Max ducked to the side then spun around, ready for the second guard. But Martin had him in a chokehold, his forearm bulging across the man's throat. His other hand was thrust up behind the guard's back, a knife buried to the hilt between the ribs.
Shouts in the distance sounded as the alarm went off. “Come on. We've got to get out of here now!” Max shouted.
“Right behind you,” Martin answered, dropping the now dead guard at his feet with a shrug, pausing only to wipe his knife clean and return it to its holster inside his boot.
They sprinted through the gate, hampered by the weight of the duffel bags. Inside his head, Max let loose a steady stream of swear words. Now he'd be wanted for desertion and murder. If the army caught up with him, he was looking at a damn long prison sentence.
The only thing that would make this escapade worth risking his career and freedom for, was if he was right. If things went to shit the way he thought it would, the army would cease to exist.
I better be right or Martin and I are screwed.
After a few minutes, Max slowed and turned to Martin. “We've got to get off the roads.”
“Agreed.”
They chose a rocky patch to leave the path, their boots leaving no tracks on the stony ground. Settling into a steady jog, they moved fast, their movements oiled with long years of practice. The only sound was their breath puffing out in little bursts of mist into the pre-dawn air.
They reached a fence and climbed over, finding themselves in a vineyard. The plants were heavy with fruit, their groaning branches promising a fruitful season. Max and Martin pushed on, making their way through the fields until Martin called a halt.
“Sorry, bud. I've got to take a break.” He sucked in a deep breath and bent over, his hands resting on his knees. Sweat dripped from his forehead and his skin was pale.
Max frowned. It was unlike his friend to get winded so easily. The man could run all day in the scorching sun with a ton of bricks on his back without complaining. He was as unyielding as steel.
“What's wrong?”
“I got nicked back there when that idiot let loose with his rifle.”
“You mean the one I shot?” Max remembered the spray of bullets the guard had let loose after he shot him and his blood turned to ice. “Why didn't you say so? Where'd you get hit?”
Martin dumped his bag with a pained grimace and peeled his jacket away from his side, revealing a large bloodstain.
“Fucking idiot. You should've said something earlier.”
“No time. Besides, it's just a scratch.”
Max grunted in answer. “We'll see. Lift your shirt.”
The material came loose with a sucking sound, revealing the wound.
“Thank fuck. It's not too bad.”
“Told you,” Martin said, studying the jagged groove above his hip. The bullet had cut into the meat above the hip bone, causing a raw cut the width and depth of a finger. It bled but wasn't serious. A flesh wound.
Martin cut a strip of cloth off his shirt while Max rummaged in his bag for a canteen. Rinsing the cut with fresh water, they bound it up with the material and tightened Martin's belt over the makeshift bandage.
“There. That should hold until I can get proper shit for it,” Martin said, lips set in a thin line.
“Let's catch a break before we push on,” Max suggested. They sat on a rock, watching the sun come up. The sky lit up, streaks of lavender, pink and gold streaking across the clouds. It was beautiful and for a minute or two, neither man said a word.
“I'm going to miss you, buddy,” Martin said, breaking the silence.
“Yeah, me too.”
“Maybe, once I get Susan and the kids, we can meet up somewhere.”
“When the shit hits the fan, I doubt communications will last.”
Martin was quiet, thinking it over. “True enough. But if you ever need to, you'll know where to find me. If I move, I'll leave a sign. Same to you.”
“Yeah, okay.” Max pushed to his feet. “Time to go. We've got far to go still.”
“I hear you.”
They set off again, traveling throughout the day, keeping off the roads and avoiding inhabited places wherever possible. A sense of urgency propelled them onward. The situation in the country was a ticking time bomb, just waiting to explode.
And nobody's prepared for it.
The only reason Max knew was because he'd stumbled on information not meant for his eyes. The zombie apocalypse was coming and the government had screwed themselves by their lack of decisive action. Instead, they frittered away valuable hours in meetings that yielded no results, arguing amongst each other. Now the country and its citizens would pay the price.
