Dying Days 3 (9 page)

"How do we know you're really who you say you are?" a male voice asked. He was obviously the dad, protecting his family from harm. Frank liked the honor the man had, and decided he would kill him quickly and spare him from the horror of seeing his wife and child ripped apart and Frank gorging himself on their flesh.

"I never really said who I was, if you think about it. But, my name is Frank, and I'm here to save you."

"How is it possible? Why are you alone?"

"I'm not alone." Frank pointed to the way he'd come, knowing the inferior humans had no way of seeing his movement. "We're coming up A1A and taking the cities and towns back slowly, but we need to get back to safety as quickly as we can. A large horde is coming from the north and the south, and we only have minutes before they get here. I won't be able to help you once they show up."

When they didn't open the door, he shrugged and smiled, turning away and taking a few steps away from them. He didn't stop walking when he heard the passenger door open. "Wait," the wife called out.

Frank stopped and turned. "We don't have much time."

As the woman stepped out of the H3, Frank was upon her, biting her nose and part of her cheek. He'd wanted to kill the husband first and do it quickly, but sometimes you didn't get exactly what you wanted.
Life was a compromise
, Frank thought,
even though he wasn't alive. Or am I? Am I
more
than alive at this moment?

The husband tried to get a good angle to punch Frank, over his wife's spurting blood, but it was no use. She was dying quickly, and she was being forced back into the vehicle to block the escape of her husband and child.

Satisfied she was dead, Frank pushed her down onto the seat and climbed up and over her as the man fought with swinging fists, but it was ineffective. Frank felt nothing as the blows rained down on his face, although, he did feel his nose explode. But pain? It was no longer part of the equation.

On the other hand, when Frank reached out and gripped the husband's wrist, he knew pain was about to come to this poor man. He valiantly struggled and Frank smiled, his own blood pooling onto his lips.

Frank twisted his fingers on the man's wrist and heard the sickening snap of bones; the man screamed in pain and fear. Frank pulled him closer and ignored the feeble struggles. "You're about to join your wife in Hell," Frank whispered through his blood-coated teeth. He was sure he made a monstrous figure, and wished he had a camera or cell phone to take pictures of his ghoulish appearance right now.

The man slammed Frank in the throat with his free hand, and Frank felt his throat constrict and collapse. He no longer needed to breathe but he couldn't force air in or out to talk right now. Before the man could go on the offensive again, Frank dragged him onto his seat and bit deeply into his shoulder, gnashing his teeth and savoring the blood.

When he was sure the man was dead, he pushed him back onto the driver's side and reached into the back seat for the child.

But he was gone, the side door open.

Frank jumped out of the H3 and came face to face with two zombies, both which tried to get around him and at the woman in the vehicle. "I don't think so," Frank said, and broke both of their necks.

There was several more coming at him, all with dead eyes focused on the dead couple. Frank scanned the overpass and saw the boy running south and getting away.

But, if he went in pursuit, the zombies would feed on the couple. He looked into the vehicle just as a zombie climbed into the back seat through the open door. Frank decided the boy would be dead soon, bitten by a zombie. The thought of losing all that fresh blood and flesh bothered Frank, but he didn't want to lose these two adults as well.

"Go find your own food, you stupid bastards," Frank yelled. He began destroying the undead around the H3 and protecting his next meal.

Chapter Fourteen

Bri wandered to the Matanzas Inlet, crossing the bridge and taking in the sights and smells. She had a 9mm in her waistband, even though it was out of ammo. The baseball bat and the two knives she had in her boots would suffice. They hadn't seen a horde of zombies in a few days, and the ones that were around were easy enough to dodge.

She wanted to be alone. Bri was sick of being the baby, even though she was in her teens and no longer a child. She knew everyone (especially Murph) treated her the way they did because she was the youngest, by far, and they thought she needed protecting. But she didn't.

A zombie was down below, caught in the crashing waves, as they funneled into the inlet under the bridge. He swirled around, arms riding on the waves, head dipping up and down in the water. Bri wondered how long he had been down there and if he would just stay caught in the tide until he eventually fell apart.

She was old enough and smart enough to see the analogy she could make, watching him getting tossed around in the water. He'd never pull himself out, and even if he did, sooner or later John would put an arrow through its head and put it out of its misery. Or was it miserable? Were the zombies the real winners here, since they no longer felt anything? She went to sleep in constant fear of being bitten, but they went through life (or un-life, whatever you wanted to call it) in more of a daze, or without thought in their heads. It seemed… so relaxing. Bri didn't want to be a zombie, but she didn't want to be her right now, either.

It was windy today. She saw a lone seagull on the north side of the bridge, as well as two zombies, making their way toward her. Bri would have to leave soon and get back to safety. Even though she technically had her own stilt house to herself, she rarely stayed there, preferring to crash in one of the guest bedrooms at Murph and John's house or with Darlene.

