Children of the Apocalypse: Mega Boxed Set

by Baileigh Higgins

  “Are you okay?” Joanna asked, placing a soft hand on her shoulder.

  Morgan glanced up, surprised. “Yeah, I’m all right.”

  Her mother-in-law handed her a bottle of water. “Here. You must be thirsty.”

  “Just a little.” Morgan took the proffered drink and swallowed a few sips. She recognized the gesture for what it was, one of reconciliation. It was Joanna’s way of saying sorry. She handed back the bottle. “Thanks.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Joanna turned away, returning to the group. Meghan had stopped crying at last and was sitting on the ground munching on a packet of potato chips. Princess wandered from bush to tussock, peeing on everything in sight while Julianne kept watch.

  With a smile, Morgan turned back to the stubborn wheel nut, pushing down with all her weight. It groaned then came loose with a rush. “Yes!”

  Working faster, she pulled off the flat tire and picked up the spare. The thing was heavy, and she grunted as she propped it up and tried to slide it on. Her arms shook, the muscles burning. “Come on, fuck it!”

  “Morgan!” her mother scolded. “Not in front of Meghan.”

  Morgan rolled her eyes but muttered a quick reply just as the wheel settled into place. “Sorry.”

  One by one, she tightened the wheel nuts, vaguely aware of Meghan telling her mother she needed to go to the bathroom. With the spare locked in place, she bent down to drop the jack. The truck settled back onto the road.

  With swift movements, she began packing up until a shrill scream froze her in place. Her head whipped up, and she spotted Meghan running through the brush at breakneck speed. Princess barked like crazy, bouncing along on her heels.

  Behind them, Julianne stood with her back to Morgan. She pointed her gun at something that crashed through the dry bushes. The pistol bucked, the report loud in the still afternoon air. Julianne turned and ran toward Morgan. “Hurry! Get in the truck. There’s more coming.”

  “Oh, shit.” Morgan opened the back door and tossed in the jack and flat tire before turning to the others. “Come on, come on!”

  Meghan ran to her, and Morgan swung her inside while Princess took a flying leap, sailing in after her. They were followed by Joanna who slammed the door shut. Julianne had reached the truck by now and was running to the driver’s side. A freshly infected man, fast and vigorous, was almost upon her. His outstretched fingers brushed her collar, and Morgan scrambled to pick up the spanner.

  She swung the tool at his head, connecting with his snarling mouth. A few teeth cracked, one flying free as his head snapped back. Another blow put him off balance. With a quick shove, Morgan pushed him to the ground and sprinted to her open door. She jumped inside, shrieking when he smashed into her window. Julianne started the truck and pulled away, leaving the infected man in their dusty wake.

  Morgan watched him in the rearview mirror. He ran after them, legs uncoordinated but fast. His figure grew smaller, but he never stopped. She wondered if he’d just keep going until he collapsed. Do they get ever tired?

  They passed a stationary car. It was empty with the doors wide open. Is that where they came from? Those infected?

  She pressed trembling fingers to her lips, breathing out through her nose. Her heart bounced in her chest, but the panic from before was missing. Instead, she rode high on the buzz of adrenaline.

  The moment when she’d hit the infected with the spanned played over and over in her head. The swing of the tool, the way it connected with a dull thud, the crunch of broken teeth. It was sickening.

  That man used to be a person, a father, a brother, a son. Albeit a dead one. Still, Morgan couldn’t suppress the feeling that rose within her being. It was an emotion she never expected to feel at that moment, yet she did.

  Victory.

  Chapter 7 - Logan

  Logan woke up with a start. He blinked at the bland surroundings, confusion clouding his mind. “Where in hell’s name am I?”

  A snore pulled his attention to the figures of Max and Thembiso, and the events of the previous day rushed back.

  He’d spent the night in the riot police quarters in Riebeeckstad. On a couch to be exact, and judging from his stiff, sore muscles, a very uncomfortable couch.

