Die Another Day (Dangerous Days - Zombie Apocalypse Book 3)

by Baileigh Higgins

  Next stop was the pharmacy and bottle store. The store yielded riches in the form of whiskey, beer, and smokes, but he had trouble at the pharmacy. The place had been ransacked. All he could find was painkillers and gum. “Fuck. What now?”

  He'd been hoping for the good stuff. Sleeping pills, anti-depressants, anything. He kicked the nearest shelf in frustration, causing it to fall over with a crash. “Great. Just great.”

  He kicked another shelf for good measure and marched outside. The growls of infected reached his ears. Three were making their way across the pavement, faces twisted with hunger.

  Logan's irritation switched to rage. With an answering snarl, he whipped out his gun and shot each in quick succession. They crumpled, skulls exploding in a spray of decayed brain matter. It was not enough. He kept pulling the trigger, sending bullet after bullet into their bodies until the gun clicked on empty.

  “Fuck!” He booted the nearest in the ribs. It flopped, a lifeless sack of meat. Its death failed to satisfy the irrational anger that gripped Logan with an iron fist. He swirled around.

  Yanking the door of his truck open, he twisted the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, and he jammed his foot down on the accelerator. With screeching tires, he sped down the road. Houses passed in a blur, his pulse throbbing with heat. After a while, Logan's heartbeat slowed, the haze clearing from his mind. He glanced at the clock. Almost twelve.

  Briefly, he thought of looking for another pharmacy. Or at least food. But the desolate town depressed him. He had yet to spot a single survivor or signs of any. I can always come back.

  A turn of the wheel took him down a street lined with trees. The oncoming bite of winter had stripped the branches of their finery, leaving behind a thick carpet of gold and brown. A gust of wind sent leaves swirling through the air.

  A knot of infected drew his attention. They clustered in the driveway of a house, their arms stretching above their heads. Insistent groans carried through the crack in his window. Logan frowned, slowing to a stop. “What the hell?”

  His gaze flitted across the eager undead, traveling to the roof of a carport. A girl lay on top, one slender arm dangling over the edge. Her flesh was pale, her face hidden beneath dark hair.

  One zombie, in particular, concentrated on her with the single-minded intensity of a predator. It was still fresh, newly turned. The thing jumped, teeth clipping shut a mere hair's breath from her fingertips. There was only one reason it'd be after her.

  She was still alive.

  4

  Chapter 4 - Nadia

  When Nadia came to, it felt like her consciousness rose up toward the light, shocking her awake. She gasped, blinking at the incongruous sight of a campfire that burned a few feet away. Her mind whirled. Where am I?

  She looked around and took in her surroundings. The sleeping bag she lay on, the mud-spattered Land Rover parked to the left, battered camping chairs; none of it was familiar.

  She shivered, rubbing her hands over her arms. There was a distinct chill in the air, and she noticed her jacket was missing. The sun was setting, causing her to frown with confusion. Did I sleep the whole day?

  The stabbing pain in her palms reminded her of the injuries she'd suffered earlier. Both hands were wrapped in bandages, her fingers stained with the tell-tale pink of Mercurochrome. Her thoughts stilled. One stood out from the rest with blinding clarity. Someone had brought her here. That same someone had treated her wounds and put her to bed. A survivor!

  Her mind fractured. Each piece spun wildly in a different direction as she tried to make sense of this new information. Elation burned through her, hotter than a flash fire. She was no longer alone.

  Elation was followed by fear. What if she didn't like this person? What if he or she turned out to be a nut case or a rapist? She looked down, relieved to see she was still fully dressed except for her jacket, which she spotted draped over the back of a chair.

  Nadia looked around, beyond the boundaries of the camp. They were somewhere out in the bush, the middle of nowhere it seemed. The crunch of boots on loose sand broke through her thoughts, and she whirled around.

  A man walked toward her. His face was clean shaven. So was his head. He moved with supple ease, his body long and lean. Piercing gray eyes pinned her to the spot, studying her with minute attention. “You're up.”

  She squirmed. “Um...”

