Dying Days 3 (8 page)

"I'm amazed you had time to come back here," Abby added.

"Laugh it up, ladies. Just be happy we were out there, covering your asses, while you got to play with boxes of stale cookies," John said.

"Who was the motorcycle guy?" Abby asked. "Did he stop?"

“Murph says he kept going north. Maybe he was heading to St. Augustine. I'm not sure where he was coming from, though. It could be an advanced scout for whoever is killing the zombies in Flagler Beach."

"Where do you think they are hiding out?" Darlene asked.

John shrugged. "They could be anywhere. Flagler might only be a couple of blocks in width but it runs over fifty blocks in length, with the pier in the center. They would have hundreds of houses to hole up in, and we'd never see them. If they've survived this long, it's because they know what they are doing. You can only survive for so long with luck. It's like being an athlete. The cream of the crop goes on from high school to college, but the best of that bunch moves onto the pros. A small percentage of them actually make it. It's the same with life now. Only the strong survive."

"Nice analogy," Eric said.

"You two want us to leave so you can kiss?" Darlene asked with a grin. "What do you think we need to do about the guy on the bike and Flagler Beach?"

"Sitting on a rooftop isn't the answer. We don't have enough people to watch anything but A1A, in and out, from the north. Plus, it's a twenty minute car ride down there, and anyone with eyes also on the road can see us coming for miles. Not to mention, hear us. I think we need to get a group together and do another house to house search of the town, but do it quietly. The zombies don't seem to be a threat in any number at this point, anyway. One good thing: whoever these people are, they've taken the threat of zombies off the table for us. We can handle one or two of them." Eric looked down at the pickup trucks below. "I guess we need to get this food and water inside, quickly, before the rider comes back south."

"You think he would have stopped when he saw the stilt houses." Darlene led them down the stairs. They'd gotten several people because of the obvious height of the stilt houses, survivors that wandered over thinking they were empty and would make a perfect sanctuary, up in the air and away from the zombies. Some of the stilt houses, especially those closest to the street entryway on A1A, were low to the ground in the front. Those were never in use unless they had a sudden overflow of the living on their pilgrimage to St. Augustine. The windows and doors were boarded up, and the back steps or through the garage were the only means to get to the main part of the house.

These homes were most likely about two million dollars a piece, and none of the current residents could have afforded to live in this luxury before, and most never even knew this area (actually known as Summer Haven) existed unless they had glanced over, doing sixty miles an hour, heading north or south to the tourist areas.

They began lugging the items into the garage of Murph's house, and soon others came out to help and take their share. A couple of people stood guard, getting rid of two zombies who wandered too close.

"We need more food," Abby said. "That was split up way too quickly."

If they were lucky, they each had an extra three day's worth of food now. But it was getting scarcer. After the attack on St. Augustine, they'd lost a steady amount of grown and salvaged products. They hadn't seen an airplane coming up from the south in weeks, which was unusual. They left unspoken the fact no plane dropping or picking up supplies, in trade, meant another community had perished. They hoped it was just running out of fuel.

Once everything was unloaded, they parked the pickup trucks at the end of the road where pavement turned to sand, and Darlene and Abby went with John and Eric into Murph's house to discuss their next moves.

Chapter Thirteen

Frank, despite all the growth he was making physically as well as mentally, was still unable to get rid of one base emotion: he was bored. He stood on the ramp leading up to the Java Joint and sighed. He had no real need for pretty sights like the ocean and beach right in front of him. He just didn't need to be oohed and aahed by the scenery. He needed to keep busy and productive, especially since he no longer needed sleep.

There wasn't a zombie in sight, and there hadn't been in hours. They were too mindless to steer clear of Flagler Beach, but there had been more a few days ago when he started destroying them. Frank didn't want to go too far in search of them, but what choice did he have?

He decided Palm Coast would get a cleaning. He'd pile up the bodies like a highway litter patrol, and come back for them later. He had all the time in the world.

The only bad part would be if the motorcycle guy came back through, since it was now obvious he was a loner. And, definitely, food. It was getting rarer and rarer to find it right now. He hoped an enclave of living was living in Palm Coast and he could root them out and crack them open like clams.

Frank wondered if he could eat clams now. He seemed to remember liking them when he was alive, although, it was still a distant memory. He couldn't remember what they tasted like. The only taste he knew and liked was flesh and drinking blood.

He stopped and closed his eyes as the wave of hunger swept over him. He literally saw red, and his brain seemed to shut down as the gnawing began in his gut. He wanted to find a living person and bite into their neck, savoring the juices and the pain and the life, as it drained from its body…

It was dark. Frank stopped and blinked, unsure where he was. His naked feet were on pavement but he didn't recognize the road. There were trees and businesses around him but he couldn't hear the pounding of the surf. He'd wandered away but he didn't know how far.

There were zombies near him, and he counted nine in his immediate sight. He stood and watched as they moved in random paths, with a McDonald’s restaurant on his right and Burger King across the street, both gutted and blackened from previous fires.

A couple more appeared from behind the gas station together, but started moving in different directions. Frank could see another one wandering above, on the I-95 overpass.

