Children of the Apocalypse: Mega Boxed Set

by Baileigh Higgins

  Hiran knew his second-in-command had claimed the hut as his own and furnished it with a bed, footlocker, gas heater, and chair. Enough for one man to live in relative comfort and seclusion.

  A fireplace smoldered in the small clearing in front of the door, and a flattened bed of grass indicated where Agatha had slept most of the time. George didn’t believe in sharing the warmth of his home, a tactic designed to break the mulish Agatha. Now Hiran wondered if they’d all underestimated her.

  George bent down and picked up a set of zip ties, cut below the knot. “She had help. Likely from the same man who killed the gate guards.”

  “How do you know it’s a man?”

  “I found a boot print over there. It doesn’t match any of ours, and it’s a size twelve. Too big for a woman,” George replied, pointing to a footprint encircled by a line drawn in the sand.

  “All right.” As an expert tracker, Hiran knew he could take George at his word if he said the print belonged to a stranger.

  “He gave her a knife too. She stabbed two of the men on her way out and with the gate guards gone…”

  “Escape was easy,” Hiran finished for him. “How do you know our mystery man didn’t stab them and help her escape?”

  “Because they took different paths. He went down the side of the hill through the brush. She took the easy way out down the road and through the gate.”

  “What I don’t get is how she could be in any shape to escape at all,” Hiran said, pinning George to the spot with a baleful glare.

  George wriggled like an insect on a pin. “I…I don’t know, Boss. By rights, she should be dead already.”

  “Either she’s stronger than you thought, or you’re losing your touch,” Hiran said. “However it may be, I don’t tolerate incompetence in my men.”

  “I’m sorry, Boss. I’ll make it up to you,” George said, his face pale and sweaty. “I’ll find her, I swear it, and when I do―”

  “You’ll bring her to me, and I’ll show you how it’s done. Got that?”

  George blanched. “Yes, boss.”

  Hiran studied the ground around him. It didn’t tell him much; he was no tracker. He didn’t think Agatha could’ve gotten far, though. Not in her condition. Whatever he might say out loud to the man, he knew George hadn’t gone easy on her. She was merely tougher than they’d reckoned.

  “Where are the men she stabbed? Dead?” he asked.

  “One lives. She got him in the side, and it’s more of a flesh wound than anything else.”

  “You’re kidding me. A flesh wound? And he failed to report her escape until when?” Hiran asked.

  “According to him, he passed out from blood loss,” George replied. “He only reported her escape an hour ago.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “No. It’s one of her old followers. A new recruit,” George said. “I believe he aided her, and they tried to make it look like she stabbed him when he tried to stop her.”

  “Ah, that’s interesting.” Hiran turned around and strode back the way he came. “George, have the women set up a breakfast table outside. I’d like to enjoy the sunlight. It promises to be a lovely morning.”

  “Yes, Boss.”

  Once the table was set, Hiran sat down with a satisfied smile. He sipped from a hot cup of coffee while the food was served, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the fear so evident in the women server’s faces. Life is good.

  “George. It’s time to set an example.”

  “The new recruit?”

  “Yes. You know what we do to traitors.”

  “I do,” George said, a glint in his eye.

  With a snap of his fingers, two me dragged out the wounded recruit, his bandages stained with fresh blood from the struggle. He was bound and gagged, eyes rolling in terror.

  A new cross had been made from two planks and planted in the ground. The prisoner renewed his efforts to escape when he saw it, screaming against the tape across his mouth. All in vain.

  “Make sure everyone watches this time, George. We want to get our message across, don’t we?”

  “Sure thing, Boss.”

  Hiran smiled as they strung up the traitor, performing first the crucifixion then the disembowelment. He enjoyed a hot breakfast while he watched, the smell of cooked eggs mixing with the metallic tang of blood and guts.

  When it was all over, he pushed his empty plate away and stood up. “Find Agatha, George. Find her, and bring her to me.”

  “Yes, Boss.”

