Last Another Day

by Baileigh Higgins

  The way in was blocked off and impassable to vehicles. The police had tried to create a defensible perimeter and set up barricades in a half moon around the doors. It hadn't worked and they'd been overwhelmed. The ground was encrusted with dried blood and gore while several infected wandered about aimlessly.

  “Shit,” Max said. “What now?”

  “We need a diversion,” Logan replied. “Something to draw them off. There's too many to kill.”

  Max chewed on this. Logan was right, of course. A diversion was the only way. And that meant bait.

  “Right. Here's the plan.” He took a deep breath, nerves fluttering as he contemplated what he was about to do. “I'll do it. The moment I draw them off, you go in.”

  With Logan and Armand in agreement, Max got out and took off down the street, yelling at the top of his lungs. A dozen sets of predatory eyes turned and followed his progress. Seconds later he was in a full-fledged run, pursued by guttural snarls.

  God, this better work!

  12

  Chapter 12 - Logan

  Logan and Armand waited until Max disappeared around a corner before heading to the station in a low run, weapons at the ready. The doors stood wide open, and the entrance was well lit, illuminating the streaks and splashes of blood on the walls and floor. Time was of the essence and Logan knew they had to move quickly, so he dashed through, checking rooms as he went.

  They came upon the body of a policeman stripped nearly to the bone. It still stretched out skeletal fingers and gnashed its teeth in hunger. Logan hacked into its skull with his ax.

  Further down the hall, they came upon an office barricaded from the outside. Faint moans could be heard inside, spelling danger. With a finger to his lips, Logan motioned to Armand, and the two snuck past without a sound.

  They continued down the hall, painfully aware of every second that passed. Max couldn't run forever and would make his way back soon.

  If he makes it back at all.

  They went deeper into the building. Hair prickled on the back of Logan's neck and Armand's face was as pale as bleached bone. They were committed in full. There was no turning back.

  Visibility decreased as the windows dwindled and the atmosphere became downright creepy, the silence pressing down on them, crushing the breath from their lungs.

  Another door cracked half-way open, loomed ahead. Logan peeked around the corner. Confronted by three zombies, he backtracked but was too slow. With a raspy growl, the first threw itself on him. Gripping it by the throat, he lifted his ax but the second zombie was almost on him and with a wild flail sunk the blade into its face.

  Holding one by the throat and the other by the ax handle, he braced for the third. Armand stepped up, stabbing it through the temple with a thrust from his sharpened crowbar. He wrenched it out and reversed, stabbing the zombie Logan held by the throat through the back of the skull.

  They both crumpled to the ground as Logan focused on the remaining zombie. With a kick he knocked it to the ground, pulling the ax out of its face. A swift hack finished it off, and it was over.

  “Man, that was close,” Armand said.

  “Too close,” Logan agreed, wiping spatters of blood from his face with his shirt tail.

  A set of bathroom doors appeared in the gloom. Logan approached with caution, still rattled by the encounter he had with the trio of death. The ladies’ bathroom was locked from the inside and Logan decided he didn't want to know what awaited within. The men's bathroom door gave under a little elbow grease, creaking on unoiled hinges.

  Logan cracked it open just a smidgen then jumped back as a hand shot through and grabbed his ankle, followed by a hideous face.

  “Fuck!” Logan screamed as teeth sunk into the toe of his boot. Shaking his leg, he tried to dislodge the corpse attached to his foot. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

  Armand jumped in and bashed the zombie on the head until it ceased to move. Even then it wouldn't let go of Logan's boot, hanging on like a dog with a bone. Shuddering with disgust, Logan pried loose its jaws then examined his shoe, relieved to find it intact.

  “Did he get you?” Armand asked.

  “No. I was lucky.”

  Armand snickered and Logan looked up with a frown. “What?”

  “You should have seen your face!” he laughed.

  “Shut up,” Logan muttered, embarrassment turning the tips of his ears beet red.

  “Wait till Max hears about this,” Armand grinned, unfazed by the scowl Logan bestowed upon him.

  “Let's go.” Logan shoved past with a sour look and hurried on but his ill humor soon faded when they reached the rec room and cafeteria. The door stuck when they tried to open it, only moving a finger width. “We need to go through here. Help me push. Be ready for anything.”

  With grunts of effort, they shoved the double doors until they moved in with a harsh grating of wood on tile. No infected came rushing out the gap to attack so Logan stuck his head through.

  It stank—a peculiar mixture of sewage, rotten food and disease hung in the air—but he couldn’t see any zombies.

  “Clear,” he called to Armand. He scraped through the gap then stopped short, stunned by what he saw. “We've got a problem.”

  “What's wrong?” Armand stepped inside, then froze as he spotted what Logan already had. “Holy shit.”

  A man was propped up against the wall, staring at them with glassy eyes. His body was emaciated to the point of death, the bones threatening to burst through skin strung as tightly as a drum. The only sign he was still alive was the faint rise and fall of his chest. About a meter away from him, in a similar condition, lay a woman. She was dead.

  “Please,” the man croaked through cracked and bleeding lips.

