Still Dying: Select Scenes From Dying Days

by Armand Rosamilia

  "It would've been quicker if you'd have woken me up earlier," Cheryl said with a hint of annoyance.

  "You looked so peaceful," David said and smiled at her. She didn't return it.

  "We've planned and planned this."

  "I know. But we already had all the cases in the garage ready to go and it would've taken longer to come upstairs, wake you and then get back into the garage. From the time I heard the news until we left it was really forty-nine minutes." David slowed down at an intersection backed up with cars. He stopped and backed up, shooting down a side street. "I had the truck done in under ten minutes."

  "Together we did it in eight." Cheryl looked at the GPS system. "You're heading down a dead end."

  "There's a park up ahead. I can cut through and get onto another road." David turned to her again. "Sorry."

  Cheryl laughed. "Don't be sorry. Just get us out of the city and hook up with our parents." She took the SpecPhone from her husband and dialed her parents. "No answer," she said after a minute.

  David pulled into the parking lot of the small park and jumped the curb. He cruised past the empty swing sets and slide. "I just wanted another excuse to go off-road."

  Cheryl held up her cell phone. "No signal already."

  The Ford Raptor bounced the curb and they were on a quiet side street. At the next intersection David steered onto the sidewalk and went around stopped traffic.

  "The power is out." David didn't want to panic but he was close. By his worst estimate they should've been out of Hastings already. Instead they were still moving street to street. In every scenario they'd gone through getting a jump on traffic and getting out of town and north was the easy part. Now they were heading west, away from their ultimate destination, and into the unknown.

  Cheryl looked frantic as she went back to the SpecPhone. "Their car hasn't moved. What does that mean?"

  David knew what it probably meant. "Call my parents back and see where they are." He didn't want to waste any more time but knew leaving Minnesota without their four parents wasn't an option. "We'll swing over to your parents and grab them. It's actually almost on the way." It was about twenty miles out of the way but David bit his tongue.

  * * * * *

  The Ford Raptor was the perfect vehicle as David ate up the miles slowly, driving over lawns, crashing through a couple of fences, and pushing an abandoned car slowly out of the way. But it was taking too long and Cheryl was getting antsy.

  "Call them again," he said as he backed up and rode the sidewalk at the next intersection and the latest traffic jam. The main roads were clogged and the side streets were now packed with parked cars.

  "They aren't answering," Cheryl said with a hitch in her voice. Her parent's car hadn't moved and David's parent's car seemed to be moving steadily away from them, according to the GPS tracking devices. "I'm going to plug the TV in."

  "Good idea." The police bands were either silent or a cacophony of screaming people, neither of which was helpful. David was driving over more front lawns and through more gates than asphalt. They needed to come up with another plan, but he was blank.

  Cheryl had climbed into the backseat and fed him the power cord to the portable television. He plugged it into the cigarette lighter.

  So far they'd only encounter living people but for all David knew, they might be heading into a horde of the dead. He felt like he was simply driving randomly and wasting their gas.

  "Wow. Pull over," Cheryl said quietly. "You have to see Minneapolis."

  David backed into someone's driveway and cut the engine to save fuel, using the auxiliary power to keep the TV on. He helped her move it to the front and Cheryl slid back into the passenger seat.

  The small eighteen inch screen showed a city ablaze, a shot from a news helicopter. When they went in for a tighter shot on the ground there were dozens of bloody and ragged people stumbling down a road in pursuit of running people.

  "They seem to be slow, which is in our favor. As long as a large group doesn't surround us we should be able to get away if need be. We'll conserve our ammo and use the machetes whenever we need to."

  Cheryl began crying.

  David put a hand on her shoulder. "Baby, we're prepared. We can get through this."

  Cheryl turned to him and frowned. "Get through this? It is the end of the world, David. Our plans were for nothing. We can't get into Canada. Our parents aren't here with us like we practiced. So far we're driving around aimlessly. There is no way we can go west or north and you know it."

