Breytenbach's eyes traveled to Michael, taking in the latter's alert state of rest before cutting back to Lange. “May I ask why you're so interested?”
“Besides the obvious? That I live here now and have a vested interest in keeping my body from expiring? Becoming a plaything to some gang member with glorified ideas of self?” Dr. Lange shrugged. “I'd like to help. As I said, I live here now. I'm one of you.”
Breytenbach studied the doctor for a moment, taking in minute details. The man had filled out, his cheeks no longer gaunt and his eyes bright instead of haunted. The shirt he wore was clean, the old lab overcoat free of stains. Quite a change in such a short time.
“I'm glad you feel that way, and I'm sure we can use all the help we can get. You're welcome to stay for the meeting if you like. Suggestions are always welcome.”
“Thank you.” Dr. Lange sat back with a faint smile.
“May I say you are looking well, Doctor,” Julianne said.
Lange nodded, the movement quick and birdlike. “You may. I feel well. The loss of my lab hit me hard, but it's time to move on. Recoup.”
“Recoup?”
“Yes, I have begun writing down my findings and discoveries. Copying the work that I lost.” Lange laughed. “What I can remember, at any rate.”
“Which is a just about everything,” Michael interjected. “The doctor here has an eidetic memory.”
“Really?” Julianne sat up straight. “That's amazing. Does this mean your work isn't all lost? Can you continue with your research?”
“Yes, and no.” Lange shook his head. “Yes, my work is not lost. Not all of it, at least. But without the proper facilities and equipment, I cannot continue my research.”
“That's a shame.”
Julianne's face mirrored the disappointment Breytenbach felt. “Perhaps,” he interjected, “when this is all over, we can revisit the idea of getting you the equipment you need.”
“Perhaps,” Lange agreed. “Now, can you get us up to speed on the current situation?”
“All right. Here's the deal. Mike and Ronnie went on recon. They returned this morning and will present us with their findings. I have already been briefed.” Breytenbach drummed his fingers on the table, nervous energy tingling through his veins. “Max and Joseph are inspecting our defenses. At the meeting, they too will present their thoughts. Then we decide on a plan of action.”
“I see. We shall simply have to wait.”
“You won't have to wait long,” Max said, his large frame filling the doorway. “Joseph and I are done with our inspections.”
Joseph walked into the room, slumping down in the nearest chair. He looked tired, and the worry lines on his face were more pronounced than usual.
“So?” Julianne asked. “What do you think?”
Max shook his head, pulling out a chair. The legs scraped across the floor, the metal legs settling slightly off-kilter on the uneven tiles. “Let's wait for the rest to get here first. Who are all coming?”
“Besides you and Joseph, nobody. Lucas is repairing an electrical fault, and Elise is busy.”
“Elise is here,” the woman in question interrupted as her head appeared around the doorjamb. Her face was followed by two hands gripping a tray piled high with biscuits. She placed it in the middle of the table, avoiding Julianne's gaze. An uncomfortable silence fell.
Breytenbach cleared his throat, shuffling the papers in front of him. “Everybody is here so we can begin. Max. Joseph. What is the state of our defenses?”
Joseph leaned forward in his chair, placing his hands on the table. “We've cleared a wide swath of vegetation around the camp, allowing for an open field of fire. The gate has been fortified as has the walls and watchtowers.”
“Can we hold if another horde arrives?”
“I don't know.” Joseph shook his head. “It depends on the size of the swarm. I've done all I can with the material available.”
“We could dig more trenches at strategic points,” Max offered. “Fill them with sharpened sticks like the moat.”
“That didn't stop the infected the last time,” Julianne pointed out. “They simply filled the hole until their bodies formed a bridge.”
“Yes, but if we dig enough trenches, it will thin the herd and slow them down, at least.”
“Do we have the manpower to dig that many?” Breytenbach looked at Joseph.
He shrugged. “Hands are few, but we'll do our best. At least we've got the backhoe.”
