Dying Days (18 page)

“Where’s all that stuff now?”

Murph shrugged. “Most of it is worthless, to be realistic. I traded most of it away for food and water.”

“You kept these shitty movies?”

“They are classics. Most of them, anyway. A man needs entertainment in these harsh times or he’d go stir crazy. We still have some of the alcohol, a case of rum somewhere.”

“What about the guns? The SUV?”

“Worthless. I traded the guns and ammo for one of the bows John-John uses, and some clothes. Guns are too loud; they get the dead coming for miles with a single shot. The SUV and jet-skis were traded for a case of soda and fresh-cut meat. We ate steaks for a week.”

“Got any left?”

“We don’t have much left. I imagine we have another week of supplies for the three of us. Unless, of course, you move on.”

“I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere for awhile, if that’s alright with you. This is the first normal place I’ve been in since I can remember. No sense leaving just now, right? Besides, we have to watch every one of these shitty movies before I can go anywhere.”

“I hear ya.”

“How about we start with
Rocky
and then
Jaws
?”

“Fine with me. If I start to snore just kick me.”

“Same goes for me.”

Chapter Ten

Griff wasn’t what Darlene expected. He was short, balding, with greasy hair and a greasy smile, pushing seventy. His clothes were unkempt and dirty, even though Darlene supposed he had access to a washer and dryer like Murph. Griff looked like his wardrobe and personal hygiene hadn’t changed since the world went nuts.

Kayla, on the other hand, was in her forties and beautiful. Darlene wasn’t into other women but she had to admire the way Kayla carried herself. The AK-47 in her strong hands didn’t hurt, either. She wore a simple gray T-shirt, tight black jeans and Doc Marten boots. Her red hair was tied back and she wore no makeup. She was a natural beauty and didn’t really need it. Darlene noticed a few freckles dotting her cheeks and nose.

“See anything you like?” Kayla said to Darlene as she shouldered the AK-47.

Darlene blushed and looked away. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Kayla winked. “You’re pretty hot yourself.”

Griff shot her a dirty look. “Enough with your lesbian bullshit for once. Every gal you see doesn’t want to jump in bed with you.”

“Not all, but some.” Kayla smiled and licked her bottom lip. “Definitely this one.”

“Thanks, but I prefer a man in my bed,” Darlene said.

“Jesus.” The other person before Darlene was Peter, and by his face it was obvious he was related to Griff and Kayla. He was pudgy around his middle but his arms were massive. His red-blonde hair flowed down his shoulders in curly locks, his face a bushy beard. “Can’t we ever talk to chicks without you hitting on them?”

“Nope.” Kayla patted him on the back. “Besides, you have no shot with this one, Petey. She’s way out of your league.”

Peter glanced at Darlene and then looked at his father for help. Griff just shrugged and spit tobacco juice over the edge of the deck. Darlene had gone to see Griff and his family just before dark. Murph had simply told her which stilt house.

“I’m too damn old to climb the ladder. Do me a favor, though, and ask Griff if he has any chewing tobacco. Tell him I’ll pay him next time he comes up to see me,” Murph said.

A day of lounging, watching movies and napping had put Darlene in a great frame of mind but she was sluggish. She could get used to this easy life and almost forget about the reality of what was going on not far from here, and all over the world.

“So…” Darlene said uneasily. Kayla was coming on way too strong; Peter was trying desperately to check out her ass and boobs without being caught, and so far Griff hadn’t said much of anything.

Griff spit again and then opened the door. “Come on in and make yourself comfortable.”

Darlene entered and smiled when she heard Griff tell his kids to stay outside. For emphasis he locked the door. “Have a seat. They’ll come in through the backdoor in a bit. For now, we can talk in peace.”

“Nice place you have here.”

Griff shrugged. “It’s not mine.” He sat heavily in the chair and groaned. “I suppose it is mine now, but truth be told I wish I was back home in South Carolina preparing to die.”

“That’s an odd way of looking at it.”

“I suppose you could make that argument.” Griff pulled a small clear baggie from his pocket and tossed it to Darlene. “That’s for Murph. Lord knows he pushed you over here for some chaw. Tell him he owes me.”

“Will do.”

Griff sat up in his chair. “Let’s cut to the chase, because I’m not getting any younger. Why are you here?”

“I’m just trying to survive.”

“Are you planning on going up to St. Augustine?”

“I hadn’t planned anything. From the way Murph was talking I don’t know if I have a real choice.”

“What do you mean?” Griff pulled another baggie from his pocket and took a pinch, putting the tobacco in his mouth. “Everyone has a choice.”

“He seemed like he was expecting me to split as soon as possible and head over to St. Augustine. I’m not even sure what’s there.”

“Civilization. Rebuilding. Electricity. When this started the people up there were smart enough to not just sit around and watch the boob tube and worry. They started blocking the roads, sealing off the main city from everything. The roads in and out were sandbagged and armed men and women patrolled them.”

“Amazing.”

“Not really, just smart. And they weren’t the only ones to do so.”

Darlene frowned. “What?”

“There are pockets, cities and towns and villages, all over the world, that have so far succeeded in fighting off the undead hordes. Places like Chicago, Austin, Boise, Cooperstown, Salt Lake City, Reading… the list goes on.”

“How do you know that?”

