Dying Days 6 Read Free

carrying them, she knew they were out of ammo. They carried them too loose like they’d use them as clubs if it came down to it.
    Everyone looked dirty, underfed and scared.
    She wondered how they’d survived this long and where they were headed.
    One of the men, at least a head taller than Darlene, with a thick brown beard and unruly hair, put up his hand. He had a rusting axe draped over his shoulder.
    “Hello,” Darlene said. She stopped fifty feet from the group. She still had her Desert Eagle in hand.
    “Did you fire a weapon?” he asked.
    Darlene put her hands down, keeping the gun at her side, and nodded. “Back there is a shitload of zombies. One got too close for comfort.”
    “Put down your weapon,” he said.
    Darlene shook her head. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll hold onto it. I don’t want any trouble. I’m just heading north. I’d like to keep going, if you don’t mind.”
    “It got really bad downtown,” the woman with the rifle said.
    Darlene shot a thumb over her shoulder. “It isn’t nice back the way I came, either.”
    The man turned and gave the woman a withering look before turning back to Darlene.
    “Drop the weapon and your backpack and empty your pockets,” he said.
    Darlene smiled. “Again… no. This won’t end well for any of us if you keep giving me commands.”
    “We have two rifles aimed at your head,” he said.
    Darlene raised the Desert Eagle. “And I have one aimed at your face. What’s your point?”
    He didn’t look happy.
    “You go your way and I’ll go mine,” Darlene said. “I have no beef with the living.”
    The woman lowered her gun and stared at their leader.
    He turned to her and shrugged. “What?”
    Everyone in the group seemed to relax but Darlene was taking no chances.
    She kept her weapon trained on him as she moved to her left. “I’m going to be on my way.”
    “Where are you headed?” the woman asked.
    “North.”
    “Jacksonville is a mess. I wouldn’t go near it. There’s a smombie running it now,” she said.
    “A what?” Darlene asked.
    “A smart zombie. We call them smombies,” she said.
    The man groaned. “You call them that, Bernice. It sounds stupid.” He turned to Darlene. “Doesn’t that sound stupid?”
    Darlene smiled and nodded, still holding the gun and moving around the group. She was taking no chances and if they were trying to lull her into thinking she was safe they had another think coming.
    “I’m going to go my way and you can keep going to the south. If you manage to get to Daytona Beach, there’s a smart zombie letting survivors into his camp. He’s keeping everyone safe,” Darlene said. She refused to use the word smombies. Ever.
    The man narrowed his eyes. “Is that where you came from?”
    “I came from Maine. Right now I’m heading back in that direction,” Darlene said. She was past the group now and they didn’t look like they were going to attack, but you never could tell nowadays.
    The woman, Bernice, pointed north. “In Jacksonville, at the stadium, is a smombie gathering survivors, but she’s using them for food and slave labor. We lost a few friends there a couple of weeks ago.”
    “Shut up, Bernie,” the man said.
    “Why? She’s one of us, Latham. We need to learn to help those in need,” Bernice said.
    “I don’t need help. I need to keep moving before it gets dark,” Darlene said. She waved and kept sidestepping, keeping one eye on the group and one eye on the road ahead.
    When she was sure she was far enough away, she turned and kept pace, keeping as far away from zombies as she could.
    A mile up the road, as the sun started the climb to the horizon, she looked back and saw the group following her. They weren’t trying to hide and she knew they’d argued about where to go and what to do and in the end Darlene offered an alternative.
    These people were wandering aimlessly and trying to find a safe haven.
    Darlene stabbed a zombie in the face as it crossed her