Dangerous Days (Book 2): Fear Another Day

by Higgins, Baileigh

  Logan shook his head turned his back on her, busying himself with the food. He drained the water, added the spice packets and mixed it through with a fork before dividing it in half onto two plates. After a moment's consideration, he scraped a portion from her plate onto his before handing it to her, prompting a grin from Nadia.

  “Glutton,” she muttered.

  Nadia took the plate of steaming noodles and held it on her lap, waiting for Logan to answer. If he ever did. Often he just ignored her questions. The tough ones in particular. Nadia had learned not to pressure him. It yielded nothing except to sour the atmosphere.

  Logan sat down opposite her and picked up his fork. Without a word, he dug into the food, chewing with care while never looking her in the eyes. With a sigh, Nadia picked up her own and took a bite, giving up. Doesn't look like he's gonna answer this one.

  The minutes ticked by in silence as they ate, each lost in their thoughts. Nadia began obsessing about the camp and its people again, wondering what they were like and forgot about the question entirely. She scraped up the last few noodles then swirled her finger around, wiping up the juices before sucking it off her finger.

  “Still hungry?”

  Nadia looked up into Logan's eyes, his hand held out for her empty plate. “No, I'm good.”

  “Are you sure? Because you're polishing that thing to a shine there.” His eyes twinkled, and she couldn't help but smile back.

  “I could use a burger and chips if you've got some.”

  Logan blew out a breath and walked to the kitchen, dumping the dishes in the basin. “Would be nice.”

  “What do you miss the most? Now that everything's gone?” Nadia asked, twirling one finger around a curl.

  He looked back over his shoulder and shrugged before walking over and slouching down in the chair opposite her. “Don't know. I spent most of my time out in the bush back before the zombies. Didn't have much then that I don't have now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I slept on the ground most of the time, ate meat I cooked on a fire, bathed in ice cold rivers and hunted poachers. It was pretty dangerous. Snakes, spiders, mozzies, angry hippos. They're all out to get you if you're not careful.”

  “Angry hippos?”

  “Oh, yeah. Don't be fooled by all that fat. A hippo can run faster than you can.”

  “No way.” Nadia frowned at Logan, sure he was pulling her leg. He leaned back in his chair as he launched into the tale, surprising her with his openness.

  “I stayed in a reserve up in the Okavango a few years ago, helping out. It paid a few bucks, gave me a place to stay. It was pretty primitive. My house consisted of a single thatched room and a wooden porch. No plumbing or electricity.”

  Nadia wrinkled her nose, wondering why anyone would choose to live like that. “No toilet?”

  “Nope. You dig a hole and hope nothing jumps you while you're busy.” Logan smiled at the look on Nadia's face. “Anyway. I'd been notified of an aggressive hippo rampaging along the river banks and terrorizing the locals. So I set off one morning with my rifle and gear, hunting it. Now there are some things you should know about hippos.”

  “Like what?”

  “Males can reach close to three and a half tons and can bite a crocodile in half without blinking so much as an eye. Trust me; you do not want to come between that monster and the water. Once it gets going, it's like a train. There's no stopping it.”

  “Three and a half tons?”

  “Yup. Imagine what would be left of you after something that massive steamrollers over you.” Logan took a sip of his whiskey. “So, I got to the village, and they took me to the site of the latest attack. There wasn't much left of the poor guy.”

  Nadia tried not to envision the image of blood and guts churned into the dirt that Logan's words invoked.

  “So what happened?” she asked. Despite herself, she was intrigued by this glimpse into Logan's past life and the man he'd been before.

  “I tracked it back to the water but lost it there, so I scouted further upriver, hoping to get an idea of the terrain. It was bad.” Logan shook his head. “It was the dry season, and the water levels were dangerously low.”

  “What does that have to do with it?”

  “A hippo's skin will dry out if it doesn't spend most of its time in the water. It cracks and blisters, causing painful wounds. During the dry season, there's not enough space for all of them, so they fight for territory. The losers are kicked out and drift around, angry and in constant pain. That's what happened there.”

