Dangerous Days: Boxed Set (A Zombie Apocalypse Survival Thriller Books 1-4)

by Baileigh Higgins

  Logan noticed her dilated pupils. “How many of those pills have you had?”

  She shrugged again. “A few.”

  He grunted. “More than a few, I bet. That’s strong stuff, you know. You should be more careful.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Dad.”

  He ignored her sarcasm. “Let me have a look.” When she didn’t move, he said, “Come on. I didn’t save your ass just to have you die of blood poisoning.”

  “Fine, whatever.” She slouched over and stuck her right hand out.

  Logan unraveled the bandage, peeling it off with care. It stuck to the wounds. He examined the cuts, and his heart sank. Despite his best efforts, it had festered.

  Puss oozed out between the swollen stitches, the fingers like sausages. The flesh was red and inflamed, hot to the touch. He fetched his first aid kit and carefully cleaned it with disinfectant before bandaging it up again. The other hand got the same treatment.

  “Bad, huh?” Nadia asked. She appeared sobered by the thought, and a hint of fear showed beneath the cocky attitude.

  Logan nodded. “Pretty bad. You need antibiotics.”

  “Do you have any?”

  He shook his head, not answering. Instead, he grabbed their chairs and tossed them into the back of the truck, followed by everything else.

  Nadia watched in confusion. “Where are we going?”

  “To get what you need.”

  “Oh,” she said, sounding surprised. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Five minutes later, they were loaded up and on the road. For a while, they drove in silence until Nadia asked, “Where are we going?”

  “The nearest town I can find.”

  Logan refused to say much after that, answering with grunts whenever she pestered him. He didn’t know where he was going and hoped she’d just keep quiet. After a while, she turned away and leaned her forehead against the window.

  The warmth of the winter sun heated the Landie’s cabin to a mild degree. Logan noticed her eyes drooping, smiling when she lost the fight and fell asleep. Peace at last.

  Not long after that, he came to a tiny town, a crappy looking place. The streets were rutted, the buildings old and peeling paint. He looked for the nearest pharmacy and found it nestled between a liquor and a convenience store. It was derelict, carrying the air of many years of neglect.

  He reached over and shook Nadia awake. “Hey. We’re here.”

  “Wha…what?” She shook her head, eyes puffy.

  “We’re here.”

  “Where’s here?”

  “I don’t know. Some shit hole in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Okay.” She sounded out of it, and he worried about leaving her alone. But there was no choice.

  “I need you to keep watch.”

  “Keep watch?”

  “I’ll be as fast as I can. If you see shit coming, yell.”

  “I can do that.”

  He jumped out and walked to the pharmacy, keeping an eye out. His senses were still sharp, unharmed by the weeks of alcohol abuse, but he noticed a certain clumsiness in his gait. That wasn’t good. Clumsy equaled dead.

  The door squeaked as he pushed it open. A bell rang above it. Dust mites floated through the air and formed a faint haze. He paused and waited for anything that might be inside the shop to announce itself. Nothing happened.

  “Must be my lucky day,” he marveled.

  With his rifle held ready, he moved toward the back and swept every nook and cranny along the way. The place was empty, but something bothered him. Several somethings.

  First of all, it stank. Not of death or rotten food, but of sewage. Raw sewage.

  Secondly, empty cold drink cans and bottles littered the floor accompanied by discarded candy wrappers. Someone had gone to town on the meager food supply within the shop. Someone who might still be there, hiding.

  The silence was sinister, the dark corners filled with menace. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. It felt like he was being watched. With his senses on full alert, he swept the entire shop again. Still nothing, not a trace of anyone either living or dead.

  Whoever had been there before, must have left. All he found was more rubbish and something that looked like a puddle of dried blood, mixed with bits of bone and hair. Logan shuddered. He did not want to know what had happened there. Just hurry the fuck up.