“All right. See what you can do.” Breytenbach looked at Elize. “How are our supplies holding up?”
“We're doing well. Dave is busy cataloging the stores with the help of Michelle and the kids. Keeps them out of trouble.” She shrugged. “A rough estimate puts us at a few months if we're careful. Plus it's hunting season. We can cull a few animals from the game farm and store the meat. Our crops weren't large, but helped a lot.”
“Good. That gives us breathing room, at least.” Breytenbach stared at the scarred wood of the table, following a seam with his eyes.
“Our more pressing concern is weapons training,” Max added. “Nobody has the time, and we need to be prepared to defend ourselves against an attack.”
Breytenbach thought about it. Able-bodied people were scarce and the work plentiful. There weren't enough hours in the day to do everything. He sighed, aware that the dull ache in his skull was growing sharper by the second. “Why don't we discuss this at dinner tonight in the common room? Everybody will be there. We can decide who to assign to what, work out a duty roster and squeeze the training in somehow.”
“Some of our younger and older members can take a more active role, perhaps,” Julianne suggested. “Also, we must implement stricter water rationing.”
Nods and murmurs of agreement followed each other around the table even though nobody was thrilled at the prospect of more infrequent baths.
“Now, to the real reason we're all gathered here. Ke Tau,” Breytenbach said.
The words dropped into the atmosphere like a stone in a pond, the effect rippling out until it affected everybody.
“As you all know, Ronnie and Mike returned this morning. They were debriefed and on my orders have kept the information to themselves until this meeting,” Breytenbach continued. “I'd like for them to tell you what they found out themselves. Afterward, we need to decide on a course of action.“
“Where are they?” Elise asked.
“We're here,” Ronnie replied, entering the room, followed by Mike. They had washed. Their damp hair clung to their skin, fresh shirts replacing their stained, sweat-soaked fighting gear.
“On time, as ever,” Breytenbach affirmed, glancing at his watch. He waited until each of them sat down and the room fell silent. “Whenever you're ready, Ronnie.”
“Right, I'll make it short,” Ronnie said, eyes traveling around the room. “We met and spoke to somebody from inside Ke Tau's gang. She has provided me with information and also agreed to help us if she can.”
The room broke into a low hum of conversation.
“Who is this woman?”
“Are you sure she can be trusted?”
“How can she help us?”
Even Dr. Lange raised his voice.
Ronnie lifted his hands until the noise died down before continuing. He told them about the old woman and the talk he'd had with her. “Her name is Rebecca. She acts as a servant to Ke Tau and his men, tolerated because of her usefulness and age.”
“Why would she help us?” Julianne asked.
“Ke Tau infected her son with the virus then tied him to a pole, forcing her to watch him turn. All because he refused to join them. His corpse is still there, serving as a warning to both others and her.”
Julianne shook her head slowly, her face filled with pity. “The poor lady.”
“What else?” Breytenbach prompted.
“She confirmed the information Kabelo provided and gave more.“
A lightning glance shot between
Julianne and Elise. Elise's eyes hinted at triumph while Julianne's fingers tightened around her pen until her knuckles shone white. The sudden tension between the two women did not go unnoticed, and Breytenbach gestured to Ronnie to sit before an argument could erupt.
“With the information we now have, we can plan an assault on their base with a possible chance of success. However, casualties will be high, and the chance of failure remains,” Breytenbach said. All eyes turned to him, personal gripes forgotten in the face of this grim news.
“Is there no other way?”
“There is one.” Breytenbach sighed. “The woman, Rebecca, hinted at possible allies within the gang. They would have to be persuaded to join our cause, though.”
“Persuaded how?” Dr. Lange asked.
“One of us would have to infiltrate their base.”
“Infiltrate their base?” Julianne said. “Like a spy?”
“Yes. It's both crazy and dangerous,” Breytenbach said. “But it might tip the odds in our favor. With someone on the inside, we could coordinate a double attack. Both from without and within.“
“And who would be willing to do this? What if it backfires and they kill him or her?” Julianne asked.
