Highway To Hell (Dying Days Book 1)

by Armand Rosamilia

  It didn’t matter to Randy anymore. Within days the monsters would somehow catch up and add the group to their swelling ranks. It was useless, all of it. Eventually everyone would be dead and everyone would be a zombie.

  Randy had a new plan. He had finally figured out where Becca and Crow were staying in Baltimore, and he decided to pay them a visit sooner than later.

  XVIII

  Three days had passed since the convoy. Randy was able to venture several blocks in any direction without encountering the undead. They’d all moved along in this part of the world, following the noise of fresh meat. He’d managed to amass a clutch of rifles and handguns with a carload of ammunition. An Army/Navy store was a treasure trove of finds: combat boots, a bulletproof vest, a new machete and blades with matching sheaths, and a new wardrobe.

  The odd finds were found in random cars and houses in the area, items that made Randy scoff at how easily a war could have broken out in this part of town. He wondered why more of it hadn’t been used. Maybe it’s like with you, buddy boy, with your mother…

  In an unassuming middle class two-story house in a quiet neighborhood – although at this point Randy guess they were all considered quiet – he found a basement filled with ammo, guns and knives. Apparently, reading the pamphlets and literature strewn around the room, these weapons had been needed for the coming race war. Randy wondered if the racist that lived there had any guilt in killing his fellow white man, undead or alive. He selected two Desert Eagle semi-automatic pistols and ten 9-round clips. He left his pistol with the single bullet in their place.

  A cache of grenades were found in the storeroom of a mom and pop grocery store. An unopened box of smuggled M16A2 rifles was found in a house owned by a returning Iraqi wounded combat hero. He found an endless supply of pornographic DVD’s and VCR tapes. An elderly couple – they had pictures of themselves all over the house – had a sizable collection of spoons from around the country as well as forty-four cases of two-liter Coke products. A 1969 mint Dodge Charger in slick black with only 1,546 miles on it was parked in a garage, but Randy couldn’t find the keys.

  Grocery and liquor stores were mostly barren or destroyed, with nothing of value left. Randy found a pallet of Pepsi six-pack cans but he had already skimmed ten bottles of the two-liter Cokes from the elderly couple.

  He decided to share some of his finds with Dirty Jim. He was sure the old man would appreciate some soda and might need some shells for the shotgun. Randy drove the Mustang at insane speeds, zipping in and out of stalled traffic.

  A zombie crossed his path and he slammed on the brakes, clipping the creature and throwing it across the road. “Shit.”

  Another zombie appeared at the next intersection. Randy revved the engine and barreled down the street. At the last second he turned the wheel slightly to his left and laughed as the zombie was crushed under his front tire.

  In the next three blocks he saw two more zombies. He supposed they had either migrated back or these were newer ones coming into the area. He wondered how far they actually went in search of prey.

  Dirty Jim’s lot came into view and Randy was glad to see no zombies hovering around the gates. He rolled up the windows and turned the engine off. He decided against locking it but took the keys. The gate was secured so he jumped the fence and approached the office. “Dirty Jim? It’s me, Randy.”

  No answer. He opened the door and the smell assaulted him. “Jim?” he croaked. His eyes were welling with tears from the stench and from what he guessed had happened.

  When he saw the position of the body and the shotgun resting on the old man’s chest he turned away. At least he hadn’t succumbed to the zombies.

  XIX

  Satisfied that the Mustang was packed properly, Randy finished pouring the gasoline around the makeshift pyre. A trail of papers, blankets, furniture and other flammables marched across the ground and inside the building. At each landing he had set a propane tank and three gasoline cans.

  He turned on the battery-powered boom box to full volume. Rigged to four giant speakers and pointing in all four directions, the sounds of Honky Tonk Woman by the Rolling Stones filled the air, one of his favorite songs. Randy wished he’d found a copy of Zebra, which would have been fitting. He found himself humming Tell Me What You Want as he started the engine, lit and tossed the box of matches, and drove away from the building.

