Dangerous Days (Book 2): Survive Another Day [Short Story Collection Vol. I]

by Higgins, Baileigh

  She nodded but her eyes drooped.

  “She'd better get some rest. Her and the baby.”

  “I know. It's been...hard. Sean's thin hands picked at his shirt.”

  “It'll be okay now. Tomorrow you'll be safe. They've got food, shelter, and weapons. There are even a few kids.”

  “Really?” Erica asked. “It sounds wonderful.”

  Henri patted her shoulder. “You look after yourself now, you hear?”

  Sean's eyes fixed on his arm and his eyes widened. “You got bitten.”

  Erica gasped and shrunk back.

  “I did.” Henri nodded. “This is as far as I go, I'm afraid.”

  “I'm so sorry,” Erica said, hand fluttering at her throat.

  “It's not so bad. I miss...” Henri paused, “I miss my wife.”

  Erica's mouth formed an oh, eyes going soft with understanding.

  “What do we do now?” Sean asked. He looked panicked at the thought of being left alone again. “I'm...I'm not much of a...I...”

  “You be strong, son. You've got a wife and child to fight for now. Got that?”

  “Okay,” Sean replied. He still looked scared, but he straightened up, squaring his shoulders.

  “Keep them safe, no matter what it takes.” Henri unslung the rifle from his shoulder, handing it over. “Can you use this? ”

  “I think so. My dad took me shooting a few times.”

  “Good. There are extra bullets in the truck if you need them. I'm keeping the Colt.”

  The burning sensation in his arm was stronger now, the tingling racing throughout his body. I don't have much time.

  “Keep your heads down and lie low. In the morning you can go to the place I told you about. Ask for Max. Tell him Henri sent you.”

  “Okay. Thanks for helping us, uh...Henri. I...I don't know what we would have done without you,” Sean stuttered, extending his hand.

  “You're welcome, son. The best of luck to you both.” They shook hands and Henri turned to go then paused. “Oh, stay out of the master bedroom, okay? You don't want to go in there.”

  Erica got to her feet. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “I had a good life, Miss. The best. And that's enough for me.”

  She touched his arm with one hand, the other resting on her belly. “If it's a boy, I'll name him after the man who saved him.”

  Tears pricked at Henri's eyes and he sniffed. “That means a lot, Miss. Thank you.”

  Henri strode away, willing his legs to keep moving. His stomach cramped and his knees wobbled. The virus burned through his veins, eating away at the man he was. I won't let that happen.

  At the gate he paused. There were a few infected wandering around. Not many. He turned to Sean. “Close the gate behind me then get inside. Don't wait. You need not see this.”

  Wasting no more time, he stepped outside. He watched the boy secure the gate then walk away, his hand raised in a final wave. It's up to them now, Hannelie. I can't do more for them.

  Henri turned back to the street, his eyes picking out the closest infected by the light of the moon. With the colt in his hand, he walked, leading the infected away from the house. Lucky none of them are fast.

  He took a deep breath of the cool air and looked up at the moon. The barrel touched his temple. “I'm coming, Hannelie. I'm coming.”

  Author's Note

  I hope you enjoyed this volume of supplementary short stories to Last Another Day, #1 in the series. The adventure doesn't end here, however. Read further for a sample of the sequel, Die Another Day. If you would like to be informed of all my new releases, plus upcoming events, giveaways, and discounts, sign up for my newsletter at baileighhiggins07.wixsite.com/mybooks. I give lots of cool stuff away!

  Please consider leaving a review. It means the world to me as a writer to hear your opinion and it really helps other readers to make an informed choice before buying. Thank you for reading!

  Die Another Day - Sample

  This is the first chapter of Die Another Day, the sequel to Last Another Day and Survive Another Day. For more info on the book check out my website at: baileighhiggins07.wixsite.com/mybooks

  CHAPTER 1 - NADIA

  The sun threw its last dying light across the horizon creating a brilliant tapestry of color. A few rays filtered down through a tiny window into the wine cellar below, painting the air the color of diluted blood.