She liked the time she spent with Darlene, because she didn't act like a mother figure. She was more her big sister, teaching her about the proper way to put on makeup, do her nails, and about boys. Even though there weren't any around for her to actually date. Darlene was awesome, and they would spend many nights talking about John. Bri had a crush on him but knew Darlene and John were eventually going to hook up, and she was happy for both of them. They were her best friends. Her only friends, at times.

Sometimes she came out here and dreamed a gorgeous teenaged boy would ride up in a brand new Mustang convertible, with great music playing and his hair whipping in the wind. He'd smile and open the door for her, the sun bouncing off his sunglasses.

The only males around were stalking her, and they going to try to bite her face off. None of them looked like hot teen guys, either. Such was always Bri's luck. They were about fifty feet away from her, and she'd need to move and get back to safety in a minute or two. Back to the boredom the stilt houses offered. Murph would be watching another black and white movie and repeating the lines, talking to the actors onscreen.

Bri needed more music, more books and more movies she could watch. The few things she had were getting boring. How many times could she watch
Twilight
movies or read
Harry Potter
books? Never mind her music selection: One Direction, Justin Beiber or crap from the 1980's her mother used to listen to. Old people music.

Bri sighed and began walking back to the stilt houses because the zombies were almost upon her. One of these days she was going to throw caution to the wind and grapple with one of them, just to see what it was like to actually be in danger and get her hands dirty. She was sick of being coddled by everyone. She wanted to earn her keep and fight the monsters and show them she wasn't a child anymore.

The distant sound of the motorcycle came to her on the wind and she stopped. The zombies, on the bridge, previously intent on trying to catch up to her stopped and turned away.

It was definitely a bike. Heading south and right to her, she figured it was the guy they'd seen before. He was coming back this way…

Bri kept her distance from the zombies, who were no longer interested in her. Something louder had their attention. She saw the gleam of chrome on A1A and hopped behind the walkway barrier on the bridge.

At the other end of the Matanzas Inlet Bridge were two parking lots, one on either side. She saw the motorcycle pull into the lot on the right, nearest the ocean. She knew it was the rider she and Murph had seen. Who else could it be?

Bri took five steps backwards, intending to warn the others, but then stopped. She was already here. Who better to do recon than her? She wasn't a little kid. She could act like an adult and figure out what this guy was doing, and what his intentions were. Did he know they were here? Was he going to get onto the beach and approach from the Oceanside, intent on stealing or killing? Bri needed to find out.

She slouched down and began running next to the barrier, watching for zombies and the biker.

Chapter Fifteen

Jeff was tired. This trip had been a bust, so far. The road past the Route 206 turnoff was blocked with rusting cars and fallen telephone poles. He'd pulled into a former sports bar called Redfrogs and slept under a corner booth, near the bathrooms, one eye open. Nothing had disturbed him but there was nothing left in the place as far as food or anything of value.

Now, in the early morning sunshine, he was heading back south empty-handed. His boss would be pissed, but at least he'd mapped out this far north in his head. Tomorrow, he would head west again, up I-4 into Orlando, and see if there was anyone he'd missed.

He pulled into the police station and siphoned gas from one of the police cruisers, going through the busted front door when the bike was full. There was nothing left inside. It looked like the counters had been pulled out of the building, leaving an empty shell with some dark stains on the white tile floor.

If luck was on his side, a gun locker would still be locked and hidden deep in the building, but the only lockers he saw had been smashed to pieces and emptied many months ago.

Jeff was no stranger to guns. He'd been a corrections officer for nearly twenty years, and was considered one of the best. His take-no-shit attitude gave him much respect with the inmates and also his fellow officers. He was liked, but you knew not to fuck with him. He'd chat with you during roll call or when he was taking you from one area of the prison to the next, but step out of line and he'd be the first to put you back in your proper place. It was as simple as that.

He was running out of ammo. Jeff didn't want to waste time and energy in hand to hand combat, especially when a bullet to the head ended the fight quickly. Beating a zombie with a baseball bat was tiring; it took three or four swings to get it down, and another couple to crush the rest of the skull so it stopped moving. You couldn't wade into a horde of them and expect to get out alive. The sheer numbers and fatigue would stop you.

Right now, he was tired of riding. He never thought he'd ever say it, but there was never any cruise time. He could pretend, but his eyes darted back and forth as he rode, waiting for the next attack. Jeff had small moments where he pretended he was free and in command of his life, but he was already a dead man. He just didn’t want to be an undead one.

The parking lot was empty so he parked the Harley dead center in the lot so nothing could walk up on him without plenty of warning. The sounds of the engine would draw them for miles, but he didn't care right now. Would it be so bad if he was killed? It would suck being bitten, but long-term what the fuck was he doing?

A glance at the bridge and he saw two zombies heading his way, but, they were in such bad shape, it would take them an hour to get here. Jeff toyed with the idea of relaxing and seeing how close he could let them get near him before he bashed their brains in. He could tear up the wooden pathways and jam the broken pieces into their eyes.