"Sounds like you've got a nice plan here," Darlene had to admit. "And you've been keeping busy."
"What were you doing?" Robin asked, hesitation in her voice.
"I had to kill and bury my daddy," she said quietly.
Robin hugged her when Darlene began to cry and she was grateful for the human contact. Three weeks alone is too long.
Darlene pulled away gently and wiped her eyes. "I'm here to shop, not cry. What's on sale?"
Robin grinned. "First, let's get you a towel and a bar of soap. Go wash up and then we'll start trying stuff on. Girl, you stink."
"Sure that's not you?" Darlene asked.
* * * * *
Darlene stood in the dressing room, freshly scrubbed and wearing a matching thong and bra set, staring at her body in the full-length mirror. "A man definitely invented these giant mirrors, because no woman in their right mind wants to see every curve like this," she whispered.
Particularly troubling were the lines forming around her mouth and eyes. She was almost two years from hitting thirty but in this light she looked older. Darlene had never been a petite girl but she was far from heavy, preferring the expression 'chunky', especially her ass. She turned and looked at it in the mirror and smiled. At least three weeks of nothing but tuna had trimmed it down. The thong underwear still accentuated her shape but she'd lost some of the 'dimple' effect of her ass cheeks.
Satisfied and feeling a little better about herself, she began trying on the pile of clothes her and Robin had pulled from the racks. Try as she might to go comfort and common sense over fashion, she still managed a clingy shirt and tight jeans. After three pairs of boots she found a perfect fit, and they matched with her outfit.
Darlene began humming You're So Vain and giggling. She could get used to this.
"How do I look?" she said theatrically as she slid out of the dressing room area and back to the main selling floor, hands on hips and smiling.
Instead of Robin greeting her she saw a woman, blood running down the side of her face, lumbering through the children's section. At the sound of Darlene's announcement she changed course and began moving toward her.
The selling floor of the store was chaos, with zombies attacking in droves, a wave of undead coming up through the men's clothing area.
Darlene pulled her trusted Desert Eagle but didn't waste bullets, figuring if she was cornered she'd have to shoot her way out. She ran down the aisle, dodging clumsy cold hands as they reached for her, and made her way back to the doors she'd originally come in.
They were still intact but at least five zombies were in the immediate area. With no time to waste Darlene shot one of the undead in the head, the bullet passing through and shattering the glass door behind it.
Another three strides and she was outside and away from the battle waging inside. Her car keys in hand, she ran to her daddy's pickup.
At least she'd eaten and changed into a new pair of thongs.
Chapter Four
Home of the Green Monster
Even now, hiding under an abandoned car on Yawkey Way, under the shadow of Fenway Park, Darlene was in awe. Forget the five undead males ravaging a corpse across the street, ripping the limbs off and digging deeper into the body's cavity.
Darlene ignored them and stared at the green paint of the stadium, imagining the past thrills of being inside with her daddy and watching his beloved Bosox take a game from the hated Yankees. Every year they'd travel down from Maine to see at least one game and it was always against the Yankees.
As a teenager she remembered the Red Sox winning their first World Series in over eighty years and the magical hug her daddy had given her as the team celebrated on the field. Her grandfather had been a life-long suffering Red Sox fan who'd died the year before they'd won, never having seen a victory.
Something scraped against the far end of the car and Darlene stiffened. She silently cursed herself for getting emotional, and realized she'd actually been crying as she thought of the good times. Get your shit together before you get us killed, she thought and got her mind back into focus.
A pair of feet went by slowly, shoe-less and bloody. She watched as the zombie wandered down the street, past the bars that used to be filled with excited baseball fans. Now they were gutted and empty. Darlene would've liked to survive as long as she could in a nice Red Sox jersey and make daddy proud.
Curiosity getting the better of her, she slid out from underneath the car and made sure nothing was sneaking up on her. She ran across the street, peeking into the first open doorway. There was nothing left inside but the gutted bar and a few broken chairs.
The souvenir store next to that was free of fire damage but the looters had been thorough: not even a Red Sox sticker was left.
"Now what?" she whispered. Her run from Maine to Boston had been uneventful save the pickup running out of gas, a horde of zombies following her into Massachusetts and meager food left wherever she looked. "And no survivors."
She guessed it was familiarity and the simple looking for a safe haven that brought her to Fenway Park. Now that she was here she had no idea where to go now.
The third building was scorched but there were still bottles of alcohol behind the bar. She found a bag of pretzels - stale, but she didn't care - and a unopened can of cashews as well. Grabbing a bottle of Cruzan pineapple rum and two large Absolut vodka bottles from the shelf, she was going to have a veritable feast for dinner tonight.
Back on the street, she wondered which way to go. Back North was nothing but heartbreaking memories and her past… and cold weather coming sooner than later.
"South," she whispered. Darlene had no idea how far south she'd go or if she'd head due south. She decided to head west, into Connecticut and then into New York State until the weather told her to change course.
