Children of the Apocalypse: Mega Boxed Set

by Baileigh Higgins

  “Sure thing, Max. See you later.”

  Max stayed at the site, picking through the smoking rubble. He was joined by Breytenbach and Julianne, but they soon realized it was hopeless. Very few things had escaped the fire.

  While part of the common room was still intact, the kitchens, laundry, and storerooms were gone. At least, the radio room had escaped the worst of it, and Sean set about salvaging the equipment.

  When they were done with their depressing chore, Breytenbach called him and Julianne aside. “So this is it? We’re leaving?”

  “I guess so. It seems like fate has decided for us,” Max replied.

  “Fate? Or someone in camp?”

  “What do you mean, Christo?” Julianne asked.

  “Nadia came to me a little while ago with an interesting story. Apparently, she and Cat saw someone wearing a numbered hoodie sneaking around last night.”

  “Any idea who?” Max asked.

  “No, they couldn’t make out his or her face. Only that the person was short and slender.”

  “That doesn’t narrow it down much,” Max replied. “But what has that to do with the fire?”

  “This fire burned too hot and too suddenly to be natural. I believe it was caused on purpose,” Breytenbach said.

  “Who would do such a thing?” Julianne asked.

  “I don’t know, but I also found an empty jerry can in the bushes over there after poking around. I figured the person might have tried to dump the evidence after starting the fire, and I was right.”

  “This was arson?” Max asked, not sure if he wanted to believe it, but it made too much sense not to be true. “Any relation to the chicken killer, perhaps?”

  “Maybe,” Breytenbach replied. “Anyway, I told Nadia to come back to me if she remembers anything else. I do believe we have an enemy inside the camp.”

  Max sighed. “As if we don’t have enough problems already. How do we catch this person? Or persons?”

  “I don’t know. We don’t have enough to go on yet,” Breytenbach replied. “I’ll warn everyone I know we can trust, and I suggest we keep our eyes peeled for suspicious behavior.”

  “All right. Thank you, Captain.”

  “We should keep an eye out for this mysterious hoodie in one of the bungalows too,” Breytenbach said.

  Julianne said. “It won’t be easy, though. I can think of several people who own a garment like that off the top of my head. The last clothing shop we emptied had tons of the stuff in storage.”

  Breytenbach shook his head. “Either way, I have a feeling our arsonist will overplay his or her hand soon enough and be exposed.”

  “Let’s hope so, Captain,” Max replied. “But in the meantime, I want all eyes on Lonny and Ruby, as well as anyone else that might be acting strangely. We don’t know who the troublemaker is or even if there’s more than one, and we need to prevent any further sabotage.”

  “Yes, we can’t afford any more problems,” Julianne agreed.

  “I’ll do what I can, spread the word,” Breytenbach replied. “Other than that, we can just hope for the best.”

  “Let’s pray this evacuation goes off without a hitch,” Max agreed before turning toward the site of the fire once more. As he surveyed the smoking rubble and blackened ground before him, he wondered what else could go wrong. Maybe this move really is for the best. If we can pull it off.

  Chapter 14 - Michael

  Michael moved through the brush with the ease of a leopard, placing each foot in front of the other with extreme care. His passage was silent, his shape invisible to the naked eye. He was a predator. A hunter stalking his prey in the night.

  After following Hiran’s trail for weeks, he’d finally found his enemy, holed up in a new position, one of significant advantage to the man and his followers. To Michael’s great disappointment, he’d arrived too late to save the Naval Hill Refuge from Hiran’s ravages.

  He wasted no time on empty regrets, though. What was done, was done. Now, he needed to focus on his mission and see it through to the end. It was all that mattered.

  When Michael reached his chosen vantage point, he stopped and dropped to his knees. For a few seconds, he waited, listening for anything that might be out of place. When he was satisfied all was well, he bent over and scooped a shallow trench out of the dirt with his bare hands.

  Once it was deep enough, he eased his body into the hole, but only after rubbing some of the mud across his exposed skin as camouflage. His dirt-streaked clothes blended in well with the damp leaves and twigs he lay on, and he carried nothing that could give off a reflection.

