Dying Days (4 page)

Ladies Night In Buffalo

The Rusty Bar proclaimed, via the blood-streaked sign on the intact door, the best buffalo wings in the world. Darlene doubted she'd get a chance to try them. At this point a handful of ketchup packets would be heaven.

Moving across the northeast in a normal world was hard enough, but adding zombies, looters and blocked main roads and you had a heck of a time getting anywhere.

"And now I'm in fucking Buffalo and I'm cold," she whispered. She was grateful it wasn't winter and there wasn't three feet of snow on the ground. She knew the snow could pile up out here just like in Maine. She was only wearing jeans and a T-shirt she'd gotten weeks back after the attack at the mall. Already her boots were scuffed and the soles beginning to wear down.

Finally, feeling stupid for standing out here in the cold and exposed to undead, she tried the door and smiled when it opened.

Before she'd gotten two steps inside she felt the cold steel pressed against the side of her head. "Freeze."

"Not a problem," Darlene said, making sure whoever had the gun to her head could hear her. Zombies didn't talk.

"Hurry up inside but keep your hands up where I can see them."

"It's dark, I can't see," she said.

She was pulled roughly inside and she heard the door shut and barred. A light was suddenly thrust into her eyes as two different sets of hands rummaged through her meager supplies, stripping her backpack from her shoulder. She felt her Desert Eagle, cold against her back, as it was pulled out and taken. The entire time the gun was still to her head.

"Talk," the voice said.

"I'm just hungry and passing through. I'm trying to survive just like you, alright?" Darlene closed her eyes, bright white spots blinking from the flashlight. At least they were talking. She figured as long as she was holding their attention they wouldn't pull the trigger. "Obviously I came to the wrong bar."

Someone snickered and the light was shined down to the worn floor.

"Follow me." The light began to move so Darlene followed, knowing there were at least two people behind her and one ahead.

A door was opened and candle light spilled from it. She realized she had originally been in a small hallway and was now in the main bar area, where at least thirty heads looked up at her.

"Have a seat right there," the man who was leading them said and pointed to a single chair against the wall. "Doug will be back shortly."

No one spoke as she sat. She noticed only three women present and they looked beaten-down and scared. One of them, an older blonde, was staring at her with a strange look on her face. Darlene smiled at her but she looked away.

"I'm Rusty, and this is my bar." He was in his late forties, a rough and tumble-looking Good Ol' Boy, with an American flag tattoo on his shoulder. He wore a faded denim sleeveless jacket and matching blue jeans, his Buffalo Bills hat on backwards. His beard was scruffy but Darlene figured his look had nothing to do with the end of the world. Zombies or not, this was a guy who was right at home with the chaos.

"Pleased to meet you, Rusty. Nice place you have here," Darlene said and offered her hand. He looked at her with a smirk and ignored the gesture. Someone sitting at the bar said something and everyone laughed, watching the awkward exchange.

"Hungry?" Rusty asked her.

"Yes, but not if it's a bother. I'm actually just moving along, decided to check out the place before I headed out," she said. Darlene was getting a bad, bad vibe from these people.

Rusty stared at her for a minute, slowly looking her body over. "No trouble at all." He turned away and walked past the loud group at the bar, sure he heard Rusty say 'dibs' as he disappeared into the back room.

I need to leave.
No way I'm going to be this guy's bitch
, she thought. She was about to make a run for it when she realized her Desert Eagle and backpack were gone. She wouldn't get far without them.

The guy who'd led her in was nowhere to be found and scanning the room only elicited catcalls and rude comments, loud enough for her to hear but never directly at her.

Rusty returned with a paper plate overflowing with food: French fries, Buffalo wings, coleslaw and baked beans. "Southern cooking, just like mama used to make," he said with a laugh. "Sorry, but we ran out of silverware."

"Thank you," Darlene said. "It looks delicious."

He smiled with genuine pride. "Made it all myself. The fancy place up the road might be credited with making the first Buffalo wings but I make them best."

She waited until he walked away to begin digging in with her fingers, savoring the rich taste of each item. He was a damn fine cook and she had the briefest thought of staying here and trying to fit in. When she looked up from her half-finished plate her last swallow was caught in her throat.

The bar had gone silent and everyone was openly staring at her, waiting for something. The woman looked at her with that expression again and Darlene realized it was with relief. The woman was actually smiling when Darlene began to feel woozy.

*   *   *   *   *

Darlene woke, in the fetal position, on a dirty mattress. Her clothes were gone and her body felt like one big bruise. Her mind felt fuzzy around the edges, like she'd taken too much cough syrup.

She rolled over onto her back and felt nauseous. A quick, painful spin to her side and she was throwing up onto the floor.

"You'll have to clean that up yourself."

Darlene saw the woman, the grinning bitch, from the bar. She was sitting patiently in a chair near the closed door, with Darlene's clothes in a neat pile on her lap. Next to the leg of her chair was a wash basin, soap and a small bottle of shampoo.

"What happened to me?" Darlene asked, wiping the vomit from her lips.

"What do you think? You're the new favorite. Wash up, get dressed, and meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes. You need to cook." The woman rose and went to the door but turned back, a look of disdain on her face. "Enough with your lazy fat ass lying around here."

*   *   *   *   *

Rusty stepped between Darlene and Ginger, keeping the women at arm's length. "Enough, or you know what happens."

Apparently Ginger knew it would be bad and not an idle threat because she immediately put the saucepan down and went back to washing the carrots.