  “Oh, and one last thing.” Hiran leveled a dead stare at his second-in-command. “Don’t ever fail me again.”

  Chapter 16 - Agatha

  Agatha stumbled toward the building ahead, knowing that within its confines lay safety and surcease from pain. Each step was harder than the last, each movement an extreme exercise of willpower. She didn’t want to keep going. All she really wanted to do, was curl up into a little ball and sob her heart out.

  She shook her head and forced her legs to move despite the burning agony that consumed each particle of her body. She would never give up, never lie down and die. Not as long as that monster Hiran and his men lived.

  Steps appeared in front of her, and she clung to the railing as she made her way to the front door of the small house. In the old days, it used to be a bed and breakfast. A tiny establishment owned by an elderly lady and friend of her mother’s. To Agatha, it was home.

  The key was where it always was. Under a fake rock on the porch. With trembling fingers, she unlocked the painted white door with its ornate gold handle and pushed it open.

  She fell more than stepped inside, and immediately closed and locked behind her. As quickly as she could, she moved from room to room closing the curtains. Dust clung to the flowery material, but to her, they were achingly familiar.

  Porcelain figures sat silently in glass cabinets, remnants of the past, while stuffed maroon couches adorned with satin pillows lined the walls. It was just as she remembered it. Nothing had changed.

  Nothing except that it was now an abandoned relic, its owner Mrs. Greene long gone the same way as the rest. Undead.

  Agatha remembered the day they’d secured this house. Remembered with vivid detail how Mrs. Greene had attacked them with clawed hands and bared teeth, her vacant eyes showing no signs of the kind woman she once was. It was a terrible loss, one Agatha would never forget.

  Right now, though, she needed to focus on herself, or she might not last the night. On unsteady legs, she headed toward the kitchen where she found a fully stocked first aid kit, kept by Mrs. Greene in the event of an accident. She also got a bottle of filtered water from the pantry.

  She carried her treasures to the bathroom and opened the warm water tap. The house was fitted with a large capacity gas geyser, and if she was lucky, there might still be both water and gas left. Enough for a quick wash, at least.

  For a few seconds, nothing happened, then the pipes in the roof groaned, and warm water flowed over her fingertips. Nearly crying with relief, she allowed the basin to fill after popping in the plug.

  With shaking hands, Agatha opened the first aid kit, careful not to use the one with the dislocated fingers. She rummaged for painkillers and found a bottle of extra strength aspirin. She opened the bottled water with one arm and her teeth, wetting her parched tongue before upending the bottle of pills over her mouth. She swallowed at least four, ignoring the bitter taste, and prayed they would work their magic fast.

  At last, she raised her left hand and stared at the damage. Three of the fingers were out of joint, dislocated and crooked, the knuckles inflamed and swollen. She lowered her hand into the warm water, allowing the heat to ease the pain.

  Agatha took a firm grip on the first injured digit, quaking at the thought of what was to come. “Just do it. Quickly. Like ripping off a band-aid.”

  With a hard yank, she pulled the finger straight. A loud scream tore loose from her lips, and her knees buckled as her muscles turned to water. Tears leake
d down her cheeks, but she didn’t wait, pulling the other two into place as well.

  She collapsed to the floor and lay prone on the cold tiles, holding her inflamed hand to her chest. Raw agony coursed through her nerve endings, and for a time, she could do nothing but cry until the worst passed.

  Finally, she pulled herself upright using the basin as a prop and stared at her haggard face in the mirror. It didn’t look like her. The person in the reflection was a stranger, someone she didn’t know. “Agatha is gone. She doesn’t exist anymore.”

  Agatha’s lips twisted, and she tipped the bottle of aspirin to her lips again, swallowing several more pills. The acrid taste didn’t even bother her anymore. Anything to still the pain.

  Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath before turning her attention toward her body and taking inventory of her injuries. Cuts and contusions crisscrossed her skin, every inch of her was bruised, her lip split and one eye swollen shut. Dried blood marred her thighs, and a deep ache in her womb indicated internal damage. “Maybe I’m dying. Maybe I’m dead already, and this is all a dream.”

