Live Another Day (Dangerous Days - Zombie Apocalypse Book 4)

by Baileigh Higgins

“Two?” Julianne’s brow knitted into a frown before she shook her head. “No, Lisa is fine. You can bank on that.”

  “How can you be so sure?” he asked.

  “Because I know that girl. She’s alive and stronger than ever. She’s a survivor.”

  Max rubbed his forehead. “Maybe you’re right, but she’s not here. Neither is Logan, or Morgan, or Joanna, or any of the others we’ve lost.”

  Julianne’s face softened with pity. “I know you’re worried, and I know you feel responsible. It’s only natural. But things happen, Max, and sometimes there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “I know, Mom. It doesn’t make me feel better, though, or miss them any less.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” she agreed in a subdued voice. “We’re still here, though. We can’t give up.”

  He studied her face, noting the fine lines around her eyes and the deep hollows in her cheeks. She looked like all of them did. Tired, hungry, overworked, and stressed. I can’t let her down. I can’t let any of them down. They deserve better.

  He pulled her into a bear hug. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “For what?” she asked with a startled look.

  “Everything.” He turned to leave. “I’ll see you later after I’ve sorted a few things out.”

  “Okay.”

  He left her behind still wearing a perplexed frown and strode toward the cottage he shared with Kirstin. There he pulled out his old uniform, faded and worn but whole, and put it on. Next, he put on his battle jacket and boots before heading for the armory.

  It was small, nothing more than a windowless room fitted with racks and locked with a security gate. He carried one of the keys with him while another sat in Breytenbach’s pocket and the third hung around Julianne’s neck on a chain.

  While everyone in the camp went about armed, the armory was used to store excess guns, ammo, and explosives. While their stores were limited, they did possess some firepower, at least.

  Max unlocked the gate and slipped into the room. He pulled on a string, and a single lightbulb flickered to light. It bathed the concrete square in a yellow glow, and he allowed his eyes to travel over the racks.

  A bare steel table stood in the middle, and it was here he busied himself. One by one, he cataloged the guns, going from the smallest to the biggest. With each, he checked the load, sights, and safety. Though well-maintained, a few were dirty, and he took the time to strip and oil them. Halfway through this time-consuming job, a shout drew his attention. His ears perked.

  “Max.” It was Peter. He was certain of it. “Max!”

  He picked up the nearest gun, a Glock 17, and rushed to the exit with the gun held ready. He paused to let his eyes adjust to the light after the dim interior. “Peter? Is that you?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “It’s Lisa. She’s back, and so's Michael.” Peter’s excited face appeared in his field of vision, a broad grin on his face.

  Max relaxed and flicked the safety back on. “Oh, thank God. Are they safe? Unharmed?”

  Peter bobbed his head. “They’re okay, but…”

  “What?”

  “They’ve got two people with them, and one is hurt.” Peter hesitated, and a shadow crossed his face. “Badly hurt. They’re in the infirmary now.”

  “I’m coming.”

  With controlled haste, Max returned the Glock before locking up and hurrying over. There he found a knot of people clustered outside, their voices creating a low buzz in the afternoon air. It was Lisa, accompanied by Michael, a tearful young girl, and Julianne.

  Julianne greeted him with a relieved smile. “Max, you’re here.”

  “I am. What’s going on?”

  Julianne hesitated before replying. “I think it’s best if you three speak in private.” She nodded at Lisa and Michael. “I gather they’ve got important news for you.”

  “What about Ruby?” Lisa asked with concern stamped on her face while she watched the crying girl.

  “She’ll be fine with me, won’t you dear? I’ll take care of you.” Julianne wrapped Ruby into a warm embrace. “You three go ahead. We’ll wait here for news of her brother.”

  “Her brother?” Max asked.

  “He’s in there with Jonathan and Hannah. They’ll do everything they can for him.” Worry shone in her eyes, but her voice was confident as she continued. “Don’t fret. Everyone else is back at their posts.”

  “Right. Thanks, Mom.” Max turned to Lisa and Michael. “Come with me?”

