Dying Days Read Online Free Page A

scuffed and the soles beginning to wear down.
    Finally, feeling stupid for standing out here in the cold and exposed to undead, she tried the door and smiled when it opened.
    Before she'd gotten two steps inside she felt the cold steel pressed against the side of her head. "Freeze."
    "Not a problem," Darlene said, making sure whoever had the gun to her head could hear her. Zombies didn't talk.
    "Hurry up inside but keep your hands up where I can see them."
    "It's dark, I can't see," she said.
    She was pulled roughly inside and she heard the door shut and barred. A light was suddenly thrust into her eyes as two different sets of hands rummaged through her meager supplies, stripping her backpack from her shoulder. She felt her Desert Eagle, cold against her back, as it was pulled out and taken. The entire time the gun was still to her head.
    "Talk," the voice said.
    "I'm just hungry and passing through. I'm trying to survive just like you, alright?" Darlene closed her eyes, bright white spots blinking from the flashlight. At least they were talking. She figured as long as she was holding their attention they wouldn't pull the trigger. "Obviously I came to the wrong bar."
    Someone snickered and the light was shined down to the worn floor.
    "Follow me." The light began to move so Darlene followed, knowing there were at least two people behind her and one ahead.
    A door was opened and candle light spilled from it. She realized she had originally been in a small hallway and was now in the main bar area, where at least thirty heads looked up at her.
    "Have a seat right there," the man who was leading them said and pointed to a single chair against the wall. "Doug will be back shortly."
    No one spoke as she sat. She noticed only three women present and they looked beaten-down and scared. One of them, an older blonde, was staring at her with a strange look on her face. Darlene smiled at her but she looked away.
    "I'm Rusty, and this is my bar." He was in his late forties, a rough and tumble-looking Good Ol' Boy, with an American flag tattoo on his shoulder. He wore a faded denim sleeveless jacket and matching blue jeans, his Buffalo Bills hat on backwards. His beard was scruffy but Darlene figured his look had nothing to do with the end of the world. Zombies or not, this was a guy who was right at home with the chaos.
    "Pleased to meet you, Rusty. Nice place you have here," Darlene said and offered her hand. He looked at her with a smirk and ignored the gesture. Someone sitting at the bar said something and everyone laughed, watching the awkward exchange.
    "Hungry?" Rusty asked her.
    "Yes, but not if it's a bother. I'm actually just moving along, decided to check out the place before I headed out," she said. Darlene was getting a bad, bad vibe from these people.
    Rusty stared at her for a minute, slowly looking her body over. "No trouble at all." He turned away and walked past the loud group at the bar, sure he heard Rusty say 'dibs' as he disappeared into the back room.
    I need to leave. No way I'm going to be this guy's bitch , she thought. She was about to make a run for it when she realized her Desert Eagle and backpack were gone. She wouldn't get far without them.
    The guy who'd led her in was nowhere to be found and scanning the room only elicited catcalls and rude comments, loud enough for her to hear but never directly at her.
    Rusty returned with a paper plate overflowing with food: French fries, Buffalo wings, coleslaw and baked beans. "Southern cooking, just like mama used to make," he said with a laugh. "Sorry, but we ran out of silverware."
    "Thank you," Darlene said. "It looks delicious."
    He smiled with genuine pride. "Made it all myself. The fancy place up the road might be credited with making the first Buffalo wings but I make them best."
    She waited until he walked away to begin digging in with her fingers, savoring the rich taste of each item. He was a damn fine cook and she had the briefest thought of staying here