  “Poor thing.”

  Logan snorted. “That poor hippo killed three men and a woman by the time I got there. As I said, I scouted upriver and entered a dense stand of reeds. The sun was high, and damn was it hot. I could see barely a meter in front of me, and the mozzies were feasting on my blood.”

  Logan paused, got up and refilled his glass while Nadia waited, bouncing one foot up and down. He sauntered back, taking his time. Nadia had to stop herself from screaming at him. Finally, he continued.

  “Soon as I stepped into those reeds I knew it was a mistake. It was quiet. Too quiet. Even the birds had shut up, and I knew I wasn't alone.”

  “Was it there? In the reeds?” Nadia held her breath, suspense turning her muscles to stone.

  “Oh, yes. It was there all right, waiting for me. All three tons of it.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Do? Wasn't much I could do. When those reeds started shaking and snapping I raised my gun and aimed for the head. Or where I thought it would be. That hippo burst through almost on top of me. I snapped off a shot and threw myself to the side, praying I'd get clear.”

  He paused again, taking a sip of his whiskey and drawing out the moment.

  “So what happened?” Nadia shrieked, jumping up and down.

  “Turns out I'm a pretty good shot under pressure. The bullet destroyed the brain, and that thing plowed through the ground right next to me.”

  Nadia blew out a breath and slumped back into her chair. “You're a lucky bastard; you know that?”

  Logan grinned and acknowledged her statement with a salute. “Guess you could say that.”

  “With a life like that no wonder the zombies don't faze you.”

  Logan shuddered. “Oh, they're nasty all right. But there isn't much that can scare me now. And not a lot I miss either.”

  “Really? There isn't anything you want from before?” Nadia prodded, thinking about the hot showers and pizza she longed for nearly every day.

  “What's there to miss?” A faraway look entered Logan's eyes, and his mouth twisted. “The only thing I want now is something I found after the apocalypse, not before.”

  “What's that?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It can't be nothing.”

  “It's nothing you need to know about.”

  “I told you my secrets.”

  “Doesn't mean you've earned the right to know mine.”

  “Why won't you tell me?”

  “Because it's none of your damn business, that's why.” Logan pushed to his feet and with the whiskey bottle and glass in hand, staggered towards the front door. “Just leave me the fuck alone. All of you!”

  He staggered outside and slammed the door. Nadia bit back the hot tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.

  “Asshole,” she muttered, gathering up her things to go to her bedroom. It was only after she lay down to sleep that Logan's words came back to her, cryptic in their meaning. What did he mean by ‘all of you?’

  The next morning Nadia woke up early, performed her morning routine and got dressed for travel. Her boots went on over a pair of jeans with a long-sleeved shirt and a hoodie. She slung her cross around her neck and a belt around her hips. The gun and knife that Logan had given her went onto each hip, nestled inside their holsters. She added a screwdriver for good measure.

  She put on a few rings, a pair of studs in each ear and one in her nose before packing
up her things. The rest of her jewelry she left on the dresser next to her bag of makeup and the leopard print underwear. With a sigh of regret, she walked out, leaving the familiar behind.

  Time for a new me, she thought. But will it be enough?

  Chapter 17 - Logan

  Logan woke up with the mother of all hangovers. He stumbled out of bed and collapsed onto the toilet, heaving. The contents of his stomach poured into the bowl, a mixture of sour whiskey, bile, and blood.

  His blurred vision fixated on the red liquid swirling in front of his face, and he groaned. “Shit, I must have an ulcer.”

  His stomach cramped. He heaved again, convulsing until nothing but air came out. He staggered to his feet and walked to the wash basin, splashing water from the jug onto his face before brushing his teeth.

  For a long time, he stood, slumped over with his hands gripping the porcelain sides. Water dripped from his nose, plopping into the basin before trickling down the drain.

  It's time.

  Her voice swirled around his head. It echoed softly in his ears as if she spoke from a distant place. “Morgan.”

  It's time to let me go.

  “I can't.”