  Nadia stirred beneath the sheet that covered her thin frame, staring at the window. Time to get up. It was almost nightfall. She shrugged off the material and stretched her limbs, joints cracking from being locked in a fetal position for hours on end.

  A sheen of sweat covered her skin, beading on her upper lip and forehead. Even this late in the season it was hot to the point of suffocation. Autumn rated barely a blip on the radar in this region, the only sign of its coming being the chill that descended at night.

  During the day, the thermometer hovered around a scorching forty degrees Celsius, made worse by the enclosed atmosphere of the cellar. It was the safest place she could find, though, and safety was the only thing that counted anymore.

  Nadia pushed herself upright with a sigh. Every day it was harder to get up than the last. One day, she wouldn't get up at all. That knowledge frightened her less with each passing week.

  What's the point of living if you're all alone?

  She folded up the mattress, sheet, and pillow, placing it on the bottom rack of a shelf against the wall. With a handful of wet wipes, she cleansed her skin, ridding it of the accumulated sweat before slipping on leopard print underwear. They were the most expensive knickers she owned, pilfered from the closet of a dead rich lady.

  A pair of skinny jeans, boots that reached to mid-calf, a see-through vest, and a leather jacket followed. She ran her fingers through her short hair then applied a thick layer of black eyeshadow and liner. “If I'm going to die, I might as well look good.”

  It was silly. She knew that. Holding onto your vanity when it was the end of the world, was stupid. She couldn't help it. Vanity was all she had left. It was the last thing connecting her to her old life and the teenager she used to be.

  An array of rings went onto her fingers, chunky stones and silver skulls gleaming in the fading light. A cross as long as her hand, hanging from a thick chain went next, followed by several studs and earrings.

  After zipping up the short jacket, she slung a belt around her hips containing a variety of odd implements: screwdriver, bolt cutter, knife, hammer, and scissors. In her pockets, she carried a lighter, nail file, hairpins, and paper clips.

  Armed and ready to face whatever the outside might throw at her, Nadia strode to the door and pressed her ear to it. In the thick silence, not a sound could be heard. She rapped her knuckles on the wood and waited for any telltale moans. Still nothing.

  With a heave and a grunt, she pushed away the heavy metal box that barricaded the door then dropped down on all fours to peer through the gap beneath the door. No movement. All was quiet.

  Nadia pulled the hammer from her belt and held it ready as she opened the door. Her heart thumped while it creaked open. No matter how many times she did this, it never grew easier.

  The short passage leading to the stairs was empty, the door at the top of the stairs still closed. Nothing had entered during the day. Her hideout remained undiscovered. For now.

  She fumbled for a flashlight and shone it upwards, placing each foot with care as she walked up the stairs. Some of them were creaky, and she stepped accordingly, avoiding them.

  When she reached the top, she repeated the procedure from earlier before stepping out into the kitchen. It was pitch black as all the windows had been boarded up and she swept the beam of her torch up and down, assuring herself it was empty.

  A quick check of the house proved it was undisturbed. Nothing had entered, either dead or living. She couldn't decide if that was a good or a bad thing. Some days she wished a horde would find her and put her out of her misery. Other
days she wished survivors would stumble upon her. Then she'd remember what happened to the last group she was with and a lead weight would settle in her stomach.

  I'm better off alone.

  Dusk was nearly over by the time she was ready to leave the house. A full moon had risen, casting ample light over the darkening streets. She did a quick circuit of the yard, noting the weather, before sidling up to the gate and checking the chain and padlock. After a careful look around, she scrambled over the gate, eager to get going. “Let's get this over with.”

  Fifteen minutes later, she was hiding behind a dumpster, waiting for a trio of infected to shuffle out of sight around a corner. Avoidance always trumped confrontation. A lesson learned early on during the outbreak. Once they were out of sight, she continued in the opposite direction. Her methods were simple. She carried a hammer in the right and a screwdriver in the left. Both were efficient at caving in rotten skulls.

