Dying Days 2 (9 page)

"Everyone talks of you like you're the boogeyman, riding around on your motorcycle and killing the living and the dead."

"Not me. I do have a sweet collection of bikes, though."

"I can imagine. Why are you out here by yourself? We have a nice group near the inlet, and St. Augustine is just up the road."

"I'm not what you'd call sociable. I have my own things I like to do, my routine. I've had it forever, ever since I was a kid."

"Did you grow up here?"

"No, no. I'm from New Jersey, land of Bon Jovi and Springsteen. Of course, my tastes fall more toward the real musicians like Jaco Pastorius and Led Zeppelin, great jazz and legendary rock musicians you don't hear anymore."

He grinned. "I used to play bass growing up. I was good. Listened to guys like Billy Sheehan and Bootsy Collins."

Darlene had no idea who he was talking about but she could feel his passion when he spoke. "Did you ever do anything with it?"

"Sure. My parents sent me to Boston to study music at Berklee. I learned quite a bit. I also learned how to survive with no money, eat Ramen noodles until I wanted to die, and improvise when it came to getting by in life."

Darlene slowly rubbed her shoulder. It wasn't as tender as it was a few minutes ago. She could actually move it. It wasn't her shooting arm, which she was grateful for. "Where's my weapons?" she suddenly asked.

He pointed to the back of the classroom. "Your boots and things are in there."

"Thank you." She thought it would be rude to get up and retrieve them right now, so she waited. "And after Boston?"

"My dad worked for the government. This was late eighties, early nineties. He'd bring home his computer and show me cool games, all these text-based programs. I loved it, so I started researching and writing code myself. I made quite a good living off it, in fact. I was in Germany, working on a big project, when everything started to happen."

"Wow. You're a long way from Germany. And New Jersey."

"We got rerouted. One thing led to another and I ended up here."

"Is any of that computer skill of any use in this new world?"

"Sure." He stood and rubbed his hands together. "I've been experimenting, recording data, and I know things the common man—or woman—does not."

"Such as?"

"Why don't I show you?" Russ walked out the door and down the hall, Darlene struggling in her weak state to keep up.

They passed several empty classrooms, the auditorium and the lunchroom, and came to a closed door. Russ stopped and smiled.

For some reason, Darlene was reminded of Willy Wonka. There was obviously something not quite right with this guy, but she thought he was harmless. Relatively harmless, she decided, remembering her previous encounter with him.

"I usually videotape any experiments, but I can't find any battery packs. But, especially in the beginning, I taped all of it. Do you want to see the tapes or the live stuff first?"

Darlene had no idea what he was talking about so she shrugged. "Surprise me."

He tapped his chin with a finger and grinned. "Follow me, we'll do the video presentation first."

Luckily for Darlene, the next classroom was their destination. Russ pulled two chairs up close to the front of the room where a widescreen television and DVD player had been hooked up.

Russ grabbed the remote control with a flourish. He was clearly enjoying this.

Darlene remembered the weeks and months she'd spent alone, wondering if she were the last person alive. She almost went crazy in a few spots.

"Watch this and tell me what you see."

The video came on, a single steady camera filming through a glass window in a door between it and the subject, a man who was clearly dead but moving.

Darlene watched for several minutes as the zombie shuffled around the room, walking in and out of frame, knocking into chairs and desks in the classroom.

"I'm not following you," she said.

Russ stood. "Watch! Watch!"

The zombie moved out of frame again. At least thirty seconds went by and a faint scraping noise could be heard.

Darlene was about to stand when the zombie reappeared suddenly, chair in hand, and began smashing the door with the chair. The camera shuddered with each blow.

"Do you see?" Russ yelled.

A final blow knocked the door open and the camera toppled. A single gunshot could be heard before the camera was turned off.

"I don't follow," Darlene admitted.

"It picked up a chair and used it as a weapon."

Darlene stood and joined him. "Back at the stilt house, some of them figured out how to pull the barricade down. And when their comrades fell, they pulled them out of the way instead of tripping over them."

"Really? Excellent," Russ said excitedly. "I'll have to get a full report from you for the files. I wish I had a working camera."

"How is that excellent? That's frightening. They're getting smarter, learning…"

"Or perhaps remembering? I'm not yet sure which. That could prove to be important."

Darlene sat back down. "If they begin to outsmart us, we'll have no hope. We're all assuming they'll be easy to kill one at a time, or they'll simply rot, run out of food, and we'll rebuild."

Russ put out his hand. "Come with me."

"Do I want to?"

"No, but you need to."

They went back to the hallway and entered the original door they'd stopped at.

