frowned. "Are you still thinking about heading to Maine?"
"I like to keep the option open."
"How do you think you're going to travel well over a thousand miles on foot?"
"I didn't say it was going to happen, John. I just don't ever want to have to stop believing there is still a home for me. That's all."
"You're home is here, with me."
"Don't do that."
"Do what?" John asked and rose on his elbow.
"We can't talk about the future, and you know it. We live day to day. If we start making plans… we just need to stop and enjoy what we have right now, in the moment. We're luckier than most people still living. I can only imagine what we'd be doing if we were in a burned out city and eating scraps and fighting zombies at every step. This can't last forever, so why worry about anything past the next minute?"
"Can I stay here tonight?"
Darlene checked her invisible watch on her wrist. "I have another guy coming over in an hour."
"I'll kick his ass."
"I think Eric can take you."
"Ouch."
Chapter Thirty
It was well after midnight when Frank found the buried power lines and traced them back to their boxes a mile away. After all this time, the power grid was still active, and these humans had been living off free energy and surviving with refrigeration, air conditioning and showering. It seemed like cheating to him. This was, after all, the zombie apocalypse. They were supposed to be living off berries and rotting cans of food and rain water, filthy and skinny. Not living healthy and probably annoyed the zombies wouldn't let them on the beach to sunbathe, and they had to do it on their deck with a bottle of chilled wine.
Not that any of them would survive the night, but even if by some amazing chance they did, their days of creature comforts were coming to an end. Frank didn't want to let any escape, like the boy from the H3, although, he knew he'd find the kid as part of the newest undead and break his scrawny little neck.
Frank held the pickaxe up over his shoulder but hesitated. What if he wasn't as indestructible as he thought? What if he wasn't as evolved yet? Did he want to find out?
He closed his eyes and took the swing with the pickaxe, striking the power box.
The energy enveloped him and his brain surged, pitching him ten feet. Frank shuddered as the sparks bounced off his body, flicking from his fingertips and setting his hair on fire. He rolled and put it out, his eyebrows scorched.
This was what it felt like to be struck by lightning, he thought. And survive.
He stayed on the ground and decided to gather his wits again before finishing the bloody night ahead.
Chapter Thirty One
"It's hot. Did you turn the air off?" John said, as he wiped the sweat from his face. He was wrapped in the blankets and they were soaked.
Darlene mumbled and rolled over, her back glistening with sweat.
John got up and stumbled to the living room. It was dark. Too dark. Fuck. The power is out, he thought. Could it be something as simple as a blown fuse, or had their time finally run out with free electricity? He decided to grab a flashlight and see if it could be fixed on his end. He assumed the fuse box was downstairs in the garage, but there was no inside steps leading down to it. He'd have to go outside and dodge some zombies. He didn't know if Darlene had a key for the side garage door, either.
For now, he'd let her sleep. There was no sense waking Darlene and getting sarcasm about being a big boy and changing a simple fuse.
Outside it was cool, a nice breeze blowing off the ocean. Clouds in the sky covered the moon, but there was enough light to see shadows under the house. When John shined the flashlight, he wasn't surprised to see five zombies up close. They were attracted to the flashlight beam like moths.
"Fuck all of you," he murmured and went back inside to get clothes on and get a machete. "Why can't this be easy?"
Tomorrow he'd move his clothes and personal belongings into Darlene's place. He liked the sound of that. Maybe it would eventually be their place. They hadn't gotten out of bed after their shower and lovemaking, so his clothes were still folded, neatly but filthy, in the bedroom. Without power, they couldn't wash their clothes, either.
He managed to get dressed and find a sharp machete in the closet without waking her. By the time he got back outside, only two zombies were in sight and the clouds had moved enough some stray moonlight was giving him natural illumination.
John went down the steps and unlocked the gate, slipping out and locking it again just as the first zombie got to him. Three chops severed the neck and some of its blood spurted on his shirt. Great, now I'm even filthier, he thought.
The second zombie was near the garage and John dispatched it with a single stroke, impressing himself. Now, he needed to figure out how to get inside the garage without breaking the lock.
Not expecting much, he jiggled the door handle and was amazed when it opened. He supposed it had never been locked in the first place. It was a good thing zombies weren't smart enough to open it… although, that seemed to have changed. John thought it good luck he'd found it before one of the smarter one's had.
The garage was empty. It smelled like old gasoline. The wooden shelves, to one side, were bare. John found the fuse box with the flashlight and popped it open.
He scanned each fuse and everything seemed to be in working order. The main fuse was still good. The problem wasn't here; it was out there somewhere. He wasn't going to pursue it this time of night. It would be yet another thing to add to the list for the morning. With the breeze, he hoped it would keep the house cool for the rest of the night.
As he headed back up the steps, glad no other zombies were nearby, he turned and looked at Murph's house next door. It was dark, but he didn't know if it meant the power was out or the old man had gone to bed. They never kept lights on and even if they did, the blinds and shutters covered the light from prying eyes.