  Logan sat up, massaging the crick in his neck as he straightened his spine. An early riser by nature, he got up to fetch his luggage from the Land Rover. Luckily, the bathrooms had showers. After a wash and a shave, he felt like a new man.

  Memories of the day before lay like a dead weight on his mind, but he pushed it aside for the moment. He had never been one to dwell on emotional angst, preferring instead to pretend everything was okay. Not the best way to cope, perhaps, but the only way he knew how. He stumbled across a bleary-eyed Max in the hallway. “I’m making coffee. Want some?”

  “Sure, I could use a cup,” Max replied.

  Logan prepared a pot of the brew strong enough to take the paint off a wall before waking up Thembiso. “Time to get up, kid. We’ve got a lot to do today.”

  He handed the boy his cup and chuckled when Thembiso’s nose scrunched up as he took a sip. Evidently, they didn’t serve real coffee where he was from.

  Max sauntered in a few minutes later, running his hands through his damp hair before taking a seat.

  Logan sat down opposite him. “So what’s the plan?”

  “Fort up and survive.” Max gave Logan a long look. “I’ll understand if you want to leave. I’d be glad of the help if you stayed, though.”

  Logan was silent for a beat, then replied, “I’ll stay. For now.”

  “Thanks.” Max blew out a breath and leaned forward. “I thought we could start by searching the houses in the vicinity. If there are any problems we need to know about, we should find out now. Plus we need supplies.”

  “It’s a start,” Logan said, stretching out his long legs.

  While sipping his coffee, Max filled Thembiso in on the current situation. It was an ugly picture he painted, but Logan didn’t object. He figured the boy needed to know what the score was.

  “We’re in this for the long haul. There’s no telling when things will get back to normal, if ever,” Max said.

  “I understand,” Thembiso replied.

  “Are you okay? Do you need to talk? You know, about your family?” Max trailed off.

  Thembiso shook his head, blinking back sudden tears. “No, I’m all right.”

  “Are you sure?” Max asked, reaching out a hand. “Don’t you—”

  “Leave the boy alone. If he wants to talk, he’ll talk,” Logan interrupted, his tone brusque. In his opinion, nothing sucked more than people trying to get you to talk about your feelings. “Let’s get going. We’ve got work to do.”

  Max shrugged. “Sure, just trying to help.”

  Logan fixed Thembiso with a hard look. “You stay here. Lie low, keep quiet, and keep busy. You can sort out the storeroom next to the kitchen for a start. Get it ready for the supplies we bring in.”

  “Why? Can’t I come with you? I can help.”

  Logan had to give it to the little guy. He was barely sixteen, as skinny as a rake and had just lost his entire family to a zombie plague, but he had guts.

  “No, you’ll only be a liability,” Logan replied, mouth set in a stern line.

  Thembiso stared at the floor, dejection written on his face.

  “Maybe next time, once you’ve learned how to use a gun.”

  The boy’s face brightened. “You’ll teach me?”

  “Sure. If you want.” Logan shrugged, feeling strangely warm inside. Nice kid.

  He walked away, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. Outside, he was greeted by a beautiful day, one at complete odds with their desperate situation. For a moment, he missed being in the bush, alone and independent, surrounded by nature.

  “Soon,” he muttered, slipping behind the wheel. Despite what he’d said to Max, he wasn’t planning on staying. Just long enough to help the two settle in.

  As he grip
ped the familiar wheel of the Landie, his melancholic thoughts vanished. He was ready to go and eager to put the tragedies of yesterday behind him. Action was what he knew best.

  After Max got into the seat beside him, he reversed and drove to the gate. There was still no sign of any zombies as Max unlocked the gate, and Logan wondered how long their luck would hold.

  They approached the first house with caution. It was situated across the street from their new home. A single row of houses stretched down with another row behind that, most of it surrounded by open veldt. To the left, about two hundred meters up the road, the small town of Riebeeckstad began, with them right at the edge.

  He parked in front of the first house. Garbage bags lay uncollected on the sidewalk while a gentle breeze stirred the tops of the daisy bushes lining the pre-con. No signs of life could be seen.