Russ opened the door and hit the light-switch. Strapped to a table in the center of the room, similar to the setup Russ used for Darlene, was a female zombie. She fought her bonds but she couldn't move.

Darlene didn't want to go in.

"It's fine, she's been here for months."

"How is that possible?"

"I'll show you." Russ escorted Darlene to the zombie's feet. Both were severed just above the ankle. "Notice the blue lines."

Darlene saw a thick blue line, several inches above the cuts, on both legs. "Okay."

Russ pulled a pen from his pocket and touched the blue line before gliding the pen down to the wound. "When I secured her, she had no feet. I marked the tip of the stumps with the blue marker. That was seven months, two weeks and three days ago."

"But…"

"They are learning," Russ said, "And they are regenerating. They will not rot and fade away."

Chapter Ten

David scooped the last three ibuprofen from his pocket and sucked them down his throat without water. He didn't have time for this tonight. His wife was going to kill him, but he had a job to do. One he hated right now.

He knocked on the door of the tour bus, ignoring the giant Steve 'The Breeze' Brack face smiling at him. Actually, it was more leering than anything else, the four-foot tall painting of his head looming.

The driver answered the door, stinking of booze. He simply stared at David through bloodshot eyes.

"I need to speak to your boss." David wanted this over quickly.

"He's busy entertaining."

"This bus needs to move from this spot."

"It's not hurting anyone. In fact, we shared some food with the locals today," Mike said and scratched his crotch, which was in line with David's face.

David looked away. Asshole. "Get Steve out here, please."

"I told you, he's busy." Mike winked. "At last count there were three in there with him. I bailed after the first. I'm too drunk and need some sleep." Mike started to close the door.

David, now thoroughly pissed, stepped up and pushed his way past the drunken driver. "Looks like you were robbed."

The inside of the tour bus was a mess. Empty beer bottles, the smell of burnt hot dogs, cheap cologne, and various women's clothing items hanging from chairs, curtains, and a red thong in the sink added to the sense of chaos.

Mike grinned. "He's in the master bedroom."

David walked down the short hall, stepping over an empty whiskey bottle. He knocked lightly on the closed door.

A woman giggled.

David knocked louder. "Steve?"

"Mike, bring us more wine." A different girl giggled. "And grapes, do we have grapes?"

David wanted to spend a quiet evening with his wife, get a drink at Kimberly's Bar, and go home and relax. He slammed his palm on the door. "Steve, we need to talk."

After a pause Steve laughed. "Come in."

David opened the door but didn't enter.

Steve, completely nude, was spread-eagle on the bed. A naked young brunette had his manhood buried in her mouth while another girl fondled her from behind. The third woman was servicing herself with an empty wine bottle.

David had a mission here, and this wouldn't deter him. He couldn't open his mouth and form words, though, right now.

Steve pointed at the woman taking care of herself. "Hey, Danny, see if she needs a hand."

"David. My name is David. I need this bus moved."

"Not a problem," Steve said and put a hand on the back of his oral partner's head. "Can I finish here first?"

"I'm not kidding," David said.

“Neither am I." Steve laughed. "Are you going to just stand there and stare or jump into the fire?"

David turned away and stomped back down the hall.

Mike was sitting at the small table, trying in vain to light a wet cigarette.

"You need to move this tour bus," David said.

Mike grinned. "Is that what this is about?"

"I specifically told you—"

"No, you told Steve, who in turn, lied to me to get us to park here."

"I don't care who's to blame," David said.

"We were planning on moving in the next half hour. Once we grew bored with those three chicks."

"I don't believe you."

Mike smiled when the cigarette sparked. "Seriously, man. We had a nice day here, hanging with the refugees. I cooked over a hundred hot dogs and traded them for alcohol, even though we have enough to kill a person ten times over." Mike stood, puffed on his cig, and opened the shelves above the stove.

Bottles of whiskey, wine, rum, vodka, and homemade mason jars were jammed into the space.

"You want something?" Mike asked.

"Like a bribe?"

"Man, you always play the cop around here? I swear this bus will be moved. We've already driven through any of the good snatch around here. It's on to bigger and better things." Mike hefted a full bottle of pineapple rum. "For you, kind sir."

David wasn't stupid. He palmed the bottle. "One hour."

"You got it."

"Where do you think you're going to park?"

Mike smiled. "Wherever Steve can find more ladies."

*   *   *   *   *

Tosha was drunk. Beyond-fucked-up-drunk, slobbering drunk right now. She knew because her dead twin sister was sitting on the bench across from her on Spanish Street.

"Don't start with me, Mathyu," Tosha said, referring to her sister's stupid nickname. "I'll be fine."