  “I wondered if you'd ever wake.” He pulled a bottle of pills from his pocket and frowned. “How many of these did you have?”

  Nadia felt a blush creep up her cheeks. “What's it to you?”

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” The pills arced through the air, landing in front of her with a clatter. “Have fun.”

  “Hey.” The protest died on her lips when he spun on his heels and walked away. Where was he going? She scrambled to her feet. “Wait!”

  He ignored her and disappeared into the back of his truck.

  “What are you doing?”

  Silence.

  “Answer me, you asshole.” She stamped her foot.

  He reappeared with a bottle of whiskey in his left hand and a rifle in the other. His face was grim, lips set into a straight line. Nothing about him screamed nice. Or friendly.

  Her mouth dried up. “Uh, never mind. S...sorry I called you an asshole.”

  She raised her hands as if to ward him off, and his eyes flicked over the bandages. “I stitched those up and cleaned them as well as I could, but you'll be out of action for a while.” He pointed at the pills. “You'll need those. I suggest you ration them.”

  He sauntered past her towards the fire and slouched down in the camping chair. With a deft movement, he cracked the seal on the bottle and took a gulp.

  “So what now?” she asked.

  “Guess I'm stuck with you.” His tone spoke of resignation...and irritation.

  “Stuck with me?” she asked. How dare he?

  He arched an eyebrow. “Well. You're in no shape to run around on your own.”

  “Oh, please. I can take care of myself.”

  “Yup. You sure were doing a bang-up job of it before.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Three rules. One, leave my stuff alone. Two, don't touch my booze. Three, stay out of my damn way.” He smiled at her, though it wasn't the reassuring kind. “Now sit down and shut up.”

  Nadia hesitated, but she didn't have a choice. She was injured, in the middle of nowhere and unarmed. She weighed her options and found she liked none of them. With a shrug, she pulled on her jacket and sat down.

  With her fingernails, she picked at the edges of her bandages, stared at the ground, then at the sky; anything but him. Not a single topic of conversation came to mind. With her boot toe, she drew lines in the sand. A sigh escaped her lips.

  The stranger fixed her with a look. “The name's Logan.”

  After a moment of thought, she replied. “Nadia.”

  Logan nodded and looked away. On closer examination, she noticed his eyes were bloodshot and his clothes rumpled. There was a certain frailty beneath the surface, a brittleness to the eyes and a gauntness to the face that she recognized. She'd seen enough to recognize the signs of addiction.

  He's an alky. This realization did nothing to reassure her.

  “Where did you find me?” she asked.

  “On top of a carport, about two seconds away from being eaten.”

  Her head jerked around. “Eaten? I was safe up there.”

  Logan shrugged. “Your arm was hanging down. The fresh one was trying to jump. Another few tries and he might have had you.”

  “What?” Had she been that out of it?

  Logan surprised her with a sour chuckle. “Don't beat yourself up about it. I'm shit faced every night.”

  “Are we safe here?” she asked.

  “Safe as we'll ever be,” was the morose answer.

  “Got any food?” she asked when her stomach rumbled.

  Logan pointed at a cooler box. There are chips i
n there. And cool drink. Help yourself. The backpack you had is in the truck.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Bathroom's over there.” He pointed to a bush.

  She pulled a face. “Haha. Very funny.”

  An hour passed, neither willing to speak much with the other. Crickets sang in the background, and once she heard an owl hoot. It was cold and dark beyond the circle of light cast by the fire.

  Nadia fidgeted, shifting in her chair. She found it ironic that while she was no longer alone, she'd never felt more lonely. Eventually, she asked, “What are you doing all the way out here?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” She raised a sarcastic eyebrow.

  “Yup.”

  “Besides rescuing pretty girls, you mean?”

  “Who said you were pretty?”

  Nadia rolled her eyes. Dickhead. “You're alone?

  “Yes.”

  “Really? You haven't got someone?”

  Logan's face stilled, a shadow passing beneath the surface. Abruptly, he stood. The chair fell over with a thump. “No. I don't.”

  He scooped up the rifle and whiskey, then stumbled towards the Land Rover. “I'm going to bed.”

