Read Online Dying Days 2 by Armand Rosamilia - Free Book Online Page B

hand. "Give me your pants."
    The redhead took a step toward Tosha and smiled. "I saw you in the bar, but you left before we could talk."
    "Excuse me?"
    "I'm Kayla and this is my brother Peter."
    Peter gripped his sister's arm. "We need to get back."
    Kayla smiled. "Why? This might be interesting."
    Tosha still held the gun. "I said I want your pants."
    "How about my undies? Want them as well?" Kayla asked.
    Tosha smiled. "Yes."
    "Too bad. I'm not wearing any." Kayla unbuttoned her jeans. "Do you live close?"
    "What about the giant mutant?" Tosha asked.
    Kayla looked at her brother and laughed. "He'll wait outside while we get to know each other."
    Tosha ignored her silent sister, still sitting on the bench.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Eleven
     
     
    The house was silent by the time John dropped his boots on the floor and climbed into the strangely familiar bed.
    How many times had he slept here? Ten? Twelve? How many others stayed here, members of western or northern outposts who came into town from time to time and traded information and supplies?
    John always felt bad because so many families were gathered in the center of town, either near the monument or on the lawn of Fort Matanzas. He supposed they had a choice, and if he had a family to protect there was strength in numbers.
    These houses were old and drafty, and that was before the world ended. Now, they stood in silent rows with chain-link fences and hastily-built walls on two sides. They were literally at the end of civilization.
    Someone from the group had left a chunk of hard bread and a warm beer for him. He genuinely loved these people and would do anything for them. They were his family.
    John took a bite and washed it down with a sip of beer. He didn't feel like drinking but beggars could never be choosers in these trying times. There was no such thing as wasting food or drink.
    He thought of Darlene suddenly, sitting on the deck of her stilt house and smiling at him. There was an attraction there, between them both. She was beautiful, sexy, funny, made him think, made him question many things, like what he was holding onto at this point…
    John decided he would ease up and see where this all led him. In his heart, he knew his wife was gone, but it was the hope that kept him going. It was the reason he got up in the morning, fought so hard, and did the right thing.
    Or was it?
    What if Darlene was the reason now? John supposed it made sense. Hell, Murph had said it over and over as well, telling him he had a real live woman in front of him and if he were younger or she was passed out, he'd hit that.
    John hoped his dad was alright, but knew he was in safe hands with Darlene. Ever since she'd stumbled into his life—actually, he'd shot her with an arrow, he remembered—it had been better. He no longer had to worry about his dad being alone during these supply trips.
    John finished the beer and put his head on the lumpy, familiar pillow.
    In the morning, he'd round up the troops, gather their things, make some quick trades, and they’d be on their way. He didn't think he'd push it with Darlene just yet, but he'd subtly show her he was more receptive to her advances and really did feel the same as she did.
    With a smile on his face, John Murphy closed his eyes and fell asleep, waiting for a bright tomorrow to come.
     
    *   *   *   *   *
     
    Dylan couldn't wait to see the look on Doug's face when he saw what he'd done: huge holes had been rent in the fences, and at one spot he'd pulled down a barrier of cement blocks and bricks, letting at least twenty zombies into St. Augustine.
    Doug had come to him right before he'd left and told him the plan, and let him in on a secret: no one else knew it yet. Only the two of them.
    Dylan was happy he was such an integral part of the team.  He moved toward the west.  His goal was now simple; to create as much havoc as