Dying Days 2 (3 page)

She finally stopped crying and went into the kitchen to find something to eat. She was famished. Eric was sitting in the living room with a steaming cup of tea and a buttered biscuit. He put on a big smile when he saw her but said nothing.

John, Murph, Eric and Bri were gathered and they all looked at her expectantly.

"How'd you get up here?" Darlene asked.

"Ladder," Bri said with a smile.

Darlene nodded and rummaged for something to munch on. She found a box of stale crackers and asked Murph if she could have them.

"What's mine is yours, honey, you know that."

She sat down on the couch, after weaving through them, and dug into the food. Finally she couldn't take it anymore, as no one was talking. "Is this an intervention or something?"

John laughed uncomfortably. "We're just worried about you."

"Fine. I get that. When did the ladder go up?"

"This morning. I took it from the Anderson's house." Eric shook his head. "There wasn't much left over there, and I didn't have enough material to repair your stairs."

The Anderson's stilt house had been the first attacked but it was six houses down on the end and no one could've reached it in time. Darlene didn't need to ask about any survivors.

"We need to get to St. Augustine and warn them about those boats," she said and grabbed her boots. "I can't believe I went into a coma over this shit. I thought I was stronger than that, thought I was past those assholes who tried to break me, thought I was over it." She was crying now, struggling through the tears to get her left boot on.

John sat down next to her on the couch and put a hand gently on her back. "Darlene, as soon as you said who it was, I sent word to St. Augustine. They'll be ready for them."

Darlene stopped fighting her boot, took it completely off and threw it across the room. She buried her head on his shoulder and cried.

When she finally raised her head ten minutes later she looked around and laughed. "That's one way to clear a room."

John nodded. "You're freaking everyone out, but we all understand. You went through a really dark place back then but you came out on the other side."

"They… hurt me."

"But you survived, don't you get it? They didn't break you."

Darlene wiped snot from her nose. "I can't stop crying."

"Exactly." John stood and helped her off the couch. "If they'd broken you, beat you down and out, you'd have no emotions left. You'd be hard and callous and like a zombie." He wiped the tears from her cheeks. "They only made you stronger."

"I need to kill them."

John smiled. "I can't stop you there. All the rules have changed. You do what you need to do to get yourself back to where you belong."

Darlene went to the sink and washed her face. "I need to get caught up on where we are right now."

"First, you need to get some real food in you. And then you need to put some makeup on. You look like shit," John said with a laugh.

*   *   *   *   *

"We need to get some supplies. John, grab Peter and see what Griff and them need," Murph said.

"I'll go," Darlene said.

John and his dad looked at one another before John walked away.

"I need you here with me, little girl."

"Don't treat me like a child."

"You are a child compared to me. Besides, you haven't been cleared to make the runs to St. Augustine yet. Until I get that for you, it would be better you stay here. Those people get antsy around strangers."

"If you would let me go, I wouldn't be a stranger."

Murph smiled. "I'd hate to watch my Bruce Willis movies by myself."

"I'm sick of Bruce Willis movies." She turned away. "John-John, you chicken-shit. Get out here."

John came slowly down the hall with a smile on his face. "Yes, ma'am?"

"When you go into town, I need some tampons, anything with chocolate covering it, and at least two romantic comedy movies that have no action other than cheesy romance. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Darlene turned back to Murph. "If I'm stuck with you, old man, we're going to start watching some real movies and eating cookies and crap while doing it." She turned back to John. "What's the chance of getting some Diet Coke?"

"Maybe flat."

"Better than nothing."

Murph winked at his son. "You know what I need," he said and shook a half-empty bag of Redman. "And get another John Wayne movie. Better yet, see if they got any old Burt Reynolds films. I haven't seen White Lightning or Gator in forever."

"How do we have stuff to trade? I was just hoping about the tampons and chocolate," Darlene asked.

"We burned the bodies a mile down the road in the pit, but first we looted the bodies. Watches, rings, necklaces, and piercings. You name it, we took it. We're hoping that will be enough, but spread over so many of us it might be tight. Food and water comes first," John said.

"I know where food and water might be available," Darlene smiled. When she'd first come to this area, she'd run into—alright, she actually ambushed and killed—two guys playing cards in a gas station. The house behind them was supposedly filled with supplies as well as zombies. She'd never told anyone about it and just remembered it. She was sure she could find it again.

When she told Murph and John, they both nodded. "As soon as John gets back, you can take a crew out there and find it. That will definitely help," Murph said. "In the meantime, pick us a nice John Wayne movie and a couple of beers."

