Still Dying 2 (Dying Days)

by Armand Rosamilia

  A pair of zombies who had once been men approached a lichen-covered statue of a dancing nymph.

  Otis was right. She was going to have to do something to save the statues from the ill-intentioned zombies.

  The Happiest Kingdom on Earth

  Brent Abell

  “I always wanted to come here as a kid…now look at it!” Harry shouted and raised his arms to the heavens. Like before, the silence was deafening.

  “Will you shut your fuckin’ yap Harry, you’ll bring every damn zombie in the place right to us,” George responded and shot Harry with what has been affectionately referred to as ‘The Stare” since they met up three days ago. While in his early twenties, Harry acted like an innocent kid and George had taken a shine to him. Not that he showed it, but he liked the kid.

  Harry and George stood atop the monorail track and tried to get a good lay of the land as darkness began to descend on central Florida. Since they arrived at the Milton Mouse World theme park, the quiet had been disconcerting. The old train that once circled the park was reduced to a twisted burnt out husk blocking the entrance gates. Carbon scarred the front walls from the fire that burned through the train, but, from their vantage point, nothing moved on the other side of the happy gates.

  “We might find food in there,” Harry gleefully noted and began to descend from the monorail track.

  George felt his stomach rumble in response to the word ‘food’. Shaking his head, he slowly began his trip down the ladder. By the time his feet touched the ground again, he found Harry trying to scale the wrecked train.

  “Come on George, I think it’s abandoned,” Harry said and stretched up to the train rail above his head. His hand slipped and he fell back onto the engine’s window. Along the window, jagged shards poked into his back but didn’t slice through his shirt.

  “You alright, Harry?” George asked.

  Harry tilted his head back and laughed. “So, you do care!”

  “Son of a bitch,” George mumbled back under his breath.

  Harry sat up and swung his legs over the side. Carefully, he shimmied down the train and jumped back on the brick walkway. Both men scanned the area and didn’t see anything coming at them so they relaxed and approached the gateway. Through the bars, they saw napkins, cups, and other debris blowing around in the wind whipping through the park. The ticket booth door stood wide open and dark brownish smears and splatters covered the wall around the window. The breeze carried the distinct stench of death and decay.

  “Looks like they were here,” Harry whispered. His demeanor turned more solemn and serious.

  “Maybe they already moved on. I’ve heard talk, in some camps, they are moving south.”

  “What do you think? It sure smells like ‘em in there.”

  “I think it’s too quiet, but maybe this place has already been cleared and their remains are what we smell. I ran into a guy headed west away from St. Augustine two weeks ago and he said a pack can appear out of nowhere and surprise ya’,” George answered. His eyes stayed glued on the “Main Street” themed area at the front of the park. Windows were shattered and the various souvenirs and trinkets were strewn about in the street like a riot had descended on the park. In the distance, they saw Milton Mouse’s Fairytale Castle.

  In the left spire, a light burned.

  “Holy shit, George,” Harry gasped pointing.

  “Mother fuck…let’s hurry and get through this mess before night falls and we’re left in the dark out here,” George said. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and began examining the outer perimeter wall.

  Harry began to feel his way around the train, trying to find a place they could use to scale the wall. The sun quickly descended in the west and he frantically felt through the twisted wreckage for a handhold. Sharp points and torn metal bit into his hand and he sensed something warm trickling down his forearms.

  “Shit,” he muttered and silently prayed they were alone.

  “Hey, Harry! Come here,” George called out from the edge of the gate area.

  The sound in George’s voice made Harry cringe because he realized he’d bled for nothing. He hoped the smell wouldn’t attract any unwanted attention. Once he climbed down, he looked at his hand and saw a gash along his palm and a trail of crimson running along his arm.

  “Get over here; I found a way in.”

  Sure enough, after he cleared a row of bushes, he caught sight of George standing there grinning, holding open a door that blended into the gateway area.

  “You suck, George, you know that?” Harry spat and pushed through the door and onto Main Street.

  * * * * *

  He watched them enter the park through the hidden door and he knew his kingdom had new guests. Sipping the warm water from his ceramic Milton Mouse mug, he smiled and sat the binoculars back on the table beside the window.

  “How I love it when new game pieces come for tea,” the man whispered and laughed.

  Outside, the two small dots began their journey down Main Street and into the heart of the park.

  * * * * *

  Right off, the park’s silence unsettled George. Since the shit hit the fan, he’d been in more scrapes and spilled more blood than any man ever should, but something in his gut didn’t feel right. Harry dashed up ahead of him and poked his head in the first broken window they came across.

  “George! Check this shit out! There are all kinds of candy all over the floor and lots of cool stuff,” Harry exclaimed.

  George grunted and shook his head as Harry carefully climbed through the store front’s broken window.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he muttered and approached the shop.

  Inside, a loud cackling laugh echoed in the silent park. Glass shattered and George heard loud banging, followed by sobs. George went to the door and gently pushed on the green door. Dried blood covered it and he drew his knife as he opened the door.