  Nadia sat up straight, alarmed. He's leaving me out here? Alone?

  After sliding in behind the wheel, Logan closed and locked the doors. The night became suddenly menacing, the silence a threat. Nadia jumped up and jogged to the Landie. She rapped on the window. “Hey. I can't sleep out in the open. It's too dangerous.”

  Logan stared at her, bleary-eyed.

  “Open up, damn it.” She pulled on the handle, desperate.

  Still, he did nothing, his slack mouth indicating that he was on the verge of passing out. She looked over her shoulder into the black. Her skin crawled as she imagined zoms lurching toward her.

  Nadia slammed on the glass, ignoring the pain in her hands. “Logan, so help me...Open the fucking door. Now!”

  “Fine, fine,” he mumbled, shaking his head. He leaned over and unlocked the passenger side. It took several tries. “Just shut up, will you?”

  She climbed in next to him, wrinkling her nose at the musty, alcohol and tobacco laden atmosphere. “Man, it stinks in here.”

  Logan didn't answer, a faint snore the only sound he made. The empty whiskey bottle slid from his fingers onto the floor, and she pushed it aside with the rest of the rubbish littering the cab.

  With a disgruntled sigh, she tried to make herself comfortable and prayed she'd be able to sleep. “What the hell have I gotten myself into?”

  5

  Chapter 5 - Breytenbach

  Since their arrival, Max had granted them any vehicle of their choice for use during their supply raids. Breytenbach had chosen a Casspir, an old military vehicle Max had recovered from a police barricade.

  The thing was uber tough and spacious. The only problem was that Mike and Ronnie had gotten drunk one night and decided to name it Tallulah. They then proceeded to spray paint the name on the sides of the Casspir in pink, using swirly, flowery script.

  Every time Breytenbach saw it, he didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or swear at them. Everyone else thought it was hilarious, and raids quickly became known as 'Tallulahing'.

  Upon sighting him, Lenka, Mike, and Ronnie climbed into the back, big smiles adorning their faces. The prospect of action thrilled them. It was why they became mercenaries in the first place. Mike and Ronnie jostled for position, cracking jokes while Kirstin joined him in the front.

  “Where are we going, Captain?” Ronnie asked from the back.

  “The Medi-Clinic in Welkom.”

  Silence fell. The jovial atmosphere vanished.

  After a few seconds, Mike cleared his throat. “I know you said the raid would be dangerous but...”

  “That's suicide, Captain,” Ronnie finished.

  “Are you backing out?” Breytenbach stared them down in the rearview mirror. Neither answered, their cheeks reddening under his gaze. “Jonathan needs this stuff, boys. The camp needs it. We've got two pregnant ladies and a bunch of kids. Are we letting them down?”

  “No, Captain,” they chorused.

  Breytenbach started the engine with a roar then glanced at Kirstin. He noted her lips were pressed together. “Any objections?”

  “Yes.” She turned those icy blue eyes on him. “The Medi-Clinic is a mistake.”

  “I know it's dangerous, but it's urgent.”

  She turned her head away and stared into the distance. Her face remained expressionless. It was always hard to tell what went on in her head. “There is an alternative, Captain.”

  “Such as?”

  “The State hospital. It is closer,” she replied. “It is not in the town either. Fewer people.”

  Breytenbach considered it. She had a point. “It's an idea.”

  “It is the only way we stand a chance, Captain. There you can use your guns, even grenades, without drawing the townspeople out.” She paused. “If that happens, we are all dead.”

  It was the truth. One gunshot and the entire population of Welkom would come running. At Bongani, they only had those infected already there, to worry about.

  “State hospital it is,” he said. “But you realize we'll still have hordes of the buggers to deal with.”

  “Døden er en del av livet.”

  He cast her a quizzical look. “I've no idea what that means.”

  “Death is part of life.” She smiled. “It comes to us all.”

  “I'd rather Death didn't come for me, just yet.”

  “Me neither,” Ronnie said.

  “Amen to that,” Mike said.

  Lenka snorted his contempt. “Cowards.”