  Logan kneeled on the floor and examined the stranger. “He's close to death.” Looking up at Armand, he added, “We don't have time for this. We need to get those guns.”

  Armand was shocked. “Let's make time.”

  Logan debated then shook his head. “No. We should leave him.”

  “We can't. I can't.” Armand squared his shoulders and looked Logan in the eye. “I'll take him back on my own if I have to.”

  Logan sighed, defeated. “Fine. Let's carry him out but you better hope we make it in time.”

  “Thank you,” the man whispered before closing his eyes, worn out by the effort of speaking.

  They each took an arm and lifted the stranger off the floor. He weighed almost nothing so was hardly a burden but the smell that wafted off his body was enough to make Logan's stomach lurch and his eyes water.

  “He's been here all this time. Hiding. Living off the cafeteria food until it ran out,” Armand said as they walked out, shock evident in every word.

  “Yes. Too scared to come out.”

  Armand swallowed. “The girl. What an awful way to die.”

  “We'll all die if we don't move faster.”

  They hurried along, keeping an eye out for danger but not too worried as they had already cleared the rooms and hallways earlier. That complacency turned out to be a huge mistake. They rounded a corner and stepped right into the middle of a crowd of infected.

  With a guttural growl, the nearest flailed a hand at Logan who threw up an arm, backpedaling to gain distance. “Get back!” he shouted to Armand.

  Too late.

  Several hands latched onto the stranger and pulled. For the briefest of moments, Logan resisted but let go when a hand closed on his own shoulder and jerked. Armand held on, then also released the stranger as two infected attacked him.

  The zombies wrenched the man into the center of the group and ripped him apart in seconds. His only legacy was a feeble cry and outstretched hand. They shredded his flesh like a school of piranhas, warm blood spurting out and coating Logan's face in a fine red mist.

  Logan fought, swinging his ax with lethal precision. It was the stranger's death that saved their lives and distracted enough of the zombies to allow them to fight off the rest. Once all the infec
ted were dead, Logan stared down at a heap of bone and innards, all that remained of the stranger.

  Whether he knew it or not, he saved our lives.

  Armand pointed at the previously barricaded door they had passed earlier, standing wide open. “They must have heard us earlier,” he said.

  “Yes. It would have excited them enough to force open the door.” Logan turned back the way they came. “Let’s go.”

  Armand stared at him, shell-shocked. “What?”

  “We need to go,” Logan repeated, enunciating each word with care. “We need to get those guns.”

  Armand stared at him, mouth working.

  Logan sighed. Why was it always up to him to be the hard ass?

  “If we don't go now, Max will get back with a horde of zombies on his ass and we'll all die. If we don't get the guns, the people back home might very well die. Understand?”

  With that, he spun on his heels and made his way back, trusting that Armand would follow.

  He did.

  They skirted around the woman's corpse in the cafeteria and five mercifully uneventful minutes later, they reached their goal.

  The armory turned out to be a gold mine. Whistling, Logan eyed all the guns lined up on the walls. “Let's get cracking. There's not much time left.”

  They unslung two duffel bags from their backs and loaded. Guns in the one, ammo in the other. When both were full, Logan nodded. “Let's go.”

  Once outside, they ran to the Nyala, slinging both bags into the back. “Get in. We've got to be ready to go.” Slamming the door shut behind Armand, Logan scanned the streets for signs of Max. “Where are you, buddy?”

  Logan jogged over to the driver’s side and waited beside the open door. The seconds ticked by and he itched to move, shifting from foot to foot. Just when he was about to go look for Max, a distant yell resounded. Max rounded a corner with a horde of infected on his trail.

  There were quite a few of the fast variety in the crowd and they were hot on Max's heels. Red-faced and exhausted, it was clear he was spent. Logan doubted he would make it.

  With icy calm, he swung his rifle off his shoulder, resting the muzzle on the frame of his opened window. In quick succession, he dropped three of the closest infected. The next two shots went wide and Logan took a moment to center himself before dropping two more. Ever a good shot, he’d never needed his aim to prove true more than then.

  The fallen zombies tripped up some of their comrades and Max gained a small lead. Then, from inside the Nyala, Armand’s rifle boomed.

  Good boy. He's firing through the loopholes.

  More zombies dropped.

  The gap between man and horde widened.

  “That should do it.” Logan slung the rifle back onto his shoulder and climbed into the vehicle, slamming the door shut and closing the window. He watched as Max shot around the front to the passenger door, jumping in with seconds to spare. The front runners thudded into the doors and bonnet, howling in frustration as their meal disappeared behind solid steel.

  Logan pulled away with a roar of the engine, crunching over anything in his path. They made a clean getaway. After a few minutes, Logan pulled over and turned to Max.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I'm fine,” Max gasped, still breathless from his exertions. Sweat dripped down his face and ran in runnels onto his shirt, pooling underneath his arms.

  “Really? Cause you look like shit.” Logan reached behind the seat and pulled out a bottle of water. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” Max accepted it with a grateful look and chugged it down in one long swig. “Now I know what Morgan felt like. Running for your life from a pack of rabid wolves is not fun.”

  “Running must run in the family.” Logan grinned. “Home?”

  “Home,” Max agreed, closing his eyes as he leaned back in his seat.

