Free Dying Days 4 by Armand Rosamilia

what I'd call that? Being in Hell," Doug said.
    A zombie's head, twenty feet in front of them, suddenly exploded.
    "I think they see us," Doug said quietly.
    "Stop. Don't go any further," someone shouted from a rooftop to their left. They were coming up on the barricades in front of Main Street. "Drop your weapons."
    "With all due respect, I'd feel safer holding onto it, especially considering all the zombies wandering around right now," Doug said. "Who are you?"
    There was a pause and Doug kept walking with his rifle aimed away from the rooftops but still trained on approaching zombies.
    "We'll ask the questions," was the answer.
    "We? Then there are more than one of you? Do you happen to have any food? We're really hungry and just want a spot to sleep tonight. It's going to be dark soon."
    "Where are you coming from?" a different man yelled down to them. "Have you been on foot long?"
    Doug sidestepped another zombie but didn't fire his gun. He didn't want anyone above them to get jumpy. "Can we talk inside? It's getting a little iffy on the street. I'll gladly hand over my gun if I have to."
    Cowboy glanced at Doug but was smart enough not to argue or say anything. He might finally be learning to keep his mouth shut.
    "Where's Jeff?" someone yelled.
    Doug didn't know who Jeff was but he was hoping to meet him soon enough. The street was beginning to get crowded with zombies, and Cowboy was using his rifle as a club to keep them at bay.
    A couple of shots rang out from the rooftop and two zombies fell, but there were more coming from all sides.
    "I don't know who Jeff is, but I'd like to meet him," Doug yelled. "Let us in, please and thank you."
    Doug was forced to aim and pull the trigger three times before he heard the gate grating open. Someone yelled for them to hold up their rifles and hands and get inside.
    As soon as they entered, they were surrounded by half a dozen men with guns pointed at their faces, stripped of their guns and patted down quickly. Neither man's pistol was found.
    "Come with us," one of them said.
    "Lead the way." Doug smiled. "And thank you, we really appreciate the help."
    The man said nothing else as they marched down the street. Doug made mental notes of where armed men and women were as well as how organized every building was. They seemed to have plenty of bottled water, ammo and clothing. Makeshift beds were set up inside the opened buildings and there must be a few hundred survivors based on what he was seeing. All the way down the street he could see signs of civilization.
    Doug and Cowboy were escorted to a small courtyard with tents erected in the middle. They were led to a side area, where several men were cleaning weapons and watching the newest additions with wary eyes.
    A short fat dude with a shaved head and beady eyes approached with a smile that was anything but friendly. "I hear you two idiots were marching down the street like this was a fucking Stallone movie."
    "I'm more of a Jason Statham fan myself," Doug said. He eyed the man but not too hard. He wanted to gain this jerkoff's trust for the future. He knew he'd be the muscle of this operation and the one Doug would need to kill to level the playing field if it came down to it. "You must be Jeff."
    "I must be. You must be crazy thinking you can waltz into my world and act so nonchalant. Where you coming from?"
    "Wherever there aren't a ton of zombies. Last place we stayed was south of here," Doug said.
    "Why are you in Daytona Beach?"
    Doug shrugged, trying to remain casual. "There isn't much left south of here, to be honest. Everything down to Miami is a smoking pile of rubble. I didn't want to chance heading to the Keys and get trapped, so I came back north."
    "What part of New York you from?" Jeff asked.
    Doug smiled. "Buffalo area. What part of New Jersey you from?"
    "South Jersey, just outside Philly."
    "I take it you're the boss here?" Cowboy asked.
    A couple of men snickered nearby, cleaning their weapons.
    "Not even