  He moved his rifle into position and propped up the barrel on a sturdy branch. It would provide a rest for the gun and improve his aim. Pressing one eye to the scope, he gazed at the camp below.

  It had taken him half an hour to get into position, and the soft drizzle of rain now played in his favor. It brought with it a chill that struck to the core and made the guards reluctant to wander far from their posts. They huddled around a small fire and smoked their cigarettes, their conversation a low monotone of mumbled voices.

  Michael lay as still as a rock, patiently waiting for the next phase of his plan. Until then, he watched, ignoring the occasional bloodsucking mosquito that buzzed around his face or the rustle of some small creature in the bush. A centipede crawled across his hand, its scaly back illuminated by a slender ray of moonlight. He eyed it with disfavor, but let it pass unharmed into the carpet of leaves he lay on.

  In the distance, an owl hooted. The small group of guards stirred, their superstitions coming to the fore. One spat on the ground and made a sign to ward of evil. It was widely believed the call of an owl meant death was coming.

  Michael’s lips pursed with grim amusement. If they only knew. Death was staring right at them down the barrel of a gun, and each and every one of them would die that night. He glanced at the moon again. The time had come to launch his attack.

  With the guards half asleep, they presented easy targets. He picked his first and sighted on the man’s temple. He’d drifted away from his friends and would now pay the price for it.

  Letting out a slow breath, Michael squeezed the trigger. Aided by the rain, the silencer at the end of the barrel muffled the shot, and his victim crumpled like wet newspaper. Before any of his compatriots even noticed, Michael had already shifted his aim to the next one with swift precision.

  One, two, three.

  As easy as that, it was done.

  Michael allowed himself a satisfied smile. Hiran’s fortress now sported wide-open gates. The next phase wouldn’t be as easy, of course, but he was confident in his abilities.

  He slithered down the embankment and quickly checked each of the guards, making sure they were dead. He stripped them of their weapons and buried it in a hole he’d dug earlier, hidden in a clump of bushes far to the side. A burlap sack would keep the stuff dry. One never knew when extra guns would come in handy, and he didn’t plan on leaving it for Hiran and his men.

  Afterward, he made his way up the hill, pausing now and then to listen to the night. It was empty, as he’d known it would be. The guard only changed every eight hours.

  He was alone.

  A man on a mission of death.

  When he reached the top of the hill, he paused again, mentally picking his way through the brush and the camp’s perimeter. For days now, he’d been watching the place, noting the men’s habits and ways, learning their shifts and routes by heart. Child’s play.

  In between guard rotations, he moved deeper into the camp, scaling a wall to get to the roof. Following its edge, he reached an overhang beneath which sat Hiran and his second-in-command on camping chairs.

  They lounged around a fire, legs extended and postures relaxed. Supremely at ease, they believed they were safe, never realizing the danger that lay above their heads.

  From here, it would become a waiting game until George left and Hiran retired to his rooms. If Michael moved quickly enough, he�
�d be able to follow the leader and surprise him in his bed.

  Michael had no illusions, of course. He knew this was a one-way trip. Once he was committed, there was no turning back. Hiran would die, but so would he. There were too many men for him to fight his way through, and they’d never willingly let him go.

  He didn’t care. He welcomed death. Welcomed its cold embrace with open arms. At least, I’ll have avenged Mpho.

  The night air was icy against his skin, but he hardly felt it as he waited. Waited for Hiran to make his move. He watched the rest of the camp go about their ways. Eating, drinking, fighting, gambling, and whoring.

  He felt sorry for the captives, for the women forced to serve these monsters. But even as his conscience whispered at him to help them, he hardened his heart, telling himself he was only one man. Their fate is sealed.

  Still, the stubborn whispers wouldn’t let up, wouldn’t let him rest. I could go back. I could tell Max. With their help, maybe we can rescue these women.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. No. I’m here for Hiran. No other reason.

  His ears pricked as he picked up on the conversation between Hiran and George, and he honed in on it, welcoming the distraction from his disturbing thoughts.

