After doing a final one-eighty, Cat slumped against the side of the mini-bus with one hand pressed to her breast. The familiar tightening of her lungs forewarned of yet another asthma attack. Her mouth flapped like a fish's as she sucked in oxygen and tried to calm herself. But the past few hours had been too much, and her body refused to co-operate.
She fumbled in her pocket for her inhaler. It wasn't there. With black spots dancing in front of her eyes, Cat stumbled to the open door. Theresa stared at her with wide eyes, but Juan ignored them both, running to the nearest bushes instead.
“What's wrong?” Theresa asked.
Cat didn't try to answer. She grabbed her backpack and fumbled for her spare inhaler. Her fingers closed over the tube, and she nearly cried with relief. Two puffs and the boa constrictor that was crushing her ribs eased.
A few deep breaths cleared her head, and she straightened, managing a tentative smile for the worried Theresa. “I'm okay. It was just an asthma attack.”
“Asthma?”
“Yeah, sometimes when I'm scared or nervous or exercise too much, I struggle to breathe.” Cat flashed the inhaler. “That's when I need my medicine.”
“So you're sick?”
“Kind of, but it's not so bad. Most days it doesn't bother me. I don't have it as bad as some people do.”
“Are you sure?” Theresa asked, her face scrunched up with worry.
Cat smiled, placing a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder. “Yes, I promise I'm all right, Tessa. Can I call you Tessa?”
“That's what Juan calls me. I don't mind.”
Juan had finished his business by this point and came running up. He tugged on his sister's arm. “I'm hungry.”
Theresa raised questioning eyes to Cat.
Cat looked around, aware of their vulnerability out in the open. “Let's get back inside, and I'll see if I've got anything left in my pack.”
They clambered back into the bus. The only food she had left was a bottle of water, a packet of sliced cheese, two apples, and a banana. It wasn't much. She doled it out, taking only an apple and a few sips of water for herself.
Munching on the fruit, Cat stared at the clearing beyond the latched gate. It was an open stretch of ground covered in thick grass. Beyond that, she could make out the outline of a large building surrounded by trees. A house? Or maybe a barn?
The road they sat on ran through the gates and up to the building, curving around to its back. She was relieved to note that the fence looked both high and sturdy. If this was to be a possible new home for them, it had to be safe. There were no signs of life. No cars, or people. Not even a dog.
The only way to be sure though was to go in. Her mouth dried up at the thought. What if there are zombies?
There was no real choice. She had to find a safe place for the kids to stay. They couldn't drive around forever. We need food too. Water. Clothes. Medicine.
Determined, Cat geared up. The material of her jeans and leather jacket might provide protection, and her boots were sturdy. Armed with her hockey stick, she turned to the kids. “I'm going to check out the house. When I'm sure it's safe, I'll come get you.”
“What if there are sick people?” Tessa asked.
“I'm sure there's not.”
“But what if there are?” Tessa insisted. “What if you get sick or you don't come back? What then?”
Cat had no answers for the girl. If anything happened to her, the kids were doomed. It was unlikely they'd be able to survive on their own. If she didn't go, they might never find anywhere safe. Either way, we're screwed.
“I'll do my best, Tessa. I promise.” It was the only comfort Cat could offer.
After a moment, Tessa nodded, reaching out to gather Juan into her arms. The boy had sensed something was amiss, and his lips trembled. His sister shushed him and smoothed a hand over his hair.
The sight made Cat's heart clench. With difficulty, she exited the bus. Before closing the door, she hesitated. “Be careful, Tessa. Look after your brother, okay?”
Tessa nodded, and Cat slid the door shut. As she walked away, she wondered if she wasn't abandoning them to a terrible fate, but it had to be done. She could only hope she wasn't making a mistake.
Chapter 6
Cat scaled the gate with ease, her limbs lean and athletic after years of playing sports. Even though she had asthma, she had always been determined to live a healthy life.
With time, the condition had eased, becoming manageable. After they relocated to the Free State, it became even better. The hot, dry climate suited her lungs. Now only moments of acute stress triggered an attack. She snorted. Zombies definitely count as acute stress.
Cat crossed the stretch of open ground with long strides. Now that she was committed, she wanted the ordeal over with.
The building became clearer, details revealing themselves. It was actually two structures. The one to the right looked like a garage of some sort with a large carport attached to the side. Parked underneath was a battered old truck and a silver car, small and compact. That means people. Either living or not.
The other structure was a house. One of those old farm types with a porch running all the way around. A window was open, and a curtain fluttered between the burglar bars.
Cat tightened her hold on her hockey stick, the knuckles turning white as the tension within her rose. She angled to the side and skirted the house to get a glimpse of the yard beyond. Her eyes scanned the grounds, searching for movement. There was none.