“It can't be a woman. We all know what they do to women,” Elise said.
“And it can't be one of my team or anyone who's been on a raid recently, either. They might be recognized,” Breytenbach said. “We know they're watching us.”
“I'll do it.” The gruff timbre of Michael's voice startled them all.
Breytenbach's head swung toward the man in question, sending a sharp pain through his temple. He suppressed the resulting wince and studied Michael with surprise. “You? You're willing to take the risk?”
“I am.” Michael looked at each of them with flat eyes, no expression crossing his features. “They don't know me, have never seen me, and I possess the necessary training.”
He's right. They don't know him. Breytenbach turned to Michael. “You're sure? You realize what this entails?”
“I do.”
“Then it's decided.”
Chapter 23 - Michael
The moon hung full and fat, a gigantic orb dripping silver droplets of light onto the landscape below. It illuminated the steel bars crisscrossing the gate, giving it an unearthly glow.
Dark shapes scurried about, working to open the monstrosity in hushed silence. Michael stared at the scarred wood, waiting. Next to him, Dr. Lange stood. Neither said a word for what was there to say?
The wind shifted, a sharp breeze swirling through the camp. His nostrils flared, searching for any clues the air might offer. The night was dark, and when he set out, he would be vulnerable to attack. A tall shadow approached, revealing itself as Max.
“Ready?” Max asked.
“Yes.”
“We'll be in touch.”
Michael didn't bother to answer, settling for a stiff nod. He hated idle talk. As he turned to go, the voice of Dr. Lange stopped him. “Good luck, and thank you for your service.”
Despite his natural inclinations, he felt profound respect towards the scientist. For almost a year, he’d served the man, protecting him from harm and enabling him to continue his research.
Long after the army disappeared, falling beneath a barrage of dead flesh, conflicting orders, poor morale, and a dissolute government, Michael continued to stay. All because he believed in the scientist and his abilities. “Farewell, Dr. Lange.”
Settling the worn canvas bag across his shoulders, he set off into the night. It was quiet but not silent. His ears picked up on the rustling of field mice in the grass and the chirping of crickets. The gravel of the rough path leading to the gate in the fence crunched beneath his boots. In the distance, a goat bleated, awoken from its sleep.
Though it was unlikely any infected lurked in the field around him, he stayed alert, nonetheless. He had not lived this long by underestimating the enemy.
Likewise, he kept low to the ground, using cover whenever it was available. Ke Tau had people watching them. That much was evident from their past experiences with the man. It would not do for Michael to be seen leaving the camp, only to show up on the gang leader's doorstep looking for asylum.
He reached the gate guarding the fence and climbed over. Dropping low to the ground, he paused, listening. Now that he had left the safety of the grounds, zombies became a much more immediate problem. After a few seconds, he concluded he was alone and settled into a swift, ground-eating pace. He had far to go, and many obstacles stood in his way.
When Max had heard he planned to walk, the young leader objected, offering him a vehicle. This was folly, and Michael told him so in no uncertain terms. Ke Tau would recognize the car. Or one of his watchers would.
No. Michael would walk. He would show up looking the way the gang members did: scruffy, dirty, unwashed, and rough.
Minutes ticked by, one blending into the next with numbing sameness as time ceased to exist. The pitted dirt road flowed beneath his feet, while his senses tracked any noise, movement, or smell that occurred.
Stunted trees arced up to the sky, reaching gnarled fingers to the light. It was a relief to be away from people, away from the stresses and demands of society, even one as small and uncertain as the camp. He'd never been one for the social niceties, left baffled by the overt display of emotion shown by human beings.
He reached the highway and, his hand hovered over the handle of his knife. The brush tapered out, giving way to the road that wound through the countryside like a gray snake, twisting and turning, yet unnaturally straight. Man made.
