Still Dying
Select Scenes From Dying Days
Still Dying
Select Scenes From Dying Days
Armand Rosamilia
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without expressed written consent of the author and/or artists
This book is a work of fiction. Names characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living, dead or undead, is entirely coincidental.
“Still Dying: Select Scenes From Dying Days” copyright 2012 by Armand Rosamilia
“Dying Days: Origins” excerpt copyright 2012 by Armand Rosamilia
Cover Illustration copyright 2011 by Ash Arceneaux www.asharceneaux.deviantart.com
eBook Edition September 2012
[email protected]
This one goes to
The Extreme Zombie Readers…
Jeff Beesler, M.J. O’Neill and Robert Clark
I couldn’t have done this one without you Undead Three… Yet Again
Jeff Beesler
Russ 'Madman' Meyer
David Monsour
Michael Ross
Steve 'The Breeze' Brack
Noah Stern
M.J. O'Neill
Brenda Ellis
Morris Chambers
Tosha Shorb
The Conner family
Geneva Archer
Armand Rosamilia
Author Notes
Dying Days: Origins Preview
Jeff Beesler
The alarm clock woke him from a nightmare, like most days. Jeff blinked to the daily grind nightmare his life had become and sighed. He deftly rolled out of bed like he did every day, not disturbing his wife, Jenny, and went through the motions. Pee, wash face, brush teeth, comb receding hair (a little less up top again today, he thought), deodorant, dress in his fast-food manager uniform, grab keys and wallet as he hit the door… and repeat for infinity until he died, buried in his ugly faded off-blue wrinkled shirt and royal navy Dockers with scuffed dress shoes.
The ride was even longer since they'd promoted him to the new, bigger restaurant near the Northwest Washington college campus. It was twice the distance of his old store. He'd opened that one as well, fifteen long, long years ago.
Fifteen years of this, he thought for the millionth time as he drove. He'd been eighteen years old and still holding his high school diploma when he saw the billboard announcing the store, only two blocks from his parent's house. Jeff had been undecided about college and decided to work for the summer and then go to school. He'd started as a part-time cashier and within six months was an assistant manager. Within another six he was promoted to manager when his boss, Johnny something or other, or maybe it was Jimmy… anyway, the guy quit and the district manager decided to promote from within (after weeks of searching for a candidate) and making Jeff the manager.
And it had been pretty much the same routine each and every day. Jenny understood his pain (working a dead-end retail job for the last twelve years), and they would nightly congregate at the dinner table and swap war stories about bad customers, bad employees and their shattered dreams of getting out.
In his mid-thirties, Jeff Beesler was already old and burnt out and washed up, feeling like a discarded cheeseburger wrapper. He idly wondered how many cheeseburger wrappers he'd handed out in the last fifteen years.
It was still dark (had to be at work by five in the morning to open up and get the morning crew making breakfast burritos and hotcakes and strong coffee) as he exited the highway and came upon the college campus.
He sighed loudly like he did every single day as he stared at the great lawn leading to the main hall, imagining his life if he'd come here instead, relaxed on the lawn and studied, took philosophy classes and tried for an English Major. Where would he be? Who would he be?
The college was closed, with only the walkway lights on. Empty. But by the time Jeff was driving home from work it would be bustling with people taking night classes, older people who got a late start (that could be me), or younger people thinking they had a bright future ahead of them. He knew of at least three new hires who went to school here and he'd had to juggle his schedule when classes began this semester.
It no longer mattered. Workers would come and go in an endless stream, putting in their time until school ended, they got enough money for rent, or until they grew bored of working or mad having to do something other than play videogames and watch MTV. Was that channel still on?
Jeff pulled into the parking lot and his designated spot and shut the headlights off. He checked his watch: 4:58 a.m. Right on time, as per the usual. The only thing unusual was the fact he was alone.
On weekdays (and today was Tuesday) he was always greeted by Johanna, his morning crew lead. She'd followed him over from the old store and had been in the company just as long, although she was ten years Jeff's senior. Her beat-up Toyota was supposed to be occupying the parking space to his left.
He pulled out his cell phone and checked for messages. Johanna never called out sick. Heck, in fifteen years he couldn't think of one time she'd not come to work. There were no messages. He dialed her number but it went right to voicemail.
Jeff went to the front door, opened up by himself, and had the lights on and the kitchen ready to go by the time the sleepy workers started staggering in. Well, some of them.
"Where's Rory?" Jeff asked Imelda, who was eternally three minutes late and usually rolling in with Rory. They swore they weren't a couple, but Jeff wasn't stupid. As long as they did their jobs and never showed any affection at work he didn't care.
Imelda shrugged. "He didn't answer his doorbell. It was weird. I think he lost power, because his whole block was dark. I banged on the door but no one answered. That's why I'm late."
Jeff checked his watch again. He always opened with six crew members, but there was only Imelda and Sophie, one of the new hires. Half the team to start the day. Had a mutiny happened since yesterday? "Where is everyone?" he asked Imelda.
