Dying Days 2 (6 page)

Tosha was starting to enjoy this. The kid only had a skateboard in his hands but he could easily have a knife or a small firearm on his person. She wasn't going to do something stupid. There wasn't anywhere he could get to, anyway, without her seeing him. Just past the dunes, the road cut around and back to the north end of St. Augustine. There was a makeshift patrol tower there, overlooking the water and the road.

She stood and went back to the waterside to see what was happening on the water. As she’d suspected, one of the smaller boats was heading toward the shore while the rest continued to head to the island.

Through the scope, she saw four men on the speedboat.

Tosha wished she had her headphones because some accompanying Lizzy Borden music would be great right now. Something crushing from the first four-song EP like the title cut. She began the song from memory in her head, imagining she was starring in a bad ass movie, and pulled the trigger.

The first shot took the guy to the right of the one she was aiming for in the shoulder.

"Shit," she mumbled and adjusted for the movement, the wind and her own aim on the second shot, hitting the pilot squarely in the neck.

The speedboat swung wildly to the left and before one of the living men could get control of the craft she'd reloaded and shot another one in the back of the head.

The boat crashed into the beach, shooting up sand.

Tosha took her time and shot the last uninjured man as he foolishly lifted his head.

Satisfied that all four were down, she turned and went back to looking for the kid.

Chapter Six

Her arm was getting tired and the undead weren't stopping their attack. They didn't tire.

Six or seven bodies littered the ground—who had time to count them during a battle?—and she now had to watch where she was stepping. She was also sure she'd sliced an arm off one and kicked it down but it was still moving and could reach up and grab her at any moment.

"Stupid, stupid," Darlene whispered.

She was surrounded by them, a ring of zombies all moving at once to attack. They didn't feign or dodge her chops, they simply came on. Darlene kicked suddenly to her left and was out of the circle, but it wasn't far enough because another three came around the house.

At this point, she knew it was just a matter of time before she was overwhelmed.

She pulled the Desert Eagle and cleared a path, shooting three in the head in quick succession. The noise startled her. The zombies made no sound, and neither had she when she was fighting, only the shuffling of rotting clothes and the nearby birds breaking the silence.

They were slow, but she was getting slower. She kicked at the three new foes and almost lost her footing. All it would take would be a slip, a misplaced punch to lose a finger, or them piling on top of her, and she'd be done.

Darlene shot another two at close range, the sight of their heads exploding so common that she didn't flinch. How many heads had she seen like that? Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands? How many bullets had she used, how many times had the machete severed a neck?

She barreled into a dead woman in front of her. If she could get back to the gas station, she'd be safe. Dodging two undead, she jogged around the side of the house, panting and bone-weary.

For a brief moment she had a clear view of the waiting fence surrounding the gas station. She hoped she had enough strength to scale the chain-link and drop safely to the other side.

Then four undead shambled around the house. They were joined by three more from the trees to the right.

Behind her, the unrelenting horde moved toward her, one slow step at a time.

Darlene turned just as a man, tall with stringy guts dangling from his mouth and slapping her on her forehead, fell on her. His black-toothed grin locked on her left shoulder and she felt the burning pain as he clamped down on her skin with his teeth.

Darlene managed to fight through the sting, putting the Desert Eagle to his head.

She closed her eyes and pulled the trigger, feeling the spray of brains on her face.

She lost consciousness, hearing gunshots through the ringing in her ears.

Was that an explosion, or just her body dying and joining the walking dead surrounding her?

*   *   *   *   *

His name was Dylan James and he was a teenager, wandering around in a zombie-plagued world with a skateboard. No one was more amazed than Dylan that he was still alive, while so many others were now walking intestine-eaters. Some would argue it wasn't fair.

"Fuck fair," he said and leaned back behind the ancient stone wall of the graveyard. He thought it fitting.

The redhead was dangerous. She was also beautiful. His teenage mind ran several scenarios where he'd surrender to her and they'd fuck, or she'd at least give him head.

Of course, she was chasing him but not to suck his dick. She wanted to kill him the same way she'd obviously killed the dudes on the water: with guns blazing.

Fuck, she was hot.

And dangerous as fuck.

He wasn't scared, but he was damn close. Why did he volunteer for this stupid mission, anyway? There were ten other idiots on the boats better trained and better armed to do this shit. But when Doug Conrad smiled at you, and picked you for a special mission, you went.