  She turned her head to stare at the tub, longing for nothing more than a hot bath. Would there be enough water left in the geyser to fill it? “Only one way to find out.”

  Her hoarse voice echoed through the tiled room, sounding alien to her ears. Not even that was hers anymore. She opened the tap, and eased herself onto the side of the bath, allowing her body to fold in on itself.

  With numbness stealing over her mind, she watched the water swirl in the tub, rising until there was enough for her to soak in. Tears of gratitude filled her eyes, and she slid her length into the steaming water.

  Its soothing heat enfolded her, caressed her, and smoothed over each ache until it all faded to a distant murmur. The aspirin kicked in after a few minutes, muting the worst of the pain, and her body released all its pent-up tension.

  With the release, came the tears, and raw sobs wracked her chest, tears spilling of their own accord. Blood swirled in the water, tinting it pink as the dried flakes washed from her skin.

  After a time, the tears passed, and a hollow void opened up in its stead. The pit yawned, and she feared what waited within it. Once she fell into it, she’d never come back out.

  Instead, Agatha forced herself upright. With slow, deliberate movements, she washed the dirt and blood from her body, scrubbing her skin raw as she rid herself of the scent and taste and smell of George.

  His name echoed through her mind, joined by Hiran’s. A cold knot of hatred coalesced in her heart. The need for revenge rose within her being. It filled the void and gave her purpose. It gave her something to hold onto.

  She wouldn’t die. Not today, and not until she made sure Hiran and George had paid for their crimes. They would all die. Each and every one of them. Both the leader and his followers.

  And she knew just how to do it do. It was no empty threat on her part. No last gasp of false bravado. She held the means of their destruction in her hands, and tomorrow, she would wield it.

  Justice.

  After the bitter tears of before, she felt drained but no less hurt. Her mind winged over the past few months and lingered on all she had lost, gained, and lost again.

  Certain memories she gloried in. Those of her daughter. Her bright eyes and tinkling laugh. Even while in the military, Agatha had visited her mother and daughter as often as she could. Being a single mom wasn’t easy, but she’d loved her family more than life itself.

  Until the undead rose and stole them from her. These memories her mind shied from, like a skittish wolf catching the scent of a wolf. The blood, the horror…that way lay madness.

  For a long time after their loss, she’d drifted. Aimlessly. All she wanted to do was die, but as a staunch Catholic, her faith prevented her from committing suicide.

  It was the priest who granted her purpose. He convinced her that life was still worth living and that she could save others from the gruesome deaths her own family had suffered.

  For a time, it had succeeded. She’d worked hard, building a community founded on belief in God and strong morals. A place of love and kindness. Even forgiveness. But it was not to last.

  The moment George set foot in her camp, their end was fated. With his open manners and earnest eyes, he’d duped them all. Like the evil that sneaks into men’s hearts to corrupt and decay, he’d slithered into their midst to sow death and destruction.

  “A poisonous snake,” she whispered. “The devil in the garden of Eden.”

  Agatha sat up slowly, struggling until she was on her knees in the tub, ignoring the pain that lanced through her womb. With her hands clasped in front of her, she prayed. “Dear God. Forgive me for my sins. For my failure to protect those beneath me from men like Hiran and George. Forgive me too for the sins I am about to commit. The sins of murder and revenge.”

  She paused as warm tears leaked across her skin. “I know that it might cost me my life and even my soul, but hear me God. Listen to my plea. I will not rest until both of them are dead. This I promise. This I swear.”

  Chapter 17 - Breytenbach

  Breytenbach walked around the school bus, examining the various improvements made by the teens of Bloemhof. Mesh wire covered the windows, and an escape hatch had been cut into the roof and another in the floor. Each could be locked from within.