“We get information from St. Augustine regularly. We act as their southern patrols and, in turn, they supply us with information and weapons to operate.”

“Where else?”

“I know of a few small places that have survived. A place called Belford in New Jersey, the town of Falls River in Massachusetts, somewhere called Dexter, Maine –“

“You’re a liar,” Darlene blurted. “You can’t know that.”

“All I can do is pass along the information.”

“Dexter was aflame when I left.”

“From what I understand, after the harsh winter past, they were able to rebuild and fortify the roads in and out. The undead up there froze in place. It was easy to chop them down like trees.”

Darlene folded in the chair. Was it possible? Had she run so far, hundreds and hundreds of miles, to escape the zombies, when all she had to do was stay at home?

“From reports, it was touch and go for many. About ninety-five percent of the population was killed. You made the right choice leaving.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

“You’re still alive.”

“While everything I knew, everyone I loved is dead. Or are they?”

Griff shrugged. “Who knows? You very likely might be dead right now if you’d stayed. Perhaps someone you loved would have had to kill you by now.”

Darlene was feeling overwhelmed and switched the subject before she started to cry. “I’d like to stay here for a while, if that’s alright with you.”

“I don’t have a problem with it. As long as Murph says it’s alright. I can get you the keys for one of the empty houses tomorrow. You’ll be on your own as far as food, furniture and weapons are concerned. I’m sure everyone will pitch in and help you out. Any skills you have will be appreciated as well.”

The backdoor opened.

“Time to leave. It was nice to meet you,” Griff said. “Forgive me if I don’t see you down, but I’m too damn old for that.”

Chapter Eleven

John held up a finger, staring at Darlene.

“God, just ask me out already,” she whispered.

He waved his hand for her to be quiet. Darlene covered her mouth to stifle a smile and a laugh. When you were out here, with John and a compound bow, you took it seriously.

Two walking corpses were directly below them, shuffling aimlessly on the road. They were both wearing the tattered remains of police officers, holstered guns still at their sides.

John pointed two fingers at Darlene and they both notched an arrow to their bow. She stared down the shaft at the zombie on the left and aimed right between his eyes.

A low grunt from John was the signal and they let fly at the same time. John’s zombie took the arrow in his forehead, and he fell silently to the ground.

Darlene’s arrow shot high and wide left, missing by at least five feet. Before she could pull another arrow out, John had already fired a second and the arrow ripped through the zombie’s left eye, putting him down.

“Shit,” she murmured.

John looked aggravated but didn’t say a word. Instead he put his bow down, pulled a Bowie knife, and slid down the sand dune. Darlene, embarrassed, followed. This was her third day in a row out with John looking for supplies. So far they’d encountered dozens of the undead, nothing salvageable, and she still hadn’t hit a target.

“Can’t I just use my machete? I can’t even count how many I’ve killed with this thing.”

“It’s a close-range weapon. What do you do when there are fifteen of them surrounding you?”

“Swing for the fences,” Darlene replied.

“I’m amazed you’re still alive.”

“Lucky, I guess.” Darlene stood watch as John removed the service pistols, extra ammo, two dead walkie-talkies and handcuffs from the two expired cops.

“With any luck there’ll be a squad car around here with a shotgun and a trunk filled with supplies.”

“Which way?” Darlene asked.

“We can cut through and get to a main highway.”

“Have you been out this way before?”

“Not really. I’ve picked the peninsula from Anastasia Island to Ormond-by-the-Sea clean over the last twelve months. There isn’t much left but sand and zombies.”

“I beg to differ.”

John stopped. “What do you mean?”

“I found a spot filled with bottles of water.”

“You’re lying.”

“And you’re rude.” In the last three days John had been gruff and short with Darlene. He’d spent most of his time in the stilt house in his room with the door closed. Murph said that John had a wife and two young children, and he’d been looking for them. Their bodies hadn’t been found, but the chance that they were living was small. Despite trying to be nice to John – for the sake of getting along and because, honestly, he was a hunk – Darlene wasn’t getting too far with him. Murph had suggested that Darlene earn her keep and learn to shoot, but so far it was backfiring. John had even pled with his father this morning to let him go by himself.

“Where is this magical land of bottled water?” John said sarcastically.

“Forget it.” Darlene started walking away. “I’ll just save that card up my sleeve for the next guy that comes along. Maybe he won’t be such a fucking dick.”

“Nice mouth.”

“Nice attitude. Do you always treat women this shitty?”

John grabbed her arm and stopped her.

He was on the ground, his back and head slamming to the sand, before he could catch his breath.

“Don’t put your fucking hands on me, got it?” Darlene shook her head and stepped away before she attacked him again. She could feel the anger in her, coursing through her body like a spring. She was ready to snap.

“Got it. Loud and clear.” John stood and brushed himself off, face red in embarrassment. “I am sorry. It’s just that…”

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s just keep moving before we’re surrounded.”

John put up a hand in protest but Darlene was already twenty feet from him, moving quickly onto a zombie that had appeared. She drew her machete and chopped into its thick neck, driving it backwards. A second cut and its head fell to the sand.

“I don’t need this,” Darlene said and put the compound bow and arrows on the ground. She shook the machete. “I’d rather die with this in my hand than try to work with that. Sorry.”

“Not a problem.” John picked up the equipment. “You’re a pretty shitty shot, anyway.” He put on his best smile.