  Within a half a block he heard the first explosion and wasn’t surprised to see zombies moving in that direction, drawn first by the music and then by the blast. That would keep them busy long enough for Randy to get away.

  It wasn’t difficult to maneuver around the growing number of undead and he used the still-cleared highway to speed into Baltimore unabated. He had a general idea where he was going and figured that he could find it easily enough. Randy had no idea what he would actually do or say once he got there, but he had some rough ideas. The multitude of guns in the car was an obvious option.

  Baltimore was light with zombies, but he passed them as he drove. Within the hour he was about five blocks from his destination, but it was blocked by an eight-foot chain-link fence and three men with rifles on a platform behind it. He parked the Mustang to the side, making sure he locked it. He put his hands in sight. “I need to see Crow,” he yelled.

  “Turn back or we’ll shoot.”

  “I need to see Crow. We’re old friends.”

  No one pulled the trigger, which Randy took to be a good sign, but they didn’t stop pointing the rifles at him.

  “Wait right there. Take a step in any direction and I will personally blow your fucking head off.”

  “Not a problem.” Randy focused on keeping still.

  “Your name?”

  “Randy. He knows me.”

  Ten long minutes passed before one of the men, talking on a headset, motioned for his comrades to lower their guns. “You can come in on foot. Leave the Mustang there.”

  Randy moved forward as the gates were opened. He was roughly patted down. He hadn’t bothered to try to sneak a weapon in with him. Plan A called for diplomacy. Plan B was locked in the Mustang and loaded, and Randy hoped he could get back out there in one piece if need be.

  Two of the men, both big and gruff, marched him down the open street. All around him faces peered from windows and doors, emaciated people that looked away when he stared at them. They were scared.

  “How many people did you manage to save?” Randy asked, trying to make conversation.

  “Shut the fuck up,” one of them said.

  “I’m guessing we’re heading to the Poe House.”

  Both men accompanying him stopped. They fingered their rifle triggers but didn’t say a word.

  “I figured it out. It took me long enough, but I knew what the clue that Crow had left meant.” Randy pointed at the headset on the closest man. “The light has been on since we started walking, so I’m guessing the other end of that is in Crow’s ear.”

  The rest of the walk was in silence. Randy tried to take mental notes about possible hiding spots, escape routes and places he could make a stand if need be. He knew what a profound risk this meeting was, and a part of him still didn’t understand why he’d even done it. I don’t care anymore, he thought. There isn’t anything really worth living for.

  Around the perimeter of the Poe House a shantytown had been built, with people packed in tightly. A caged area housed dozens of female zombies, all stripped naked and chained together. He noted with disgust that their teeth had all been removed as well as fingernails and toenails. One of the zombies had been pushed on all fours into a side cage, where five men stood in line and waited their turn. Randy had to look away. “You fuckers are sick.”

  In answer one of the men punched Randy in the gut and kept walking as Randy hit the pavement and lost his breath. When he recovered he struggled to catch up.

  Crow was waiting on the steps, dressed in a black suit and red tie. He looked freshly shaven and sported two new, large gold earring
s. His face was blank, but Randy could see the anger behind his eyes.

  “Are you fucking zombies?” Randy finally blurted.

  Crow laughed and everyone within earshot did as well. Randy wasn’t happy to see that a score of men, all carrying rifles, descended on them. “Welcome to the Hellfire Club. Get in line, Randy. Maybe you’ll be able to please a dead girl.”

  “I prefer mine living, thanks.”

  “But do they prefer you?” Crow said. Another round of laughter accompanied him. “What brings you here?”

  “I want to see Becca.”

  “There’s no one here named Becca, I’m afraid.” Crow stepped down and approached Randy. “You must be mistaken.”