  Before David could respond the SpecPhone rang.

  "Hello?" Cheryl answered and closed her eyes. She was listening for a minute before handing the phone to David. "It's your dad. He wants to talk to you now."

  David took the phone and put it to his ear with dread. "Dad? Are you and mom alright?"

  "Listen son, like I just told Cheryl: we love you two."

  "I'm coming to get you."

  "David, you're as stubborn as your mother. We're heading southwest right now. It's the only open way to go. There's talk on the radio about people heading to Texas and Florida."

  "These things are everywhere, dad. You need to stop somewhere and let me find you. We can double back and head into Canada."

  "There is no more Canada. We stopped to help a couple heading south about twenty minutes ago."

  "Dad, I told you to stay away from people."

  "It was your mother, you know how she is. The people were coming from Canada, the borders collapsed already. It looks like the entire population of our northern neighbors is infected and heading our way."

  "Where are you now? I'll head your way and we can meet up."

  "Son… head south. We'll meet in a southern State."

  David didn't want to hear this. They had a plan, and it wasn't working. Nothing was going the way it was supposed to.

  "No, I'm coming your way. I have your car on my GPS." David started the Ford Raptor and pulled out of the driveway.

  "I'm telling you to forget about us."

  David punched the steering wheel in frustration. "Dad, I'm trying to save you."

  "It's too late for us. Your mother… she was bitten. She doesn't look too good."

  Shit. "You need to get away from her…" Shit. "Bind her up so she can't bite you."

  "And then what? Live what's left of this life without her? I can't do it, and you know it. Take Cheryl to safety. Drive south. It's the only chance you have. I'm going to find somewhere pretty and quiet and spend my last few minutes with your mother."

  "Dad, don’t do this," David said and fought back the tears.

  "I loaded the Colt .45 you gave me, and you know I can use it. Heck, I taught you how to shoot. I love you, son."

  "I love, too, dad."

  "Give Cheryl a kiss for me and your mother. David… survive this."

  The SpecPhone disconnected.

  At the same moment Cheryl began to scream, pointing at the television. "My parents are gone! The military just bombed Rosemount."

  * * * * *

  South, and away from everything they owned, everyone they loved and everything they'd known. It was almost daybreak and David knew he had to pull over soon. They were running through dirt trails and farmland and doing a great job keeping off the main roads. From the news on the television, there was nowhere safe. Despite the military dropping bombs, blowing up bridges and setting up kill zones, the undead were multiplying while the living were being eaten… and worse.

  David looked at his wife, finally sleeping fitfully in the passenger seat, and sighed. He'd failed her. By now they should've been hunkered down in the shelter with their parents, playing a game of Yatzee and listening to the world die around them.

  They were somewhere in Iowa and heading south, cutting through fields and across property lines with abandon. When David saw a housing development he decided to stop. The Raptor was almost on empty and now would be a good time to load up on extra supplies. He still had five gallons of gas as backup but you n
ever knew when it would get scarce.

  He pulled into the farthest driveway, which had two newer Buicks parked, and turned off the engine. Cheryl was immediately alert, reaching for her Colt .45.

  "It's alright. We need to siphon some gas again and see if we can find some more food and water." David got out, weapon drawn, and his wife followed suit. "Keep watch." He glanced at the house, a well-kept ranch house with a Big Wheel parked on the grass. "I doubt anyone is home, but if they are they might shoot us."

  As Cheryl climbed onto the first car and scanned the neighborhood for movement, David pulled a small length of hose from the rear of the Ford Raptor and began pulling gas from the first car into theirs. He peered into the window. "This one is full. We might get lucky here."

  David emptied as much as he could from the first tank and started on the second car, which was three-quarters full. "This is taking too long. Anything?"

  "It's a ghost town. I don't see fires, bodies, damage to any of the houses… nothing unusual. Just another sunny day."

