“Every day it eats at me, the guilt.”
“Is that why you cut? You’re punishing yourself?”
“That…started before all of this, but yeah, the cutting helps. It makes the pain inside go away. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“I drink,” Logan replied, waving the bottle at her.
She lifted an eyebrow, an echo of her usual self. “I’ve noticed. Does it help?”
Logan shook his head. “Not really. It numbs the anger, though. Stops the voi―” He cut himself off abruptly.
“The what?” she asked.
“Nothing. Forget it.” Logan stood up, dragging the whiskey bottle with him and walked past her. “Time for bed. We can talk again tomorrow. Discuss your options.”
“Options?”
“Yeah, you can’t stay with me. I’m no good to be around, but maybe you can stay at my old camp. They’re good people.”
“What happened to you, Logan? You’re gonna have to tell me sometime or other. You can’t run from it forever.”
“Yes, I can and trust me. I don’t have forever.”
Chapter 11 - Nadia
After Logan left, Nadia sat without moving. Options? What options? The people at his camp would be scared of her, hate her. Who’d want her around their place―their sons―if she could kill with a kiss?
Maybe they wouldn’t be like that. Maybe they’d be willing to take her in, accept her. She was so tired of being alone. All I need is a chance.
Nadia got up and tossed the cold coffee Logan had made for her down the drain. After grabbing another cigarette, she lit the gas stove and boiled the kettle, brewing a fresh cup.
The cuts on her hands and forearms throbbed in time to her heartbeat, but she welcomed it. It meant she was still alive. Crickets sang as the night deepened outside. Nadia stared through a gap in the boards, remembering.
***
“I can’t believe it. You’re immune, babes.” Brandon gripped her shoulders, pulling her into an excited hug.
“Let’s not be hasty. Maybe…”
“Don’t be silly. It’s been five days!” His eyes shined, highlighted by his mega-watt smile. “Nobody has ever lasted that long.”
She desperately wanted to believe him, wanted to think she was okay, but fear nagged at her. What if?
For days she’d suffered. The first forty-eight hours, her wound had burned like acid while a terrible fever raged through her body, rendering her semi-conscious.
Nothing she ate or drank stayed down, coming up the moment it hit her stomach. Black lines crept outward from the bite wound while her face grew pale and haggard.
She was sure she was going to die, that she was turning into one of those things. Hell, after two days of sheer agony, she even wished for it.
But on the third day, the fever subsided, the black lines receded, and she could hold down a little water. She slept, really slept, for the first time since the attack. By the fourth day, she was back on her feet, and her appetite had returned.
Everyone was amazed. She should have turned by the end of day two at the latest. Yet, there she was, pale and thin, but okay. She didn’t feel fine, though. At the back of her mind loomed the thought that at any moment, the virus would return, and she’d become a zombie.
“What’s with the sad face? You’re fine, babes.” Brandon drew her closer. His lips brushed against hers. She closed her eyes, savoring the feeling. It was warm and comforting. His lips were as familiar as her own.
The kiss grew deeper, and Nadia clung to Brandon with desperate intensity. She tried to convince herself that nothing had changed, that she was still the same. A desperate hope.
The sound of someone clearing their throat pulled them apart. Nadia blushed when she saw it was Joshua, the group leader.
“Hate to break up you two lovebirds, but Brandon is up for sentry duty and you, my dear, need your rest. You’ve just recovered from a zombie bite. Don’t push it.”
“Yeah, okay,” Nadia replied, hanging her head.
“See you later, babes.” Brandon gave her a quick peck on the cheek before rushing outside to report for his shift. Nadia decided to follow Joshua’s advice and took herself off to bed.
“Hey, Nads. You feeling better?” Andrea greeted when Nadia walked into the room. She was lying on the lower bunk, reading Watership Down.
“I’m okay. Just tired.” Nadia pointed to the book. “You reading that again?”
Andrea peered at her through her spectacles. “It’s my favorite. You know that. If you’d read it, you’d understand.”
