Dying Days 2 (4 page)

"I know you're in charge around here."

"I'm not. I'm just one of the people assigned to keeping us safe."

Steve grew excited. "Exactly! Safety is a big buzz word around here, I get that. I need to be safe, and my driver Mike needs to be safe. We're not safe in this spot."

"Why?"

"Look around, Dennis. We're stuck on the sidewalk of some church…"

"It's a college."

"…and across the street from some old apartments."

Davis laughed. "The Casa Monica is one of the ritziest hotels in the area. They used to get over two hundred people a night staying there."

"The Setai in Miami Beach costs me about three grand a night. That's ritzy. This place is for loser tourists and people too stupid to go to Miami. Now, I was thinking…"

"I'll catch up with you later." David tried to pull away but Steve hooked his fingers into his shoulder and steered him back to the bus.

"I think I'm going to have Mike park us on the lawn of the fort, overlooking the water. That would be a better view."

"Are you serious? We have the fort overflowing with refugees, and the lawn as well."

"Move them."

"That's not going to happen."

"Why not?"

David pulled away. He wanted to punch this diva in the face. Instead he walked away as quickly as he could and crossed the street, ignoring Steve's shouts.

He had actual work to do.

*   *   *   *   *

Mike Ross dreamed he was riding his Harley near Sturgis, with the hills on both sides and a beautiful woman riding bitch  behind him. He could feel the wind; the warm sun beating on the asphalt below as the tires gripped and propelled him along at seventy miles an hour. Heaven.

"Get up, we need to move."

"Shit, you wake me in that spot every time. One day I'm going to pull over and nail that chick."

"What chick? We got a better spot to park," Steve said.

Mike narrowed his eyes. "You actually got the OK to move?" He'd known Steve only a few months but already knew that just because he wanted something didn't mean he'd gotten actual clearance to do it. Steve's motto was usually 'do it and we'll worry about the consequences later, rather than being told no now.' Since coming to St. Augustine three weeks ago, Steve had managed to wow the locals with autographs and his racing stories, getting free beers in Kimberly's Bar while having the crowd in the palm of his hand.

But the guy could be the biggest douche bag if unchecked.

"Don't you know who I am?" Steve said, one of his favorite catchphrases. He flashed his perfect teeth, his matinee idol looks one of the many reasons he got his way, and ran roughshod over everyone in his way. Exactly like he did on the racetrack.

"Where are we parking? And if you tell me the lawn next to Fort Matanzas I'll know your bullshitting me."

Steve stared at Mike and grinned. "We probably need to move a few people and their dirty tents, but it's a done deal."

"Bullshit." Mike closed his eyes and snuggled back into the driver's seat of the bus. If he was lucky he'd fall back asleep and park that bike and finally meet the chick hanging behind him he'd still never seen.

"Start this bus up and drive. It's only up the street."

"I don't believe you."

Steve leaned in close to Mike, who could smell his minty breath. Where the fuck did this guy get gum or Tic Tacs from? It’s the end of the world and this guy has fresh breath. "Drive or I'll find another crew member."

"Shit," Mike muttered. He opened his eyes and frowned. The last thing he wanted was to be replaced. "Why are you doing this?"

"Don't you know who I am?" Steve said and patted Mike on the shoulder. "You want to be out there? Look at them."

Mike followed Steve's gaze down the block, where a small tent city was overflowing onto the street, the fort jutting behind the mass of humanity.

"No," Mike whispered.

"I can't hear you. Do you want to be dirty, smelly, like sardines in a can? Pressed up against other gross, weak people isn't the answer for me. How about you, driver?"

"No." Mike started the bus, listening to the engine roar.

Steve laughed. "You want a Corona?"

"Sure."

"Not while you're driving. And we're down to the last two limes, so you don't get a slice. Put that on your list for tomorrow, by the way. We need more limes."

Mike put the bus into drive and pulled slowly off the sidewalk. As much as he hated to admit it, Steve 'The Breeze' Brack was right. Mike didn't want to be mixed in with the commoners; he was special.

He glanced in the rearview mirror at Steve, who was digging around in the refrigerator. Mike Ross decided he'd keep pace with the superstar, good or bad, and ride those coattails to a better future.

Chapter Four

The gas station was just as Darlene remembered it. She'd lost track of how long it had been since she'd been here. Leading with the Desert Eagle, she unlocked the fence and entered the building through the front door with the keys she still possessed.

Dust swirled and she laughed, remembering getting down on her hands and knees and scrubbing the place, as if she planned on spending her days here, reading magazines and eating beef jerky while the world died on the outside.

The power was still on and she grabbed a cold bottle of water from the soda case. She didn't worry about the rest of the supplies there just yet. The house held the real treasure.