  You must.

  “No.”

  Let me go.

  More water spattered into the basin, fat drops that fell with an audible plop.

  Tears.

  Logan cried for the first time since the day Morgan died. With it came release. Release from the terrible pain that held him in its grip, squeezing his heart with an iron fist.

  He gasped for breath while the silent sobs wracked his body. When at last his grief abated, he straightened up and stared into the mirror. His eyes searched, looking for an indication that he was still there beneath the purple shadows and grayish pallor. The Logan that she had brought out in him.

  He found strength in his steely gaze and humor in the quirk at the corner of his mouth. There was pain too, and sorrow. But I'm still here.

  Logan stepped away from the mirror and walked to his room with fresh determination. An hour later he emerged and surprised Nadia who already waited in the sitting room with her bags.

  She jumped to her feet, eyes widening as she took in his freshly bathed, shaved, and dressed appearance. “Logan?”

  “Nadia.” He acknowledged her with a nod, dumping his duffel bag onto the floor. “Ready to go?”

  “Um. Sure. I've packed the food and whiskey. I also left out a beer for you. And beans if you want,” she replied uncertainly, knowing that he often skipped breakfast and preferred a beer instead.

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.” Logan walked over to the kitchen counter and wolfed down the cold beans. His stomach protested, still reeling after the bottle of raw whiskey he'd consumed the night before. He persisted. After a while, the nausea subsided.

  Next, Logan unzipped the bag carrying the food and removed the four bottles of whiskey and two six-packs of beer he still had left. In front of Nadia's wondering eyes, he dumped them into the dustbin followed by the cigarettes.

  Ignoring her stunned look, he slung the bags over his shoulder and checked that the patio was clear. He opened the door and stepped out. The air was crisp and fresh. More than a hint of winter blew in on the breeze. Logan breathed deeply, inhaling the freshness into his lungs.

  He strode to the Landrover and loaded their bags into the back, still ignoring the silent Nadia who tagged along behind him. They climbed into the front, and he leaned across her lap to remove the last of his cigarettes from the cubby hole.

  Logan tossed the packet out the window before turning the key in the ignition. In a cloud of dust, they left behind their temporary home.

  Silence hung in the air until Nadia cleared her throat. “I guess I'm supposed to stop smoking now?”

  “That's right. No more pills or cutting either.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Nothing?” Nadia's jaw dropped.

  “Nope.”

  “But that's unfair!”

  “Too bad.”

  “Just because you had an epiphany doesn't mean I have to go cold turkey too,” she protested. An angry blush stained her cheeks.

  “Epiphany? That's a big word for such a little girl.”

  “Screw you, asshole.” She smacked him on the arm, and he laughed.

  “Relax, I'm just joking.” He grinned at her. “As for the cold turkey thing, you can't expect me to do this on my own, can you? Not if you want me to stay at the camp with you.”

  Nadia's mouth hung open. “You mean...you'll stay? You're not just gonna drop me off and leave?”

  “That's exactly what I mean. But then we both have to start fresh. No more bullshit.” He stared at her, driving his point home with a steely gaze.

  Nadia sat back in her seat and stared at the road ahead before replying. “Okay. Deal.”

  “Besides, someone has to keep an eye on you,” he said. “Trouble follows you like a shadow.”

  Nadia flinched at the reference to her being a danger to others, but Logan reached over to grip her hand. “Hey. No more guilt, and no more feeling sorry for yourself. The past is the past.”

  Her eyes dropped down to their clasped hands, and she nodded. “Okay. If you can let it go, then so can I.”

  Logan smiled and patted her arm before focusing once more on the road ahead. “Good. Now let's go home.”

  “Home. That has a nice ring to it.”

  Silence fell, the only sound being the whirr of the tires on the tar, and the occasional bump when they hit one of the numerous potholes.

  After a while, Nadia cleared her throat and said, “Thank you for doing this.”

  “Don't sweat it, kid. You're like the annoying little sister I always wished I never had.