  “I want you to gather all the men tomorrow, George. I want you to drill them, to train them, to push them to their limits.”

  “Sure thing, Boss.”

  “I also want a list of all the weapons and ammunition at our disposal. Make sure of it. And I want you to send out raiding parties for more. Hit up every likely spot you can find. Get that bitch Agatha to spill the beans. She must know of a few places. Kill her if you must.”

  “Yes, Boss.”

  “Because next week, we’re going back.” The glee in Hiran’s voice was evident even from a distance, and Michael’s brow furrowed in confusion. Back?

  Fortunately, the same question had occurred to George, and he asked, “Back where, Boss?”

  “To the site of our recent defeat. To a certain camp that dared to defy us.” Hiran fell silent, and Michael could hear only the crackle of the flames.

  A creak sounded as if someone had shifted in their chair before George spoke again. “Are you sure, Boss? We’ve got it real good here. Why go back?”

  “Why? I’ll tell you why.” Hiran’s voice was low and threatening. It spoke of utter conviction bordering on madness. “I’m going to destroy that place and its people, George. I’m going to raze it to the ground until there’s nothing left but death and decay. I’m going to kill their children in front of their eyes, and rape their women while they watch before crucifying each and every last one of them. That’s a promise.”

  Michael blinked, and visions of all Hiran’s recent victims flooded his mind, causing him to doubt his current mission. Men, women, and children, all murdered in the most horrifying of ways. He’s going to kill them. Dr. Lange, Nombali, Max, Breytenbach, Kirstin…the children. He’s going to kill them all. I can’t let that happen. Not now, not ever.

  He closed his eyes again and tried to focus on the task at hand. Kill Hiran. That’s all that matters. If he’s dead, the threat to your camp is gone too.

  But that wasn’t true. Michael was no idiot. Even if he did manage to kill Hiran, there was no guarantee George wouldn’t do exactly as his precious boss had planned. Nor did it guarantee that they might not stumble across this place in the future and suffer a similar horrible fate.

  Besides, the possibility remained that he would fail in his mission, and Hiran would live. As vaunted as his belief in his fighting abilities were, Michael was aware of the fact that life was never fair, and victory often lay in the hands of those who got in a lucky shot. Warn the camp first. Then you can get your revenge. It’s what Mpho would’ve wanted.

  With a sigh, Michael gave in. He had no real choice. He had to warn his friends. It was the right thing to do. Moving with care, he eased his way back off the roof and through the perimeter of the camp with extreme caution. The last thing he needed now, was to get caught.

  Along the way, he spied a figure lying prone in the dust. He paused before moving in for a closer inspection. It was Agatha, the previous leader. Her hands were zip-tied behind her back, and she lay motionless on her side. It appeared she was forgotten for the present.

  Every inch of her body was bruised and bloody, her face swollen, and the fingers of her left hand dislocated. It was a wonder she still lived. George was a cruel taskmaster, a real sadist when it came to satisfying his appetites.

  Michael watched her for a few seconds, noting the faint rise and fall of her chest. He couldn’t risk taking her with him; he might not make it out alive burdened with her care. He could, however, give her a chance, slight though it might be. Besides, if he did nothing, she would die for sure.

  He slipped his spare knife from his boot and sidled over. With haste, he cut her bonds, freeing her arms. He pressed the knife into her uninjured hand, wrapping her fingers around the hilt. Into her ear, he breathed, “Take the knife and run. Escape.”

  He felt her stir, felt the moment when his words took hold for her hand tightened around the weapon, and she slurred the words, “Thank you.”

  “Good luck.” Michael ghosted away from her side and melted into the darkness, hoping she’d make it out alive. Her chances were slim but… She’s strong. She’s a survivor. She’ll make it.

  Chapter 15 - Hiran

  A series of knocks on the door pulled Hiran from a deep slumber, and he blinked into the grey light of a predawn morning. He frowned and pushed himself upright on one elbow. Who dared to disturb him this early in the day? Only a fool or a dead man.