Not my family. Not if I can help it.
Around midday, they stumbled upon a farmhouse, necessitating a wide detour. The army would be looking for them and they couldn't risk capture. Two soldiers wandering about on their own would be sure to raise questions. In the distance, a dog barked and once they spotted workers in the field.
Hours passed while they walked, the sun acting as the hand of a clock across the face of the sky. It was brutally hot, the air stifling and the earth like molten lava. Yet Martin never complained, keeping up the pace and never showing signs of discomfort or pain.
After sunset, they reached a crossroad and halted to rest and eat. Max chewed on his dog biscuit without tasting it, their imminent separation weighing heavy on his mind. He'd much prefer to have Martin by his side over the coming days, especially considering what was coming. The two of them had been to hell and back together over the years and trusted each other without question. It was a bond stronger than blood. A crescent moon rose and Max knew there could be no more delays. Time to go.
They faced off, neither saying a word until Max stuck out his hand. “Guess this is it.”
“Guess so.”
“Good luck. Send Susan my regards.”
“Will do, bud. Keep safe.”
“Same to you.” They shook hands and departed in different directions, each with a duffel bag slung over their shoulders.
Gravel crunched beneath Max's boots as he walked into the night. In the trees above, an owl hooted, the sound mournful. A last look over his shoulder showed him nothing but darkness. His friend was gone.
5
Chapter 5 - Maria
Maria rushed to put the finishing touches on dinner. Her heartbeat was erratic, her anxiety levels skyrocketing at the thought of the evening to come.
Rolf had phoned earlier and told her he invited colleagues to dinner. This meant that everything had to be perfect. Pristine. Flawless.
She set the table with her best cutlery and silverware before arranging fresh roses in a vase on the sideboard. They were her favorite, pastel pink darkening to magenta at the edges. Maria took a moment to center herself, inhaling the scent of the fresh blooms into her nostrils. They calmed her, helped her prepare for what was to come.
With a regretful sigh, she placed the flowers back into position and scurried to the kitchen. After seasoning the gravy, she checked the roast beef. It was done to perfection, each slice moist and pink in the center. After arranging the meat and fried potatoes on a platter, she decorated it with mint leaves from her garden.
A side dish of pumpkin fritters in caramel sauce, Rolf's favorite, already waited on the warming tray along with fluffy basmati rice, sweet peas, and creamed spinach. A pitcher of homemade ginger beer cooled in the fridge, next to a few beers. With obsessive precision, Maria checked and rechecked each item. She could not afford any mistakes.
The oven dinged, announcing that dessert was ready. The heavenly scent of baked apples teased her nostrils with their promise of heavenly delight. Then her stomach lurched when she realized one important fact.
We're out of cream.
No, no, no!
How could she have been so stupid? Berating herself, Maria checked her watch. She had twenty minutes to run to the shop and back. Grabbing her wallet, she nearly b
urst into tears when she realized she had no funds. Rolf gave her precious little each month to buy the groceries with and he always demanded the receipts.
With the utmost reluctance, she took money from her secret hiding spot. That money was her ticket out one day. Her pass to freedom squirreled away over the years with painful sacrifice. She hated parting with a single cent.
“You don't have a choice, Maria. It's either that or...” She couldn't finish the sentence. Could not bring herself to articulate the punishment Rolf would mete out.
Maria locked the front door and ran down the road, panic spurring her on until her feet flew. Luckily, the shop wasn't far, and she made it within five minutes. She paid for the cream, fiddling when the cashier took too long for her liking. Please let me be in time.
With the packet clutched to her chest, Maria sprinted back home. Sweat poured into her eyes and sharp pains stabbed into her side. The same side Rolf had used as a punching bag a few nights before.
Not tonight.
Not again.
Please, God.
Her train of thought was broken when a figure lurched out from behind a tree, blocking her way. It was a man. A man with a gaping wound on his shoulder and a torn shirt. He stumbled towards her, growling. Maria scrambled back, fear clouding her mind. What was wrong with him? What did he want?
