Rise of the Undead Box Set | Books 1-3 | Apocalypse Z

by Higgins, Baileigh

  “Hm, I wouldn’t be surprised. Do you think he’d be willing to teach me a thing or two?” Dylan asked.

  “I don’t see why not. He taught me how to use this,” Tara said, indicating her sawn-off double-barrel shotgun. “But he wasn’t so successful at showing me other methods of combat. It seems I’m not the fighting type. An academic to the last!”

  Dylan’s eyes glittered. “I’d like to learn how to fight. I think I’d be good at it.”

  “You would,” Tara agreed, eyeing Dylan’s athletic frame and determined expression. More than that, the woman was tough. Streetwise. Unlike me.

  After a couple of minutes, Saul emerged and waved at them. Tara opened her door with nervous anticipation. “Here goes.”

  She jogged toward the clinic with the shotgun held ready, Dylan right on her heels. They each carried an empty backpack, prepared to scrounge up supplies. “Is it clear inside?”

  Saul nodded. “I took care of a couple of infected, and it’s safe to go in. It looks like someone raided the place already, but there’s still a bunch of stuff left. Grab what you can, as fast as you can. Don’t dawdle.”

  “What about you?” Tara asked, a knot forming in her stomach. She hadn’t anticipated going inside without him.

  “Someone needs to watch the Humvee. It’s a valuable commodity, and I’m not a very trusting individual,” Saul said. He patted her on the back. “Besides, you’ll be fine. You’ve got Dylan as a back-up.”

  “I guess,” Tara said, gathering up her courage. It wouldn’t do to act like a wimp in front of everyone. Saul can’t do all the heavy lifting while I sit back each time, a quivering wreck.

  Dylan moved to the front and pushed past Saul into the clinic. Tara followed, and the door swung shut behind her. The air was old and musty, and the furniture was covered in dust. Saul’s footprints on the floor were visible in the low light but faded deeper into the building where there was only darkness.

  Dylan produced a flashlight from her pocket and flicked the switch on. “Where’s yours?”

  “Right here,” Tara answered, picking a penlight out of her top pocket. It was small but powerful enough to do the job.

  “Let’s hurry,” Dylan said, moving past the reception.

  It wasn’t long before they found the dispensary, and they each grabbed what they could from the picked-over shelves. Saul had been correct. Someone had raided the place before them, but there was enough left to see them through their journey and beyond.

  Tara found antibiotics, painkillers, disinfectants, bandages, band-aids, empty syringes, and a couple of other things. She took the time to examine each item and make sure it was useful.

  Dylan was less discriminate, randomly dumping armfuls of stuff into her backpack. In no time at all, her bag was full, and she turned to Tara. “I’m done. How about you?”

  “Not yet. We still need a couple of more things,” Tara said, shining her light around until she spotted a door that read ‘Examination Room’ on the front.

  “Such as?”

  “Sutures, scalpels, that kind of stuff,” Tara said. “Why don’t you wait outside with Saul while I finish up?”

  Dylan hesitated. “Are you sure?”

  “I’ll be fine. There’s no one here. Besides, I’m nervous about Saul being alone,” Tara confessed.

  “Alright, but hurry up, or I’ll come looking for you,” Dylan said, backing away with her load of supplies.

  “Deal,” Tara said, opening the door to the examination room.

  Just like the rest of the clinic, it was empty. With her penlight in one hand and bag in the other, she searched the shelves for what they needed. It didn’t take long to locate the stuff. Gripping the light with her teeth, she tossed in the sutures, gauze, a metal tray, needles, and finally, a couple of scalpels. As she was about to leave, the sound of an opening door caused her to freeze. “Dylan? Is that you?”

  Silence was the only answer she got.

  The hair on the back of her neck rose. It was probably nothing, just her imagination, but it was better to be careful than sorry about it after the fact. With quick movements, she zipped up her bag and slung it onto her back.

  With both hands freed, she removed her shotgun from its holster and held it low at her side and out of sight. With her left, she grabbed another scalpel, the edge wickedly sharp and lethal. The light went back into her pocket. She was confident she’d be able to navigate her way outside without it.

