Children of the Apocalypse: Mega Boxed Set

by Baileigh Higgins

  Finally, he let go.

  After righting the stool, he cut the rope she’d tied around the beam and carried her body outside. Muted gasps rose when others spotted him and noted his terrible burden. Blurred figures rushed over, and voices rose in the air.

  “Michael?”

  “What happened?”

  “What did she do?”

  “What’s going on?”

  The questions buzzed around him like angry bees, but he ignored them all and made his way toward the burial plot on the far side of camp. Dr. Lange was already there, summoned by Max, his face sorrowful. “Michael.”

  “Doctor,” Michael answered though he barely noticed the doctor.

  Lisa walked over, her eyes brimming with tears. “I’m so sorry. I should have come to you sooner.”

  He didn’t listen to her either.

  None of them mattered as he lay Mpho down on the grass and removed the rope from her neck. Purple bruises mottled her throat, the delicate skin broken. Her eyes were wide and staring, filled with blood from tiny burst blood vessels. He closed them, still fighting the grief that threatened to tear loose with every breath he took. Why? Why did you leave me?

  Max approached but wisely said nothing. Instead, he offered Michael a shovel, while he held the second one himself. Together, they dug the grave, joined after a few minutes by Logan and Breytenbach.

  Martin appeared with a wooden cross, painted white and engraved with Mpho’s name. Elise and Julianne covered her form with a sheet, and Dave brought out his Bible. As they lowered Mpho’s body and covered her, Dave read from Psalms before ending off with a prayer.

  Michael functioned on autopilot, the drone of Dave’s voice just background noise to his ears. None of the words meant anything real. Without uttering a word, he turned and walked away.

  Once inside the room he used to share with Mpho, he fished out a backpack from underneath the bed. With studied movements, he packed his things and armed himself. Clothes, toiletries, rifles, sidearm, knife, ammo, a bedroll, and canteen.

  He was ready to leave when something caught his eye. Mpho’s necklace, the one she’d inherited from her mother and never took off, lay on the dresser. Beneath it was a folded scarf.

  Michael picked up the delicate gold cross necklace and stared at it. The scarf, crimson red, still held Mpho’s scent, and he pressed it to his nostrils. She’d left these things for him, he was sure of it.

  A final farewell.

  He slipped the jewelry over his head, and the cross came to rest above his heart. The scarf he stuffed into his backpack. The items would serve to remind him of his loss…and his newfound purpose.

  Revenge.

  Chapter 2 - Hiran

  Hiran stared into the flickering flames of the campfire. The swirling orange and yellow designs fascinated him. If he looked hard enough, he could almost see faces in the patterns. The faces of his enemies, mostly dead now. The faces of his family. All gone now. The faces of his friends. Not many of those. He wasn’t the type to kindle casual relationships. They required too much effort for too little reward.

  The fire crackled, and he squinted, concentrating on the soft features that emerged before him. Full lips, high cheekbones, a smooth brow, and dark eyes framed by long lashes. Mpho.

  Hiran hissed in anger and shifted forward, leaning closer to the flames. Yes. It was her. The siren who’d sung her treacherous songs, drawing him into her web. Something about her had appealed to him even though he’d resisted at first. Love was a waste of time, and affection a distraction from the reality of life.

  As if she could hear his thoughts, Mpho’s lips twisted into a mocking smile. Her gaze burned into his, and his breath caught in his throat. Even now, he desired her. Witch.

  A log cracked, split in half by the fiery heat, and settled into the coals with a thud, sending up a spray of sparks. They flashed like tiny fireflies, floating for a few seconds before turning to ash. Mpho’s image was gone.

  Hiran leaned back in his chair, lips twisted in anger. With casual disdain, he extended one booted foot before him as his thoughts winged back to the day of the attack.

  He’d planned it all in the finest detail. After helping Ke Tau to win a great victory over the inhabitants of the camp, he would have asked for Mpho as his reward. The leader would have given her to him; there was no doubt about that. He’d have taken her for himself, saved her from the attention of Carlito and his ilk. You could have been my queen.