Rusty pulled Darlene to the back of the kitchen. She winced when his grip found one of her many bruises. "I need you to settle down."

"You have to be kidding. These bitches are mad at
me
! How fucked up is that?" Darlene said.

Since yesterday she'd had it equally as rough. After getting cleaned up and dressed and crying until no tears would come, she went to the kitchen in hopes of finding a knife. Her goal was to rally the other women - even the bitch - and bust their way out from these madmen. Instead, she'd been attacked by the women, clearly jealous of her and how the men were now favoring her. When the dust had settled she was beaten by two psycho rednecks and locked in the walk-in freezer (which didn't have power, luckily) for hours until she 'learned to play nice with the other whores'.

Darlene decided to bide her time, learn as much as she could about the group, and try to find a weakness. She also wanted to find the bastard that took her Desert Eagle.

She spent the day cleaning vegetables and cutting potatoes for the communal soup they were making. Including Ginger (who kept her distance but shot dirty looks at her whenever she could) and the bitch (who she overheard being called Barbara), there were five other women in the bar but they ignored Darlene and went about their business.

Rusty came in right before the soup was done and watched Darlene work. The other women became clearly agitated by the intrusion but said nothing.

Finally, as Darlene handed over her part of the food and cleaned up her countertop, Rusty approached her. "Doug wants to see you."

*   *   *   *   *

Doug Conrad was not what Darlene had expected. With the group of men in the bar area, she'd seen a common thread: rednecks from the frozen wastes of northern New York State or down from Canada, farmers and hunters and inbred pieces of shit that thought with their dicks and/or their rifles.

This guy was a foot above them, both physically and mentally. He wore an American flag sweatshirt, his baseball cap with
SoTNP
stitched on it and striped in red, white and blue. He carried himself with a swagger, a self-confidence, she hadn't seen in a man in a long time. He wasn't a hillbilly or a redneck or a Good Ol' Boy, he was… powerful.

"I understand you had a problem with Ginger?" he asked, a thick New England accent.

"Ginger had a problem with me," Darlene said.

Doug looked past Darlene and addressed Rusty. "Let Ginger know we won't be having anymore problems. Understand?"

"Yes sir," Rusty replied and left.

Doug sat down on a chair at a small table. They were in the bar offices. He motioned for her to join him.

She sat across from him and tried to relax. "I thought this was Rusty's place?"

"It is." Doug smiled and despite the situation she smiled back. He didn't have the look of a predator like the rest of the men here. He didn’t look desperate or wild. He looked refined, educated, and manly. "But I'm running the show."

Darlene was smitten with him and she felt her face grow hot. His intense eyes locked on hers and she looked down at her hands.

"Tell me about yourself. You're not from Buffalo."

"No, I'm from a little town in Maine called Dexter. It's close to Bangor."

"What are you doing so far west?" he asked.

"Trying to survive." Darlene grew angry and looked up, meeting his gaze. "Why am I being held here?"

Doug locked his fingers and leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. "No one is a prisoner, but it's not safe out there. The city is overrun, and it's amazing you got this far."

"I want to leave."

"When I feel it's safe."

Darlene leaned forward and tried to look tough, even though she was shaking inside. "So I'm your prisoner."

Doug stood and scowled at Darlene. "I'm the only thing keeping you alive right now. I would remember that."

"What happens if we're attacked? How will I defend myself?"

"Defend? You're a woman. The men will protect you, and in exchange we offer you food and shelter and life. I'm not sure why you aren't thanking me right now," Doug said.

"Seriously?" Darlene wanted to scream. "I just want to leave."

Doug turned away from her. "Jesse, come get her back to the kitchen, please."

"What if I refuse to be your cooking bitch?" Darlene demanded as she stood. "What if I try to leave?"

Doug moved so quickly she didn't have time to react. His fingers were wrapped around her hair and she was dragged to the ground with such violence that she nearly blacked out.

He got close to her face, keeping his grip. "You will do what you are told or you'll end up like all the rest of the bitches that decided that the Sons of The New Patriots weren't worth living and dying for. Understand?"

Doug dragged her up by her hair just as Jesse came in with a grin.

Darlene, dazed, was pulled by Jesse out of the room. She did, however, notice that Jesse was the prick that had taken her Desert Eagle and had it tucked into his waistband.

She decided that she'd kill him first and then Doug.

*   *   *   *   *

During the course of the last twelve hours Darlene played 'nice' with the other women - completely ignoring them unless she absolutely needed a pot or utensil - and prepared one meal after another. From listening to the idle chatter in the kitchen she figured out that there were actually eighteen women in the bar and adjoining houses, sixty-five men (all members of the Connecticut-based militia group Sons of The New Patriots) and another ten men who foraged for food and supplies.

From the growing pile in the walk-in it was obvious they were doing a great job. An hour ago one of the men wheeled in a shopping cart overflowing with canned goods, and the women began picking through it.

Barbara was head of the kitchen and she barked orders, setting the menus and giving tasks to the women. If she weren't such a bitch Darlene would've asked her if she'd been a cook or restaurant manager before all this. She clearly knew what she was doing.

Ginger was absent and no one said a word, but they all equally ignored Darlene.

A slight banging to her right startled her. When she looked over all she saw were storage boxes piled to the ceiling. The noise came again.

"What's the problem?" Barbara said and approached.

"Something's knocking."

Barbara turned and yelled. "Jesse, we got us another one in the alley."

"Got it."