“Definitely not like the ones back in Pine Coast…”
“What?” Ben asked.
“Pine Coast. That’s were I was before you hit me.”
“You work there or something?”
“No, I was visiting,” he replied.
Ben heard something in his voice that gave everything away. He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Josh said. He quickly wanted to change the topic. “I’m sorry I fell asleep during my watch. Could’ve gotten us killed if granny here was a little more hungry.”
“She looks hungry all right,” Ben said. The woman opened and closed her mouth like a fish.
“I say we get out of here before more come,” Josh said.
They drove west for almost twenty miles, not seeing a single person, living or dead. There should have been evidence that the world had ended, an indication that the dead no longer stayed dead. But there was nothing. Only open roads and derelict vehicles. They didn’t stop. Driving slowly, they peered through the windows. No signs of the living. They thought they might see the owners of those vehicles hoofing it a few miles down the road, but that wasn’t the case. It had been days since those cars and trucks had seen their drivers.
“Do you think maybe the infection—or whatever it is—has made it everywhere yet?” Josh thought out loud.
“I don’t know,” Ben replied. “But I find it weird we haven’t seen anyone or anything in almost an hour.”
“I don’t like it. It’s like the calm before the storm.”
Ben had that feeling, too. The arrow on the Sonata’s gas gauge approached empty. Considering they were nowhere near a gas station, it would have been a very bad time to run out of gas. They had no food, with exception of a few packages of gummy snacks Ben had found in the glove-box. More importantly, they had no water.
“Cigarette?” Josh asked, holding the pack in front of Ben.
“No, thanks. My wife made me quit years ago,” he said. “Well, ex-wife,” he corrected.
“It’s the goddamn zombie apocalypse. You’re probably not going to be alive long enough to catch cancer,” Josh said.
Ben wouldn’t allow himself to think that way. However, it was only one cigarette. Wouldn’t kill you, he thought. Ben plucked a death-stick from the pack, putting the filter between his lips.
“That’s the spirit,” Josh said, lighting it for him.
Ben sucked in the smoke, then exhaled. He coughed a lot (making Josh chuckle), and it took a minute for his lungs to adjust to the smoke he once craved so passionately. However, Ben now thought that cigarettes tasted like shit. The smell was even worse. The insane notion that he was going to come down with cancer immediately breached his thoughts. The headache he awoke with that morning was back with a vengeance. To be polite, he smoked the Marlboro halfway, then threw it out the window.
Josh observed Ben’s actions, but said nothing. Ben clearly wore the face of a man who didn’t enjoy a cigarette anymore. Laughing to himself, Josh shook his head. Then he started thinking about drugs, wondering how long he could go before needing them again. Specifically, the oxycotton. He would kill for a couple, hell, he’d probably bury a body for one.
They passed a sign that read, “DOORCHESTER NATIONAL PARK.” It claimed the place was “THE BEST CAMPGROUNDS IN ALL OF NEW JERSEY!” The sign also stated it was the last exit for the next ten miles.
“We have to stop,” Ben said. “We’re running low on gas. Maybe they have somewhere to gas up or something.”
“Sure. I have to piss anyway,” Josh admitted.
They came to a small clearing down a long wooded path big enough for one vehicle. An enormous recreation center lay before them, comprised of rotting wood shakes that had been stained eons ago. The haven was in desperate need of renovation, but neither Ben or Josh commented on its shabby appearance. Chairs for guests and employees to relax and enjoy the nature around them sat empty on the deck, stained to match the shakes.
Ben and Josh noticed several vehicles parked on the dirt lot separating the building from the forest. There was a Jeep, a few sedans, and some pickup trucks, all mud-splattered, in need of car washes.
“Seems… quiet,” Ben said.
“Hm, too quiet,” Josh said, smiling at the bad cliché.
Ben smiled too. “Well, here goes nothing.” He swung open the door, expecting dozens of zombies to come hobbling out of the woods. Instead, they saw nothing. Everything was silent. Not even the chirping of birds could be heard. No wind. No distant voices. No low drone of machinery. Ben was most thankful for the smell. The air was pure and odorless, free of that awful stench the dead brought with them. He’d gotten a good whiff of it inside the Yoland’s foyer and strong doses of it since then. The worst was when they were outnumbered in Ben’s parents’ development. He never wished to smell anything like that for the rest of his life, however short that might be. He walked around the lot taking in the fresh air, loving every second of it, hoping it would last forever. Wishing he hadn’t smoked that cigarette.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Ben asked.
“Yes. Simply wonderful,” Josh said sarcastically. “I have to hit the head.”
“Okay. I’m going to look for a hose. Maybe I can siphon some gas from these abandoned cars.”
“Good luck with that,” he said under his breath, so Ben wouldn’t hear. Ben yelled something about being on the lookout for food and water, but Josh wasn’t listening. He was off meddling in his own little world, worrying about how he was going to feed his dragon, the one that had recently awoken and started breathing fire into his veins.
Josh felt like puking.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bobbi-Jo grabbed the keys off the kitchen counter, heading for the basement as soon as she heard the screaming from below. Her brothers were nowhere to be found. Probably out getting supplies for the next game, she thought, opening the door. She hopped down the stairs. The Three Little Pigs had been kind enough to leave the lights on for their prisoners, something she wasn’t sure Momma would have gone along with. Maybe they forgot.
She bounded down the steps, leaping onto the concrete floor as John Vander rose from his position on the ground. He had only been dead for a few minutes. Bobbi-Jo noticed a chunk of skin missing from the dead man’s leg. I gone told them idiots to check for bite marks when they brought them down here, she thought. Now the bastard was a zombie. If she didn’t let the cute guy she had met earlier out of the kennel, he’d be its first meal. She quickly rushed to the door where Ben was anxiously waiting. Vander looked around the room, first lashing out at Paul Scott, but the chain-link wall protected him. Then the Vander-Zombie realized there was fresh meat not but ten feet from him. Meat that was accessible. It snarled in delight, approaching its first victim.
“Hurry up!” Ben yelled, as Bobbi-Jo fiddled with the lock.
“I’m goan as fast as I can!” she yelled back.
Finally, the key slipped into the lock. The gate swung open. Ben rushed out of the cage. The Vander-Zombie lunged toward the opening, but Ben and Bobbi-Jo closed it quickly. The corpse crashed into the gate, the momentum driving Ben and the Barker girl backward. They were stronger, however, and able to slam the gate closed, keeping the zombie trapped inside. Ben held it shut while Bobbi-Jo placed the lock back onto the latch. She closed the padlock, backing away from the hungry stiff. It snarled ferociously, stretching its fingers through the spaces in the chain-link barrier. thinking it actually had a chance at the two living beings on the outside.