Dying Days (7 page)

"What happened to the dog?" she whispered.

With no one in pursuit and no zombies in the immediate area she began a methodical search of the houses. She needed to find some clothing, food and more bullets.

Chapter Eight

Hitch A Ride

"The greatest song ever. Am I right?"  R.J. didn't wait for an answer from Darlene. Instead he cranked the song - AC/DC's seminal
Highway To Hell
- and floored the Trans Am. He began warbling along completely out of tune.

Darlene closed her eyes and prayed that he wouldn't kill them both. Since 'meeting him' in the Wawa he'd been cordial, if a bit eccentric.

R.J. had a Jersey accent and crazy look in his eyes, but wore a cowboy hat, faded blue jeans and a huge Confederate flag belt buckle. He'd been punching the fountain drink machine to magically get it to work, even though the store had been ransacked and the power was off.

He'd made no move for a weapon and didn't seem fazed when she drew the Desert Eagle on him. Instead, he tipped his cowboy hat in her direction, winked, and asked if she knew how the soda machine worked.

"Yeah, I know how it works. With electricity," she replied sarcastically.

"None of that around here. I guess I'll mosey along to other parts of the range, eh?" he'd said but in a thick Joisey accent. Darlene thought it quite unsettling but he didn't seem to be a threat. After what she'd just escaped from…

She watched him warily but went about trying to find something to eat or drink.

"You won't find anything else in here, ma'am," he'd said. "Picked it clean and stored it in the Bandit outside."

"Bandit?"

He pumped out his chest and went to the broken glass windows at the front of the store and pointed. "I call her Bandit, like what Burt drove."

Outside, parked by itself, was a white Pontiac Trans Am.

"His was black," Darlene said matter-of-factly.

He grinned. "Well, no shit… sorry 'bout the language… I'll be painting it as soon as I get back home and making sure the gold eagle is touched up and fancy."

"Where's home?" She was waiting for some bullshit answer like Dallas or Oklahoma City.

"Swedesboro."

"Never heard of it," she admitted.

"South Jersey, nice and quiet. I just need to get back home and then I'll have time to paint my new car, wrangle up some horses, and plant some corn."

"Sounds like a plan." Darlene's stomach was growling. "Any chance you'd be willing to share some of your food with me? I haven't eaten in a few days."

"Need a ride? I could always use someone riding shotgun."

"Sure." Darlene didn't know what else to do, and she was getting sick and tired of walking. Two long weeks and she was still firmly inside New York State, and knew she'd been heading in an eastern direction due to zombies, road blocks, fires and hostile living people.

Now they were cranking tunes and driving way too fast.

"You said you had food," Darlene screamed over the guitar solo.

R.J. pointed a meaty finger behind him. "Grab whatever you want. The stuff is all over the place, but see if you can find me a beer. I should have a couple left."

She rummaged through some bags and found a warm can of cheap beer. "You probably shouldn't drink and drive," she said as she opened it for him. It was said as a joke but she was also concerned.

"Who's going to arrest me, the zombie police?"

"True." She found another beer and held that one for herself. "How bad are these cookies?"

"Stale as shit but still considered food."

"You know you have a bottle of wine?"

"Sweet. Bring it up, we'll cannonball it with the beers and get ripped."

She stuffed cookies in her mouth and washed it down with the warm beer. Not a bad meal when you hadn't eaten in days.

Darlene decided that she'd rather die drunk and full of stale cookies in a car crash than bitten and sexually abused by a dead person.

*   *   *   *   *

"Where are we?" she said, sitting up in the Trans Am. Her body was stiff. When she realized they were parked she slowly rolled out of the car and stretched her legs. It was nighttime.

R.J. tipped his hat. "Connecticut."

"I thought we were going to New Jersey."

"We are. But we can't very well swing through NYC and fight a zillion zombies, can we? Most of the roads were blocked off as we headed south so I had to turn west." He was siphoning gas from a pickup truck. "I'll fill 'er up and we'll be on our way."

"Did you search this place?"

"Nah, just stopped a few minutes ago and took a leak. You've been sleeping for about twelve hours."

"Maybe we should hide out until daybreak. It's probably not a good idea to drive at night, when you can't see far enough ahead."

"Agreed. Even with it being such a clear night, it was getting dicey there the last couple of hours. I just wanted to put some distance between us and that last city I skirted, because it was crawling with the dead. It looked like an ant swarm or cockroaches or something."

"Where are we?"

R.J. laughed. "In Connecticut. That's all I know."

They were parked right off an exit from a major highway in a strip-mall. The windows had all been smashed out, but nothing on fire. Darlene was thankful for that.

There was a pizza place, a hobby shop, a tanning salon, Chinese takeout, and a liquor store. "Finished with your wine?" she asked.

"Almost." R.J. finished filling the Trans Am. "Let me get my machete and we'll go look for something expensive. I prefer a white wine, if possible."