  He grabbed a plastic bag and investigated the shelves of medicine behind the counter. They were fully stocked. Another surprise. No looters had been at the medication, but someone had scoffed all the food. Logan shook his head. Creepy.

  “Just get what you need and get out,” he told himself.

  He tossed a few bottles of extra strength antibiotics, painkillers, and sleeping tablets into the bag. Next, he grabbed a few rolls of bandages, plasters, swabs, and disinfectant. As an afterthought, he threw in multivitamins and immune boosters, figuring the two of them needed it.

  He was about to leave when he remembered Nadia’s other complaint. He scoured the racks for shampoo, soap, toothpaste, a toothbrush, a hairbrush, and a few other things he thought a teen girl might want.

  He was trying to decide between two different tubes of chapstick when a shadow moved in the corner of his eye. With a turn of speed he didn’t know he still possessed, Logan dropped the bags and spun around, bringing his rifle up with both hands.

  The blade of an ax clanged against the gun barrel and screeched as it slid off sideways. He ducked to the right, away from the edge and thrust forward with his hand at the same time. He smashed his attacker in the shoulder with the wooden butt. The shadowy figure staggered sideways and hissed. Hissed?

  Logan reversed the stock, whipped the barrel forward and positioned the gun against his shoulder. His attacker hunched down to the floor. It brandished the ax and growled.

  Logan blinked. In the dim lighting, he could make out the figure of a woman, naked and pale, her milky skin streaked with something. Excrement? Blood? Her hair looked like a rat’s nest, caked with gore as was her face. The smell emanating from her body was enough to make him want to hurl.

  “What are you?” he asked.

  She bared her teeth and snapped at the air.

  “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  She hissed again, sounding like an enraged cat.

  He reached out a slow hand. “I can help you.”

  She swiped at him with the ax. He jumped back and aimed his gun at her chest. Fear filled her eyes, and she mewled.

  “Have you been here all this time?” She cocked her head but sprang away when he reached out a hand again. She’s gone feral.

  Logan considered his options. He could try to reason with her, talk to her, but who knew if she’d even respond. Or he could release her from her miserable existence. His finger tightened on the trigger. “It’s better this way.”

  Recognition at his action flashed across the woman’s face, and she cringed. A piteous sound escaped her lips. She doesn’t want to die.

  Logan paused, and his finger left the trigger. He tried to nerve himself to do it, but at last, he sighed. “I can’t.”

  Still keeping the gun trained on her chest, he picked up his bags and retreated out of the shop. As the door swung closed, he nodded at her. “You’re on your own. Sorry.”

  He could swear forever after that she nodded back.

  Chapter 7 - Nadia

  Nadia came awake with a start, blinking her eyelids. She lay on her side in bed, covered by thick blankets. Despite this, she shivered with cold. Her eyes traveled across the room, taking it in through the fog of sleep and confusion that lingered. Where am I?

  Next to the bed stood her boots, scuffed and dusty. On a chair lay her leather jacket. Someone had undressed her and put her to bed. Logan?

  Another shudder tore through her, and she burrowed deeper into the blankets, her teeth chattering. It didn’t make any sense. Why was she so cold? She clutched her arms and became aware of the dull throbbing
in her hands. The more she focused on it, the worse it got. What happened?

  Nadia thought back over the past days. She’d cut her hands while running from zombies. Logan had saved her from the carport roof. He sewed up her cuts, but they got infected. That’s right. We were on our way to get antibiotics.

  She couldn’t remember anything after that. It was all a blank. Did Logan get the medicine? Did he bring her here? Was he okay? These thoughts milled through her brain, but she couldn’t bring herself to get up and look for the answers. She was too tired.

  With a sigh, Nadia surrendered to the pain and exhaustion and drifted off into a fitful sleep filled with crazy dreams. She saw Brandon, sitting across from her eating pizza. Before the zoms, of course.

  He was laughing, and so was she. It felt so natural. Easy. She reached out a hand and brushed a blond curl away from his eyes. He grabbed her wrist and kissed her fingers. This sent her into a fit of giggles.