She looked up into the clear sky above Fenway Park and smiled. Another day and she was still alive. You couldn't ask for anything simpler, she realized. Today she had food and drink (strong drink) and just needed a place to sleep without being attacked.
"Inside the Green Monster would be a fantasy come true," she whispered. As a kid going to games she watched in amazement as the scores were manually changed for the game and out-of-town games by someone inside the tight confines of the wall itself.
One of her favorite players, Manny Ramirez, would often duck inside before an inning and she dreamed of being down there. One of her childhood dreams - besides being a ballerina, a veterinarian, and a movie star - was to work for the Red Sox changing the scores while her daddy sat in the stands with pride.
There were only a few zombies on the street and Darlene easily avoided them as she jogged around the stadium, looking for a way in. She eventually ended up at the same spot, the only possible way in to scale a fifteen foot chain-link fence with barbed wire on top.
Once again she looked up at the green stadium wall before her, perhaps in anticipation of seeing it from inside and basking in its marvel.
There was movement on top of the wall.
Darlene put her hands up to wave and get their attention, noting at least three figures, when she saw the rifles. Before she could move a bullet ricocheted off the car in front of her and slammed into the side of the stadium wall.
"I'm alive! I'm alive!" Darlene yelled as she ran back across the street and into the intact building she'd found the supplies in. Two more bullets were fired, shattering the cracked front window and taking a chip out of the doorframe.
She couldn't see the top of the wall from inside but she didn't want to chance a look and get shot. She didn't know if they were warning shots to scare her off or a bad shooter that couldn't hit a moving target. There was no way she was going to stand in the street and ask.
The first zombie came into view outside, obviously attracted to the noise. Within minutes the street was filling with them. No further gunshots rang out, which aggravated Darlene. Whoever was up there would waste bullets on the living but ignore the walking dead.
"Who am I kidding? I'm going to find a hole, get drunk, and sleep it off for three days," she whispered. Darlene went in search of a back door.
Chapter Five
Fire Starter
He stood motionless, his left hand holding the small blowtorch and his right the gasoline can. He was bald, with no hair on his face or naked body. In fact, Darlene realized, he was unnaturally hairless. Even his eyebrows were gone. Despite his family jewels dangling she didn't look away. This guy is not right in the head, she thought.
Darlene stood in the feminine hygiene aisle of the pharmacy, about to scoop up every last tampon before her. She had just filled her shopping cart with Midol, ibuprofen, Tylenol, and ten boxes of Kleenex.
The fact that this tiny, out of the way pharmacy was not only untouched but still filled with product was too good to be true.
"I just need to stock up," she finally said.
Without a word he held up the gasoline can and shook it. She heard the gas sloshing around inside.
"Please, can I just get what I came for and go?"
He grinned, his face stretching around his pale lips. Darlene wondered how many zombies wandering around would take this crazy for one of their own.
She didn't want to kill him, and there were enough undead in the area so shooting him with her Desert Eagle wasn't a viable option.
He looked down and gently turned the gasoline can, spilling it slowly on the worn cement floor of the pharmacy.
"There's a store filled with supplies and you're going to torch it? I can't let you do that," she said and drew her weapon.
He ignored her and started splashing the products on the shelves. He still held the blowtorch, and she didn't know if shooting him was a wise decision.
"Is it in movies or real life that shit like this happens, when I shoot him and he falls and the blowtorch is still hot and the fucking building blows up and kills me?" she whispered. She didn't want to find out.
She took a step toward him when he suddenly looked up and held the blowtorch before him, still grinning. With his other hand and swung the gas can around in front of the flame.
"What the fuck is wrong with you? It's the end of the world and I have my period, dickhead."
Instead of responding he started splashing more fuel around him, coating everything in arm's length.
The fumes were starting to get to Darlene, even though this crazy bastard didn't seem fazed.
She decided to back slowly away from him with her half-filled shopping cart.
Two steps back and he was staring at her again and waving the blowtorch.
"Fuck you," she finally said and spun on her heels, trying to yank the shopping cart around as well.
The gasoline can spun overhead, aflame, and crashed against the shelf she'd previously been shopping at. The fire crawled up and down shelf like a hungry spider, catching cardboard boxes.
Darlene had no choice but to abandon the supplies and begin running, wondering if he would give chase.
At the front counter, just before reaching the door, she stopped and turned, hoping if he was behind her she'd surprise him.
Instead, she heard him tossing entire shelves to the ground.
"Sick fucker," she whispered.
The flames were already engulfing the section and smoke billowed to the roof, found nowhere to go, and began spreading.
Darlene grabbed a small hand basket from next to the counter and filled it with as many candy bars, small bags of chips and warm sodas as she could fit.
"Bingo," she cried when she saw the travel packs of tampons and medicine behind the counter.
She lunged across the counter and made room in her basket by discarding melting candy bars, and filled it, stuffing her pockets with Advil singles.
Before she could leave he was suddenly in the nearest aisle holding a flaming tube of gift wrap. The grin hadn't left his face as he waved it around.