  It was not to be, however. Rebecca interfered, sending her beloved granddaughter out into the night to inform the camp of the surprise attack in an unprecedented act of rebellion. Not only that but Ke Tau lost his mind, refusing to listen when Hiran warned him they’d lose the fight.

  All the signs were there. The camp held the superior position, and once their reinforcements arrived, it was over. Yet, Ke Tau, in his arrogance and hatred, decided to push ahead with the plan and lost.

  Stupid fucking asshole, Hiran thought with a shrug. Now I’m the leader.

  It was bound to happen at some point. He’d have betrayed Ke Tau in any case. Wrested the power from his hands, but it would have been after they got rid of their enemies. After they consolidated their hold on the town, and after he got Mpho.

  Mpho. The little bitch had betrayed him. After everything he’d done for her, all the times he’d saved her from Carlito, given her extra food and clothes, this was how she repaid him.

  With smooth motions, he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. The smoke curled from his nostrils before exiting his lips in a billowing cloud as he exhaled.

  It didn’t matter. None of it did. He was here, alive and in charge of several dozen men. Once he had enough, he’d go back. Go back and finish what Ke Tau started. And I won’t botch the job like he did. I’ll kill every last one of them. Except her. Mpho will beg for mercy once I’m done with her. Just like her grandmama.

  With a smile of satisfaction, Hiran got to his feet. It was getting late, and he needed his sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a long day, after all. One filled with big plans.

  He stubbed out his cigarette and walked around the perimeter, checking that everything was in place. They were encamped in an abandoned caravan park on the outskirts of Bloemfontein.

  The place was a dump. The fence was in tatters, the grounds overgrown, and the ablution blocks a nightmare of overflowing sewage. Still, it suited his current need for invisibility. It was unlikely either he or his men would be discovered there.

  When they’d first arrived, the men had opened up a clearing and strung wires from one tree to another in a rough circle to form a barrier for the undead. It was crude but effective.

  Around the clock, guards took care of any of the wandering corpses, and for the most part, they lay low, keeping quiet, cooking on small concealed fires, and leaving the site at night time only. This allowed them to travel under the cloak of darkness and stay hidden.

  Hiran walked past the guards, satisfied when he saw they were all alert and upright. They nodded as he passed, greeting him with respectful murmurs. Either that or fear. He didn’t care which. While he wasn’t as needlessly cruel as Ke Tau had been, the men knew better than to mess with him. A figure approached him from the dark, and he slowed. “George?”

  “Yes, Boss, it’s me.”

  “So you’re back.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Report,” Hiran said as he resumed his slow walk around the encampment.

  “It’s not as we thought.”

  “Oh?”

  “As you commanded, I took two men to scout the areas leading to the city. We found very little.”

  “Very little what?”

  “There are almost no zombies. The roads are clear and passable, and…”

  “And?” Hiran prompted.

  “We found a safe house.”

  “Safe house?”

  “Yes. It contained food, water, and medicine. Even blankets. All of which we took.”

  “Yes, yes,” Hir
an said, waving his hand. “What else? What makes you think it’s a safe house?”

  “Because of this.” George produced a folded paper from the inner pocket of his jacket.

  Hiran took the paper from him and squinted at the neat writing in the light of the moon. “What is this? A map?”

  “Looks like it. And an offer of sanctuary to survivors.”

  Hiran read the message, committing it to memory. “Fellow survivors. Help yourselves to what you need. Leave that which you do not for those who follow after you.” He snorted before reading the rest. “All survivors who are pure of heart are welcome to join us at our base on Naval Hill. Proceed with caution.”

  “Naval Hill?” Hiran stopped and shook his head. “So let me get this straight. There’s a group of survivors on Naval Hill strong enough to clear an entire city of the dead?”