His scent washed over her, a fetid mixture of blood and rot. He reached for her and she batted his hands away. The man kept coming, grabbing her wrist with tenacious fingers. A sharp pain stabbed through her arm when his teeth closed on her flesh, sinking in deeply. Maria screamed, wrenching her arm back. She kicked out, catching him on the knee and he fell. With one hand still clutching the cream, she ran away, throwing fearful looks over her shoulder.
The safety of her home beckoned, and she fell through the front door with a gasp of relief. Despite the pain the walls hid within, its shadowed confines welcomed her back and she stumbled to the kitchen.
Her arm throbbed where the crazed man had bitten her, but she ignored it. Getting ready for Rolf was more important. With haste bordering on panic, she whipped the cream and placed the crystal bowl in the fridge.
Running through her mental checklist, she calmed down enough to gather her wits. The house was clean. Check. The table was set. Check. Dinner was ready to serve. Check. The salt and pepper shakers were full. Check. There was tomato sauce, tabasco, mustard...just about anything anyone could ask for. Check. The beers were cold. Check.
Her nerves settled to a low hum, and she dragged in a deep breath. Think, Maria, think. Did you miss anything? The hands on her watch told her she was out of time. Rolf would be home any minute. In fact, he was overdue.
Her eyes fell to the bite mark on her arm. It oozed blood, droplets staining her threadbare dress. Sweat pooled beneath her armpits, a rank smell emanating from her skin. Her breath hitched in her throat. Me. I forgot about me. If Rolf sees me in such a state...
Rushing to the bathroom, Maria cleaned the wound with antiseptic and bandaged it. She then donned her best dress and shoes, the ones reserved for church. It would not do for guests to see the true state of her wardrobe. That would shame Rolf and she would suffer the consequences.
She smoothed her hair, wiped the sweat away and applied perfume. Once her makeup was done, she went to the lounge and sat down. Her position was not one of comfort. Instead, she balanced on the edge of the chair, wringing her hands together.
The minutes ticked by.
Maria glanced at her watch, then checked the one on the wall. She fussed over her roses, positioning each just so.
She waited some more.
Still no sign of her husband.
After an hour, she switched off the warming tray, terrified that the meat would dry out. Then she switched it back on. Rolf hated cold food.
Another hour passed and still she waited, her knuckles raw from all the rubbing. Every time she heard a car, she jumped up but Rolf never showed. She did not dare call him on his cell either. That would earn her a severe punishment. Instead, she sat, watching the hands on the clock move. Finally, at twelve, she got up. There would be no guests tonight.
Maria put away the food and locked the doors. After a cold shower to relieve the sudden hot flush that consumed her, she went to bed. Sleep would not come, however. Fear at Rolf's return, caused her stomach to revolt. At several intervals, she found herself crouching over the lid of the toilet, throwing up.
Around three, Rolf returned. After fumbling with the lock on the front door, he staggered inside. His rasping breath alerted her, and she gritted her teeth. “Maria?”
She kept quiet, hoping he would think her asleep.
“Maria,” he said again, louder this time.
She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her lips together.
“Wake up, woman.” His tongue tripped over the words, slurring. He fell onto the bed without waiting for an answer, one hand pawing at her breasts. Silent tears leaked from her eyes.
I should have listened to my son. I should have left with Logan when I had the chance. Why didn't I listen?
Rolf grunted, shifting his bulk closer. His breath, heavy with the stench of alcohol, washed over her face. The groping continued, his hand fumbling over her stomach to her crotch. Unable to help herself, she twisted away, and he growled. He tightened his grip on her hip, bruising the tender skin. “Hold still. Do your duty, wife.”
Maria whimpered then bit back a cry when he thrust his thick fingers inside her, tearing the delicate flesh. He tugged at her panties, ripping the worn cotton. Looking away into the darkness, she forced herself to hold still. Her muscles clenched, bracing for the coming assault.
