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

by Baileigh Higgins

She blinked, taken aback. “What?”

  “You can’t tell me you did all of this on your own.”

  Agatha’s eyes narrowed before she spat at him, a globule of saliva landing on his shoe. “I’ll never tell.”

  Suddenly, Hiran grew tired of the cat and mouse game he’d initiated. “Fine. Suit yourself. George, what shall we do with her?”

  George’s eyes glowed as he watched the struggling woman, his desire oozing out of his pores. “I’ll take care of her, Boss.”

  “Mm. You do deserve a little something for your efforts today,” Hiran said, pretending to mull it over.

  “You can’t do this! I’m not your property! How dare you?” Agatha cried. “Let me go.”

  Her struggles had caused the zip tie around her wrists to tighten to the point where it cut into the flesh, and blood leaked from the wounds. It pattered onto the ground, forming little balls of rust-colored sand.

  Hiran ignored her protests. “She’s all yours, George. Consider it payment for your loyalty. Don’t damage her too badly, though. I want to question her again later.”

  “Sure thing, Boss,” George replied as he grabbed Agatha by the arm.

  “Maybe you’ll be more forthcoming in the morning,” Hiran said to the enraged Agatha.

  “Fuck you, you stinking piece of―”

  Her words were abruptly cut off when George hit her with his fist, knocking her unconscious. Hiran watched with approval as his second-in-command tossed her over his shoulder and walked away. “She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s in for a rough night.”

  After issuing a few more orders, Hiran made himself comfortable by the side of the fire. He basked in the glow of the flames, sipping on a cold beer served to him by a captive. That same captive now sat by his feet, sobbing quietly into her hands.

  Triumph filled his being, and he allowed it to wash over him in waves of elation. He had everything he needed. A proper base, guns, ammunition, and supplies.

  Even a little bit of fun, he thought as he eyed the pretty girl below him. She was much more his speed than the Amazonian Agatha. He preferred his girls to be meek and dutiful. Adoring even. Everything that bitch Mpho should’ve been.

  For a moment, his mood darkened, but it didn’t last. It couldn’t. Not when everything he wanted lay within his grasp. He closed his eyes and savored the sounds that emanated from the camp around him. Whimpers and screams, crude laughter, and the smack of flesh on flesh. The sound of his men subjugating their victims.

  He tossed the beer aside and got to his feet. “Come, girl. Time for bed.”

  “Please, don’t,” she sobbed, shaking her head.

  Hiran grabbed a fistful of her hair, ignoring her pained cries. “Please me, and you might live to see the morning. Piss me off, and I’ll feed you to the dogs. Understand?”

  She nodded through a web of tears, and he felt himself harden in anticipation of the pleasure to come.

  Victory was sweet.

  The next morning he found himself sitting at the head of a long table being served breakfast the likes of which he hadn’t had in a long time. He smiled with satisfaction as he sipped at a hot cup of coffee and reflected that life was good. Can’t get much better than this.

  The smell of fried onions, canned bully beef, and corn teased his nostrils as steam wafted from his full plate. He dug in with gusto, copied by his most trusted men who shared the table with him.

  The rest sat on tables scattered around the periphery or outside while some stood guard. They were served by the women who’d survived the night, and they were utterly cowed and beaten.

  When he’d chewed and swallowed his last bite, he sat back and waved at a nearby girl to refill his cup. She did so with haste, and again, he experienced the thrill of victory.

  “It’s time, George,” he said when all the men had finished their food and the tables had been cleared.

  “Of course, Boss,” George replied before waving at two men near the door.

  They disappeared for a few moments while Hiran and George waited. When they reappeared, they had four more men with them, all chained and bruised.

  Hiran ran his eyes over them. “George?”

  “These are possibles, Boss. They talked readily enough when questioned, bowed down when beaten, and in the week I stayed here, they seemed to dislike Agatha and her rule.”

  “I see. Bring them forward,” Hiran said. The men were prodded closer until they stood with their heads and shoulders bowed, dirt-streaked and beaten. “So, you didn’t like Agatha? Why is that?”

  It took some more prodding to loosen their tongues which had frozen from fright, but at last, their hidden resentments became known.

  “She was a real bitch, that Agatha. Always lording it over me. ”

  “I don’t like a woman being my boss.”

  “Her and that priest, they were forever preaching and praying at us.”

  “I should’ve been in charge, not her.”

  Hiran snorted at that. “Well, sorry to hear that, but I’m in charge now. Have any of you got a problem with that?”

  They all shook their heads.

  “Good.” He fixed them to the spot with a baleful stare. “This is a one time offer. Refuse, and you die. Disobey, and you die. Got that?”

  They nodded.

  “Join me, and you’ll have food, shelter, women, and a share in any spoils. All I require in return is absolute obedience. Who’s in?”

  All four raised their hands, much to his satisfaction. Good little mice. “Excellent. Welcome to the fold. See to it that they’re fed and clothed, George.”

  “Yes, Boss,” George replied, waving a hand. The new recruits were led away by two other men to receive their reward for joining.