He figured he was somewhere in Palm Coast and had blacked out with the hunger and began the mindless walk like those before him. Now that he was back in full control of his body and mind, he had some work to do. He started walking toward the closest one when he realized his eyesight was superior, even in the dark, with only a half moon in the clear sky above and no other lighting. He wondered how long before he would be able to see in the dark like a cat, and, instinctively, knew it would happen.

There were going to be other wondrous powers he would discover as he grew and changed, and he looked forward to each and every one of them. Frank decided to spend the next few days wandering this area until every last undead threat was taken care of.

"Hello, my name is Frank. I'm going to break your neck, unless you have a problem with it?" When the zombie didn’t respond and kept shuffling past him, Frank got it in a headlock and felt the rotting muscle and tissue give way easily in his death grip. He almost tore the head off the zombie before he felt the body stop moving.

Frank remembered when he was in college and his roommate, Mike, had a large fish tank filled with piranha. Not the cheesy fake ones you can buy in the pet store, but the actual ones he'd purchased illegally from a company in Brazil. They were pretty wild to watch. You could jab your hand in the tank to move things or pull out leftover fish carcasses and scare them, before they swam over to investigate and try to take a finger.

Mike had a second tank filled with goldfish. He'd stop feeding the piranha for a couple of days (there were three of them), and then toss a dozen goldfish into their tank. Frank had assumed, at first, they would go on a feeding frenzy and eat all the goldfish, but they were very methodical. The first thing the piranha did was to bite off the fins of the goldfish so they couldn't swim anymore. Then they would each eat one or two a day, picking them off as they floated around defenseless.

Frank decided to do the same thing because, as more zombies appeared, he didn’t want to let any escape. He began singing a song he remembered from junior high by a Canadian band called Rush. The zombies in the area stopped and began moving to him, drawn to the sound like Frank was the Pied Piper.

He was amused at their reaction once they got to him: they almost seemed confused. They stepped right up to him and got as close as they could, but didn't attack.

Frank began snapping necks with ease, stepping a foot or two in any direction as he eliminated them. Once he finished off the few near him, he went to work, jogging around the parking lots and kicking out at kneecaps, shattering legs and dropping the zombies. He'd come back to finish them off when he had time. Just like goldfish.

The run up the ramp to I-95 brought a smile to his lips. He could see a large group of zombies surrounding a yellow Hummer H3, trying to get inside and at the living. Frank could see the silhouettes in the H3 with his superior sight, even though it was so dark outside.

Satisfied they weren't going anywhere and the zombies weren't going to be able to get inside the H3, he went to work on those nearest him, breaking legs and snapping necks when it was convenient. He made a beeline to the vehicle, destroying two dozen zombies in the process. Frank was enjoying this. It was like stalking prey, which, he decided, was exactly what he was doing. They couldn't escape, and they had no idea real death was literally at their door.

The zombies were three deep in places, pushing forward on all sides like idiots, trying in vain to get inside the H3. None had bothered to break a window and batter in a door. They simply kept pressing against it, hands clawing at the glass, making noises without any real threat. That was about to change.

Frank started going through the ranks, getting the ones on the outskirts in headlocks and crushing necks. There were more stumbling up even as he went to work, and he was glad he never tired. He hoped, before this was done, he could count on fifty bodies piled on the highway.

The press thinned as he moved in a clockwise direction, getting each one from behind and killing them (again). The occupants of the H3 were definitely watching him as he moved, but they couldn't get a good look at him in the dark.

Frank decided to have some fun. "Don't worry, I'm going to save you," he yelled. His voice brought more wandering zombies in his direction, making it even easier.

"Who are you?" he heard a woman yell from inside. "How is this possible?"

Frank slammed a zombie's head onto the back of the H3 for effect. "I'm immune. I've been given the antidote. Once I free you, I can take you back to the Safe Zone and you can start a new life." He broke another two necks. "Just sit tight and don't open the door until I'm done."

Satisfied they weren't going to do anything stupid or try to help, he went back to work. He passed the passenger rear window and a little boy, with a smile on his face, pressed it to the glass before someone pulled him back. Frank was going to have fun with him last, he decided. As soon as he finished off these annoying zombies, who kept walking in his way and making easy targets, he would take care of the people in the Hummer.

Frank was almost finished when he saw a zombie, walking in his direction, slow down and stop. It was an older male and didn't look as rotten as some of the others in the area, which disturbed Frank. It was either recently turned, or…

"Hello," Frank said to the zombie.

The zombie slowly lifted his hands and cocked his head.

Frank was in front of him quickly, hands on the zombie's shoulders. "Can you speak?"

"Speak…" it whispered, lips moving. His eyes locked on Frank's and there was intelligence in the gaze. "Speak?"

Frank slid behind him in one move and broke his neck, making sure there was no chance of the monster rising again and threatening what he was trying to accomplish. How many more were starting to think for themselves? How many more would be threatening his superiority soon? He'd never be able to kill every last one of them, but he needed to try.

There were two more zombies approaching and Frank took care of them. Satisfied there were no more in the area, approaching or interested in what he was doing, he went to the passenger door and casually knocked.

There was silence for a full minute, which amused Frank. It wasn't like they'd left, but he played the game. No use in scaring them, although, he knew he could easily get inside. He wanted to let them open the door and invite him in. He found it more fitting, and a lot of fun. "Hello? We're wasting time. I'm immune but these little buggers can still bite and hurt me."