"Fuck you," Darlene finally said and pulled the Desert Eagle. At this point she'd rather face a horde of undead than this psycho. "Dickhead."
She put a bullet just above his eyes, right where his eyebrows used to be. He hit the ground, the wrapping paper falling and igniting the gasoline on his feet and legs.
Even dead he was still grinning.
Chapter Six
Ladies Night In Buffalo
The Rusty Bar proclaimed, via the blood-streaked sign on the intact door, the best buffalo wings in the world. Darlene doubted she'd get a chance to try them. At this point a handful of ketchup packets would be heaven.
Moving across the northeast in a normal world was hard enough, but adding zombies, looters and blocked main roads and you had a heck of a time getting anywhere.
"And now I'm in fucking Buffalo and I'm cold," she whispered. She was grateful it wasn't winter and there wasn't three feet of snow on the ground. She knew the snow could pile up out here just like in Maine. She was only wearing jeans and a T-shirt she'd gotten weeks back after the attack at the mall. Already her boots were scuffed and the soles beginning to wear down.
Finally, feeling stupid for standing out here in the cold and exposed to undead, she tried the door and smiled when it opened.
Before she'd gotten two steps inside she felt the cold steel pressed against the side of her head. "Freeze."
"Not a problem," Darlene said, making sure whoever had the gun to her head could hear her. Zombies didn't talk.
"Hurry up inside but keep your hands up where I can see them."
"It's dark, I can't see," she said.
She was pulled roughly inside and she heard the door shut and barred. A light was suddenly thrust into her eyes as two different sets of hands rummaged through her meager supplies, stripping her backpack from her shoulder. She felt her Desert Eagle, cold against her back, as it was pulled out and taken. The entire time the gun was still to her head.
"Talk," the voice said.
"I'm just hungry and passing through. I'm trying to survive just like you, alright?" Darlene closed her eyes, bright white spots blinking from the flashlight. At least they were talking. She figured as long as she was holding their attention they wouldn't pull the trigger. "Obviously I came to the wrong bar."
Someone snickered and the light was shined down to the worn floor.
"Follow me." The light began to move so Darlene followed, knowing there were at least two people behind her and one ahead.
A door was opened and candle light spilled from it. She realized she had originally been in a small hallway and was now in the main bar area, where at least thirty heads looked up at her.
"Have a seat right there," the man who was leading them said and pointed to a single chair against the wall. "Doug will be back shortly."
No one spoke as she sat. She noticed only three women present and they looked beaten-down and scared. One of them, an older blonde, was staring at her with a strange look on her face. Darlene smiled at her but she looked away.
"I'm Rusty, and this is my bar." He was in his late forties, a rough and tumble-looking Good Ol' Boy, with an American flag tattoo on his shoulder. He wore a faded denim sleeveless jacket and matching blue jeans, his Buffalo Bills hat on backwards. His beard was scruffy but Darlene figured his look had nothing to do with the end of the world. Zombies or not, this was a guy who was right at home with the chaos.
"Pleased to meet you, Rusty. Nice place you have here," Darlene said and offered her hand. He looked at her with a smirk and ignored the gesture. Someone sitting at the bar said something and everyone laughed, watching the awkward exchange.
"Hungry?" Rusty asked her.
"Yes, but not if it's a bother. I'm actually just moving along, decided to check out the place before I headed out," she said. Darlene was getting a bad, bad vibe from these peop
le.
Rusty stared at her for a minute, slowly looking her body over. "No trouble at all." He turned away and walked past the loud group at the bar, sure he heard Rusty say 'dibs' as he disappeared into the back room.
I need to leave. No way I'm going to be this guy's bitch, she thought. She was about to make a run for it when she realized her Desert Eagle and backpack were gone. She wouldn't get far without them.
The guy who'd led her in was nowhere to be found and scanning the room only elicited catcalls and rude comments, loud enough for her to hear but never directly at her.
Rusty returned with a paper plate overflowing with food: French fries, Buffalo wings, coleslaw and baked beans. "Southern cooking, just like mama used to make," he said with a laugh. "Sorry, but we ran out of silverware."
"Thank you," Darlene said. "It looks delicious."
He smiled with genuine pride. "Made it all myself. The fancy place up the road might be credited with making the first Buffalo wings but I make them best."
She waited until he walked away to begin digging in with her fingers, savoring the rich taste of each item. He was a damn fine cook and she had the briefest thought of staying here and trying to fit in. When she looked up from her half-finished plate her last swallow was caught in her throat.
The bar had gone silent and everyone was openly staring at her, waiting for something. The woman looked at her with that expression again and Darlene realized it was with relief. The woman was actually smiling when Darlene began to feel woozy.
* * * * *
Darlene woke, in the fetal position, on a dirty mattress. Her clothes were gone and her body felt like one big bruise. Her mind felt fuzzy around the edges, like she'd taken too much cough syrup.
Dying Days Page 2