  “I just want to talk to her.” Randy didn’t realize until now that he missed her so much, despite what she had done. What had she done? Maybe she was scared of their love, scared of the pace they were going, scared of commitment. He knew it was bullshit and a bunch of lies. He knew he actually did need to believe in something, even if it didn’t exist. This had been a fucking mistake.

  “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  “I need to hear that from her.”

  Crow stood before Randy and grinned like a wolf. “You just heard it from me.”

  “I won’t ask again.”

  “No, you won’t. You’ve come into my sanctuary, my home, and now you make veiled threats. Is that sensible?”

  If he’d had a Desert Eagle he would have shoved it in Crow’s face and pulled the trigger. “I don’t want trouble.”

  “But you have it.” Crow jabbed Randy in the face and crushed his nose. “You brought this on yourself, little man.” Before Randy could hit the ground hands gripped him and held him. Crow punched him in the stomach. Randy puked. A blow to his left eye made his head explode in pain, and the follow-up combination to his chest and temple added to his misery. They refused to let him go down, even though his legs refused to hold his weight.

  Crow got in Randy’s face, spittle flying from his lips as he screamed. “You think you can waltz in here and take back what was never yours?”

  Randy couldn’t answer.

  Crow spit in Randy’s face. “You meant nothing to her. She left you for me, don’t you get it?”

  Randy felt like dying, and wished Crow would simply kill him now. He raised his face with considerable effort and tried his best to stare at Crow through bloody and teary eyes. “I want to hear it from her.”

  “Really?” Crow yelled and flailed his arms, out of control. “Show him!”

  Two men dragged him back to the zombie cage and they pushed through the line, pulling a man away from a zombie. He looked pissed but when he saw Crow he moved quickly away.

  “Say hello to your love!” Crow said and pushed Randy against the cage.

  Becca, dead and unseeing, didn’t respond.

  “You motherfucker!” Randy said but before he could attack he was pummeled to the ground and kicked repeatedly.

  Crow got back into his face. “The piece of shit pill-popping slut overdosed the day she came back to me. Fucking cunt. Turned into a fucking monster right before my eyes.”

  Randy could only stare at Becca.

  “Drag him out of here.”

  “Do you want me to take care of him?” someone asked.

  “No, fuck that. Don’t waste a bullet on him. Toss his ass back over the fence and let the zombies kill him.”

  Randy had a last glance at Becca before he was hauled away, dragged through the streets and tossed like garbage onto the pavement.

  XX

  The Mustang served as home for the next three days while Randy recuperated. Luckily the zombies – and there were many in the area - ignored him as they moved about their business. As long as he was quiet they didn’t feed on him. He lived on cold cans of beets and corn he had brought with him as well as a twelve-pack of water. If he had really planned ahead a first aid kit would have been perfect. Instead he wiped his drying blood on his shirt until it was crimson.

  Yesterday a zombie had walked right up to the Mustang and seemed to peer inside the car. Randy stayed perfectly still and didn’t make a sound. Eventually the creature turned and trudged away, bloody hands smearing on the closed window.

  When he was comfortable that there were only a few undead in the immediate vicinity he started the Mustang and listened to it purr. He drove through the surrounding neighborhood and revved the engine, admiring how quickly the zombies appeared and followed. He opened the windows, enjoying the cooler air as fall approached. To draw more attention he cranked AC/DC’s Highway To Hell and thought it fitting. Within twenty minutes almost fifty of the creatures were being led like the Pied Piper.

  As he approached the gates again he skidded to a halt and watched as the zombies followed. There were only two men on the platform, and they were pointing their rifles at the Mustang.

  “Hey, don’t shoot. I have a question,” Randy yelled as he stepped out of the car. He aimed and fired his Desert Eagle at the two men, missing wide but giving him some breathing room before they returned fire. The pistol was heavier than his old gun and the kick was fierce. He knew this needed to be timed perfectly or he would wind up between living men with guns and zombies at his back.

  Ducking behind the door to the Mustang and hearing a bullet punch into the side of the car, he calmly took a grenade from the front seat and pulled the pin. He turned and threw it and fell back when a bullet shattered his door window, spraying him with shards.