  “Oh, come on,” Mike protested.

  “Forget it, Mike. The man's made of stone,” Ronnie replied.

  With their bickering ringing in his ears, Breytenbach pulled out of camp, waving at Joseph who closed the inner gates behind them. At the outer fence, he waited for Lenka and Ronnie to open the second set of gates and remove the barrier.

  It was a bulky contraption resembling a wooden block with steel spikes and was quite heavy. The moat which encircled the fence, could not cut across the road. This caused a weak point in their defenses. The barrier and enforced gates were a temporary solution.

  Once everyone was back inside, Breytenbach took off. A watchful silence fell inside the cab as everyone prepared themselves for what was to come. On the left, the turn-off to Riebeeckstad flashed by. A few more minutes, and the crossing appeared.

  He turned left to the State institution. The low building squatted in the veldt; an ugly, brown toad. Dilapidated even before the onset of the outbreak, it now exuded an air of abandonment and neglect, underscored with a hint of menace.

  The Casspir slowed to ease over the pitted road. Breytenbach did not want to announce their arrival in any way. The boom gates came into view, the left side an entrance and the other an exit. A guard's booth sat in the middle, the windows stained and dirty.

  “There,” Kirstin pointed.

  Breytenbach zeroed in on the glass, his eyes picking up slight movement. A hand print stood out, the blood gone black with time.

  “I'll take care of it,” Kirstin offered.

  “No, I can't risk you,” he replied.

  “I'll go,” Lenka said. He dropped out of the vehicle, followed by Ronnie and Mike. Unsheathing his knife, Lenka pulled open the booth's door with a swift yank. At the same moment, he stepped aside.

  A diseased body dressed in a security guard's uniform, fell through the opening, tripping over its own feet. With a downward stab, Lenka ended its struggles.

  Working fast, the trio lifted both boom gates, securing the poles in place with a coil of rope. This ensured a clear escape route.

  The activity drew more zombies. They appeared around the truck, shambling toward the humans with eager moans.

  “Drive, Captain,” Ronnie said. “We'll clear them out as we go.”

  With a nod, Breytenb
ach crept forward. Lenka stayed in front with Mike and Ronnie flanking the sides. In this manner, they progressed through the parking area. The men were efficient, killing the encroaching infected without pause.

  When they drew near to the emergency entrance, Breytenbach stopped. He turned the truck around with its rear facing the building. The entrance doors were dim, the glass covered in smears and hand prints. No movement could be seen inside but Breytenbach knew appearances were deceiving.

  “Strange. The lot's almost empty,” Breytenbach noted.

  “Inside will be different,” Kirstin replied.

  “I know.” He eyed the parking lot. “I need you up high. Somewhere you can cover us.”

  “Not inside?” she asked, frowning.

  “No. Your rifle is no use at close quarters. You will have to cover our entrance and retreat.”

  “Are you sure? I can fight. Rifle or no.” She narrowed her eyes. “Once you are inside, I cannot help you further.”

  “I know. If we don't come out...go.” He handed her the keys to Tallulah then closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, calming his inner self. This raid would require one hundred percent focus. No distractions. No emotions.

  Kirstin picked out her spot and made her way there. Lenka, Mike, and Ronnie gave the parking area a final sweep. Breytenbach walked a few steps away from the Casspir, his eyes fixed on a distant building.

  The University. He studied it, worry gnawing at his gut. A flimsy fence and a stretch of open land were all that separated it from the hospital.

  “Problem, Captain?” Ronnie asked.

  “I hope not.” Breytenbach pulled Jonathan's list from his pocket. “Right. Listen up.”

  The four huddled together. He showed them the things they needed to obtain and explained each item. “This is all stuff they keep in the operating theaters.”

  “Do we know where that is?” Ronnie asked.

  Breytenbach shook his head. “Once inside, we find a floor plan and follow the directions. We move as quickly and quietly as possible. Got that?”

  Everybody nodded.

  “Keep your guns as a last resort.” He thought for a moment. “And the grenades for an absolute last resort. A no-hope kind of situation, okay? We don't want to draw attention.”