  They followed him in grim silence to the common room where a curious Elise poured each of them a cup of coffee. She didn’t stick around, however, and left them in peace.

  “Fill me in,” Max prompted.

  Lisa picked at the table with broken fingernails while she relayed her share of the story, ending at the part where Michael and the two kids jumped onto the roof. “That’s how I found them.”

  “Michael?” Max turned to the brooding ex-soldier.

  In a monotone, Michael told Max of his time with Ke Tau right up to the moment Lisa found him. He finished off with the message from Rebecca and Mpho.

  Max sat back in his chair. “On the full moon? They want us to attack then?”

  Michael nodded.

  “That’s three days from now, I think.”

  “Four,” was the gruff reply.

  “What about Kabelo?”

  Lisa’s face darkened. “He got away. I’m sorry.”

  “It can’t be helped. You tried your best, Lisa. I’m just glad you got back safely.”

  “He’ll tell Ke Tau everything,” she protested.

  “He might. If Ke Tau lives. He could have died in that house.”

  “He lives,” Michael asserted with glittering eyes. “I know it.”

  Max shrugged. “Even so, we’ll have the element of surprise on our side.”

  “Where’s Breytenbach? And Dr. Lange?” Michael asked with a frown. Max filled him in, and the man pushed back his chair. “I'll help the Doctor and the others with the fence.”

  “Okay.” Max watched him walk away before saying, “Michael.”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  Michael inclined his head before he disappeared, and Max turned back to Lisa. “What about this Ruby and her brother. Who are they? How badly is he hurt?”

  Lisa shrugged in a nonchalant manner, but her voice was thick with emotion when she replied. “I don’t know who they are. They’re just kids, survivors. Ke Tau killed their father and tortured the boy. His name is Lonny.”

  Max winced. “How bad is he?”

  “He’ll live, though he might not want to,” she replied before looking away.

  “Ruby?” Max’s voice was tentative.

  Lisa sighed. “She’s fine. I got there before...before they could...you know.”

  “I’m glad.” Max’s voice hardened. “Did you get any of the fuckers?”

  Her eyes flew to his, and a faint smile formed on her lips. “Two, although the zombies got the one. I drove over the other.”

  Max’s lips twitched. “I see.”

  “Michael says the other three got away, and they were the worst ones. Ke Tau, Hiran, and Carlito.”

  Max stared into the distance for a few seconds as he thought everything over. “We’ll get them. Right now, we’ve got an attack to plan, though.”

  “I want in,” Lisa said.

  Max studied her and noted the hardness in her features, the stark lines of suffering around her eyes and mouth. “All right. You’ll be there.”

  “Good.”

  Max stood up and placed his empty cup on the table. “We’ll talk again later. Right now, I’ve got to sort a few things out.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll go check on Ruby and Lonny.”

  “You do that. Tonight, over supper, we’ll hold a meeting. Breytenbach should be back by then.”

  As he walked away, Max reflected on their chances of victory. With surpris
e on their side and rebels inside Ke Tau’s compound, they stood a good chance. An excellent one. Even so, grim foreboding gnawed at his gut. Four days. Only four days until our fates are decided. Win or lose, someone will die.

  Chapter 12 - Breytenbach

  When Breytenbach left camp, he headed straight for Hennenman. A small, sleepy town some distance away from Welkom and Ke Tau's grasping fingers. It was a town they'd left mostly untouched, almost as if they wanted it for backup, but hadn't planned it that way. In any event, it was a place he knew little about and had yet to explore.

  Just outside of town, he pulled over and got out. Kirstin and Lenka followed, and they waited for Mike and Ronnie to join them. While he stretched his legs and checked his equipment, Kirstin spread out an old map on the bonnet.

  “See anything on there?” he asked. “We need food and guns.”

  “Let me see.” She perused the crumpled piece of paper before pointing at a small square. “Here is a nursing home. It should have food, should it not?”

  “Yup, that could work,” he replied. “What about weapons.”

  “There’s a police station,” Ronnie interjected. “The home's closer, though.”