  The explosion rocked the street. He jumped back into his car just as the first zombie touched his bumper and shot forward, driving into and through the gates.

  One of the men got to one knee and raised the rifle but Randy simply swerved and ran him over, the Mustang bouncing as he accelerated.

  He turned the music up all the way, tapping along on the steering wheel as he sang along. He didn’t drive directly to the Poe House; instead he weaved in and out of the blocks, shooting at houses and random people as he moved. He didn’t care for any of these bastards and none of them were innocent to him. They’d lived here and watched people being killed and raped and God only knew what other horrors. Randy wanted to see them all pay. They were all part of the Hellfire Club as far as he was concerned.

  When he shot the car back onto the main road he was happy to see the zombies about thirty feet behind him. Their numbers had doubled due to the explosion, gunfire and AC/DC. A gunman ran in front of the car but Randy hit the gas and smashed him with the front end. He was beginning to like using it as a weapon, and drove onto a sidewalk to kill another one.

  Shots riddled the passenger side of the car and he floored it, almost crashing into a building. He drove to the Poe House now, not pressing his luck that he was an easy target despite his speed.

  Six men with machine guns opened fire as he came into view. He ducked down, aimed the Mustang at the corner of the zombie cage, and prayed that he wouldn’t die just yet. He felt the car tear into the chain-link fence and rip it apart and the Mustang slammed with a sickening crash into some of the gunmen on the steps before coming to rest against the front door of the Poe House.

  “Sorry, Edgar,” Randy said as he exited. He wasn’t hurt. He opened fire with the two Desert Eagles. The zombies had been released from the cage and they moved toward him.

  Randy took a grazing bullet to his forearm and he winced in pain. He returned fire. He dropped to one knee, using the Mustang as a shield and started tossing grenades in random directions.

  Two zombies tried to get around the front of the car so Randy ran around the opposite way, firing his weapons as he went. There was nothing living within his immediate area so he popped the trunk and took out two M16A2 rifles, slinging one over his shoulder.

  “What have you done?”

  Randy turned to see Crow in the doorway, as the zombies pressed against the blocking car to get to him.

  “What have you done?” Randy said and fired, but Crow was already gone. Randy ran around t
he building and looked for a rear escape. Just as he found the door it burst open and Crow ran out.

  Without even thinking Randy fired a shot that shattered Crow’s left kneecap and brought him to the ground.

  Crow screamed in pain.

  Randy put his foot on Crow’s neck and put the M16A2 to his face. “Where is she?”

  Crow, crying in agony, managed to look at the Poe House.

  “Stay right where you are,” Randy said. As he stepped away he shot out Crow’s other kneecap. Inside the house all was chaos. Randy added to it by firing at anyone that got in his way, killing several people.

  He found Becca chained to a chair in the kitchen, struggling mindlessly with her bonds. “I forgive you for leaving me,” Randy said. “Come, I have a present for you.”

  Taking the chair in hand and careful to stay away from her grasp, Randy led her back outside. Crow was on the ground, pooled in blood and eyes closed. When Randy kicked him in the ribs he opened his eyes and moaned.

  “This is the present I was telling you about, honey.”

  “Kill me,” Crow whispered.

  Randy pointed the rifle at Crow and smiled. He took it away. “I wouldn’t waste a bullet on you. Becca, you might not have teeth or nails but I’m quite sure you can rip this bitch’s balls off if you try hard enough.”

  Randy stepped back and broke the chair apart, freeing Becca. She moved in, dropping down on his crotch with her bloody hands.

  “It will probably take much longer to kill you this way,” Randy said. He turned. “Oh, look, some of her friends have decided to join you as well.”

  The horde of zombies moved in for the kill as Randy, guns blazing, ran off.

  Rear Guard

  Darlene Bobich knew the fallacy in Barry’s statement.