Nadia shook her head. “Nu-uh. Reading’s not my thing.”
Andrea lifted an eyebrow. “But piercings, tattoos, and leather are?”
Nadia winked at Andrea. “What can I say? A girl has got to get her sexy on even if it’s the end of the world.”
“I’m guessing your mother had a tough time keeping you under control.”
Nadia’s face darkened, and she crawled onto the top bunk, flopping down to face the ceiling. “My mother didn’t give a shit about me.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s fine. Forget about it.” Nadia turned onto her side until she faced the wall and whispered, “It’s not your fault she was a drug addict. Probably never even realized Terence was eating her face off until it was too late.” A single tear trickled from the corner of her eye. Stupid bitch.
Pieces of her past flashed through her mind forming a tapestry of shitty memories. Her mom, passed out on the couch, a needle dangling from her arm. Her step-dad, Terence, throwing another one of his violent, drunken fits. The two shouting at each other in front of two frightened kids huddled in the corner.
“Nadia, I’m scared.”
“Shh, Bobby. It’s okay. I’ll protect you.”
Another piece from her past―this one only two years old―thrust itself into her consciousness with all the clarity and cutting edge of a knife.
“Mom.”
No response. Mouth slack, eyes dulled in a stupor too deep to be penetrated by mere words.
“Mom, where’s Bobby?”
Nothing.
“Bobby?” Her schoolbag went flying to the side. Fierce haste set in as a sense of urgency took hold. “Bobby, where are you?”
The patio door stood open, and the curtain fluttered in the wind.
“No.” A desperate whisper. A dread that went bone-deep.
Running.
Crying.
Begging.
“Bobby? Bobby, no. Bobby, please.”
Shoes slipping on tiles.
A small shape floating face-down in the pool. Motionless but for the gentle lapping of the water.
“No! Bobby, no!”
A sharp tearing cry that took her heart and soul with it. A single scene from her childhood that encapsulated everything about her life. Fear, rejection, horror, failure, pain. Most of all, guilt.
The pillow beneath Nadia’s cheek grew damp with the tears that ran silently across her face, sinking into the rough cotton material. “I’m sorry, Bobby. I should have been there.”
Exhaustion finally banished the terrible memories, and Nadia sank into oblivion, tense muscles melting into the lumpy mattress as sleep took hold.
Screams.
Shrill, strident peals rang in her ears.
“What the―?” Nadia bolted upright, pausing when her head swam from the sudden movement. She blinked, trying to clear her head. The room was pitch black, and she couldn’t see a thing.
The screams weren’t stopping.
They were coming closer.
“Nadia,” came Andrea’s quavering voice from below. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know.” Her friend’s fear snapped Nadia out of her funk, and she came wide awake. “Andrea, switch the light on. Now.”
“Okay.”
It was a temperamental little thing―only deigning to work when it felt like it, regardless of whether it had a full charge or not. L
uckily, this time, the small solar lamp next to the bed flickered on, casting a reluctant glow on the scene. Nadia groped beneath her cushion for her gun. She never slept without it.
It wasn’t there.
“Fuck.”
Brandon must have taken it when she fell ill. He was the only one who knew about it. Her fingers groped at her clothes, frantic, and came up empty. She was defenseless.
Not defenseless.
Her hand closed around the cross that hung around her neck, and she slung it over her head in one smooth movement, wrapping the chain around her wrist.
“Andrea. Do you have a weapon? A gun, knife, anything?”
“No, I…”
The door burst open. A snarling infected charged into the room. Nadia recognized him as one of the boys who shared a room with Brandon. His throat had been ripped out. Muscle and tendon gleamed with the richness of fresh blood.
He sprinted across the small space and sprang upon the hapless Andrea. Her fearful cries changed in pitch, becoming higher, more strident, filled with horror. Nadia scrambled to the side of the bed and leaned over, staring down at their writhing figures below. “Andrea!”
The girl struggled to hold back the zombie boy, her hands slipping on his flesh. His teeth snapped at her face, his growls desperate with hunger.