  The scene faded. Now they were running, hand in hand, being chased by infected from all sides. Screams. So many screams. The first day. The day when it all ended. Their parents, friends, families…all gone.

  Now they were in a vineyard, watching the sunset while patrolling for infected. Laughing, kissing. Shock as a claw-like hand grabbed her arm and pulled her close. Burning pain, her shoulder awash with agony as rotten teeth sank in.

  The scene blurred, and she woke again to the sound of Logan calling her name. “Nadia. Nadia, wake up.”

  “Huh?” she said, opening her eyes.

  He stood next to the bed, carrying a tray. “Feeling better?”

  She yawned and stretched until her toes curled. “Much.”

  “Ready for supper?”

  Her stomach growled in answer, and she pushed herself upright. The sheets were sticky and her clothes soaked in sweat. “I’m starving.”

  Logan placed the tray on her lap and touched her forehead. “The fever has broken. You should be okay now.”

  “How long was I out?”

  “All of yesterday, most of today.”

  She frowned. “I can’t remember.”

  He sat down on the foot of the bed. “I got your medicine at the pharmacy and found this place. It’s safe.” He shrugged. “You wouldn’t wake up and had a fever. I put you in bed, fed you the pills and cleaned your wounds again.”

  Nadia looked down at the tray on her lap. It was dusty, but an effort had been made to wipe it. A chipped plate filled with mush took center stage. A glass of orange juice and a salt shaker stood to the side. She picked up the fork with clumsy fingers and poked at the bland mess in front of her.

  “I hope it’s all right.” Logan shrugged. “I’m not much of a cook.”

  Nadia took a bite. It was a mix of instant noodles and canned sardines in tomato sauce and tasted horrible. A knot formed in her throat. Nobody had ever gone to this much trouble for her. Except for Brandon, and he was gone. “It’s wonderful.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek, and she sniffed.

  “Does it hurt?” Logan asked, confused. “I’ve got painkillers here.”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  “What then?”

  “It’s just that I’ve been alone for so long, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have someone look out for me.”

  “How long have you been on your own?”

  “A few months.”

  “What happened?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  Logan was silent for a time. “Well, I’m no angel, but you won’t get hurt on my watch. That I can promise you.”

  “Thank you.”

  He gave an embarrassed cough and stood up to go.

  “Wait,” she said. “I’ll have those painkillers now.”

  Logan handed over two, and she smiled. “Only two?”

  “I think it’s time you cut back a little.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

  His face sobered. “No, I’m serious. You’re messing with stuff, and you’ve got no idea how bad it is for you.”

  “Says the alcoholic determined to drink himself to death.” The moment the words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back.

  A shadow, deep and dark, flitted across Logan’s face. He walked out without saying a word. Nadia stared at her plate, her heart like lead. Her appetite had fled, making way for guilt, instead.

  With methodical bites, she forced the food down and drank her juice. She needed her strength. Once finished, she got up on wobbly legs to carry her plate to the kitchen.

  The house was charming in a rustic way. The ceilings were high, the walls painted a plain white, and the wooden floors creaked beneath thick carpets. She padded down the hallway and passed two more rooms and a bathroom.

  She noticed all the windows were boarded up, leaving only a slit for light. The entrance opened into a small formal sitting room. The type that was called a parlor in the old days. This led to a larger, open-plan living room, dining room, and kitchen. Nadia put her dishes in the washbasin and looked around. Logan was nowhere to be found, and she surmised he was outside.

  Her full bladder called to her, and the prospect of a wash hastened her feet. She reached the bathroom and paused, stunned. On the counter, next to the basin stood a large jug of water and an array of toiletries.

  Nadia ran her fingers over the items. Soap, hand cream, shampoo, nail clippers and file, toothbrush and paste, hairbrush, strawberry-scented chapstick, razors, and even tweezers. Next to the toilet, was a bucket of water. On the lid lay clean towels and an array of clothes. When did he get these?