John listened for sounds of any air conditioning units running but it was quiet. He figured everyone had lost power. He was wide awake and irritated.
The living room windows opened with a squeak and he froze, waiting for Darlene to yell. When he was sure she was quiet, he went around the house and opened every window not sealed shut. A decent draft of air was coming in, and he left the front door open and made sure the screen door was latched so it didn't catch a gust of wind and blow open.
In the bedroom, he opened the two large windows and smiled when the breeze whipped the edges of the covers on the bed.
"Why's it so hot?" Darlene mumbled, rolling over onto her stomach. John couldn't help staring at her great naked ass.
"The power went out. I opened the windows. Go back to sleep."
"Are you coming?"
"In a few minutes. I'm going to sit out and see if anyone else gets woken. Then I'll be back."
"Wake me up again and I'll gut you. Unless you do it by kissing my neck."
"Fair enough." John kissed her on the ass cheek and went through the dark living room, scooping up the machete again, and planting himself outside in a deck chair.
Chapter Thirty Two
He started at the furthest stilt house, quietly unlocking the gate and slipping up the steps. The front door was unlocked and he smiled. Frank imagined he'd find most doors unlocked, the false sense of security these arrogant living thought they had. They didn't anymore.
Inside was chaos. A war had taken place some time ago, and there were bodies scattered in every room. By the advanced rot of some of them, he surmised zombies had broken in and killed the occupants. There were bullet holes in foreheads on several bodies. They'd never even been cleaned up. Just left here to rot. Lazy.
Frank went to the next house and climbed the stairs, feeling the presence of someone inside. The front door was locked but he managed to slowly force it without making too much noise. This home was clean and comfortable, and looked well-lived in. Frank moved quietly through the rooms, glancing at
the furniture and paintings on the walls. Someone of wealth had lived here in another lifetime, but he was sure it wasn't the current occupant, who snored peacefully in a large bed, completely unaware she would be taking her last breathe in but a moment.
It was almost a shame to kill this innocent person as she dreamed of better days and a different life, where zombies didn't roam the earth and try to kill you.
Frank smiled. "Ah, but alas, I do want to eat you," he whispered close to the woman's face. He picked up a pillow from the other side of the bed and put it over the woman's face. He didn't want to go through the motions of biting her or breaking her neck. She would scream and alert anyone else in the area.
Besides, killing her this way was more humane. Frank laughed at his little joke as the woman began to struggle underneath the pillow, but she was no match for his superior strength. He applied more pressure until she stopped kicking and released her bowels.
Satisfied she wasn't faking it, he counted to ten before removing the pillow. He stared down at her astonished look. She was gone, and she wouldn't return a zombie.
She would make a fine meal before he moved on to the next stilt house.
Frank hoped, at some point, someone would offer a fight, because at this rate he'd be done before the sun rose.
Chapter Thirty Three
Eric couldn't sleep. He sat on the chair on the deck of Murph's stilt house in darkness. The tears on his face were drying in the cool breeze. He'd watched as John had come down and gone into the garage, but he didn't make his presence known. He was curious what John was doing, and figured a fuse had blown.
John went back inside but came out a few minutes later and sat down in a chair directly across from Eric. If Eric moved, even in shadows, he'd be seen. He didn't want to talk about Abby or the thoughts going through his head.
Fuck me, I'm sad, he thought. But I need to deal with this on my own. I need to get over it like I did Jessa. Eric almost laughed out loud at his stupidity. He wasn't over her, even though he'd only known Jessa for a few hours, if that. They'd had a connection. The once in a lifetime love you only saw in romantic comedy movies or in fairy tales. But, it was true. They'd fallen in love and shared something so special Eric knew he'd never find it again. He thought Abby would have been damn close, and, maybe with time, she could have been the one to fill the hole in his heart.
But she was gone, and with her death, Eric didn't feel like living anymore. He wasn't going to kill himself or anything stupid. He believed in God and the sin of suicide, and he knew his Maker would show him the way and when it was time for him to step off this dying earth and ascend to the Pearly Gates. He understood all that, but it didn't make him less sad. It only made him want to be reckless and hunt zombies and go out in a blaze of glory, if that's what it took to see Jessa and Abby again.
He was about to go back inside and get his bow when he realized he was staying at Murph's and only had his machete, plus John was so close he could probably hit him with a rock. He wanted to burn off some of this energy and clear the area of zombies, and make them pay for what they'd done and kept doing. But any sudden move would alert John and he'd have to talk about Abby, and right now he didn't want to. He didn't want pity from his friend. He wanted… he didn't really know what he wanted when he thought long and hard on it. There was only this gnawing pit in his stomach.
John got up and went back inside Darlene's house.
Eric smiled for his friends. They'd finally taken the plunge and stopped the bullshit. He hoped they would last, and he hoped they'd find happiness in this fucked up world. Eric wished only the best for those two.