“Hold on; I’m coming,” Nadia cried. She slithered toward the ladder then froze when Andrea screamed in pain. Her eyes fixed on her friend’s prized book, Watership Down, which had fallen to the floor and flopped open.
Blood spattered the pages, blossoming into red roses. Nadia recoiled and leaped into action. She jumped off the bed and grabbed the boy by the collar. Anger fuelled her muscles, and she flung him across the room. He snarled, a crimson river running down his chin.
She stabbed at him with her cross, and the blow glanced off his cheekbone. Not pausing for a second, she stuck him over and over until the point slid into his eyeball and speared the brain.
Flinging the body aside, she rushed to Andrea’s side. It was too late. Her friend lay still. Blood pumped from a hole in her neck. Already, her limbs twitched with undead life.
With a sob, Nadia ran out of the room. Shouts and cries echoed through the corridor. She paused, unsure what to do. A running figure alerted her, and she prepared to fight.
“Nadia, you’ve got to run.” The figure turned out to be Elias. “Run!”
“Elias,” she cried. “Where’s Brandon? I need to find him.”
“Forget Brandon. He did this.” With wild eyes, Elias showed her the gaping wound on his forearm.
“What?” Nadia shook her head, refusing to believe what he told her. “No.”
Elias grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “It’s the truth. You’ve got to run. The whole place is going to shit.”
“No, I don’t believe you.”
Elias shook her again then slapped her across the face when she balked. “Run, damn it. Now!”
He grabbed her arm and dragged her through the house, ignoring her pleas. The sound of rapid footsteps caused him to whirl. Chantelle, a girl of the same age as Nadia, sprinted toward them. Her teeth were bared, her eyes empty. He snapped off a shot, and her head jerked back. She fell in a tangle of slender limbs.
Nadia gasped, her mind refusing to process what was happening. Elias yanked her hand, and her feet moved of their own accord. They reached the front door and burst through. It was dark outside, and she couldn’t see a thing.
Elias never stopped. He headed straight for the trees, still dragging Nadia behind him. She dug in her heels. “Stop, Elias. Stop. I need to go back for Brandon.”
“Brandon’s dead, Nadia. Dead!” he bellowed.
She pulled at her wrist, shaking her head. “No, it can’t be. I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true. There’s nothing you can do. They’re all dead.” He looked back toward the house. “Come on. We need to get out of here.”
At his insistence, she stumbled along, numb with shock. Behind them, the screams faded until they walked in silence. Stones cut into her bare feet, thorns pricking the skin. She never noticed.
Time passed. The moon set and the sun glowed on the horizon. Still, they walked. Finally, when she could take no more, Elias allowed them to stop in a sheltered spot.
He hunkered down and stared at her when she huddled into a ball, crying. “I’m sorry, Nadia. I am.”
She stared at him. The reality of it all set in. Brandon was gone. Andrea was gone. Joshua was gone. They were all gone.
“What happened?” she croaked.
Elias rubbed his face, eyes haunted. “I’m not sure. Brandon was okay on sentry duty. Laughing, joking, his usual self, you know?” He shrugged and looked away. “Then in the room, he got sick, all sweaty and stuff. He threw up a few times, and I thought it was something he ate.”
“Then what?”
“He fell asleep. Or so I thought. I wasn’t tired yet, so I stayed up. That’s what saved me. About an hour later, Brandon got up and…and he’d turned, become a zombie. He attacked Peter first, tore his throat out. I got out, but he bit me.”
Nadia’s eyes dropped to Elias’ arm. Blood dripped from the wound. Black lines were already creeping up to his torso.
Elias followed her gaze and swallowed. “It’s moving fast. I don’t have long.”
With supreme effort, Nadia got up and approached him. Tearing a strip of cloth from her shirt, she tied up the bite then sat back down, staring at the ground. “What about the others?”
“Brandon got Joshua. I saw him go down. He got Linah too.” He shook his head. “Peter turned, and I saw him bite Chantel. She turned pretty fast.”