  “Who is it?” he roared.

  “It’s me, Boss. George,” came the soft reply.

  “You’d better have a good excuse for this!” Hiran said.

  Beside Hiran, his latest concubine jerked awake with a frightened gasp. Her wide eyes fixed upon his angry visage. Immediately, she flinched, raising her hands to defend her already bruised face.

  With muttered disgust, he shoved her out of the bed, and she landed on the floor with a thump. “Get my clothes. Now!”

  She skittered around the room like a frightened mouse while he gathered his wits and got up. With swift strides, he crossed the floor and yanked the door open, coming face to face with an apologetic George. “What do you want?”

  “I’m sorry, Boss. You know I wouldn’t bother you except for something important,” his second-in-command sputtered.

  “Spit it out,” Hiran ground out between clenched teeth. “Before I kill you with my bare hands.”

  “The uh, guards at the gate. They’re dead, Boss. All of them.” George wrung his hands together and eased backward.

  “What?” Hiran said, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “They’re dead? How?”

  “Shot, Boss. With a sniper rifle or something similar, I suspect,” George said, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallowed hard.

  “You suspect? And what would you know, you idiot?” Hiran asked, still talking in that deceptively calm whisper. Icy anger rushed through his veins, washing away any remnants of sleep.

  “Nothing, Boss. I don’t know anything,” George said, backtracking swiftly. “But…”

  “But?” Hiran asked, his eyes narrowing to slits. “What else happened?”

  “It’s…it’s Agatha, Boss. She escaped and stabbed two more guards on her way out. I’ve sent men to track her down, but they haven’t found her yet.” Now George looked truly frightened, his eyes wide and staring in his pointed face.

  The cold anger inside Hiran’s chest burst into flame, and red spots flashed across his field of vision. “What? The bitch escaped? You let her go?”

  “I…I didn’t…I’ll find her, Boss, and when I do I’ll―”

  “You’ll do nothing but call me, you worthless worm. Do I have to do everything myself around here?” Hiran glared at the unfortunate George, tempted to kill him there and then. “Wait outside.”


  “Yes, Boss.” George scurried away as fast as he could leaving Hiran to stew in the heat of his rage.

  He slammed the door shut and turned on the girl, grabbing her by the arms. His emotions needed an outlet, and she was the closest thing at hand. With a growl, he pushed her against the wall, holding her wrists above her head.

  Ignoring her cries of pain, he thrust into her, over and over again. Each move was harder than the last until he rammed her entire body into the plastered concrete with all the force he could muster.

  All he could think of was that bitch Agatha. How dare she defy him? Just like that whore Mpho. A betraying lying snake who’d spurned what he’d thought to offer her. I’ll show her. I’ll show Agatha too. I’ll show all of them what happens to those who oppose me.

  His stomach muscles clenched as he reached climax, and he thrust forward with a final brutal slam. With his head thrown back, he gloried in the release, only slowly regaining his senses.

  The girl was silent against him, her soft, warm body suddenly a dead weight. He pulled back, letting go of her wrists. She slid down the wall to her haunches, leaving a thick smear of crimson behind. Her eyes were glassy, and her mouth worked as she slumped to the side.

  Hiran prodded her with his foot, noting the blood that spread through her long blonde locks like a rusty stain. His lips twisted. “Another one. You’re all useless to me. Useless.”

  With his anger mostly under control, he dressed and left the room, striding to where George still waited outside. He jerked his head at another man who stood nearby. “Hey, you. Get rid of the girl in my room. She’s yours to do with as you want, but she won’t last long, so you’d better hurry.”

  The man grinned, his eagerness palpable as he rushed to obey. “Yes, Sir! Thank you, Sir!”

  With domestic matters taken care of, Hiran leveled a menacing stare at his George who fidgeted beneath his gaze. “Show me how she escaped.”

  “Yes, Boss.”

  George led him to a spot on the far side of the clearing. A small wooden hut peeked out of the bushes. It wasn’t much, just a single room, and had likely been used as a security outpost in the past.