Dying Days 3 (7 page)

He slowed down as he entered into Flagler Beach, the pier up ahead in the distance. He could almost see it. He'd spent many nights on the boardwalk there, chasing pussy and getting a blowjob under the wood while oblivious people strolled above him.

Most of the homes, to his left, were destroyed, street after street in disrepair and ruin. He was sure they'd been picked clean of food and supplies months ago, and if there were people hiding and living here, he wouldn't see them.

He didn't see much of anyone, now that he thought of it. Since getting out of Ormond Beach, the lonely strip of A1A connecting to Flagler was filled with zombies, but never enough to get him to stop. As he approached the Flagler Beach water tower, they'd thinned out. Up ahead, he didn't see one.

Not a single zombie on the road, walking through the overgrown lawns or from the dunes. He slowed and pulled over to the right, checking out the beach itself.

Empty. Not a zombie in sight, even though Ormond and Daytona Beaches were ugly with them. You couldn't move in some spots down there, and it was a hairy ride for a few blocks, trying to get the bike through.

The Ocean Center was dead-center in Daytona Beach, right across A1A from the Hilton and the actual boardwalk, and only a couple of blocks from Main Street, where Jeff had spent many Bike Weeks and Biketoberfests drinking and fighting and fucking. Now it was a ghost town, and the bars were ripped apart and the alcohol and sluts long gone.

But it was his. He was holed up in the Ocean Center with his boss, and he was free to come and go, as long as he brought home the proper loot: available women, food and weapons. His search kept getting longer and longer each day, and he had to ride further out with each recon. He'd been south and west for miles, and he was beginning to think the journey north was going to be a bust. Especially with not even a zombie in sight to shoot at and take target practice with.

He started the Harley again and kept moving north, figuring he'd get as close to Saint Augustine as he could, until he got bored or found something. It was rare he found something shiny and new to play with, but it was always worth the effort, and it was much better than sitting around in Daytona and having the constant wrath of his boss come down on him.

The ride through Flagler Beach was uneventful, since there was nothing left alive to be interesting to him. A1A was devoid of abandoned cars and debris in the road, and Jeff opened up the throttle and shot down the road, once again loving the wind and the sun and the perfect weather.

He figured if he had to die and the end of the world was upon him, it might as well be in sunny Florida instead of some cold Northern state or another country he didn't care about, like Canada.

His eyes darted back and forth across the road, as he headed north, always looking for a possible ambush from a group of zombies or living people. A week ago, in New Smyrna Beach, four men had blockaded Route 1 and tossed Molotov cocktails at him. He'd wasted six shots to kill three of them and wound the last one, but he never found where he'd crawled away to recover or die. Not that it mattered. A wounded man was as good as a dead man. And if he was part of a bigger group, they'd cast him out. It was truly a dog eat dog world. They'd strip him of weapons and anything else of value he carried.

Jeff laughed when he thought of what was valuable these days. If he wanted to start collecting watches or jewelry, the world was filled with them. He'd ignored Rolex watches in pursuit of bread crumbs, and used hundred dollar bills to make a fire during cold nights. Gasoline and bike parts were priceless.

Back at the Ocean Center, he had sixteen Harley's stored, but he only used the one he was on now, which he called Stacey with affection, after his bitch second wife. He liked to ride this baby hard like he'd done to her, and still hoped one day to run into her again. He also hoped she was a zombie and he could take pleasure in ripping her into pieces and let her feel some of the pain he felt. She deserved it. But he would also like one last blowjob from her, because the slut could suck a golf ball through a garden hose.

As he approached an overpass, he kept watch for anyone on top of the bridge with weapons, but it was empty. He shot past and held his breath. He remembered the time he'd watched a group drop nets down on bikers and force them to stop before a dozen of their partners came out of hiding and beat them to death. That was months ago, when there were many people still alive. There were some willing to trade with you, some willing to hunt with you, and some that needed to be eliminated. Jeff had gotten rid of quite a few in his time, and he knew it was survival of the fittest.

Trees and wild grass grew on either side of the road, encroaching and cracking the pavement. He was suddenly away from the beach and civilization, with a few dilapidated buildings buried in the fauna. This would be a perfect area for an ambush, and Jeff pulled the rifle from his side saddle bag holder and kept his finger on the trigger.

When a zombie stepped out from behind a tree, he didn't panic. He just kept riding. There was no sense in shooting every one he saw, because the chance of actually running into this one again was minimal. If they cornered him or made it interesting, he'd waste ammo. Otherwise, he was just glad to be out riding and enjoying the sunshine.

Now that he was north of Flagler Beach, it was like he'd driven back into the zombie apocalypse. They weren't everywhere but they were now prominent. He couldn't wrap his head around this strange occurrence, but he thought he'd like to figure it out on his way back south.

For now… he rode and enjoyed the freedom.

Chapter Eleven

"Just let him pass," Murph said from his porch, watching the motorcycle as it headed up A1A and north. "He'll be stopped if he gets into Saint Augustine."

"A lone rider? Isn't that odd?" Bri asked. She was sitting on the wooden floor next to Murph, hidden behind the partition they'd set up so they couldn't be seen from the road and the Matanzas Inlet Bridge.