  Harry lay sprawled out on the floor and he waved his arms and legs along the carpet like he was making a snow angel. Insects covered the rotted apples and candy from the broken gum drop jars. Molded bread and meats sat on the counter where the clerks and shopping families left it in their hurry to leave the store/deli.

  “All this blood,” George whispered.

  “Look at the candy, George!” Harry yelled.

  “Shut up,” George hissed.

  “Ok, ok,” he answered and began to climb to his feet.

  “Something isn’t right, Harry. Look around at all the blood.” George pointed to rust colored smears along the wall and the dark splatters decorating the t-shirt racks.

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  “There’s no fucking bodies,” George said slowly.

  Realization crept across Harry’s face and he gripped his gun tightly. His knuckles turned white and he tensed up.

  “Welcome back to reality Harry,” George said.

  “Sorry, it’s just…well, I got carried away. We’ve been on the road hiding and surviving for a bit together and being here with no zombies in sight brought out the kid in me.”

  “Hey, don’t wor…”

  A rolling ball from the other side of the store froze George in mid-sentence. Both men raised their guns and turned to the back. George motioned for Harry to drop and they lowered themselves below the clothes racks. Glass crunched and steps came closer and closer to them. Harry looked over at George and smiled.

  What is that dumb son-of-a-bitch doing? He thought. His palms started perspiring and he tried to slow his breathing. His breath hitched and his eyes widened.

  Closer the steps came and the ball rolled between the racks they hid behind. George could make out the walk as that of a zombie; a step on the toys, candy, and glass covering the floor followed by a dragging sound. He glanced over at Harry and he held his pistol up at the ready. Closer and closer the steps came, followed by the dragging sound. George closed his eyes and, silently, he prayed. He’d never been a religious man in his past life, but after the incident wi
th the twins in Bonita Springs he found talking to someone therapeutic. Whether or not anyone was listening, he still didn’t know.

  Finishing his prayer, he opened his eyes and found Harry ready to pounce. Two more steps and the zombie sounded like it stopped a few feet away from the clothes rack. George strained to hear better, but his heart kept slamming in his chest and he wondered if he was either having a heart attack or if the zombie could hear it.

  Then he thought he heard it take a breath.

  George shot up from behind the rack and pointed his shotgun where he heard the zombie approach them. A small wiry man quickly put his hands in the air and frantically waved them around.

  “Wait! Wait! Don’t shoot, I’m alive! I’m alive!” The man shouted.

  “Who are you?” George asked. He kept the gun aimed at the man. In the corner of his eye, he spied Harry sneak around the other side of the rack he took refuge behind.

  The man froze when the gun Harry held was pressed against the side of his head. “The man asked you a question.”

  “My name is Johnny Gaines and I live here,” the skinny man said.

  “Live here?” Harry asked. He lowered the gun from the man’s temple, but kept it at the ready.

  “There’s a community of us living here in the park, but most of the time we stay within the Fairytale Castle. We fortified it and small groups roam the park checking for food, zombies, and to make sure the perimeter walls are holding. A guy from Miami swore he saw a horde of them things collapse a brick wall because so many of them kept pushing against it,” Johnny said. He lowered his arms and tried to catch his breath.

  “How many are here?” George inquired.

  “About fifty, I think,” Johnny answered.

  “Anyone in charge?” George continued.

  “We have a leader, yes. A man named Rendell Walker. He took us in and takes care of our little slice of safety here in Milton Mouse World.”

  “He accepting new residents?” Harry asked with a big grin spreading across his face, “I could live here forever.”

  “I can take you to him. He’ll want to know how you got in here to begin with.”

  George and Harry lowered the guns and nodded to each other. A safe place to rest sounded perfect, but George had his reservations.

  Sounds too good to be true, he thought and followed Johnny back out into the park.

  * * * * *

  Rendell Walker stood on the balcony and watched the three figures march up Main Street toward the castle and smiled. The twilight sky glowed in purples, reds, and oranges as the last of daylight faded away. He loved the late evening hours, it helped to calm him and focus his mind. People depended on him and that was no small order for a man who all his adult life cleaned the shit and piss off the bathroom floors from the bastard children who came to Milton Mouse World in droves every day.

  But, every dog has his day and having the proverbial ‘keys to the kingdom’ on the day the zombie infestation reached the theme park was a God-send. While the new dead ate their way through the throngs of dazed tourists, he holed up in the employee-only floors of the Fairytale Castle. From his perch, he sat for days and watched the zombies eat through the remaining visitors who didn’t hide very well. He found it very entertaining and, every so often, when he saw someone exhibit some sort of survival skill fighting through the park, he’d rush down to let them up into his hiding spot.

  Then they moved on.

  Somebody cleared their throat behind him, announcing their presence.

  “Yes?” Rendell asked without turning to acknowledge the person behind him.

  “Johnny has reached the first checkpoint and he has two people with him,” the man reported.

  “Doug,” Rendell said turning, “go and welcome them. These two might be the answer I’ve been seeking the past few days.”

  “Answer to what? You have been rather quiet up here for the last days and the rumors are swirling among the people.”