She paused, and indecision filled her mind. Where should she look first? What would be the smartest option? After a full minute of agonizing, Cat turned toward the garage. Here goes.
The entrance was big, and she stopped outside the opening to allow her eyes to adjust to the murk. There were no windows, the only light coming from the open doors. They cast a square of light on the ground, broken only by her silhouette. The darkness stretched ahead, and Cat's mouth dried up at the thought of what might hide inside.
“Hello,” she said, her voice tentative. If there was anything in there, it might as well come to her. No reply but for deathly silence.
“Hello,” she called, louder this time. Her cry echoed through the interior, the sound coming back to her in a hollow tone. A rustle. The faint stirring of something.
Cat stood rooted to the spot. Her eyes swiveled, searching for some sign of what had made the noise. Her mind conjured up all sorts of horrific images, each worse than the last. She longed to turn around and flee, but her feet would not obey her panicked brain.
A small kernel of courage took hold, stiffening her spine. Cat squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. With the hockey stick raised menacingly, she said, “Come on. I'm ready. Whatever you are.”
A clink, like a stone hitting metal. Another stir. A furry shape materialized in front of Cat with a suddenness that caused her to shriek and scurry back. The small animal ran past her with a plaintive meow. She gasped and lay a trembling hand across her breast. “A cat. It's just a cat.”
By slow degrees, her heartbeat returned to normal, until at last, she felt ready to face the mysterious darkness inside the garage again. Inching inside, she explored the area immediately in front of the doors.
The ample space turned out to be mostly for storage. Besides the tractor, there was a quad bike, an industrially sized lawn mower, gardening and mechanical tools, and bags of compost. A stack of old tires sat against one wall while wooden pallets lined another.
Bit by bit, Cat moved deeper inside. Her pupils expanded, and her eyesight adjusted to the low light. She dropped to her knees, checking underneath the tractor. Dust tickled her nostrils, and she wrinkled her nose as she felt the urge to sneeze. Satisfied it was clear, she did a slow circuit of the building until she stood by the doors again. She sighed with relief. “One down.”
The grounds around the garage and house were likewise clear of danger, the vehicles empty. The only living thing she saw was the cat. The feline, a dark gray w
ith white socks and face, watched her from a distance with its tail twitching.
It was a beautiful property and well-maintained. It sat on the banks of the river. The water ran past, deep and strong, and an occasional splash pointed to fish. It was peaceful too, the grass green and the wind moving through the leaves with a soft sigh. Cat could almost convince herself everything was normal. Almost.
Besides the two buildings, there was a jetty with a small row boat next to an open lapa. Its thatched roof provided shade over a patio and built-in barbecue. Banks of flowers and ferns decorated the gardens. It was a tranquil setting, one she hoped wasn't about to be ruined by zombies or hostile owners.
The fence surrounded the property all the way to the banks, providing a strong sense of security to Cat. As long as the wall holds, it should be safe.
A second gate led to the rest of the resort, a board with the words 'Guest Accommodation' pointing the way. She decided not to explore there for the moment. If people were staying there, she'd find out soon enough, and if they were infected, at least they couldn't enter as long as the gate was closed.
During her search, she never heard a sound come from the house, nor did she see movement in the windows. Now, she approached the porch with rising hope. Maybe it's empty. Or the people are alive and friendly.
Her feet reached the steps and climbed upward. The wood creaked beneath her boots. Strands of hair lifted off her neck in the breeze, and a shiver ran down her spine. She reached for the doorknob. Her hand was shaking.
The door swung open on silent hinges, and she found herself in a small entrance foyer. It was bare, the only ornaments a potted fern and an ornate mirror. A glimpse of her face told a worrying tale. Her cheeks were pinched and pale, purple bruises underlined her eyes.
She crossed the space and emerged into a large living room. Comfy-looking couches were circled around a television, and a hand-woven rug covered the terracotta tiles beneath. Beyond that was a dining room with an open doorway that she surmised led to the kitchen. To the right was the entrance to a long hallway. It likely led to the bedrooms.
“Hello?” The word came out as a whimper.
Silence.
Absolute nerve-wracking silence.
Cat scraped together all her courage and stepped inside. A quick glance assured her that the living and dining rooms were empty. She edged forward and crept across the floor.
The hallway beckoned with ominous silence. Numerous open doors confronted her. She forced herself to move and approached the first one. It was a guest bathroom containing only a toilet. Across from it was a small bedroom. It looked unused, lacking any personal touches, and she guessed it was a spare room.
The next two rooms were another bedroom and a full bathroom. The bedroom looked lived in; posters of alternative rock bands lined the walls. A dressing table was littered with knickknacks: Nail polish, hairdryer, and a framed photo of a young redhead wearing Gothic clothes.