  “Well, time to find out if the neighborhood is as deserted as it looks,” Logan said.

  They got out and walked to the front door. Logan held his ax at the ready while Max carried a hammer he’d borrowed from Logan’s toolbox. Neither wanted to attract infected with the sound of gunshots. That was a lesson learned the previous day.

  The house was the type Logan hated. Bland and boring. To him, it represented the white picket fence scenario. The same situation he’d run from his entire life.

  The front door stood wide open, leading to a stuffy looking living room. Porcelain figurines stared at them from shelves on the wall while an antique clock ticked away the time in age-old fashion.

  Max took the lead as they searched the house, room by room. Nothing had been disturbed. It was empty. Either the owners had run at the first sign of trouble, taking nothing with them or they never came home.

  After making sure the house was secure, they split up to search for supplies. Logan spotted the fridge, and his stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t had breakfast yet. He opened the door, and his mouth watered. “Jackpot.”

  Logan unpacked margarine, cheese, ham, pickles, and mustard before he raided the bread bin and made a monster sandwich. It was bigger than his head, just the way he liked it.

  “That’s better,” he mumbled through a huge mouthful.

  “I see you’ve got the food supplies well in hand,” Max said when he walked into the kitchen with a first aid kit under his arm. He shook his head. “Just leave something for the rest of us.”

  “Yeah, yeah, relax.” Washing down his breakfast with a glass of orange juice, Logan scrounged around for plastic bags and packed up the rest of the food.

  They stripped the house of anything useful, taking care not to let their guard down or to make too much noise. With the Land Rover loaded, they dropped the supplies off with Thembiso and went on to the second house.

  “We should get furniture,” Max mused.

  “What for?”

  Max shrugged. “You know, make it homey.”

  Logan looked at Max with raised eyebrows. “Homey?”

  “Hey, we’ll be staying there for a while. Might as well get comfortable.”

  “If you say so.”

  “A few beds would be nice. There aren’t any at our base, and those couches are shitty to sleep on,” Max added.

  Logan thought about that for a moment. He has a point. “True. We could load it on the roof rack. We should get fridges too for the meat and stuff.”

  “It’s all about the food for you, isn’t it?” Max laughed.

  “Funny, but I’d like to see how long you keep cracking jokes on an empty stomach.” Logan shook his head. “I’ve spent many hungry nights in the bush. You won’t believe some of the things I’ve eaten.”

  “I can imagine,” Max shuddered. “But seriously, how long do you think the power will last?”

  “Around a week. Two if we’re lucky. We’ll need generators and fuel to keep us going.”

  “Mm. This is gonna be more problematic than I thought.” Max frowned. He fiddled with the radio but found nothing but static.

  “Electricity, water, guns and ammunition, food, medicine. All the more reason to get moving,” Logan said.

  The second house didn’t look as peaceful as the first. Blood spatters marred the walls, and the flower beds were trampled.

  “Looks like trouble,” Logan said.

  “Agreed.”

  “You first.”

  “Chicken.”

  Together they searched the yard and the rooms, finding nothing but emptiness. Whatever had happened, it was over now. In the hallway, Max turned to Logan and spoke in a normal tone of voice. “It looks clear enough.”

  In the next moment, a woman burst out of a door behind him, bowling him over. As small as she was, Max went down with her on top of him. She snapped at his face with her teeth, wriggling like a worm on a hook.

  Logan jumped forward and lodged his ax into her temple before she could bite. Her body sagged, and she slumped to the side.

  It was an old lady, dressed in a pink cardigan with court shoes and permed hair. She looked like just she got home from church. Logan gently pulled her to the side and closed her eyes. She reminded him of his grandmother, and he tore his gaze away, staring at the wall instead.

  Max got to his feet, his face pale with his lips compressed. Thick, black blood covered the front of his jacket. He went to the bathroom to clean himself, shouting over his shoulder. “How did we miss her? We checked everywhere.”