  Nadia smiled at that and leaned her head back. She soon dozed off. Logan headed south, hoping they'd have enough petrol to reach the nearest town. Forty minutes later with the needle hovering on empty, he spotted the first buildings in the distance. He reached over and shook Nadia awake.

  “Mmm?” she mumbled.

  “Time to look alive. We've got company.” He nodded towards a shambling figure.

  Nadia sat upright, checking that her window was closed. “Why are we stopping?”

  “Fuel.”

  “Shit.”

  “That about sums it up.”

  Logan drove through the main street at a slow pace. He passed one zombie after the other. Their stumbling gait halted then sped up as they spotted the Land Rover. A red and yellow sign that announced a garage beckoned, and he slowed. “Ready for this?”

  “I'm ready. How are you going to get the fuel out?”

  “I've got a pump in the back. I'll need you to keep them off me while I fill the cans.”

  “Roger,” Nadia replied. She shifted from side to side, removing the screwdriver from her belt before reaching inside her hoodie for the cross, letting it hang free.

  Logan parked next to the metal lid sealing off the underground tanks and jumped out, slinging his rifle across his back. Wasting no time, he marched to the back of his truck and pulled out a pump with a hose and two jerry cans.

  After dumping the stuff next to the lid, he went back for a crowbar and bent down to pry the metal disk loose. He strained, muscles bulging. Sweat broke out on his forehead. A growl caused the hair on the back of his neck to rise, but he ignored it and trusted in Nadia.

  From the corner of his eye, Logan spotted her step up behind the zombie and stab it through the ear. It collapsed in a heap just as the lid popped loose. With a grunt, Logan tossed it aside and grabbed the pump.

  The shambling silhouettes of more infected converged on the station. Nadia's figure was a blur, flashing from one side of his vision to the other. She moved with the ease of long practice, impressing him with her fluid agility. Each approaching zombie was put down with a swift stab to the eye, ear, or temple.

  Logan focused his attention on getting the pump set up and filled the first
jerry can. He propped up the second can and unslung his rifle. With a few steady shots, he thinned out the crowd. This won breathing room for Nadia.

  “Have we got time for more?” he shouted.

  “Maybe,” she answered with a grunt. “If you hurry.”

  He jogged to the Landie, sidestepping an infected and tripping it with a swift kick. When it fell, Nadia dropped to one knee and stabbed it through the back of the neck. It rasped out a final protest.

  Logan loaded the full cans into the back and grabbed two more. “Coming through.”

  Nadie jammed her cross into a zombie eyeball as he ran past, and he was almost tempted to stop and admire her work. She was a lot tougher than he'd thought she'd be. Fearless, too.

  While filling the last cans, he paused twice to shoot at the encroaching crowd. During a lull, he reloaded and thumbed in more cartridges. The shots had alerted every zombie in the vicinity, and they were running out of time.

  The infected streamed towards the station in droves, some faster than others. He dropped and ripped out the hose, wrapping it up. Petrol sloshed on the ground, and the acrid smell burned his nostrils. He capped the jerry cans, prepared to run.

  “Logan,” Nadia cried. Her voice was strained.

  His head jerked around. She grappled with a zombie, holding it by the neck with one hand. Her other hand was in the clutches of an infected woman. The woman screeched and pulled on Nadia's arm, going in for a bite.

  Logan whipped out his knife and swung at the woman. The tip of the blade cut across the bridge of her nose and lodged in the cheekbone. He thrust hard, and she lost her balance. The woman toppled over and lost her grip on Nadia. He slammed the knife into her forehead, driving the point home.

  Nadia headbutted the zombie she fought with. Blood sprayed from its nose. With a growl, she jammed the screwdriver into its ear. Panting for breath, she grinned at Logan. “Good fight.”

  Crimson fluid and zombie gunk coated her arms and face, but she looked triumphant. He couldn't help but smile back.

  “Let's go,” Logan said, scooping the pump and cans up and dumping them into the back of the Landrover.

  “Last one in the truck is cooking dinner tonight!” Nadia sprinted toward the passenger door.