  Guilt overwhelmed her. He’d gone to all this trouble for her, and all she’d done was hurt him. But wasn’t that what she always did? Hurt people?

  She went to the toilet and did her business, flushing it afterward with the bucket. Almost unnoticed, tears streamed down her face. She stripped off her clothes and wound a towel around her body. Her hands made it tough, every movement sending a twinge of pain through her fingers.

  It was nothing compared to the agony inside, though. The dreams had reawakened the crushing guilt, worsened by the hurt she’d caused Logan. She needed an outlet. Without truly registering what she was doing, her hands found the razor and broke open the plastic.

  “Just this once,” she whispered.

  Her hand moved, and the skin of her inner arm split open. It burned, and drops of ruby red spilled across the smooth flesh. It wasn’t enough.

  She cut again.

  Longer.

  Deeper.

  Her nerve endings screamed as hot blood leaked onto the floor. She closed her eyes and sank to the tiles. The inner turmoil grew distant. The loneliness receded to a faint roar.

  A fist hammered on the door. “Nadia. Nadia, are you all right? You’ve been in there a long time.”

  She shook her head and willed the distraction away. Not now.

  “Nadia.”

  “Go away.” A sob escaped her lips.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Just leave me alone.”

  “Nadia!” A pause. “I’m coming in.”

  The door opened. “What the….”

  Firm hands took the razor blade from her shaking hands. A towel was wrapped around the cuts. Nadia didn’t resist. She had no fight left in her.

  Logan looked at her. “Why?”

  She had no answer for him.

  “Do you want to die?” he asked.

  She blinked, confused. “Die? Maybe. I don’t know.”

  He lifted the towel, examined the shallow cuts and frowned. “This wasn’t a suicide attempt?”

  She choked out a laugh. “Suicide? Please. That’d be too easy.”

  His eyes found the scars and a rough fingertip traced across the ridges. Dozens of lines crisscrossed her arms, some faint, others still raw. “What’s this?”

  She shrugged, head lolling on her shoulders. “I cut. It lets the pain out.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t expe
ct you to.”

  Silence.

  Nadia leaned back against the wash counter and closed her eyes. “Do you have a cigarette? I could really use one.”

  Logan wrapped the towel around her arm again and placed it on her lap. After lighting one for each of them, he sat down next to her. “Here.”

  Neither of them spoke, each lost in their thoughts. Next to the curtain, a gecko ran across the wall chasing a mosquito.

  After a while, Logan cleared his throat. “So the cutting…”

  “I know. I shouldn’t do it, but I can’t help it. It makes me feel better.”

  “How long?”

  “Years.” After a moment, she added, “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I didn’t mean it.”

  “It’s okay. Forget it.”

  “Are you running from something?” she asked.

  “Maybe. Are you?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t have anything to run from.”

  “Have you been alone all this time?” Logan asked, remembering the wild woman.

  “No, I had people. A boyfriend. Other survivors.” She looked at the ceiling, voice hoarse. “They’re gone now.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The gecko caught the mosquito. In a flash, it was gone. That was nature. Eat or be eaten, and now people were eating people too.

  “Did you have a group?” she asked.

  “I used to. I mean, I do.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  He shrugged. “They stay in a camp far from here.”

  “Really? How many of them? Are they safe? Are there other teenagers?” Excitement filled her at the thought. It would be nice, living with other people, having friends. Then it faded. I’ll just end up killing them too.

  Logan laughed. “Look, I’ll tell you all about them if you’re interested. I’ll even take you there. At least, you’d be safe.”

  She stared at him. “What about you? Why don’t you stay there?”

  Logan flicked the remains of his cigarette into the toilet and stood up. “I can’t. That’s all there is to it.”

  He reached out a hand and helped her up. “You okay now?”

  “Yeah, I’m all right.”

  “I’m going to patrol the area. See you in a few.”