  Hiran’s eyes narrowed. “Watch them, George. If any of them prove false…”

  “Will do, Boss.”

  “Good.” Hiran tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “Tell me, how’s Agatha this morning?”

  “She’s just fine, Boss. In peak shape, I might add.” While George spoke in a joking fashion, Hiran detected a hint of chagrin in his voice which peaked his interest. What had the woman done to so upset his second-in-command?

  “Bring her in,” Hiran replied. “The rest, as well, including the priest.”

  When the prisoners arrived, Hiran took a moment to study them. They formed a motley group. The priest, despondent and sagging, but still hopeful of reasoning with his captors. A few surviving men, all the worse for wear after the fight and a night spent in captivity. A few were defiant and glared at Hiran, but most were not.

  Agatha surprised him the most. He was familiar with George’s ways, had seen his work before, and was expecting to see a gibbering wreck of a human being. Instead, she stood proud and tall, her chin raised in a manner a queen would be proud of.

  He turned to look at George. “Are you losing your touch?”

  George flashed him a forced smile. “I didn’t want to damage her too badly, as you commanded.”

  “But still, it seems you’re growing soft in your old age. Or you’ve met your match.”

  George’s teeth ground together, but he didn’t reply, much to Hiran’s amusement.

  Hiran waved at Agatha. “Come sit, my dear.”

  She shook her head, but two men forced her into the seat next to him, cuffing her on the head when she resisted. She cast a baleful glare at George who seemed on the verge of exploding then stared at Hiran with all the hate she could muster.

  He chuckled. “I trust you slept well? That George here treated you nicely?”

  “Piss off, you monster,” she ground out between clenched teeth.

  George moved as if to hit her, but Hiran waved him back. “Leave her be, George. I want her conscious for what comes next.”

  “Yes, Boss,” George grumbled.

  Hiran waved a negligent hand at the assembled men. “Crucify them, and leave the priest for last. Perhaps, he can pray for their souls before it’s his turn.”

  “
What?” Agatha cried, echoed by the priest and a few of the others. “You can’t do this!”

  “Oh, but I can, and I will.” Hiran stood up. “Let’s move this party outside, shall we?”

  The men were dragged out by their chains, kicking and screaming as they realized what was to come. George had a hold of Agatha, his arms wrapped around her waist as she struggled. The surviving women knotted together in a corner, watching the unfolding spectacle with horrified eyes.

  Wooden crosses had been hastily assembled and planted around the clearing throughout the night. Where it might have brought comfort before, the symbol of Christ now inspired terror in the hearts of all.

  The priest broke down in tears as he blubbered for mercy, going so far as to crawl toward Hiran on his hands and knees. “Please, my son. Don’t do this. We are all children of God.”

  “I don’t believe in your God, Priest,” Hiran replied. He delivered a brutal kick to the man’s face, and it landed with a sickening crunch.

  “No!” Agatha screamed, renewing her struggles until George was hard-pressed to hold her still.

  The priest fell back with a cry, blood spraying from his broken nose. “No, please, don’t.”

  “You can pray all you like, but your God won’t save you today,” Hiran said with glittering eyes. Bloodlust coiled in his stomach, and he relished in the feel of it. This was what he craved. The ability to control, to destroy. The power of life and death itself.

  One by one, the men were nailed to the crosses with metal stakes, each hammer blow delivered with terrific force. Their screams echoed throughout the clearing until they were reduced to pathetic whimpers. Blood ran down their limbs to puddle beneath their feet, staining the earth red.

  Agatha and the priest watched with shocked disbelief, their cries, and struggles going weaker until even Agatha fell silent. When George let her go, she collapsed to her knees and covered her face. At last, when none remained but them, Hiran delivered the killing blow.

  “Disembowel them,” he ordered coldly.

  A swift slice of a machete cut open the hanging men’s bellies, and their innards spilled from their bodies. Their wretched cries rose to a crescendo until it died away to miserable pleas for a swift death.

  Hiran smiled at the priest. “Your turn.”

  “No, please, I beg you. I’ll do anything you ask,” the priest cried. “Anything.”

  “Would you abandon your faith, your God?” Hiran asked.

  The priest hesitated for a brief moment before nodding. “Yes, yes, I will.”

  “Then you’re even more of a coward than I thought,” Hiran replied with a curl of his lip. “Take him.”

  As his men dragged the priest away, Agatha turned to him, still on her knees. “Please, not him too. End this. End their suffering.”

  Hiran studied her through lidded lids. “Ready to talk, at last?”

  She nodded, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “Yes. If you’ll stop this madness.”

  “Answer my questions, and I’ll save the priest. I’ll even grant the rest the death they so dearly want now.”

  “I’ll answer you,” she said, bowing her head.

  Hiran waved at the men holding the priest, indicating that they wait. “So tell me, Agatha. How did your pitiful camp manage to clear an entire city of the undead?”

  “It…it wasn’t us. It was the army.”

  “The army?” Hiran asked, folding his arms. “You’re kidding me.”