  Logan steered back onto the road, glad his friend was okay.

  Friend? I've never had a friend before. Then again, I've never experienced a zombie apocalypse or been in love either.

  An image of Morgan's brilliant smile and mischievous eyes rose in his mind and he knew she was the one. She just needed to realize it too.

  Max dozed off while Logan dreamed of things that could be until he spotted serious activity at a row of shops to the left.

  He shook Max, rousing him from his nap.

  “What? What's happening?” Max asked, struggling upright.

  “Survivors.”

  Fully alert now, Max looked around. “Where?”

  “Over there.” Logan pointed to a row of shops to the left. They were deserted, standing forlorn and forgotten. Except one. The pharmacy. A small crowd of infected were gathered in the front, moaning as they banged on the doors. “There's something in there they want. That means people.”

  “You're right. Up for a rescue mission?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  They filled Armand in on the plan, leaving him behind to provide cover with his rifle. Limbering up, Max and Logan pulled out their weapons. Their concentration on the pharmacy was so intense, the zombies didn't even notice the two men approach.

  With the advantage of surprise on their side, it only took a minute to get rid of the infected in a dance now so familiar it might as well have been choreographed.

  “We make a good team,” Max grinned afterward.

  “We've had plenty of practice,” Logan replied.

  He hung back as Max peered inside and yelled, “Hello! Anyone there?”

  A pale face appeared in the gloom, staring at them with wide-eyed surprise. Then it disappeared, followed by rattling and scraping before the door swung open to reveal a gaunt and surprised looking man.

  He was short with a pot belly, salt-and-pepper hair, coupled with spectacles perched on the end of his nose. Logan guessed him to be in his late fifties.

  “Merciful Heavens. You don't know how glad I am to see you. We thought we would die,” the man gushed. “Oh, I'm David, David Nelson.”

  “We?” Logan asked.

  “Well, there's four of us. Myself and three others,” Behind him in the gloom, three more faces popped up wearing similar looks of surprise and relief.

  “Have you been here all this time?” Logan asked.

  “Yes, we were trapped from the start. Luckily it's a pharmacy so we had plenty of meal replacements, vitamins, protein bars, bottled water and so on. But it hasn't been pleasant.”

  David talked fast, a nervous tick in his right eye. Logan decided they needed to get them out of there before the poor guy had a nervous breakdown.

  “Max? We need to move.”

  “You want to come with us?” Max offered, turning to the beleaguered Dave. “We've got a safe place.”

  “What about our families?” David asked. “We must go to them.”

  Max sighed, “Look, I'm sorry to say this but your families are likely dead or they've fled town. If you come with us, we can offer a safe haven and maybe later we can go look for survivors.”

  Dave nodded, struck dumb, clearly shocked at the news.

  From the back, a girl asked, “Is everybody dead?”

  “Most everyone,” Logan answered. “Listen, we can talk on the way but right now we've got to go before more infected arrive.”

  After a brief whispered conference, the group agreed and everyone piled into the Nyala after grabbing bags of medical supplies. Logan was happy to learn that Dave was a pharmacist and Hannah, a middle-aged woman, was a nurse working in the clinic. This added valuable medical personnel to their group.

  Liezel, a young girl, used to be Dave's assistant and Rosa, a student, was trapped with them during the outbreak.

  As they drove off, Logan reflected that it had been a terrifying but prosperous day.

  I just hope Morgan's trip proved equally fortunate.

  13

  Chapter 13 - Morgan

  Bare thorn trees and brittle, dry grass that bathed in the early rays of the sun, flashed past the window as Mor
gan stared at the landscape. Jacques drove with Angie squeezed in between them. They bickered back and forth and she'd long since tuned out.

  Although only twenty-eight herself, she felt jaded next to the other two. They were still so fresh despite everything that had happened, and she envied them.

  That day when she'd been trapped in the shower was still burned into her mind with ferocious intensity. Her life had been safe and predictable until that moment, although she'd struggled with depression.

  After her teenage years, she had taken great care to hide her depression from everyone, including her husband. Her sometimes unpredictable mood swings and negativity had put a strain on their marriage, especially because Brian didn't know where the real problem lay. Despite that, it had been a happy union, warm and loving, if not passionate.

  That day in the shower changed everything. Not only did she lose Brian, but also her safety net. For the first time, she felt challenged to rise above herself and become a stronger person, one able to overcome adversity, not just live with it.

  Morgan found herself excited at the prospect and the depression was dissipating as her mind responded to their situation by becoming tougher. Though she still missed Brian, he was receding into the background of her mind, becoming part of a life she once had but now couldn't even visualize.

  Morgan scrutinized their surroundings while absentmindedly rubbing the stock of her handgun. They couldn't be far now.

  A kilometer further, they saw the sign signaling the turnoff. The next few minutes were spent jostling and bumping along on the rocky dirt road.

  A tall iron link fence ran along their right and soon they reached the gate to the reserve. It was closed and keeping a wary eye out for trouble, Morgan jumped out and swung it open. She noticed a padlock and chain lying to the side and picked them up. They’d been cut through and she frowned as she considered the implications.