  Tara moved toward the door and paused, her ears perked for any sound no matter how small. There was none. After a couple of seconds, she decided to make a run for it. The sooner she got back to Saul and Dylan, the better.

  She took a few steps but stopped abruptly when a low voice said, “Don’t move, or I’ll blow your head off.”

  Tara blinked. “Who’s there?”

  “None of your business.” A light flicked on, and she was nearly blinded when it shone directly into her eyes. Against her better judgment, she tried to shield her eyes with her gun hand.

  “Drop it. Now,” came the brisk command.

  Every instinct she had rebelled against the man’s instructions, but she knew she had no choice. With careful movements, she placed her shotgun on the floor and straightened up once more. She still had the scalpel in the other hand and took care to conceal it in the folds of her coat.

  The light swept across her body, and a low chuckle met her ears. “My, my, lookie here, Matt. We’ve got a real beauty on our hands.”

  A second voice joined the first and spoke. “You’re right, Pete. She’s pretty, but a bit skinny for my tastes.”

  “She’s not that skinny. There’s enough for all of us,” Pete said.

  “I’m not alone. I’ve got friends,” Tara said with false bravado, but inside, she was quivering with fear.

  “Oh, we know. We’ve been watching you and your friends for a while now, haven’t we, Matt? Your friends are being taken care of as we speak,” Pete said, placing the light onto the counter until it lit the entire room to a murky gray.

  As if on queue, the sound of gunfire came from outside, and Tara jerked around. “No!”

  “I told you not to move,” Pete barked, and Tara froze once more.

  “That’s better. Now be a good girl, and come over here,” Pete said.

  Tara hesitated. Now that her eyesight had adjusted to the dim light, she could make out Pete and Matt. Matt had a rifle slung across his chest, and his arms hung loosely by his sides. Pete had lowered his pistol, not viewing her as much of a threat. That granted her a small opportunity. If Saul and Dylan were hurt or captured, she was their only hope.

  Be smart, Tara. Play along and get them to lower their guard. You’re not a victim anymore, not like you were in the Congo. You’re a fighter — a survivor.

  The thought strengthened her resolve, and she pleaded with mock terror, “Okay, I’ll come with you, but please, don’t hurt me.”

  “That depends on you, lady,” Pete said, reaching out a hand to her.

  As she turned toward him, Tara quickly switched the scalpel from her left hand to her right. She stepped closer, so close she could smell the stale odor that emanated from his unwashed body. His expression was eager, the gun in his hand forgotten.

  With the speed of a striking snake, Tara cut into his upper arm, gouging deep. In the next instant, she whirled toward Matt and jammed the blade into his throat right underneath the ear, sawing across. Then she vaulted across the counter and dropped to the floor on the other side.

  Pete roared with anger and fired in her direction. The bullets punched through the flimsy wood above her head, missing her by mere inches. Tara flinched and crawled to the side. All she needed was a few seconds.

  Suddenly, Pete cried out, his voice rapidly weakening. “What did you do to us, bitch?”

  Tara grinned when she heard his gun clatter to the floor, followed by a dull thud as he collapsed. A gurgling groan and a second thud indicated that Matt was down as well. “Oh, nothin
g much. I just severed the brachial artery in your arm. It will take you a few seconds to pass out. You won’t even realize it when you die, you stupid pig. More’s the pity.”

  Pete was unable to answer. By her calculation, he would lose consciousness soon. Matt’s diagnosis was much the same. She’d cut the carotid artery in his throat. “That’s why you don’t mess with scientists, you dumbasses.”

  Once she was confident they were no longer a threat, Tara stood up to retrieve her shotgun. Both men were passed out cold and bleeding out in rapidly spreading pools of blood. She hardly spared them a glance and ran to the front door instead. She had to help Saul and Dylan before it was too late.

  Halfway there, she was met by a frantic Dylan who grabbed her by the arms. “Tara! Are you alright?”

  Tara nodded. “I’m fine. A couple of thugs jumped me, but I took care of them.”