Instead, Rolf grew still, his harsh breath evening out. His girth sagged against her, crushing the breath from her lungs. Strident snores filled her ears.
A sob of relief escaped her lips, and she pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, smothering her gasps. Tears streamed down her face as she faced the years, bitter and alone.
What have I done? Why did I stay?
The night held no answers for her.
At four, she arose from bed to begin her daily routine. It was Sunday, which meant Sunday lunch. Also, Rolf would be nursing a hangover from the night before. The worst kind of day.
Maria hurried to the bathroom and lit a candle. Rolf didn't like it when she wasted electricity. She still felt ill which didn't surprise her. Not after the night she'd had.
After throwing up once more, she showered, brushed her teeth and slipped on a pink bathrobe over her nightgown. It was thick and warm, the fibers fluffy. She buried her nose in the scented fabric, savoring the peaceful moment. The gown was her one indulgence, the one thing she'd splurged on last year and she loved it.
Rolf's snores brought her back to the present. Blowing out the candle, she went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water. This she placed on the bedside table next to Rolf along with two painkillers.
Next, Maria got started on breakfast. Rolf would be hungry when he woke up. The food from the night before went into the freezer. He refused to eat leftovers. After resetting the table, she put on a pot of coffee and made bread.
While kneading the dough, she noticed that her arm burned. So far, she'd been moving on autopilot, using mindless activity to keep from bursting into tears. Now she paused, staring at the bandaged bite wound.
Is it infected?
Maria noted that her skin was flushed, warm to the touch. Her nausea came into sharp focus and the tingling sensation beneath her skin became more pronounced.
I need to get this looked at.
A doctor will cost money.
Money I don't have.
Grunts from the bedroom alerted her to Rolf's imminent appearance, and she pushed her worries from her mind. She could wait. Rolf could not.
She popped the bread into the oven and fried the bacon, eggs, onions, and sausages. It all went onto the warming tray. Salt, pepper, and tabasco was placed within easy reach of Rolf's plate alo
ng with napkins, orange juice, and water. All was ready.
While emptying the dustbin, Maria noted that the neighborhood was bustling with activity. Dogs barked nonstop, creating a racket to wake the dead. The family living three houses down were preparing for a long trip judging by the amount of luggage they carried.
Wait. Is that Sandra? Maria stared at the woman in question, staggering down her driveway in nothing more than a negligee, her pendulous breast swinging back and forth. Maria gasped. Is she drunk?
Shaking her head, she went back inside the house in time to hear Rolf's angry bellows. He sounded like a bull in heat. “Maria! Where the hell is my coffee?”
She poured him a cup without saying a word. He grunted and sat down at the table and she handed him the Sunday newspaper. After removing the bread from the oven, she slathered a thick slice with butter and dished up for her husband.
He grunted once more, accepting the plate without thanking her. A flash of naked rage surprised her with its intensity. I wish he would choke and die!
Bile pushed up her throat, and she excused herself. This time the nausea did not abate after vomiting. Her body convulsed and spasmed until she swore she could hear her ribs crack. The room spun, and she clung to the porcelain bowl with trembling fingers. “What's happening to me?”
“Maria?” Rolf called. “Maria, where are you?”
Inside her veins, the virus moved, taking control of her brain and body. Her immune system, stronger than most, gave in after resisting the onset of the disease for nearly twenty-four hours.
Maria gasped, gathering up her strength to push upright. Vertigo set in. She swayed, toppling over. The fall lasted a long time to her beleaguered mind.
Long enough to regret falling pregnant at sixteen.
Long enough to regret marrying a monster.
Long enough to think again of Logan, the son she loved and missed every day.
Her head hit the rim of the bath with a dull thud, the temple crumbling like tissue paper. She barely registered the pain. A growing pool of sticky blood surrounded her.
Dangerous Days (Book 2): Survive Another Day [Short Story Collection Vol. I] Page 4