  The door was reinforced, and the wheels protected by metal guards soldered in place. A homemade bull bar decorated the front, built to protect the engine and funnel zombies to the sides. It formed a v-shape, projecting out in the middle and sloping back and out to the sides.

  “This is excellent work,” Breytenbach said. “Forward thinking.”

  “Thank you,” Jonathan replied with a smile bordering on arrogance.

  “So you’re the brains behind this project?”

  “Yes, it was my idea to pimp the bus, though the others all helped.” Jonathan shrugged. “Who knew that mechanics would turn out to be my strong point?”

  “You know about engines?”

  “Yup. My dad and uncle taught me a lot, and I’ve been picking up the rest as we go along,” Jonathan said. “I even got hold of a bunch of books on fixing cars. I’m reading that now.”

  “That’s great. We could use a proper mechanic around here. Most of us just know the basics,” Breytenbach said.

  “Old cars are better to work on. Simpler. It’s electronics that screw me around half the time, and I don’t have the equipment to deal with computer boxes and stuff.”

  “I hear you. Luckily, most of ours are either older models, or they’re brand new from the dealership and don’t cause any trouble.” Breytenbach patted the school bus on the side. “How strong is she? Can she carry a full load all the way to the coast?”

  “She can. I’ve been working on her for weeks now, and her engine’s in good condition. The only thing I needed was a new battery. The old one was shot.”

  Breytenbach nodded. “Could you take a look at the rest of our vehicles as well? We can’t afford breakdowns during the evacuation. Not with so many women, children, and injured people on our hands.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “I’d need you to safeguard them too. Cover the windows, at least. Maybe put bull bars on them too. All except Tallulah. She’s bulletproof.”

  “How long do I have?”

  “Today and tomorrow.”

  “What? Two days? That’s impossible,” Jonathan asked, scratching his face with a greasy finger. It left a smear of black oil on his cheek, lending him the air of a real mechanic, overalls and all.

  “Ronnie and Lenka will help you. They’re fair hands when it comes to cars, and I’m sure your teammates can pitch in with the reinforcements.”

  Jonathan hesitated. “I suppose.”

  “Look Jonathan. I’ll be straight with you here. I need you. We need you. Without proper vehicles, we aren’t going anywhere.”

  “But two days―”

  “Is enough if you can get
all your friends working on this. Make them understand how important it is. Our lives depend on this convoy of vehicles, Jonathan, and I’m putting my trust in your hands.”

  Jonathan drew himself up and nodded, his expression somber yet proud. “I’ll do my best, Captain. You can count on me.”

  With a sense of satisfaction, Breytenbach left the boy to his work and went in search of Max. He believed he’d boosted Jonathan’s ego enough that the boy would want to show what he could do. Go above and beyond what he normally would in such circumstances.

  If there was one thing Breytenbach had learned in all his years as a military leader, it was how to motivate people into doing things they would never have believed themselves capable of otherwise.

  It was why Max had put him in charge of the evacuation. Though with an enterprise of this scope, Breytenbach relied on the help of others to coordinate everything properly.

  He turned a corner during his musings and spotted Ronnie. “Hey, Ronnie. I’ve got that new kid Jonathan working on the cars. It seems he knows a thing or two.”

  Ronnie frowned. “Is that wise?”

  “I think he’ll be an asset. Him and his friends. They did great work on the school bus. Even so, I want to put you and Lenka in charge. Make sure everything is ready to go the day after tomorrow.”

  “All right, Captain.”

  “We’ll need extra fuel too. Spare tires, tools, that sort of thing. All easily accessible and ready to hand.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “Great, see you later.”

  Breytenbach strode past the site of the fire. The blackened grass and cracked walls were a blight on the land; a place of loss and sorrow. Most of the rubble had been picked through and shored up already. The little bit that could be salvaged from the mess was saved, but in the end, they had lost almost everything.

  Julianne and Elise had already gathered up all possible supplies left in the camp and packed it for the trip, setting aside only enough to keep them going these last few days in their old home.