  “Me too. Luckily, Saul got the drop on them. They’re dead,” Dylan said before she stopped abruptly. “Wait a minute. You took care of them? Two thugs? What does that mean?”

  Tara explained what she’d done, and Dylan whistled with appreciation. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

  “Come on, let’s go,” Tara urged. “The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

  “Good idea,” Dylan said, allowing Tara to lead the way.

  Saul met them at the entrance with a relieved look. “Thank God, you’re alive. I was so worried.”

  “We’re fine,” Tara said, explaining once again what had happened.

  Saul jerked his head in the direction of three bodies sprawled out on the pavement. “I was doing a quick recon when I spotted one of them moving in. I pretended not to see him and got Dylan to play bait. Unknowingly, of course.”

  “Hey,” Dylan protested as he rushed them both back to the Humvee. “That’s not fair.”

  “You were never in any danger,” Saul said. “I had your back the entire time.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Dylan said with a huff as she climbed into the backseat. “Next time, warn me, so I know what to expect.”

  “Whatever, now stop bitching. We need to get out of here. There could be more of the suckers,” Saul said, starting the engine.

  “Parasites, the lot of them. As if the zombies aren’t bad enough,” Dylan grumbled.

  As they drove away from the clinic, Tara leaned back into her seat with a sigh of relief. She passed her full bag over to Dylan. “At least, we got what we came for.”

  “That we did,” Dylan agreed. “And you were a real bad ass back there, taking out two of them on your own like that.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Saul asked, glancing at Tara. “You’re not…”

  “Traumatized?” she asked with a teasing smile. “This isn’t the Congo, and I’m not that girl anymore. Things are different now.”

  “I can see that,” Saul replied with a look of appreciation. “You’ve changed.”

  “Not too much, I hope,” Tara replied, shooting him a broad smile.

  “Never. You’ll always be a nerd,” Saul teased.

  She punched him on the arm with playful intent. “Am not.”

  “You so are a nerd,” Dylan interrupted.

  Tara rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  “But you’re our nerd, right, Saul?”

  “Right.” Saul glanced at the receding Radcliff in the rearview mirror. “Are you two ready for the next part of the journey?”

  “Wake me when we’re there,” Dylan said, rolling herself up in the blanket until she resembled a stuffed sausage.

  “I’m ready,” Tara said, and this time, she meant it one hundred percent.

  Chapter 11 - Saul

  Saul glanced at the woman dozing in the seat next to him. Dr. Tara Lee. A Research Scientist specializing in virology on loan by USAMRIID to the WHO. A brilliant academic, but also, so much more than that.

  He thought back to the time he first met her back in Africa, fresh off the airplane that brought her from America. She was a different person back then, so certain of her place in the world as a scientist and researcher. Yet, also a touch unsure, as if she didn’t quite know where she belonged among people. He blamed that on her dual heritage.

  She was naive, too, expecting all people to be the same. She measured them with the same yardstick she used in the US, not realizing that cultures varied by vast degrees and never suspecting the evil that lingered in some men’s hearts. But she soon learned, even though he would have spared her the experience if he could.

  His thoughts winged back to that night, the memory as cold and dark as the look in a shark’s eye when it bit into your flesh.

  Unforgiving.

  Merciless.

  Cruel.

  ***

  Saul poked at the fire with a stick, evening out the hot bed of coals. He propped two spitted chickens over the burning embers, the skin turning a crisp brown as the fat underneath sizzled and popped.

  Across from him sat Tara, one hand casually draped across her knee. Tendrils of hair had escaped from her ponytail and clung to her damp forehead. Even at night it was hot in the jungle. Hot and humid. She studied him with dark eyes, a smile playing across her lips.

  “What are you so happy about?” he asked.

  “You won’t believe how tired I am of fish,” she replied. “I can’t wait to sink my teeth into a big, fat, juicy drumstick.”