Darlene laughed. "Not a problem. John, I really do need tampons."

"Not a problem."

Darlene grabbed a random movie from the pile, knowing Murph would be asleep on the couch before the first ten minutes had played.

At that point, she was going to gear up and find that abandoned gas station.

Chapter Three

"I need you to untie from the dock and go away," David Monsour said and tapped his Browning M1911.

"Or what?" the big guy on the boat asked.

A shot rang out from the sand dunes, and the bullet ricocheted an inch from the leader's foot. He didn't move.

David turned back and grimaced. "Tosha, wait for the signal."

The redhead popped up with a grin. "I thought him being an asshole was the signal? Next shot is to the chest."

"We are seeking food and shelter and nothing more. We're trying to survive just like you."

"We already know who you are and what you're capable of. Word's come down about your militia. I suggest you find another place to survive."

"I don't understand. I led a group of survivors from Orlando. That has to count for something."

"They're all dead."

"Not my fault. If we can just come in, rest and purchase supplies, we'll be gone."

David shook his head. Was it his imagination, or were there more men on the ships this morning? They'd been under constant surveillance since docking two days ago. "I've got fifty barrels pointing at your chest right now. I suggest you take my word as-is and leave."

The chain-link fence between them was topped with barbed wire, but it was only to keep the dead out of St. Augustine. The makeshift fence—wooden in spots, cars piled in others, and sometimes natural formations—surrounded the main city but a living person could find a hundred spots to enter, despite the patrols.

"Look, my name is Doug. I'm from up North and just trying to find other like-minded people who will welcome me into their community. Would you let another human being die?"

"Doug Conrad," David said and smiled when the guy looked pissed. "Trust me, we know all about your exploits in Buffalo."

"You're mistaken. I helped people survive."

"After you raped them. She told us."

"Who?" Doug asked.

David had said too much already. He tapped his weapon again. "This conversation is over. If I see you're still here in the next hour, we will open fire. We vastly outnumber you and I can gather another three hundred if need be. But I don't think I'll have to."

*   *   *   *   *

"What is wrong with you?" David asked Tosha as they watched the boats pull away from the docks.

"There's nothing wrong with me. I could've hit him if I'd wanted to."

David frowned and looked down at the girl… woman, he corrected himself. Despite her diminutive size she was bigger than life, with strawberry blonde hair, a pretty light complexion, tight clothes, black leather boots, and great curves. Tosha also had a smile that could stop a man at ten feet, and she knew it. She dripped sex appeal, like a stripper locking onto that next ten dollar bill.

"I'm going back to report in. Stay here until they clear the island and let me know if they head North or South."

Tosha made an exaggerated salute and grinned. "I'll report back to you at Kimberly's Bar tonight?"

"No, you'll come to the college."

"Then we'll go to Kimberly's and get a beer?"

"Perhaps I'll see you there with my wife," David said.

"Why, your wife wants to get a beer with me?"

David didn't know if he wanted to rub his temples toward  the impending headache he got every time he worked with Tosha or if he should just walk away. He decided to walk.

He wondered if asking to transfer her to another sector would work. It wasn't like he thought he'd cheat on his wife, and he knew Tosha was more interested in getting a rise out of him because he was so uptight than actually doing something. But the girl—woman, he thought, as she was in her late twenties—was trouble. Especially in Kimberly's Bar.

David hoped the business with Doug Conrad and his militia was over with, but he knew it wasn't even close. He'd see that imposing bastard again, but he hoped it wasn't inside the confines of St. Augustine. In the last year or so they'd managed to create a safe haven, one where you weren't attacked on the streets, where food and water were plentiful, the power still worked, and everyone pitched in or they were booted.

No one had been tossed out in almost a year.

As David approached the Flagler College, now main headquarters to everyone who had some form of guard duty, he sighed.

Stepping from his overblown tour bus—with a huge painting of himself  standing next to his world-famous number 75 race car on the side—was Steve "The Breeze" Brack.

"He just might be the next to be booted," David said quietly. He steered away from Steve, hoping he hadn't been noticed.

No luck.

"Dennis! Over here," Steve yelled.

Motherfucker. "My name, for the fiftieth time, is David."

David wasn't surprised when Steve ignored him and did that condescending light hand on the shoulder bit.

"I've been thinking."

"Great."

Steve pointed at his tour bus and smiled, then turned—and moved David as well—and spread his free hand before him. "I don't like the view."

"And?" David had work, actual work, to do and didn't need a twenty minute one-sided conversation with this douche bag.