Dying Days 3 (18 page)

He went on the offensive, bringing the fight to the closest zombie and able to see it better as he did. His fear was another one stumbling right into him before he even saw it.

Eric used the machete to cleave the neck from the head and kicked the body to the ground, just in time to turn and face the second one. He quickly put it down and then went in search for more of them. With the waves crashing so close to him, noise was all around and he had to rely on poor sight. It would be nice if the zombies were moaning and dragging heavy feet or wearing bells, but they were silent and deadly.

And coming from out of nowhere now. He saw at least three silhouettes on the dark horizon, heading his way. Who knew how many were just out of sight. The area was filthy with them, most having come up from the south. In fact, every one Eric had seen or put down, so far, was coming from that direction. Where were they heading?

Right now, he didn't care. He just had more energy and anger to expend, and he didn't care where they were going. They were going down if he had his chance.

A short female zombie wearing a New England Patriots jersey stepped into his range and he took off her head with two swings, her body pitching forward. The Tom Brady jersey was covered in gore.

Eric stepped on it for good measure before moving on to the next foe, his arm loose and comfortable as he chopped again and again, four strikes taking the next zombie down.

The next half an hour was a blur, machete spinning and twirling and body parts flying. Eric was in another place, his mind shutting down as he moved. When he stopped, muscles screaming in protest, he was past Marineland and about a half a mile south.

Exhausted and finally feeling like he'd worked off the anger, Eric headed back up the beach and smiled at the bodies strewn on the sand.

He was still deciding whether or not to go back to his home and sleep or go back to Murph's and crash on the couch or in John's room. If he wasn't there when Murph got up, the old man would give him all kinds of shit. It was maybe about four a.m. but Murph was notorious for getting up at all hours of the night and frying eggs and washing dishes. Even next door, Eric was sometimes woken in the still of the night by the sounds of Murph moving around his place.

Eric was getting hungry, and looked forward to Murph being up and making some breakfast. He smiled and decided to crash on the couch so he didn't miss the food. Even this early in the morning, it was getting hot, the heat from the sand rising and Eric sweating.

He was unlocking the gate leading to the stairs when he smelled gasoline.

Chapter Thirty Six

Frank sensed him before he knew the human was aware of his presence. The machete in his hand was of no real consequence. As long as he could sneak up on him and put him down before he made a sound, the rest of the plan would be successful.

And why should one measly survivor matter in the grand scheme of things? He wasn't a threat. None of them were, even a mass of them. Frank was beyond the pettiness, but he didn't want to test it just yet. He needed to grow and progress more.

He poured out the last two gas cans, in a puddle on the driveway of the house, and crouched down, moving to get around whoever was out here this early. It would be the wrong time and place for them.

There was only one, so the actual fight would be quick, but if Frank could do it without a sound, it would be the key. As he slipped around the far side of the dwelling, he stifled a giggle. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so giddy, and it definitely wasn't in his adult life. Being a respectable doctor had mattered so much to him, and keeping up with the Joneses was all that mattered. Big house, big cars, trophy wife, flashing money in the finest restaurants Montreal had to offer. Getting his name in the paper on occasion. Where had it gotten him? Bitten by a dying man and turning into a zombie, and then progressing farther than he ever thought humanly possible. But everything before his reawakening had been a waste of time.

Frank came around the house, intending to sneak up and smash the human in the back of the head and knock him unconscious. He was carrying the machete loosely but Frank didn't feel the need to unarm him. He might even have some fun with this. Who cared if the man screamed? There were only four of them, and they couldn't possibly offer any real resistance to him.

"Hey, buddy, got a light?" Frank said, only three feet from behind the man, flicking the lighter on at the same time.

The man jumped, spinning around in fear and letting out a scream.

Frank started to laugh at the comical way he'd scared the guy, when the machete sliced through the air and imbedded in Frank's upper arm, severing muscle.

The lighter fell from his grasp and bounced once on the ground, covered in gasoline, and Frank and Eric both watched as the gas sparked.

Chapter Thirty Seven

John was almost asleep, cuddled next to Darlene, when he heard the scream. "I think Eric is in trouble." It had sounded like Eric, but as John came awake he wasn't sure.

Darlene was up like a shot, running to the wall and hitting the light switch. "What happened to the lamp?"

"The power is out. I guess you really were sleeping when I told you."

"Why didn't you wake me? What's going on?" Darlene grabbed jeans and a shirt and slipped on sneakers. John got dressed and followed her into the living room, where the machetes were leaning against the wall, near the front door.