"Beggars can't be choosers," Darlene said. "We'll start at the end at the liquor store and work our way to some fine pizza."

The liquor store was open, all the glass doors and windows shattered. The shelves were empty, but they searched anyway.

"In every movie I ever saw about a zombie apocalypse, there is always a bottle of something for the heroes to find," R.J. said from behind the counter.

"Who says we're the heroes?"

"You think those things are the heroes? If that's the case, it means we're all fucked."

"We're fucked regardless." Darlene wished right now she had a flashlight, because scampering in the dark with glass everywhere was not a good move. Besides, she knew this was a bust.

"Did you hear that?" R.J. said at the same moment she heard the car engine.

*   *   *   *   *

"Two guys, ones big and looks like a biker, the other is small with glasses." Darlene leaned forward and watched the odd pair as they exited the beat-up station wagon.

"Are they heading our way?" R.J. asked.

"So far they're standing outside the car and whispering. I can't make out what they're saying." She turned to R.J. "I don't want to fight living people if I can help it. If they leave us alone I say we leave them alone."

"Sounds like a plan. The last time I ran into people they tried to shoot me and take the Bandit."

Darlene thought about the worst time she'd run into people and what they'd done to her, but she pushed it down, deep out of the way, before it consumed her again. No sense in dwelling on the past when the present was so fucked up.

They stayed in the shadows and waited. Finally, Darlene watched with relief as the two men pulled shotguns from the car but went into the hobby store a couple storefronts away.

When she told R.J. he nodded. "We wait them out."

Darlene was fine with that. Within ten minutes the duo reappeared, lugging large white boxes. "What did they find?"

R.J. took a peek and chuckled. "They're taking the comic books and baseball cards."

"Seriously?"

"Looks like it. Shit, if that place went untouched they might be in there for a couple hours between searching and loading up the station wagon."

"Great." Darlene wondered if there was someplace comfortable to crash in here until then.

"We need to leave," R.J. said suddenly.

"I think we just sit tight and the geeks will be gone stealing Iron Man comic books in a few. Then we can drive out of here."

R.J. began wringing his hands. "I need to get home."

"All in good time. Don't start freaking out," Darlene said. She casually moved away from him, making pretend she was looking for something they might have missed. "Did we check the stockroom?"

R.J. seemed to relax. "I'll do that. You keep an eye on those two."

Darlene hoped it would keep him busy and preoccupied until these guys left.

They were carrying out another two boxes and adding them to the back of the station wagon. She wondered what would possess them to take items that were worthless.

She could see loading up the car with boxes of canned food or gallons and gallons of water, but cards and comics didn't make sense.

Then again, what really did make sense these days?
Dead people eating living people was pretty much out there in space as well. It felt like all the rules had changed, and you survived and that was the bottom line.

Darlene sat in the shadows near the front window and watched as the two continued bringing out their finds. She wondered what they'd been like before this happened. It was a safe assumption they'd been heavily into comic books and video games.

She remembered an old
Saturday Night Live
skit from years ago when William Shatner was at a Star Trek convention and he asked one of the geeky kids if he'd ever kissed a girl. Darlene wondered if either of them had, but with her luck they were more than likely psycho rapists. At this point, based on who'd she'd met so far in her journey, three out of four guys were horny serial killers.

For a second she just stared blankly when she saw the brake lights of the Bandit flash. By the time she stood and went to the doorway the car was driving away.

When the two guys came out, shotguns drawn, she faded back into the store and held the Desert Eagle.

"Dumb wannabe hillbilly," she whispered.

The Trans Am shot out of the parking lot before he turned the headlights on.

After a minute the two guys went back inside to complete their mission.

Chapter Nine

Lords of the Flies

Darlene Bobich, feet tired and down to her last can of corn, rested against a wall of the Havenwood High School. She felt like she'd been walking for days, because she had.

When R.J. ran off with the Bandit (the Pontiac Trans Am) and left her she was furious. That anger sustained her for the first couple of hours on the walk, but now she'd wash his damn car if he pulled up and offered her a lift.

She was skirting the New York - Connecticut border, slipping in and out of small towns while she moved. But she didn't find much. It seemed like a great horde were just over the next ridge, pillaging the houses and stores a mile ahead of her and clearing them out.

Living and undead were in scarce supply and at least that was something to be grateful for. She knew the school might not offer a comfortable resting place but it might offer some shelter, especially if she could hide in one of the classrooms and sleep.

Maybe a teacher hid some candy bars or an energy drink in their desk
, she thought. At this point she'd be happy with stale crumbs in the bottom of an empty potato chip bag.

As she got the strength to move again a strangled cry sounded from just around the building. Darlene led with the Desert Eagle.

The girl looked to be no more than ten, with curly blonde hair and wearing a light blue dress. She sat on top of a picnic table in the enclosed courtyard, hands in her lap.

Darlene stopped short and lowered her weapon.

The girl smiled at her. "Hi," she said, as if they'd met in a store or restaurant. "My name is Stephanie."