She shrugged as she started preparing for the morning rush. They had less than an hour until they opened the drive-thru window and started dishing out coffees, bagel sandwiches and sausage muffins.
The only thing to do was pull up his sleeves and move at double speed. He got the grills ready, prepared the fryers and was starting the two coffee machines when the sirens approached, three police cars with flashing lights and sirens zipping by.
"Something bad is going on somewhere," Sophie said. She looked bored. She was only nineteen, but she was proving to be a good worker so far. The front end counter space was almost ready, with extra items like ketchup and sugar packets ready to be dispensed.
Within minutes another police car went by, lights and sirens on.
Imelda's cell phone rang in her pocket and she looked at Jeff.
"No cell phones on the floor, you know the rules."
"I didn't have time to put it in the back." Imelda looked at the phone as she pulled it out. "It's my mom."
Jeff wanted to take it away, but he was short-staffed and the worst thing would be to piss her off and have her slow down or, worse, leave altogether. "Hurry up."
Sophie stacked the empty coffee cups in their spinners and smiled at Jeff. "Some weird morning so far."
"Yeah, half the staff seems to have quit. I'm thankful you came to work today." Jeff returned her smile. "It shows a good work ethic and loyalty. I really do appreciate it." Jeff had no idea what
else to say to her and realized he was babbling. He turned away. "Imelda?"
Imelda was leaning against the counter staring blankly at her phone.
"Is everything alright?" Shit, Jeff didn't need her to leave now, but he could see something was definitely wrong with her. He was already short-staffed and knew once the drive thru window was open and the line formed they'd quickly get behind.
"Yes… no… I don't know." Imelda looked at him and started to cry. "My dad bit my mother."
"What?" Jeff and Sophie both asked at the same time.
"I can't understand everything she's saying because she's hysterical."
"Did she call the police?"
"Yes, but there isn't an answer. That doesn't make sense. How does 911 not answer the phone?" Imelda started to cry again. "She locked herself in the bathroom with the phone. She said he was crazy, out of control, and wasn't talking. That's not my dad. He's nice to my mother, and to me."
Sophie comforted her. "Call 911 for her."
"Great idea." Jeff checked his watch. They were running out of time to prepare for the morning.
Imelda dialed her cell phone and put it to her ear, wiping tears from her cheeks.
"Everything is going to be fine," Sophie comforted her.
Jeff ran and started prepping as many things as he could. They'd be open in moments and there was no food prepared, the money wasn't out of the safe and into the registers, the outside parking lot hadn't been cleaned, and more product brought from the walk-in freezer. Jeff stopped. "Where's Julio?"
Julio was one of the driver's for the company, and this morning was bread delivery. Promptly at 5:30 the truck would pull into the parking lot and to the back door. Jeff would help unload the buns and other bread products for the next four days. The entire delivery took all of five minutes, but it was the routine. Jeff went to the backdoor and peered through the peephole. No truck. He already knew there wasn't, because Julio always hit his high-beams into the restaurant when he first pulled in, letting them know he was here. He'd light up the place.
"I have to leave," Imelda said to Jeff as he started getting the hash browns ready.
"What did the police say?" Jeff asked, trying not to panic. He couldn't run the restaurant with two of them.
"They didn't answer. No one is answering their phone."
Another round of police cars drove down the highway, going in the other direction.
Jeff tried to remain calm and professional. "I'm sure everything is fine. If you need to leave I understand, but I will ask if you'd keep trying to call first before rushing out. Did you try your mother back? Maybe the police are there and it's a big misunderstanding." Jeff knew he was getting close to the line and didn't want to cross it. He cared for the girl and genuinely hoped everything was fine. He didn't want to seem like he was denying her the ability to leave during a family emergency.
Imelda nodded and started dialing again.
Jeff went into his office. He needed to call Lance, his district manager, and tell him what was going on. He'd be chewed out for this. Anytime a store didn't open on time the manager was ripped a new one. Jeff had never been on the receiving end of a tongue lashing from Lance, but he'd seen and heard enough of them to know what was coming.
Maybe he could call another store and get some workers, or call someone from the night crew back in? Jeff decided to call from his roster first and not involve anyone else if possible.
Jeff started going down the phone list, but no one was answering.
Sophie came into the office. "There's a fire."
"Where?"
Jeff followed her to the front of the store. Across the street, through the glass windows of the restaurant, they could see a fireball shoot into the sky in the distance. The buildings on the other side of the highway - the tire store, dollar store and rival fast food chain - were all on fire.
"We need to call 911," Jeff instinctively said.
"It doesn’t work." Imelda was crying again. "I'm leaving. I need to get to my family."
"Go," Jeff said, not taking his eyes off the fires. What was going on this morning?
"Can I leave?" Sophie asked.
"Why?"