John grabbed his compound bow and his arrows from the couch.

"Why are they here?"

He shrugged as he followed her out the door. "I bring them with me everywhere. You didn't think I let Eric have my best bow, did you?"

It was still night outside, and even with the moonlight fighting through the cloud cover, it was still too dark. They stood on the deck, eyes adjusting to the natural light.

"Where did it come from?" Darlene asked. She moved around the deck, looking over the rail. "Holy shit."

There were flames around the house next to them, and a trail running north as far as John could see, the stilt houses catching fire and crackling. This was a deliberate blaze, but he didn't know who would set it. "Is this a trap to get us outside?"

"It worked."

John rushed down the stairs. "I need to get Murph to safety." He didn't know if there really was such a thing anymore, but he needed to try.

Darlene was right behind him. As they got to the ground, they could see two figures in the glow of the flames.

John knew one was Eric. "Go get Murph, I need to get Eric."

"Fat chance. Your dad's house isn't on fire yet. Whoever this is needs an ass kicking."

John was about to charge and attack with the machete but thought better of it. Why act like a fool hero when he could be smart? "Move from my line of sight," he yelled at Darlene, as he cocked an arrow to the bow.

His first arrow hit the unknown intruder in the chest, but then he turned just as the house over him caught on fire with full force, casting an eerie orange glow. It was a man, and he was smiling. Eric's machete was buried in his arm, nearly severing it.

Eric was dancing around, putting out the fire on his pant legs.

Darlene dodged between sea oats that were sparking as the wind carried the fire, machete spinning overhead.

John quickly put arrow to bow and took a better shot, aiming at the head. At the last minute, the man deftly moved and the arrow flew past.

"Sonofabitch," John said.

Darlene was almost to him, and John had a bad feeling. He wanted to yell for her to be careful but knew how stupid it would sound.

Eric, flames out on his clothing, looked around confused, probably in search of his machete.

"Looking for this?" the man said, yanking the bloody machete from his arm and charging Eric.

John loaded and fired an arrow into the man's neck, but it didn't faze him. As the man got to Eric, who was unarmed, he broke off the arrow and left it lodged in his neck.

"No!" Darlene yelled, only steps away, trying to distract him.

It didn't work. Eric put his arms up to block the blow, but the man must have been very strong, because he clove through both of Eric’s arms, before taking a slice of his chin and into his chest.

John shot two more arrows into the man's torso, to little effect. He dropped the bow and ran, now in fear Darlene would be next.

Darlene took a swing with the machete, coming at the man full force.

He stepped to the side, reached up and blocked her attack, and gripped her neck in his hands.

Chapter Thirty Eight

Darlene couldn't breathe. His grip was like a vice, and, this close to him, she could see he was anything but human.

"Stop where you are or I'll rip her throat out and chew it in front of you. Understand?"

"Darlene?" John yelled, but stopped twenty feet short of them, still holding the machete. "Don't you dare hurt her."

The man laughed. "You're in no position to tell me what to do."

Darlene could feel the flames getting closer and, out of the corner of her eye, watched in dismay as her stilt house began to catch fire. "John, save Murph," she screeched, and the man tightened his grip.

The man was about to say something when his eyes went wide, and he leaned closer to Darlene, sniffing her. He looked confused, but didn't release his hand. "What are you?" he whispered.

"Run," she screamed and felt her throat burning. She was gasping for air.

"You're like me, yet, you aren't… how is that possible?"

"Let me breathe and we can talk about it," Darlene gasped.

He actually released his grip just enough so she could breathe, but stepped inside and wrapped his other hand's fingers around her forearm. "Let's talk. Tell your boyfriend to go away."

"John, seriously, you need to go and help the old man. I'll meet you in Flagler Beach, okay? Do it before his house catches fire." She looked into the man's eyes. "Happy?"

"So far." He glanced in John's direction and smiled. "Run along or I will crush her windpipe. You don't want that, do you?" He stopped and put his ear to her chest, chuckling. "Especially, with your weak sperm already taking hold. If you want to see your baby boy, I suggest you run along and help your daddy."

"What?" Darlene whispered.

"You are strong. Obviously, more than you think, and different. Have you been bitten?"

"Yes."

"You are immune. Why?"

"I don't know." Darlene was still turning over the pregnancy in her head. How was that even possible? They'd made love last night and tonight. There was no way…

"You and I are two different facets of the New Order."

John was gone.