"It's not common these days." Murph looked the way the biker had come and knew, if he'd been traveling on A1A for any length of time, Eric and John would have seen him half an hour ago. If there were more following, though, there would be no real way for an advanced warning. "We need to make sure he keeps going, and then watch to see if he comes back, or heads west on 206. There aren't many people out here these days, that's for sure."

"Why can't we wave him over and talk to him?" Bri asked.

Murph shook his head and led her back inside his home. "We can't trust anyone these days, kid. You want some hot chocolate?"

"Sure." Bri sat down at the kitchen table. "I just don't get it."

"Get what?" Murph asked, scooping the last of the hot chocolate powder from the can. This was it. Unless they found more, this could be the last cup of hot chocolate any of them ever saw. How depressing.

"The fact that actual living and breathing people are getting rarer each day, but when we see one we don't flag them down and talk to them. He might have important information for us. What if there is a bigger community than Saint Augustine? What if Daytona Beach is a rebuilt city? We'd never know. Hell, Georgia could be business as usual for all we know."

"Did you say hell? Watch your mouth."

"I'm fifteen. I'm a damn woman. And I don't believe in heaven and hell and all that crap."

Murph shook his head again. "I don't know what kind of upbringing you had, young lady, but you will not take the Lord's name in vain in my house and you will not disrespect Him."

"I don't think I believe in Him."

"Why?"

Bri laughed. "Look around. If there was a God, would he let all this happen? I don't think so."

"Why wouldn't he? Is his job to coddle us, let us not make our own decisions and walk us through an easy, boring life? I think we need to learn from our own mistakes, and God shows us how to get through and survive."

"He's never done anything for me."

Murph put the kettle on the stove and got out a coffee mug from the kitchen cabinet. He didn't turn to look at Bri. "Hasn't he, though? Why do you think 99% of the population is dead, while you are still breathing and enjoying my company? Divine intervention."

"I thought you said he didn't coddle us."

"Oh, and he doesn't. He helps us, he protects us, and he guides us, gently, in the right direction. But he doesn't do the work for us. There is a reason you are alive right now, and you need to figure out what it means. Why are you so special? Why aren't you down there, on the beach, trying to bite me?"

"Why am I so special I get to have the last hot chocolate?" Bri asked and smiled. "Did God plan this?"

The kettle began whistling. "He might have. Who can say? I do know you're special, and I'm glad you aren't down there, on the beach, trying to get up here to bite me."

"Do you believe in God then, Murph?"

Murph took his time taking the kettle off the stove and pouring the scalding water into the cup. "I believe in a higher power. I believe there is a God, and he watches all of his creatures and helps us to make the right decisions, but doesn't judge us like some denominations think. I don't go to church, but my late wife did. Every Sunday morning she'd be the first inside, and she'd come out with the biggest smile on her face. I'd sit in the car and read the newspaper and listen to the radio, and I always looked forward to seeing her. Grinning. Glowing. But  never stepped inside a church until John John was married. I didn't go inside when they laid my wife to rest. You know what I did during the wake and the mass inside the church? I sat in my car and read the paper and cried, waiting for her to walk outside with a look of content on her face."

"Were you mad at God?"

Murph smiled and put the mug on the kitchen table. "Why would I be?"

"He took your wife."

"No. God gave me forty years to share with my best friend. He gave me her laughter, her love, her cooking, and her fire. God let me see I might be a lapsed Roman Catholic, but I still had core beliefs within myself. I still followed the rules and His path without realizing it. I might not set foot in a church, but I was still following the right path. What did he take from me? Nothing. He gave me everything I'd ever need and so much more."

"I'll never find that."

"You'll find what you need. Trust in it."

"I'm not going to find a mate."

Murph laughed. "You're fifteen."

"Exactly. In this day and age, I'm a woman." She sipped her hot chocolate. "But there's no one my age, or even close. I'm not able to date or go to the mall or sneak a kiss under the bleachers. Nothing. I'll die an old maid, burying the rest of you in the sand and then looking around and realizing I am truly alone."

"Honey, you can't be so negative."

"Why not? It's not like a cute boy is asking me to go out on Friday night. All the cute ones are trying to bite me," she said with a snort.

Chapter Twelve

John and Eric stood on the deck of Murph's stilt house and waited until Darlene and Abby joined them. Murph was inside, probably entertaining Bri or watching another John Wayne movie.

"We have two pickup trucks filled with supplies," Darlene said proudly. "While you two were getting a suntan on a roof in Flagler, we were working our asses off." She leaned against the rail in satisfaction. "I'm thinking our job is done. You boys need to separate the goods and pass them out."

"Listen to you with the commands," John said. "Eric and I are exhausted. We've been working all day, too."

"Doing what?" Abby asked.

"I won his bow," Eric said and smiled. "And we saw a guy on a motorcycle."

"Wow, you have been busy," Darlene said sarcastically. "We fought off a group of zombies and then walked two pickup truck's worth of supplies across the waterway. Then drove back and had to dodge more zombies and do it on two empty gas tanks. But I'm glad you two were having stupid contests again, and Eric screwed you out of your prized bow. Seems like you two were way too busy."