  She went out at night, on days when the weather was clear and the moon bright. Moving silently, she stuck to the shadows, pausing in strategic places to ensure the route was clear. It was a method that had kept her alive thus far. Whether her luck would hold or not, was a different story. Not that she had much choice. A girl had to eat.

  The small supermarket where she got her supplies, loomed at the end of the block. She crouched behind a low wall, surveying the street. It looked clear. Her stomach growled. She was starving. Scurrying across the street, she sprinted along the wall of an apartment block, abandoning caution in her haste.

  Nearly there.

  A few meters from the shop, a hand reached out from an alley, grabbing the collar of her jacket. Her feet flew out from underneath her as she was jerked to a sudden stop and fell, the air leaving her lungs in a whoosh. Nadia gasped for breath, fingers scrabbling on the concrete for grip. A diseased face loomed above her, leaning in for the kill and she reacted on instinct, punching it hard in the teeth. Its head snapped back, granting her a split second. She grasped the cross lying on her chest and stabbed upward as it lunged for her, aiming for its eye. The cross slid in as neatly as a dagger, the long point sharpened by hours of honing on a concrete floor.

  The zombie stiffened as it penetrated the brain, putrid fluid spraying from the punctured eyeball. Nadia gagged, turning her face away. She heaved the corpse off her chest, searching on the ground for her fallen weapons. Her fingers closed on the hilt of the hammer and she jumped up, crouching on the balls of her feet. She was ready in case the zom had friends, but a quick whirl assured her it had been a loner and she relaxed.

  “Gross!” She shuddered as she wiped at the putrid stuff running down her face, heaving as the smell hit her nose. “This sucks.”

  She gave up trying to clean herself and instead ran the last few steps to the shop. The keys to the padlock were hidden beneath a brick and she struggled with the chain, fingers trembling with the rush of adrenalin. Once inside the shop, she leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes. Her heartbeat slowed, the rush of the close call she'd had fading from her veins. It got easier with time. Killing was something that came naturally now.

  “Well, let's get this over with.” Her voice echoed through the empty shop, reminding her once more how alone she was. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “Why do I even bother?”

  For a moment, she considered giving up. Her mind envisioned swallowing handfuls of pills from the drug store. “It would be like falling asleep. It'd be easy.”

  Brandon's face hovered in the background, his dimpled smile making her heart beat faster. They could be together again, in heaven. She snorted. “There's no such thing. Heaven doesn't exist.”

  It's your fault he's dead. It's your fault all of them are dead.

  A tear ran down her cheek, and she wiped it away. Even if heaven did exist it wasn't meant for the likes of her. She deserved to suffer here on earth. Deserved every second of her miserable existence.

  With a shrug, she pulled out her torch and trudged to the nearest fridge. Grabbing a bottle of lukewarm water, she swallowed it in one gulp. Once her thirst was sated, she hunted for a cloth and soap, washing the zombie gunk off her face and clothes.

  “That's better.” Her voice had evened out, numbing calm taking the place of the desperation from before. She was okay now, the crushing guilt pushed back into its little box in the recesses of her mind.

  She picked a backpack from a shelf and filled it with various items. Enough to last a few days. Bottled water, nuts, dried fruit, protein bars, juice, and toiletries. She shoved a book, some socks, and painkillers on top and zipped it up. Her stomach cramped again, growling at her. “Yeah, yeah. Hold your horses.”

  In the kitchen aisle, she found a can opener and fork, using it to scoff two cans of spaghetti and meatballs. She missed real food and longed for a hot meal but had no idea how to go about it. The power was off and she didn't know how to rig up a generator or how to get the fuel to run it. Besides, the noise would draw infected. Her shoulders slumped as she faced the truth. She was on a slippery slope to nowhere. She'd either starve, die of disease or thirst, or get eaten. Alone.

  Nadia shook her head. “Not today. Today we have a good old-fashioned pig-out.”

  She grabbed a packet of chips, a juice, and a huge slab of chocolate, sitting down on the floor next to the magazine rack. There wasn't much she hadn't read yet but it was better than nothing. No way was she going back to that dismal cellar right away.