  “Let’s check that out first, then,” Breytenbach decided. “You and Mike hang back a bit in case we get into trouble on the streets. Who knows how many Ke Tau’s the world now holds.”

  Ronnie grunted in agreement. “Sure thing, Captain.”

  They drove off again in silence with Kirstin pointing the way. Contrary to his fears, the streets were quiet and derelict. Not much could be seen besides the usual straggling undead who groaned as they went by. Cracks filled the roadway, and empty windows gaped at them as they passed. A single plastic bag bobbed along on the sidewalk. The world’s turning into a desert. A desert populated by the dead.

  “Over there,” Kirstin said, breaking into his somber thoughts.

  Breytenbach slowed and looked for the entrance. The community was enclosed, and rust red-tiled roofs stuck out over the whitewashed walls that surrounded it. Ivy crept up the mortar, and a single sliding gate was the only way in.

  Ronnie’s truck crept up behind them, and Breytenbach slid out of his seat. A decrepit one-armed zombie shuffled over and reached yellowed fingertips toward him. He took it down with a two-handed blow from his clawed hammer, pausing only to pull the weapon free.

  “Clear the area,” he ordered as soon as Mike, Lenka, and Ronnie joined him. “Cover us, Kirstin.”

  They worked quickly to dispatch the few undead that shambled toward them. The only sound was the thumping of hammers and axes on bone and the cooing of doves in the trees above them. A gentle breeze stirred the autumn leaves clinging to branches, and if it wasn’t for the corpses littering the street, it could have been a pleasant spot.

  They slid open the gates and walked inside, peering into the undergrowth bordering the driveway. A rustle announced the arrival of a zombified gardener. His uniform still bore his name embroidered on the pocket. Jensen.

  After they’d cleared the entrance, Kirstin drove up in the minibus before bringing in the truck. They shut the gates and looped a chain around it, though Breytenbach didn’t lock it in case they needed a quick getaway.

  “Let’s scout the grounds first. Maybe look for an alternate exit in case this one is compromised,” he ordered. With Kirstin on top of the truck’s roof, they fanned out and circled the buildings.

  It was a simple job but made less so by the overgrown vegetation. It hid a myriad of evils, not least the decayed hand that reached out and gripped his ankle.

  Breytenbach danced backward as the thing bit down on his boot. Its teeth cracked on the hard leather and steel toe. He stabbed it through the crown, mouth twisting at the putrid fluid that sprayed forth. “Yuck.”

  With the smell lingering in his nostrils, he completed his circuit. The retirement home wasn’t big, nor were the grounds. A long beige colored building took up most of the space. He surmised it was used to house the majority of the elderly population in the past. Probably still does.

  Smaller units encircled the main. These were bachelor-sized apartments for the more independent retirees. These he cleared as he passed, though most were empty. “Guess the old folks all ran inside when the shit hit the fan.”

  A garage, closed and shuttered, held the home's vehicles, all parked in perfect unison. That much he could make out through the tiny windows covered in dirt. The only other thing he saw was a clearing within a rose garden. Benches dotted the now overgrown grass while the roses hung wilted heads in response to the coming winter. Only a few flowering buds clung to the branches in mute rebellion to the cold season. He made his way over to where Ronnie and Lenka waited. “Clear?”

  “On my side, yeah,” Ronnie said. “Still waiting for Mike.”

  Lenka grunted a monosyllabic reply.

  A slow minute ticked by, and Breytenbach grew impatient. “See anything, Kirstin?”

  “Not a thing,” Captain.” She shifted position and used her scope to search the grounds.

  “He’d better not be in trouble,” Breytenbach muttered as he tried to contain his growing worry. “Or drunk.”

  Suddenly, a yelp and shaking bushes announced the Irishman’s appearance. Mike danced into view with a zombie latched onto his forearm. It worked its jaws back and forth, and silver strings of saliva gleamed dripped from the tanned skin. Breytenbach’s blood turned to ice at the sight. “No!”

  He rushed forward, but Ronnie was there before him. A single blow from the enraged Ronnie’s fist knocked the corpse onto its back, and a few stomps of his boots finished it off. Brain and bone splattered across the pavement.