Cat paused, staring at it. The girl in the picture looked older than her and indicated she had likely finished school already. A quick search revealed that the cupboards were bare, leading her to believe that the girl no longer lived there. Her mom probably keeps the room like this for when she visits.
Moving back into the hall, Cat inspected a floor to ceiling cupboard filled with linen next, followed by a small sewing room, and a study. That left only the last and biggest room, the main bedroom. She entered with hesitant steps, swallowing on the lump in her throat.
The bed was made, the window and curtains open. Faint perfume permeated the air, and a men's jacket hung on a hook. It looked in perfect order. The en-suite bathroom was the same, empty of life with not a single item out of place.
Relieved, Cat turned back. The only place left to search was the kitchen. She was pretty sure that was empty too, though she hadn't checked yet. With rising optimism and a cautious smile, she walked through the house.
She stepped into the kitchen then stopped so fast she almost fell. She smothered a gasp, pressing a fist to her lips so hard the skin broke on her teeth. A metallic tang filled her mouth. The taste and smell echoed what she saw.
The body of a man lay on the floor. He faced the ceiling, a snarl frozen on his lips. A butcher's knife was embedded in his eye socket, the handle sticking out. Blood puddled around his head, thick and congealed.
There was more of the crimson fluid in the basin, along with stained dishcloths. A trail of droplets led across the tiles to a closed door at the other end of the kitchen. A bloody handprint was smeared across the wood and handle.
Cat gulped. She didn't need to be a genius to know what lay beyond that door. She knocked. An answering growl sounded then loud thumping as the infected tried to break through. She took a few steps back, the heel of her boot slipping on the bloody floor. Don't open the door!
She had to. If they wanted to make this their home, she had to face the zombie on the other side. “Come on, Cat. You can do this.”
Her hand reached out and turned the knob. The door burst outward. At the same time, Cat side-stepped and raised her hockey stick. A woman fell through the opening, snarling like a rabid dog. She tripped in her haste and dropped to her knees.
With a crack, Cat smashed her on the head. The infected woman collapsed face down. Her body spasmed. Cat raised the stick again, but with a swift jerk the woman grabbed her ankle and pulled.
Cat's foot left the floor. Off-balance, she fell hard, landing on her coccyx. White-hot pain lanced through her back, and her injured shoulder hit the counter. For a second, she was unable to move, unable to think beyond the agony.
The zombie latched onto her leg with both hands. The grasping fingers dug into her muscles with awful strength. More pain shot through her calf. It was a different hurt that reminded her of the danger she was in. With a gasp, she jolted upright.
She thrust with the stick, knocking the woman in the mouth. Teeth crunched, and the grip on her legs loosened. With her free foot, she kicked at the infected woman. Over and over. Cartilage broke, and blood gushed over the woman's face.
Cat never stopped kicking until she was free. Scrambling to her feet, she brought her weapon down with all her strength. Three hard blows knocked the woman down, but she kept squirming. On the fourth strike, the hockey stick shattered. “No!”
Cat danced back and stared at the broken end with horror. The infected woman crawled towards her like a worm, growling through the blood that covered her face.
Cat despaired, panic setting in. Her chest tightened with the onset of another asthma attack. She gasped, “Not now. Please.”
Through the haze of fear, her eyes settled on the man with the knife sticking from his eye. An idea emerged. She looked at the jagged end of her stick.
With a final burst of energy, she thrust it into the woman's one eye and pushed as hard as she could. The eyeball popped, and the woman groaned. For a moment, time was suspended. The zombie woman was dead, and her corpse slumped to the floor.
It was over.
Cat sucked in air, bringing her thoughts and feelings under control. A sense of triumph emerged, overlaying the horror.
“I did it. I really did it!” She straightened up and grinned despite herself. “I got us a home. A place to stay.”
She imagined the look of relief on Juan and Theresa's faces. The happiness they'd feel at being somewhere safe, sleeping in a real bed, eating real food.
Stumbling out of the door and onto the lawn, Cat raised her head and soaked in the sun. It was far from done yet. That she knew. There was still much to do, much to overcome, and much to survive, but they'd manage. She knew it.
“We'll make it,” she whispered. “We'll live.”
THE END
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You're a Survivor!
So we've reached the end of Cat's Eye but not the end of the adventure. This story originally began as a spin-off short story to my Dangerous Days Series. In the second book, Die Another Day, we meet Nadia, a childhood friend of Cat’s. The very same friend who texted Cat after school in chapter 1 in this story.
But what started out as simply a short story and a spin-off, quickly morphed into a full-fledged series of novellas that follow the survival stories of a group of younger characters. Hence the series name - Death's Children. Would you like to find out what happens next? If you do, keep turning the pages for a sneak peek at the sequel and decide for yourself. Happy reading!
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Sneak Preview
This is the first chapter of Ryan's Luck, Book 2 in the Death's Children Series.
Cat's Eye Page 4