  Logan shrugged. “Not well enough it seems. We skipped the walk-in closet. How she wound up there, I don’t know, but let this be a lesson to us.” He turned away. “I’ll recheck the house.”

  That close call set the tone for the rest of the day. Having learned from their mistake, they checked every corner of the houses they visited, never assuming it was safe. It was hard, dangerous work and unpleasant too. Each zombie they dispatched used to be a person, and seeing them in their homes brought that to the forefront of their minds.

  The worst was the children.

  Logan ran his fingers over a row of plush toys sitting on a shelf. Their button eyes stared at him, cold and empty. The flowery bedding beside him emitted a faint baby powder smell, and from a framed picture, a young girl smiled.

  His eyes flicked to a pair of red shoes that peeked out from underneath a blanket on the floor. It reminded him of Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. Never one of his favorites, he now loathed the story.

  Unable to stop himself, he stared at the pretty shoes. From underneath the cloth, a growing pool of black blood spread outward like tentacles of death. He fled the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

  Max emerged from the room next to his, his face paper-white. He clutched a bag of teenage boy clothes in his left hand, and Logan spotted the crumpled form of the former owner on the floor behind him.

  “Thembiso could use these,” Max said.

  “One more for the day and we call it quits?” Logan asked.

  “Best idea I’ve heard so far.”

  They loaded up and moved on to the next house. It was a beautiful place that spoke of loving care. The lush gardens beckoned to the weary Logan, promising rest and reprieve amidst the green foliage. A pang of longing for the wild hit him again and had to be repressed with an effort.

  He fixed his eyes on the goal and approached the side door to the garage, pushing it open. It creaked, and an answering raspy growl alerted him to infected.

  From the gloom, a middle-aged man wearing nothing but shorts appeared. He lifted a hand and shuffled closer, dragging an injured leg behind him. Logan split his skull, marveling at how easy the deed had become. He pulled aside the body, gagging as he caught sight of the mangled leg.

  “Some zombie really did a number on you.” On a happier note, Logan discovered an Amarok, almost brand new, parked inside the garage. “Now this will come in handy.”

  “Let’s look for the keys,” Max said.

  Inside the house, an eeriness dwelt. A half-eaten, dried-out sandwich stood on the counter next to a cold cup of coffee. The Disney cha
nnel played on the TV, and a box of cookies lay discarded on the carpet, crawling with ants.

  Logan’s heart sank. More children. There were no signs of a struggle, no blood, but he knew better than to take that as a good sign. They searched room after room. All empty.

  Finally, they reached the main bedroom. It was closed, and Logan wondered what waited on the other side. The hair on the back of his neck rose in anticipation.

  “Ladies first,” Max whispered.

  Logan rolled his eyes, but the joke soothed his nerves as he cracked open the door. Stale air wafted out, and he waited for possible infected to attack. When nothing happened, he eased open the door. It was dark inside, and the curtains were drawn.

  “Hello?” he called.

  The seconds ticked by as he waited.

  He glanced back at Max.

  Max nodded and lifted his hammer. “Go on.”

  Logan stepped inside, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. There!

  A shadowy figure flitted across the room to the bed, barely visible in the gloom.

  “There’s something there,” he whispered to Max.

  “Infected?”

  “Don’t know. It’s not attacking.”

  “Maybe it’s a person. A living one.”

  Logan paused as that possibility sunk in. Could it be?

  “Hello? Is there anyone in here? We mean no harm,” he said.

  A hesitant face popped up beside the bed. It was a woman.

  “Who are you?” she asked, blond hair flopping over her eyes.

  “I’m Logan, and this is Max. We’re survivors, looking for supplies. We’re not here to hurt you.”

  “Well, I sure hope not, or I’d have to shoot you.” She showed him a pistol as proof of her intentions.

  Logan blinked, taken aback. “Uh, well I can assure you we’re not.”

  She studied him. “All right.” She rose to her feet. “Come children. Greet our guests.”

  Two faces appeared next to her, a boy of about fifteen and a girl of ten or so. “Hello,” they chorused.