  David packed the hose in the truck and sighed. "Should we go inside?"

  Cheryl hesitated. "Do we need to?"

  "I'm not sure how bad this is going to get. The military might have contained it, but from the radio conversations I've been listening to, it broke through and Minnesota is pretty much gone. We're only in Iowa. We have a long run ahead of us. We have enough food for a month, but if it keeps going to hell we might wish we'd stopped more often."

  Cheryl nodded. "Let's do this quickly. I don't like it."

  When they reached the walk they stopped. The front door was ajar.

  "Hello?" David called, getting into a defensive stance and using the corner of the garage for a shield. "Anyone inside?"

  "What are you doing?" Cheryl whispered behind him.

  Without looking back he spoke quietly. "The door is open but I don’t see any signs of a struggle. Either they left, which is more than possible, or they are trying to trap us. I think we need to be cautious with living or dead people from this point forward."

  "Hello?" he repeated.

  "You're wearing fatigues. Tell them you're military."

  David smiled. "That's why I married you." He stepped out cautiously but still trained the Colt .45 on the door, eyes glancing at the windows. "I'm United States military. We're searching for survivors. This area is going to fall soon."

  He heard something inside, a small shuffling noise. "Someone is inside."

  "Hopefully not something."

  David raised his voice again. "Last chance before we move on."

  He counted to twenty and then took a step forward, ready to rush in and do what he had to do. He imagined the house filled with zombies, although the news accounts so far were talking about them being mindless and hungry like popular movies and fiction always assumed. You nailed that one, Romero.

  "Don't shoot, please don't shoot!"

  David checked his weapon. "Come out slowly."

  A middle aged man stepped outside, squinting with his arms raised. "This is my home."

  David nodded. "Who else is inside?"

  "My family."

  "Tell them to come out slowly." David still held the Colt .45 and now Cheryl joined him.

  The man looked confused. "I thought you said you were the military. Where are the tanks and big guns?"

  David shook his head. "We're not the military. Not anymore. I'm David Monsour and this is my wife Cheryl. We're trying to escape."

  A pretty older woman and two young daughters stepped outside.

  "Are we being evacuated?" the youngest girl asked.

  "I don't know, sweetheart." The man put his hands down. "I'm Chris Everson, and this is my wife Judy and our girls, Allie and Edy."

  David didn’t want this to go bad and he felt sorry for rattling the family. But better safe than getting bitten or shot at by a homeowner. "Do you have any weapons to defend yourself with?"

  The man shook his head. "We've just been hiding in the garage."

  "Come with me," David said. When the man didn't move, David smiled. "We're not the bad guys, but they'll be here soon. Trust me."

  He followed David to the back of the Ford Raptor. "Nice wheels," he said. "Where did you find this?"

  "I actually bought it a year ago. I've kept it in the garage ready to go. It had less than three hundred miles on it when we started running. I guess I won’t have to worry about another car payment on it." David opened the back and pulled out a small box. "Ever fire a gun before?"

  The man grinned. "I'm from Iowa. We're born with a rifle in our hands."

  "Good. This is for you. Protect those girls."

  "Mister, I can't take this from you. What if you need it for your family?"

  "We have enough firepower to get us where we're going."

  The man opened the box. "Wow," he finally said.

  "It's a Sig Sauer 1911 Nitron with two full magazines, which only gives you sixteen shots, so use them wisely."

  "Why are you helping a stranger?"

  "I've worked this scenario in my head and on paper for years. No matter what disaster struck, I had a plan. Now that we're in the damn thing nothing is working the way I wanted it to. But I'm not going to lose who I am. Chris, prepare yourself because there are going to be some messed up individuals in your path from this point out, people who want what you have, and will take those females from you."

  "Why did you stop here?"

  "I siphoned your gas from the two cars, and we'd planned on raiding your home for food and supplies if it was unoccupied."