Now that John was back inside, Eric decided to get his machete and wander onto the beach and blow off the building steam. He knew it made no sense and was completely stupid and he was putting himself in reckless danger, but he didn't have a choice tonight. He wanted to push the envelope and see how close to the edge he could get.
Chapter Thirty Four
Four stilt houses left, and Frank had also broken the necks of thirteen zombies wandering around. He considered it a bonus. So far, so good: no one had so much as opened an eye when he'd attacked, and there were bodies in beds behind him.
However, he sensed two guards ahead. The next stilt house was empty but then he knew there were four humans left to contend with, and he was sure three of them were the ones he'd encountered in Flagler Beach.
With two of them wide awake and sitting vigil on these houses, he'd never be able to sneak up on them. Every other person had been killed with relative ease.
Frank decided to retreat back to the gas station, collect his gasoline, and have some fun. They wouldn't only have to contend with him, they'd have to fight a raging fire as well. He smiled at his chaotic brilliance.
On A1A, there were twenty or thirty zombies, clustered, all moving up the road. He stopped and tried to listen. Were they being called, or was it really random? He couldn't remember being one of them, and wished he'd been able to tune in and see if they were truly being driven to some destination or if they could be turned around and would go another way. With time on his hands and curiosity getting the better of him, Frank angled his approach to get just in front of them.
He stepped in the road right in front of one and had the incredible urge to wrap his arms around a neck and listen to the brittle bones and cartilage snapping, but he refrained.
Just as the zombie walked past, Frank grabbed it by the shoulders and spun it around, but it didn't work like he'd planned and the zombie fell to the ground. When it finally righted itself, he was still heading north. The others had gone about twenty feet away.
Frank went to the group and grabbed one in a bear hug, spinning and planting it feet-first on the pavement. The zombie took three steps, before veering to the left and, eventually, turning in a wide arc, and heading back north.
"Fascinating." Frank was giddy now. He managed to get five of them moving in the wrong direction but they all looped back around. What was even more remarkable was the fact they all went to their left and made the turn. Was it collective group intelligence at work? Surely, it wasn't coincidence.
Once he'd destroyed the stilt houses, he could devote more time to this new development. He envisioned several experiments he could do, and maybe eventually one or two would be able to speak and he could question them. Now he was sad he'd killed the zombie woman in the high school, because he could have questioned her further. And he had all the data started. Oh, well. He had all the time in the world now.
He grabbed four gas cans and carried them to the first stilt house back up the road, the one furthest from the survivors. He doused the wooden foundation and pylons with two cans before moving over to the next one.
Then it was back to the gas station, where he'd left the hose open to spill and the far parking lot was flooding with gas and soaking into the grass. His final move would be to make a trail from the gas pumps to the stilt houses and light it. But he had a lot of gas to move and pour, and now he wondered if he'd get the fuel in place before daybreak. Not to mention the smell, which would alert the living soon enough if he didn't hurry.
He filled the four empty cans and picked up the other four he had filled already. A better system to transport them wasn't an option, since he couldn't put them in the back of a pickup and casually drive them over. He needed to walk, and it was a good distance.
Maybe not all the houses needed to be burned, but he was going to try to get them ablaze if he could.
Frank picked up his pace as he, awkwardly, carried the cans back to the houses. He dumped them, using only one can at the base of each home before heading back. The stilt houses looked nice and luxurious, but wooden structures would go up like kindling.
"I need a light," he suddenly realized. He fished through the closest vehicle, digging through the glove compartment and finding a tattered orange cigarette lighter. Frank pocketed it after making sure it still worked.
He would be using it soon enough.
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br /> Chapter Thirty Five
Two zombies came at Eric. He tried to keep them in sight but they were getting lost in the darkness and he felt stupid for being out here. What was he doing? This was a death wish. He had the grim thought of being bitten and then turning into a monster and having John or Darlene shoot him in the head. What a shitty way to go out.
He went on the offensive, bringing the fight to the closest zombie and able to see it better as he did. His fear was another one stumbling right into him before he even saw it.
Eric used the machete to cleave the neck from the head and kicked the body to the ground, just in time to turn and face the second one. He quickly put it down and then went in search for more of them. With the waves crashing so close to him, noise was all around and he had to rely on poor sight. It would be nice if the zombies were moaning and dragging heavy feet or wearing bells, but they were silent and deadly.
And coming from out of nowhere now. He saw at least three silhouettes on the dark horizon, heading his way. Who knew how many were just out of sight. The area was filthy with them, most having come up from the south. In fact, every one Eric had seen or put down, so far, was coming from that direction. Where were they heading?
Right now, he didn't care. He just had more energy and anger to expend, and he didn't care where they were going. They were going down if he had his chance.
A short female zombie wearing a New England Patriots jersey stepped into his range and he took off her head with two swings, her body pitching forward. The Tom Brady jersey was covered in gore.
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