The going became easier, the dangers of breaking an ankle lessening on the tar. It boasted its fair share of potholes, of course, worsened by neglect and inclement weather. But it was easier to navigate by the light provided by the moon. The problem was, that made it easier for infected too.
Not letting his guard down for an instant, Michael pushed on, devouring the kilometers beneath his boots. His breathing was smooth and regular, his broad chest rising and falling rhythmically.
A man of precision, he had not let slip on his physical exercise for even a moment since the outbreak began. He trained each day in a manner that would kill a lesser man, a fact that now stood in his favor.
To his left, a low hill rose from the ground like a hulking bear. His first landmark. Michael nodded with approval. He was making good time.
At the same time, his muscles tensed. He slipped his blade from its leather holster, holding it low with the cutting edge up. Ahead lay a four-way crossing, clogged with cars both crashed and abandoned. A path had been cleared through it by Breytenbach and his team, but it remained a dangerous place, a prime spot for infected.
The square hulk of a rusting sedan appeared from the gloom, mute and threatening. Michael's pulse picked up in readiness, but he felt no fear.
Not yet.
With the barest whisper of sound, he passed the broken metal shell. His head swiveled from side to side. He kept his eyes and ears open.
A truck loomed ahead, one tire hanging off the sidewalk where it had been pushed out of the way. Again, he passed without incident.
Edging to the right, he swerved around a knot of three more vehicles, a mass of steel and glass meshed together in a cold embrace. A crash.
Through a broken window, a dried out corpse slumped across the steering wheel drew his attention. He crept closer. The driver had once worn braids. Cornrows ran across the dried-out scalp that now clung to the skull beneath with desperate tenacity.
A tremor ran through Michael's body, and he came to a dead stop. His eyes fixed on the long, black braids trailing across the corpse's back. His mind flashed back to a memory. One of an earlier time. Before the outbreak, before the zombies, before everything.
Laughter filled his ears, exuberant and lively. Skin, the color of melted chocolate, shone beneath the soft light of lit candles, their golden glow casting a satin sheen across a face. Her face. “Valerie.”
The hair on the back of his neck rose. A soft rasp reached his ears. The sound tore him from his past. He whirled, balancing on the balls of his feet. His arm went up and to the side. The needle sharp point of his blade plunged through tissue. The knife buried itself to the hilt in the temple of an infected, penetrating the brain.
He looked the creature in the eyes as it slid off the blade and crumpled to the ground. Once more, his mind flashed back to another day, and another crumpled form that lay at his feet like a broken doll.
Michael shuddered, shaking off the melancholy that threatened to overtake him. He knelt to wipe the black goo off his knife on the torn remnants of cloth that draped the corpse. Rising to his feet, he resumed his journey, not allowing his mind to wander again.
The hours passed, one after another as he walked, leaving the crossing and its horrors far behind him. On the horizon, tendrils of gray announced the coming of dawn, the blackness of night lightening to a murky soup. In the distance, the faint outlines of buildings made themselves known.
Tendrils of white fog appeared, snaking through the trees and undergrowth. They snuck across the ground, ghostly fingers caressing his calves with an invisible touch. The mist rose, filling the air around him. It thickened until he walked in a billowing cloud.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath.
With visibility reduced to practically zero, Michael slowed, the knife once more held at the ready in front of him. This was the last thing he needed. To take on the urban maze of town with its droves of infected corpses shuffling around, hunting for prey, while blinded.
There was no alternative.
So be it.
With stoic determination, Michael plunged into the bowels of the mist. He followed the road down the middle, navigating by the broken white line that passed beneath his feet. Droplets formed on his skin, beading together and dampening his clothes.
Buildings rose around him, their roofs visible above the swirling sheets of white. It was quiet. As quiet as a battlefield once the slaughter was done. When the wind shifted, the fog parted, revealing glimpses of a world both dead and forgotten.
Dangerous Days (Book 2): Fear Another Day Page 18