  “That’s what my reconnaissance trip showed me. Not only are the dead gone and the streets clear, but numerous signs and boards announce the existence of this so-called haven for survivors,” George replied.

  Hiran thought about that for a minute, chewing on his bottom lip. A large group of survivors meant danger, but it also meant guns, ammunition, food, water, and recruits for his army. Everything he needed to overthrow a particular camp back home.

  He turned to his second-in-command. “Get some rest, George. Tomorrow, you and I are going to Naval Hill. I want to see what we’re up against.”

  “Yes, Boss,” George replied with a smart salute before disappearing into the darkness.

  That night, Hiran found it hard to sleep as his brain kept churning over the possibilities. He’d thought it would take months, years even before he’d have what was needed to take out his enemies. But now…now he might be a lot closer to victory than he’d imagined.

  Everything I have is right here. I just have to be smart about it, he thought before drifting off, at last, only to awaken at the crack of dawn.

  He found George at the fire, dressed, armed, and ready to go. After a hasty meal, they got onto the road in a dusty old truck hardly worthy of the name. It blended in, though, and the engine was reliable which meant a lot more than fancy looks did.

  George drove, following the winding roads until they were close to their destination: Naval Hill. Hiran was interested to find that what George had reported was accurate. On the way there the roads had been clear of either corpses or car wrecks. Freshly dug mass graves in open stretches of fields pointed to the burial sites of the destroyed infected complete with wooden crosses to mark the locations.

  The closer they got to their destination, the more signs and billboards there were too. All announced the same thing: Salvation and refuge was at hand for those who were pure of heart.

  Hiran found that ironic. How, with man’s natural inclination for sin, could anyone be considered pure? The closest you’d get would be a baby or a child. These people are morons.

  After hiding the truck in a cul de sac, they got out. From here on out, they’d walk. After a long, careful hike on foot through thick brush, foliage, and thorns, they reached the entrance gates to the hill.

  In the past, Naval Hill had been a wildlife refuge of sorts, smack in the middle of a bustling city. It boasted zebras, wildebeest, and even a pair of giraffes if memory served, though Hiran wondered if any of the animals had survived the outbreak.

  It made sense to use the place as a base. Not only was it fenced in with only one entry point by road, but it was mainly a giant hill surrounded by dense brush and trees. It was the perfect deterrent to the less than agile undead. It offered panoramic views of the surrounding areas, and at the top stood the iconic statue of Nelson Mandela as well as a planetarium.

  Cold-eyed men and women armed with rifles manned the gates which had been heavily fortified, and Hiran eyed them from his position behind a battered old thorn tree. A fly buzzed around his face, but he ignored it.

  They were not fighting their way in, that was for sure. Not only would it be too dangerous, but a firefight would be heard all the way up the hill and draw reinforcements down on them.

  He shifted on his haunches, easing a cramp in his lower back. With no clue as to the survivor’s real numbers or available supplies, a direct attack was out of the question.

  Hiran jerked his head back the way they came. “Let’s go.”

  With slow, careful movements, they eased away from their position and retraced their steps. A short time later, they were on their way back to camp, each silent as they considered what they’d seen.

  To Hiran, the way forward was obvious: Deception.

  They needed more information before they could act. That and an inside look at the Naval Hill Refuge as he’d come to think of it. And I know just how to go about it.

  A slow smile spread across his lips, and he cocked an eyebrow at his second-in-command. “Tell me something, George.”

  “Boss?”

  “Are you pure of heart?”

  George grinned, revealing a row of perfect white teeth. “Indeed, I am, Boss. My heart is as white as snow.”

  “Good. Because tomorrow, you’re joining the other survivors on top of the hill.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes, and you’re going to worm your way inside their camp and their hearts with your fine, honest ways. Got that?”

  “Got it, Boss.”

  “You and two others. Pick them for their innocent looks and ability to lie. We need brains here, not brawn.”

  “I know just the ones,” George replied.