  “Rumors?”

  “They wonder if it’s all over and they can go on back to check on their homes or search for family.”

  My people want to abandon me? He thought.

  “I can see beyond our walls here and you can tell them the danger is still out there. Have Johnny bring me the two people he found on Main Street; I want to see what information we can get from them,” he said and quickly turned back to the balcony.

  Doug waited a few moments before leaving to do Rendell’s bidding. He knew if he didn’t, the Maze awaited.

  * * * * *

  Harry stopped and stared at the Fairytale Castle’s gates. The dragon adorned wooden doors looked like they were twenty-feet tall and the memories of all the cartoons he watched as kid came flooding back. Reality did settle in after a fleeting moment of remembrance. The once pristine white of the castle’s outer wall was marred with black scorch marks from fires and the moat around the castle smelled like a sewer. He peered over the draw bridge as they crossed it and saw feces and other waste floating by. Wrinkling his nose, he hurried to catch up with George and Johnny.

  “Have you guys seen any zombies in the park lately?” George asked.

  “No, we haven’t seen any for about a week now. Not sure if they think the foods all gone or if they gave up trying to get inside here. Whatever happened, Rendell will fill you in.”

  “Damn that moat stinks,” Harry muttered when he caught back up.

  “Electricity went out about four days after the worst of the attacks went through here. Hard to flush when the plumbing doesn’t have the juice to run the pumps anymore,” Johnny said and gave an amused snort.

  “Well, for the last week, we’ve been on the road headin’ north, so we know what you mean about the lack of nice things,” George said.

  Johnny reached up and gave a series of knocks on the massive wooden doors. Another sequence of bangs on the door answered Johnny back and they heard the metal latches on the inside begin to slide from the door. The heavy wooden doors groaned as they swung outward, revealing the fortification built within.

  Men stood in lines on either side of the door with rifles, shotguns, and shovels. Their clothes were dirty and stained with weeks of sweat from the sweltering Florida heat. Dirt caked their faces and all of them looked dazed.

  “What’s with the goon squad?” George asked.

  “These men watched their families die the day the park was overrun by the zombies and they’ve never been right in the head since. We have water and an almost unlimited amount of clean shirts from all the shops and storerooms, but they prefer to stay like this; the way they dressed on that day,” Johnny explained and led them on.

  “Some men just can’t take the trauma, I suppose,” Harry whistled and strolled past the doors.

  “Shut up,” George said and pushed past him.

  The three men marched past the filthy sentries and entered another world.

  * * * * *

  George felt like he’d gone through a time warp and ended up in the Middle Ages. The survivors used every little bit of the castle’s interior to build a market place on the main floor and had a wide array of weapons and defense apparatuses positioned strategically around the entrance hallway. People milled about like nothing was going on on the other side of the castle walls. A chill ran up George’s spine as he looked at the dead expressions the people in the square wore on their grimy faces.

  “Harry? Maybe we shouldn’t put these people out or anything,” George whispered quietly.

  Johnny turned and smiled his broad toothy grin, “Oh, come now, you’re not putting us out around here. Let me take you to Rendell and then you can decide if you want to go back out there or if you want to stay here in our little refuge.”

  “Let’s hear the man out at least,” Harry said and slung his rifle over his shoulder.

  George never realized he was gripping his so hard his fingers were growing numb and his knuckles turned white. He nodded over at Johnny and he led them up the winding staircase to the upper-
levels of the castle.

  * * * * *

  After twelve grueling flights of stairs, the three men stood before the penthouse. In the world before the zombies, the penthouse only saw use as a special suite for sick and dying children so they could feel special one last time. Now, it served as the personal room and residence of Rendell Walker, King of all he could see. George sniffed the air and noticed the funky smells of waste and sweat from the lower levels were gone and he could breathe without wanting to vomit.

  “Welcome to Paradise,” Johnny said and opened the chamber door.

  George looked into the large antechamber and saw a makeshift throne set up at the far end. The stone floor was lined with food boxes, guns, and ammo. Then an unmistakable stench found George’s nose.

  “Zombies,” he muttered and raised his rifle.

  “There is no need for your weapons here. Welcome, please drop your guns on the floor; you’re among friends in this happy place!” a voice called out from the shadows around the throne.

  A diminutive man stepped out from the shadows and held his arms wide open. George stifled a laugh and covered his mouth with his hand. The figure stomped over to the throne and climbed up on it.

  “Please, come here and let me see our guests, Johnny,” the man cackled.

  Johnny led George and Harry closer to the throne and motioned for them to stop a few feet in front. In the alcoves besides the windows, George heard rattling that sounded like chains and the familiar moaning of the undead.

  “I found them in the Bedlam Candies Boutique when I was out on patrol this afternoon,” Johnny said and backed away.

  “Who are you?” the man on the throne asked.

  “Are you the one they call Rendell?” George answered back with another question.

  “Who told you my name? We do not use the name of my former life here. My name is either ‘sir’ or ‘his majesty’,” Rendell sneered back.