The guy saved my life, Dylan thought. Without him I'd be dead —fuck, I’d be undead—wandering around the sand dunes, trying to eat brains and shit. Instead, I was alive, well-fed, surrounded by armed men who watched over me, respected me, and didn't care how young I was. I was treated like an equal.

Right now, he was getting hot with the sun beating down on him. He needed to move, to get into town, to blend in, and infiltrate. Dylan needed to bond with these pathetic people and exploit their weaknesses, report to Doug, and be a hero.

But first… he lifted his head and froze.

She was there, red hair curly and running across her slim shoulders, pale skin burning in the sun. She moved like a panther and he watched in awe. She was only fifty feet from him. He knew if he moved she'd blow his head off within two steps.

He slowly lifted his skateboard. If he had to hit her, he would. If he was lucky enough to knock her out, he'd cop a feel of her tits. Maybe even feel up her tight ass.

She stopped.

Dylan held his breath. If she looked his way he might be seen, even with the wall blocking most of him.

She was listening for movement. As long as he stayed still, he'd live.

It felt like an hour passed, although it was probably just a few long minutes, but she finally walked away in the opposite direction.

He wasn't taking any chances. He stayed in place and watched her until she disappeared around a pile of rubble. In his mind, she was tricking him, circling around to sneak up behind him and put a bullet in his head.

Dylan decided the smart thing to do would be to run as fast as he could and hope he didn't catch a bullet in his back. That would be stupid, he thought.

He slipped back over the wall and went to the spot she'd been standing in. He didn't see her, but she'd gone around the torched building. He decided to follow, see if he could sneak up on her, and club her with his board.

It was too hot out here. Even with the ocean so close, the dunes blocked the light wind and his clothes stuck to his thin frame. He was shaking, and knew for all his bluster he was scared shitless right now. At any moment, she could reappear and kill him. Game over. End of the line. Dylan loses.

This section of the city, inside the fences of the safe area, looked like something off the news, like a Middle Eastern war zone. Shit that didn't interest him when there was school and news programs his lame mother would watch instead of MTV shows or some cool R-rated movie .

He didn't see her but he heard her. She was slipping around, through the buildings, and probably right to where he was hiding.

Dylan decided now was the perfect time to get as far away from here as possible. He walked as quickly as he could, staying off the road and making sure not to kick stones or hit anything, heading in the general direction of St. Augustine.

*   *   *   *   *

Tosha knew he'd been here. She could see sneaker prints behind the wall. She smiled when she saw they were also on the other side. Smart kid, she thought. Instead of running away he'd gotten behind her. Tosha casually looked around but didn't see him anywhere. No matter. She'd find him eventually, and a kid with a skateboard was far less dangerous than four men with automatic weapons.

She needed to report back and let David know what had happened. She knew he'd be pissed that she’d opened fire, but she'd killed five of them and the only one to remain alive—for now—was some pimply-faced kid.

The footprints were easy enough to follow. Tosha wiped the sweat from her eyes, wishing she'd brought a hair-tie with her. She couldn't wait to get back to her 'home', strip out of these dirty clothes and into something sexy, something that would make stupid men waste their precious bartering items to buy her a beer at Kimberly's in hopes of getting some action tonight.

When she noticed the trail led not the way she'd gone but towards town, she laughed. Excellent. It would be even easier now. She'd hunt him down like a dog, slap him around, play into his teenage angst and sexual frustration, and get every ounce of information she could out of the snotty bastard.

Then she'd take him out back like a wounded dog and put him out of his misery.

Chapter Seven

Kimberly's was crowded tonight, as usual. With close to two thousand people living in the small area, there was never a dull moment inside the bar.

Ellen Harden, owner of the establishment, was getting tired. "What can I get you tonight?" she asked a regular with a smile and a wink.

"Shot of rum."

She glanced back at the depleted supply. "I'm out of rum. How about vodka?"

"Sure. How much?"

"How much ya got?"

The man smiled, showing crooked teeth. "How about a trade?"

Ellen laughed. "All we're doing is trading. That's how this works. You come in, I give you a drink, and you give me something of value in return. Jewelry, food, bottled water, ammo or a good romance book."

He grinned. "I could show you a good time, Kimberly."

"I'm sure you think you could," she said and poured him a two-finger shot. "You owe me."

"We could do this upstairs real quick," he said.