“I saw Andrea die too,” she whispered. That left only Harry and Donya. I hope they got out.
“I don’t get it. How did Brandon turn? He wasn’t bitten,” Elias mumbled.
“I know.” It hadn’t taken long for Nadia to figure out the truth. She knew what had happened to him. The only link between him and the infection was her. She turned her eyes to Elias. “It’s me. I did it.”
***
Nadia stubbed out the cigarette and eyed the box, wanting another. With reluctance, she pushed the cigarettes away. Logan would kill her if all the smokes were finished when he got up. I ought to get my act together. Stop the cutting, smoking, and pills. If only it were that easy.
She looked down at the clothes Logan had gotten her. After washing, she’d put them on. Her old clothes were just too grimy to tolerate against her clean skin.
They felt strange. Another person’s identity. A hot pink t-shirt with long sleeves and a black hoodie that zipped up. Skinny jeans. Ballet pumps. Cotton underwear―real girly stuff with hearts on them. She imagined him blushing while he picked them out, trying to guess her size. Poor guy.
At least, she still had her piercings, but she needed to dye her hair soon―it was growing out―and her face felt bare without its usual make-up. I look like a kid.
Nadia looked down at her hands; the nail polish was chipped and scarred. Maybe it’s time for a change. If I’m going to fit in with other people, it might be best if I look normal.
The question was: Did she want to be normal? And was it even possible?
Chapter 12 - Breytenbach
The moment his legs gave away, sending him crashing to the floor, was the moment Breytenbach finally admitted to himself that he was ill. While he’d felt increasingly unwell over the past three days, he’d pushed onward, performing his duties without complaint. His team needed him. The camp needed him. They all needed him.
But such thoughts were pushed aside when his body gave up on him, his head landing on the floor with a dull thud. Pain lanced through his brain, adding to his disorientation. Shocked cries surrounded him; hands pulled at his shoulders, trying to rouse him.
Try as he might, Breytenbach could not respond, sinking deeper into the pit of darkness that dragged at his limbs and weighed him down. He felt himself being lifted off the ground before blacking ou
t completely.
What might have been minutes or even hours later, he awoke, only to find himself trapped within the shadowy confines of his mind. His body was a furnace, and fire raged through his nerve endings. He tried to speak, to ask for water, to lift his head, but found himself unable. The smell of antiseptic hung in the air. The clinic. I’m in the clinic.
Across a vast distance, he heard the calm voice of Jonathan directing the storm of activity of which he formed the center. “Hannah, look at his hand. That cut is infected.”
“Are you thinking sepsis, Doctor? It would explain his symptoms.”
“It does, Hannah.”
His hand? Was that what had caused all this? That tiny little cut?
“Sepsis? What’s that? Is he going to be okay?” That voice belonged to Julianne. She sounded frantic; each syllable was pitched higher than the last. “Tell me he’s going to be okay!”
“Julianne, please. You need to calm down,” Jonathan said.
“Calm? How can I be calm? Is he dying? Tell me!”
“Mom, please. Let’s wait outside and…”
“Leave me alone, Max. I’m not going anywhere.”
Always the fighter, Breytenbach thought ruefully.
“Julianne.” Jonathan’s voice held a note of exasperation. “Sepsis means that the chemicals released by his body to fight the infection are causing an inflammatory reaction.”
“What does that mean?”
Breytenbach felt himself straining to hear Jonathan’s reply.
“It’s a serious condition, Julianne, one that needs immediate treatment. So you can either stand there and delay me further with your questions, or you can wait outside with Max.”
“But…”
“No buts. I need you to leave immediately.” Jonathan’s voice had become stern and uncompromising. “Now.”
“Come on, Mom. You heard him.”
“I don’t want to leave. Let me stay by his side.” Julianne’s protests grew fainter as Max presumably dragged her outside.
Breytenbach found himself touched by the depth of her concern. After he’d told her he was done waiting, he’d hoped she would come around. That hadn’t happened. Instead, three days had passed, three tortuously long days spent without her warm smile.
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