  Chris nodded. "Fair enough. I'm glad you aren't some of the men I know will eventually come. I didn’t want to go with the others."

  "What others?"

  Chris pointed down the empty road. "The rec center at the end of the block. All the other neighbors took the sick and the kids down there and barricaded it in."

  "Why didn’t you go?"

  "I really never liked too many of my neighbors. And I've seen enough zombie movies to know you abandon the sick or everyone will be infected. And shoot them in the head."

  * * * * *

  Chris and his family decided it was time to leave as well. After sheepishly apologizing again for stealing their gas, he helped Chris refill the newer car. They jammed the trunk and backseat with only essentials: food, water and camping supplies.

  David and Chris broke into the next home over and raided the pantry, finding a ton of canned goods and bottled water. Most of David's supply was in the bunker in Thunder Bay. If they could get there it would feed all of them for a year.

  Satisfied that they couldn't carry anything else in the two vehicles, they stood in the driveway and got ready to depart.

  On a whim, David gave Chris directions to the bunker in Canada and the pass code to get inside, in the event they were separated. They all knew what an absolute long-shot it would be to head into enemy territory (as everything north of them was) and find a way to the safety of the bunker, but it made David feel better.

  "It's time to go," David said.

  "Are we going to the rec center?" Chris asked.

  "We have to. If they are still alive we need to warn them about what's going on." Cheryl had monitored the various bands all morning and the barriers set in place had all fallen, the military pulling back and scattering. The zombies were marching through Iowa like a locust horde.

  They drove to the end of the road and pulled into the parking lot of the rec center. The windows were boarded from inside and someone with intelligence had parked cars leading up to the front door and side exit to create a killing zone and a maze.

  David kept the Raptor engine running and followed the car maze, weapon drawn. He got to the door and hesitated, listening for noise.

  Nothing.

  Chris was at his side. "Maybe they heard us pull up and are scared? Telling everyone to be quiet?"

  "How many people again?"

  "Probably fifty."

  David knocked on the doo
r. "This is the United States military. I need to speak to whoever is in charge."

  The door shook as something (or several somethings) slammed against it from the other side. It almost creaked off its hinges.

  "Is anyone alive in there?" Chris asked, tears in his eyes.

  The pounding was nonstop and the door would burst soon. "Time to leave," David said.

  "They weren't bad neighbors." Chris jumped into his car.

  "Time to go," David said and put the Ford Raptor in drive just as the door of the rec center collapsed.

  Cheryl raised her Colt .45 but David was already driving away. "Save your bullets."

  David watched in the rearview mirror as the Everson family followed them, dozens of zombies shuffling from the rec center.

  Michael Ross

  He was out of gas, and kicking the pump wasn't helping. Mike Ross didn't care. He stomped back into the gas station, in the middle of nowhere, and checked behind the counter for the third time. The power was definitely out, and without it the pumps were useless.

  "Hello?" he shouted, his anger echoing off the walls. He was tired, hungry and just wanted to get out of here. He glanced out the window to his Harley and pounded his fists on the counter in exasperation. "Last chance before I burn this fucking place down. Come out come out, wherever you are."

  No answer, which he already knew. "I'm eating all the food." Mike picked up a Snickers bar and a Kit Kat and ate, waving the empty wrappers at the dead surveillance camera mounted in the corner. He went to the freezers and touched the glass, smiling when he felt them a bit colder than the room temperature.

  "I'm stealing drinks as well," she shouted, knowing how stupid he sounded, but knowing no one could mock him. He grabbed a twenty ounce Coke and an aluminum can of Bud Light from out of a box.

  He thought about walking east and meeting I-95 and flagging someone down, but it was at least ten miles. He didn't want to walk that far in the Florida sun. Maybe there was a town nearby. It was unlikely they'd dropped a gas station on some hillbilly road in the middle of nothing for no reason. Maybe this was an alternate trucker route or the farmers drove their John Deere tractors up to the pump.