"Sir, it's after six and we haven't gotten a car pulling in yet. Look outside. Besides the cops there hasn't been a car on the road. Something fucked up is happening and I'd rather be home with my family than here. Nothing personal."
"Go." Jeff knew there was no way the store was going to open today, especially with the block on fire. He let both girls out, bid them good luck, and locked the door again. He kept the outside lights off.
Back in the office he called the nearest restaurant, but the phone rang fifteen times before he hung up. He started going down that list and wasn't surprised when no one answered.
Reluctantly, he found Lance's cell phone number and called him. Lance answered on the first ring. "Allison?"
"Um, no, Mister Summers, it's Jeff Beesler from store three two five four. We have a situation here."
"No shit. The world is coming to an end."
"Sir?"
"Put the news on, Jim. Dead people are rising up and eating the living, like in a Ving Rhames movie."
Jeff wanted to correct him about getting his name wrong for some reason, the rest of the conversation not registering. He'd worked for this company for fifteen years, and the district manager couldn't get his name right?
"Run to the hills, buddy. We'll all be dead soon."
Jeff hung up the phone and went back into the lobby, watching as the fire raged.
There were people moving around on the highway, a procession of people shuffling along, maybe from the college.
Jeff went outside, locking the door behind him. As he stepped to the road he could see the college itself was also on fire, and the people were staggering away from it.
"Excuse me," he said loudly, trying to get the attention of someone and ask what was going on.
At least thirty people stopped moving and turned to him, almost at the same exact moment.
Jeff saw the dead, vacant looks in their eyes, the blood and ripped clothing, and the sudden smell of rot and death hit him.
They turned and began moving toward the fast food manager.
Russ "Madman" Meyer
"Why are we in Daytona Beach?" Janke asked, placing his backpack on the seat of the nearly empty airport lobby. He pulled out his cell phone and frowned. "I got no bars. None. How is that possible?"
"I don't know." Russ walked up to the security guard, who was sitting behind a desk and watching a television monitor. "Excuse me."
The guard kept staring at the screen, eyes wide.
Russ circled around behind him and saw what he was looking at: some cheesy zombie B movie, a 'live' shot of people getting ripped apart.
Janke came over and leaned across the security counter and smiled at Russ. The two had been en route to New York from Germany when the plane got shifted south several times. When they landed in Virginia it was only to refuel, the passengers told nothing about their final destination.
"Daytona Beach? I've never been here. Is it spring break?" Janke asked. He was the lead on this latest computer programming deal, his last shot at glory before he'd be pushed aside and someone else - like Russ Meyer - would take over.
The two men were friends, but they knew there was always a professional rivalry when two equals went on a major job.
"Can you help me, buddy?" Russ asked the security guard.
The guy turned slowly and Russ could see he was actually crying. This must be some fucking movie, Russ thought. One of those new super-violent zombie movies the kids were watching these days. Utter crap. Russ remembered the great horror movies he'd grown up on, not like this reality-like garbage, with one camera chasing a supposed attack and people screaming and blood everywhere.
As if on cue, the screen went dead.
"Shit." Janke slapped his hands on the counter. "The power went out."
The guard stood, wiped his
eyes, and walked away from the two men without a word.
"What's that guy's problem? Mad because he can't see the end of his movie? Isn't he working?" Russ asked.
Janke laughed. "Now what?"
"The crew said we'd be stuck here for twenty-four hours. I guess we find a hotel room. We can update the program and maybe get a jump on the next presentation."
"Which will be yours, most likely," Janke said and picked up his backpack.
Russ knew it was very likely but genuinely liked Janke. The German-born programmer was his age, had a great sense of humor, was a family man, and grew up in the same kind of family and with the same values as Russ did, despite growing up in Germany and being half a world apart. "Let's go find the rental cars."
The lobby of the terminal was pretty small, just a long narrow corridor with a handful of ticket counters, roped off lines and a single luggage carousel at the end next to a car rental counter, currently unmanned.
"Hello?" Janke said in his thick accent as they approached. "Can you believe the day we're having?"
Russ shook his head. He just wanted to get to New York. He was born and raised in New Jersey and hadn't been home to see his parents or sister in three years. His job took him all over the world but he was based in Germany. The narrow window he thought he would have to complete the job and get a home cooked meal from mom was now out the window. He didn't think they'd make the meeting at all.
Janke was ringing the little bell on top of the counter but no one was coming out from the closed office door. "Now what?"
"Maybe they're all rented." Russ turned back to the sparse crowd of passengers milling about, sitting on their luggage or trying to find a remote corner to relax. He noticed two women using their carry-on bags as pillows while they used the floor as a couch and read from their Kindle e-readers.
Janke obviously saw what Russ was looking at. "I'm not going to sleep on the floor. Let's get out of here and find a hotel. There has to be one within walking distance. I know the race track is close, so we might get lucky and be able to hike it."
Still Dying: Select Scenes From Dying Days Page 1