  When the thing was dead, Breytenbach and Ronnie turned to Mike who stood with his arm cradled against his chest. His chest heaved, and his ordinarily bright eyes were wide.

  Breytenbach looked at the sky. He didn’t want to see the damage to Mike’s flesh, didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that another one of his team was gone. Just like Johan.

  Ronnie reached out a hesitant hand. “Mike...how bad is it?”

  Mike shook his head, and his lips trembled.

  “Mike, let me see. Let me help,” Ronnie added in a persistent tone. He stepped closer but halted when Mike burst out laughing.

  The slender Irishman’s body shook with mirth, intense joy bursting forth from his lips in a flow of merriment that took them all by surprise.

  “Mike, stop it,” Breytenbach growled. He was at once confused and angered by the other’s reaction. Just like him. Always goofing off, even when it’s life and death situations.

  “He got me all right. He gnawed me like a champ!” Mike extended his arm, whole and unharmed with no bite wounds in sight.

  Breytenbach stopped short at the spectacle. “What in hell?”

  Mike pointed at the body of the infected that attacked him. “He’s got no teeth. The old codger came after me with a mouth full of gums.”

  Breytenbach swung back to the corpse and inspected the caved-in head. It was hard to make out specifics after Ronnie stomped on it, but one thing was clear. The zombie had no teeth.

  Perplexed, he shook his head. “Never seen that before.”

  “Me neither,” Ronnie said.

  Even Lenka looked surprised.

  “It’s an old age home,” Kirstin reminded them from her perch up on the roof of the truck. “There’s bound to be people here with no teeth.”

  “Maybe he had falsies, and they fell out somewhere,” Mike suggested as he wiped his arm off with a handful of leaves. “Ugh. He slimed me good.”

  Breytenbach wrinkled his nose. “You’re sure he didn’t break the skin?”

  Mike shook his head. “Nope. I’m good.”

  “Is your sector clear?”

  “Clean as a whistle.”

  “Lucky damn leprechaun,” Ronnie muttered from the side.

  “Then I suggest we get going.” Breytenbach waved them forward. “Mike, you take the point. Ronnie and Lenka
at the back. Kirstin behind me. Let’s move.”

  They formed up and set off for the front entrance of the main building. The doors formed wooden frames around glass panes with ornate brass handles to open.

  Mike tested one, and the door swung open on silent hinges. A blast of stale air washed across their faces before the breeze whipped it away. Breytenbach followed Mike into the large foyer, his boots squeaking on the white tiles now covered with dust. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting before studying the place.

  A dessicated fern drooped brown tentacles to the floor, and a long hall stretched out to either side of them. Rows of narrow windows ran along the opposite wall allowing yellow sunlight to stream inside. It was as silent as the grave, the air thick and musty. A bronze plaque on the wall welcomed them while smaller signs indicated that Wards A and C were to the left while Reception, Ward B, and the recreational rooms were to the right. This was the direction Breytenbach chose. In silent formation, they set off.

  The hallway, though long, was empty and ended in a t-junction up ahead. They passed a lone wheelchair lounging against the wall as if its occupant just got up and walked away.

  At the junction, Mike halted. Two more signs indicated that Ward B was to the right and the rest to the left. Breytenbach edged forward and peered around the corner.

  Ward B’s hallway was dark and empty. Very little light penetrated the interior, and he had to squint to discern the rows of doors that ran along its length. These were the former rooms of retirees, he assumed. How many of those are filled with old folks now turned into zombies?

  It was an eerie thought, and he turned the other way. A polished wooden counter, complete with dried out flowers, a silver bell, and a bowl of mints, formed the reception. He craned his head but could see nothing behind it, though that meant little. Zombies had a remarkable faculty for hiding.

  Beyond it, he spotted movement. This part of the building was better lit and sported more windows than the other side. Several figures shuffled about. The nearest wore slippers and a pink gown.

  Breytenbach ducked back and turned to the others. In a low whisper, he filled them in. “Several infected to the left, unknown to the right. Kirstin, you watch our backs while we go in. Don’t make a sound, got it?”