  A stubby candle provided light, the flickering flame throwing shadows across the pages. Weeks before, she'd stuck old newspapers across the glass doors to prevent any infected from seeing inside or spotting the light. Secure in the familiarity of her surroundings, she settled down to read.

  A corner of the newspaper, growing old and yellowed, sprang loose from the brittle glue with barely a whisper of sound. The end drooped, a triangle of glass becoming exposed.

  An hour passed, then another, broken only by the rustling of packets and pages as Nadia gorged herself on chocolate and chips while leafing through magazines. So engrossed was she in this activity, that she never noticed the shadow flitting past the glass doors. Followed by another, and another.

  A loud bang startled Nadia and she shrieked, dropping the book on her lap as she scrambled to her feet. The glass doors shivered and creaked under the onslaught of several bodies, cracks working its way up the center.

  “Shit,” she gasped, backing away.

  Her head swiveled, looking for an escape but she knew there was none. The only other exit was locked with metal shutters and there were no windows to crawl through. Nowhere to hide either. She had no other option but to make a run for it.

  They'll pull me down like rabid dogs.

  Her eyes fell on a large cardboard display.

  Not if they can't see me.

  She grabbed the backpack and shrugged it on, gripped the screwdriver in her right and grabbed the display with her left. The glass wouldn't last much longer and she rushed forward, stopping close to the doors but off to the side.

  Nadia squatted down and planted the display in front of her, hiding her scrawny body behind it. A few more bangs and the front of the shop exploded in a shower of glass. Her heart hammered in her throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut for a brief second. The infected pushed through the opening and rushed into the shop, growling and snapping at the air. She waited for the bulk of them to run past her. The moment she spotted an opening, she darted forward.

  Time slowed to a crawl; it felt like her body pushed through water. She slipped around the nearest infected, pushed through a gap between two more and ducked beneath the grasping arms of another. The cool air of the night beckoned. Fingers brushed through the back of her hair, one hooking on an earring. A flash of pain flared as it tore out of her earlobe, throwing her off balance.

  Nadia stumbled, falling onto her hands and knees. More pain shot through her as jagged glass cut into her hands. Nadia cried out but fear kept her moving forward. She crawled right bet
ween the legs of a zombie. It bent down to grab her but the backpack stymied its efforts and it toppled over.

  Snarls echoed from behind her as she shot to her feet and sprinted, cutting across the street, heading for an alley between two buildings. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps and her hands were on fire. She didn't care. A grin spread across her face as she tore down the alley, turned a corner and rushed up another street. I got out. I can't believe it. Then she risked a glance over her shoulder and cold fear wormed its way into her stomach.

  “Fuck!”

  Two infected.

  Fresh.

  Fast.

  The worst kind.

  A young woman trailed behind a beefy man dressed in khaki. He looked like a farmer. Locals. Survivors like me turned recently. Nadia looked forward again and ran faster, pumping her arms and legs with furious effort. I can't let them catch me. Not after everything.

  She raced through street after street, trying to lose them but failed. They were too fast, too determined and didn't get tired. Unlike her. Her lungs were burning. A stitch stabbed into her side. Yet she couldn't stop. Fighting two fresh infected was impossible. She ran all the way through the town center until faced by rows of houses. Slow infected, rotted and aged shuffled on sidewalks and lawns, uttering creaky moans at the sight of her. Nadia never slowed, ducking in and around them with the agility of the young and desperate.

  With a fresh burst of speed, Nadia turned a corner, ducked behind a row of bushes and headed for a low fence. Zombies weren't good climbers. Behind her, one of the infected fell over something judging by the frustrated snarls and crashing sounds. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed it. The woman was gone.

  Hope lent her strength and she vaulted over the upcoming fence, using one hand for support. She screamed as the glass shards ground deeper into the flesh of her palm but she was over the wall and kept going. Nadia dashed across the overgrown lawn, hoping she wouldn't trip and crashed over a low hedge. Another headlong sprint and she smashed into the next barrier, a concrete border. Her fingers gripped the edge, and she pulled herself over with a grunt of pain, falling to the ground with a graceless thump.