  “Good.” Hiran stared at the passing scenery with wicked intent. “This time next month, I want every single one of those strangers either dead or kneeling in front of me. I will be the judge of their so-called pureness of heart.”

  Chapter 3 - Max

  Max wrinkled his nose at the smell of decay that emanated from the moat. The rasping groans of the undead filled his ears as he approached the edge with careful steps. A dozen rotten faces met his eyes, all upturned toward him with rabid hunger stamped on their features.

  “Oh, God. It’s going to be a long morning,” he said.

  “You’re telling me,” Breytenbach replied with a heavy sigh.

  “Tell me again why we volunteered for moat duty today?” Julianne asked.

  “We didn’t,” Elise replied. “We were forced into it.”

  “That’s right. I made you do this because you all needed to see how bad it really is out here. You’ve had it cushy inside the camp ever since the attack,” Lisa replied in brusque tones.

  Max arched an eyebrow. “Cushy? I’ve been working my ass off these past few weeks. We all have.”

  Lisa shrugged. “Maybe, but dealing with sleeping arrangements, duty rosters, and meal times is different from dealing with them.” She nodded at the nearest female zombie before stabbing it through the eye.

  The milky orb burst with a squelch and orbital fluid ran down the infected woman’s face. She collapsed to the ground leaving her eye behind on the tip of the spear, and Lisa shook it off with a grimace of disgust.

  “Ugh,” Max said, an involuntary shudder working its way up his body. Killing the dead never got better. It just got easier with time.

  “Things are bad out here, Max,” Lisa continued. “More than you realize, and you needed to see it for yourself. All of you did.”

  “I agree,” Kirstin said, siding with Lisa, and Max shot her a look of chagrin which she studiously ignored.

  “I do realize, Lisa. I listen to your reports every day,” Max protested.

  “Yes, you do, but you don’t seem to understand my position,” Lisa said. “You put me in charge of security, right?”

  Breytenbach and Max nodded.

  “Well, I’m doing the best I can here, which is a hell of a lot more than most people would, but something’s got to give.” She threw her hands in the air. “We need to do something about these things. Ever since the fight, they’re everywhere, swarming the place.”

  “What exactly are you saying
, Lisa?” Breytenbach asked. “Do you need more hands? More weapons? You know we’re running low on both.”

  Lisa sighed, and for a moment, her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s just…it’s not safe here anymore.”

  Max and Breytenbach exchanged loaded glances.

  “You want us to leave? Is that it?” Max asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “You know that’s not possible,” Julianne protested. “This is our home. We fought for it. Some of us died for it.”

  “We might not have a choice,” Lisa said, her cheeks flushing with hot blood as her voice rose in pitch.

  “I’m not taking my kids out there,” Elise cried, flinging an arm out. “That’s insane!”

  Breytenbach raised a hand. “Hold up. Everyone calm down. Let’s finish the patrol and see first hand what the true situation is. Then we can discuss it.”

  “I agree,” Kirstin said as she joined Lisa’s side and aimed her spear at another infected. “Come on. The sooner it is done, the better.”

  “Fine,” Max said, grumbling under his breath while taking up a fighting stance. “Let’s do this.”

  Beneath their combined efforts, the dead fell one after the other until only the bodies remained. Silent, at last.

  While he worked, Max mulled over Lisa’s words. Admittedly, he hadn’t been out here in quite a while. As the leader of the camp, he’d been too busy with other things to bother much with moat duty. It was a crappy job, one he was happy to leave to Lisa and her security team.

  Afterward, came the even shittier job of loading the corpses onto their stretchers. It was dangerous work spent down in the pit levering out the bodies while keeping an eye out for more, but it had to be done. Leaving the corpses to rot would create a breeding ground for all sorts of diseases as Jonathan and Dr. Lange had warned numerous times already.

  Afterward, Max bent down and gripped the handles of his stretcher and lifted the heavy load into the air. With concentrated effort, he dragged the contraption forward as he continued his patrol of the outer fences with the rest of the group.