"Time to see the house," she whispered. Even though she'd rushed out on Murph as soon as he had fallen asleep, and jogged south on A1A until she found a Ford Explorer with gas and drove the rest of the way here, she'd kept the house out of her mind, focusing on simply finding the gas station again.

Unfortunately, the bridge to this side was still out—damn zombies couldn't have at least rebuilt it for me? she mused—and she'd spend several hours lugging cases of food and water across the shallow river until high tide.

She knew she was being stupid. A child could see the crybaby attitude she was showing. I can't go to St. Augustine with you? Fine. Then I'll go to this dangerous place by myself and find more supplies than you can find and drop boxes of food at your feet with a big Fuck You.

Darlene was wasting time. She walked out through the garage, remembering how scared she was the first time she'd entered the gas station, not knowing who was in there.

When she got outside, she glanced over at the two graves she'd dug but turned away when she felt the tears coming. Two men were buried there, thanks to her, but they would have killed her if given the chance. Who knew if they would have taken the time to put her in the ground?

She looked up the road at the house and concentrated on the task before her.

She suddenly wanted to scream. Why didn't you leave a note, dumb-ass? At least let them know where you were going. If she didn't complete this move soon, it would be dark and she'd have to sleep in the gas station. Murph, at some point today, would wake from his nap and wonder where she was. In a couple days, John would return from St. Augustine, and, if she wasn't back, he'd freak.

"But I will be back tomorrow," she whispered. With an Explorer filled with supplies. That will hopefully shut the boys up.

She could see the chain-link fence stretched to the house and on both sides of her, protection and safety.

The road leading to the house was quiet and peaceful. The ride here had been uneventful, as most of the zombie population had been caught up in the wave days ago and headed north.

Darlene put a foot on the wooden porch steps and stopped. She remembered the last time she'd been here and walked this path until a board squeaked, stirring up the undead inside, and thoroughly scaring herself.

"Grow a pair," she whispered.

She decided to find an alternate route, swearing it was not a stalling tactic. She walked around to the left side of the house, watching the windows for movement, but they were all boarded up and covered.

The chain-link fence was torn apart in the rear of the house, and halfway up the far side. Darlene inspected it, but it wasn't from an attack. The posts were buried in loose sand. Between the recent storms and no solid ground to hold, they'd simply ripped from their mooring and collapsed.

The house itself was weathered, sand drifting and hiding the few spots of weed-grass, piles of it sloping against the foundation.

Behind the house were more sand dunes, but stunted low trees marked a field to the west. No car or pickup truck sat in the opened and empty  garage, and a pile of warped wood was stacked against a ruined chicken coop.

The back door wasn't boarded up from the outside.  The screen door was off its hinges and was ten feet across the yard, half buried in sand.

Darlene tried to look in through the small window pane of the door but it was too filthy. She pressed an ear to the wood and closed her eyes, expecting a monstrous hand to crack through splintering wood and grip her by the hair, or Jack Nicholson to start chopping away with a fireman's ax. Instead, it was quiet.

Now she was definitely stalling. She went around to the opposite side and checked the windows there, surprised to find one with a small space between the boards.

Inside, through the swirling dust, she could make out stacks of boxes, all in neat rows and covered by tarps. A twelve-pack of spring water was placed on the top of one five-foot pyramid against the far wall.

Nothing moved.

Darlene didn't know what she expected: an empty house, cleared of goods, a roomful of zombies trying to crash through the window to get at her… Maybe they'd rotted away without food, were just piles of dried blood and bones.

She needed to figure out the best approach to this. She could try to sneak in by prying away the boards over the window  and getting inside before she was heard; or she could distract them by banging on the front door and running around to the back; or she could simply go 'video game' on them by kicking in the back door and shooting everything in sight.

Instead, she simply knocked lightly on the back door and got her machete ready. At first, she didn't hear any noise in the house so she went to knock again. That's when something slammed against the door on the other side, scaring her and forcing her back a step.

"What are you scared of?" she whispered. The varied thoughts of being ripped apart and raped by the residents of the house were pushed aside and she decided to open the door, let them out, and dispatch them.

As calmly as she could, and ignoring the pounding coming from inside, she went through the ring of keys until she found the proper one, unlocked the door and pushed it open.

Just as the first zombie stepped out into the Florida sunshine, Darlene heard a step coming up behind her. She turned and almost pissed herself. While she'd been fumbling around the house, taking her sweet time, seven or eight zombies had appeared in the field behind her, and were now only steps away.

"Shit," she cursed and began a two-front defense as the second zombie stepped from the house.

*   *   *   *   *

Apparently not every zombie had  moved on to St. Augustine and northern places.

"Shit," John mumbled. It was only a few miles up A1A to the city, and they'd taken this route dozens of times. Occasionally there would be a few zombies stumbling on the road, coming out from abandoned houses or from the beach.