  Saul laughed and looked around at his team. They were gathered around a trio of fires, each with a couple of chickens roasting over the coals. They were laughing and making jokes, their perilous journey forgotten for the moment. The smoke drove away the mosquitoes while frogs sang in the background, an amphibious choir. “Between you and me, I think we’re all sick of fish and of the boat.”

  Tara grunted. “Don’t talk to me about the boat. If I never see it again in my entire life, it will be too soon.”

  “Hey, now, don’t be mean. That boat saved our lives. Besides, you’ll miss it tomorrow when you have to trek through ten miles of swampland. Enjoy this moment while you can,” Saul admonished.

  He knew far better than her what awaited ahead. After spending a week on the river, they’d reached a dead-end caused by lack of rain and intense heat. The channel narrowed until it became impassable, and they had to abandon the boat.

  After carrying all their stuff onto the nearest shore, they met a couple of tribesmen from a nearby village. They traded the boat to these people for a few chickens and other provisions. It wasn’t much but would see them through the final stretch of their journey.

  Unfortunately, the area they had to cover on foot was swampland. A nightmarish maze of stagnant water, snakes, crocodiles, and other creatures. Mosquitoes and gnats swarmed around in black clouds, and it was easy to get lost.

  On the other side waited salvation: A privately chartered plane sent to pick them up and take them to the Agostinho-Neto International Airport at Pointe-Noire. From there, they’d fly to Cape Town and go their separate ways. Tara would return to the US, and he’d go back to his unit in the army.

  At least, that’s what the authorities believed, but Saul had no intention of returning to his home. He was sticking with Tara, accompanying her to the US. She held the key to the virus, and he believed that without her, everything would be lost.

  After all he’d seen and heard, he had no doubt that the Vita virus spelled out the end of mankind. Could a few survivors hold out against the zombie hordes? Sure, maybe. People were tough, and some might survive the coming apocalypse. But if they were to have a future, they needed to beat the virus. Crush it like it crushed its victims. We will prevail. We must.

  “I’m starving,” Tara said, breaking into his thoughts.

  He pulled out his knife and cut into the thigh of the chicken. When the juices ran clear, he nodded. “You’re in luck. It’s ready.”

  After removing the chicken from the spits, he cut the plump fowls into pieces and arranged them on a platter. He and Tara ate their fill before passing
the rest around to the men. Around the other fires, their actions were copied and silence fell as empty bellies were filled with succulent meat.

  Tara leaned back with a groan of satisfaction, one hand patting her stomach. “That was the best meal I’ve ever had.”

  “I doubt that, but hunger is its own seasoning,” Saul replied as he licked the fat from his fingertips. “I’ll be right back.”

  He got to his feet and did a quick round of the camp, pausing next to his second-in-command. “Mokoena, make sure the guards are relieved and get a chance to eat.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Once his men were taken care of, he moved away from the camp toward the tree-line. There, in the thick shadows and shielded by foliage, he emptied his bladder. Afterward, he stood still, studying the jungle surrounds.

  He was about to return to Tara when a sixth sense warned him something was wrong. He hunkered down onto his haunches and moved deeper into the shadows, one hand resting on his R4 rifle. His eyes searched for the source of his concern, and then he realized what it was. The frogs were silent.

  Suddenly, ululating cries split the night in two. Figures rushed into the camp carrying clubs, sticks, knives, machetes, and guns. Shots rang out, and several of his men fell, taken off guard. The rest were quickly rounded up and disarmed. The entire exercise took a couple of seconds, at most.

  Saul swore as he recognized a few of the attackers. Villagers. The same ones they’d bartered with earlier. His lips peeled back in a snarl. “Traitorous scum.”

  He glanced to the left and spotted one of the sentries, Johannes. He crawled toward the man who was hiding behind a bush. “Johannes, where are the other guards?”

  “I don’t know. Probably dead. I was stationed over there, but moved a few minutes ago because of ants.” Johannes pointed at a spot several feet away, and they watched as two of the villagers milled about in the place, searching for him.

  Saul nodded. “They must’ve been watching us, waiting for the right time to strike.”

  “Cowards,” Johannes muttered. “What do we do now, Sir?”