  “No, it’s true. They have a base here,” she continued.

  “I know that, but they fell early on, or so the rumors said.”

  She shook her head. “The base was overrun, yes, but a group fought back, and reinforcements arrived. They cleared the command post and swept out into the city, killing the infected.”

  “I see. What happened to these soldiers?” Hiran asked. “Where are they? Still on their base?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” she said with an expression of bitter defeat.

  “What do you mean?”

  “One night, one of their own turned after taking the infection inside. He failed to disclose his condition and managed to hide it from the medics. I know. I was there.”

  “As a soldier?”

  “Yes.”

  “That explains a lot about you,” Hiran said with a smirk. “What happened next?”

  “Most of us died. Those who didn’t die, ran, but we locked the gates first, sealing the infected soldiers inside.”

  “Smart.”

  “I came here with a group of civilians, and we carried on the soldier’s and

  God’s work, clearing the town and saving others.”

  “How noble.”

  Agatha flushed. “Say what you will, it matters not to me.”

  “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that, and you’re strong too. I admire that in a man. Not so much in a woman.”

  “So what now?” she asked, her posture one of defeat.

  “Now, I finish what I started,” Hiran said, waving at the men holding the priest.

  “What? No! You promised!”

  “I never promised you a thing, my dear. I merely lied to get what I wanted from you.”

  “You bastard!” Agatha said, renewing her struggles as George grabbed her arms from behind.

  “What?” Hiran asked, assuming an expression of innocence. “It’s not like your information is all that valuable.”

  “What do you mean valuable? I told you all I knew!” Agatha said.

  “I’m sure you did, but I was hoping you had a stash of weapons hidden away. An arsenal. Something I could use,” Hiran replied. “Instead, all you have to offer is hordes of zombies. Nobody wants that.”

  The first nail sank into the priest’s wrist, and he screamed with such shrill despair that even the men shied away. “Please, stop! Please!”

  Agatha shook her head as if in denial, tears running down her cheeks. “No, no, no.”

  Hiran continued talking as if he didn’t hear a thing. “Instead, I learn the long-dead army did most of the work, and their base is crawling with the undead, meaning I can’t even raid it for more weapons.”

  The second nail was followed by the third and the fourth. By that time, both Agatha and the priest were sobbing like babies. When the moment of disembowelment arrived, the priest fouled himself before they could even touch him. Hiran eyed him with disfavor. “A coward to the end.”

  “He was a good man,” Agatha said, turning her eyes away from the sight of the priest’s innards spilling to the ground.

  Hiran snorted. “Save your tears for yourself, my dear. You’ll need them.”

  She turned an empty gaze upon him, and he knew he had her. “Are you going to kill me too? Crucify me? Gut me?”

  “Oh, no. I have a much better use for you in mind.” He turned to George. “She’s all yours to do with as you wish. I only ask that you don’t kill her too soon. She’s strong. Make it last.”

  George grinned. “You know me, Boss. I aim to please.”

  Hiran watched as George dragged her away by the arm. Too broken to resist, she followed, her face a blank canvas devoid even of despair. He smiled, luxuriating in the knowledge that his victory was now complete, and a certain defiant camp would follow soon after. I’m coming for you, Mpho. I’m coming.

  Chapter 9 - Michelle

  “Come on, Jenny. They won’t hurt you, I promise,” Michelle said to the little girl who hung back, gazing at the chickens with wide eyes.

  “Are you sure?” Jenny asked.

  “Of, course, I’m sure. Look at Mark. They’re not hurting him, at all,” Michelle replied, gesturing at the boy who was plucking eggs from their nests with a gleeful smile.

  “They’re still warm,” he exclaimed, causing Michelle to laugh.

  After a few more tries, Jenny finally stepped into the coop with them. She scooped up a handful of maize and flung it to the ground, screeching when the hens attacked the food in a burst of wings and feathers.

 
; “There, there. They’re just hungry,” Michelle soothed before moving on to clean the cages and spread fresh hay.

  After a few more tries, Jenny got the hang of it and actually giggled when one of the birds insisted on pecking at her toes. “Look, Miss Michelle!”

  “I see, baby,” Michelle replied. “She must really like your shoes.”

  “How do you know it’s a she?” Jenny asked

  “Because only girl chickens lay eggs, stupid,” Mark replied with a scornful look.

  “I’m not stupid,” Jenny exclaimed.

  “Mark…” Michelle warned in a stern voice. “Apologize.”

  “He sighed. “Fine, I’m sorry.”

  Michelle shook her head. “They’re called hens, Mark. Not girl chickens.”

  “I know that,” he said.

  “And the boy chicken? What do we call him?”

  I know, I know,” Jenny cried. “A rooster!”

  “That’s right. Gold star for you, Jenny,” Michelle said.

  “I knew that one,” Mark protested. “I should get the gold star.”

  Michelle ruffled his hair with one slender hand. “How about you both get a gold star?”

  He grumbled a bit but nodded. “Okay.”

  Once they finished with the chickens, Michelle led the children out of the coop and locked the cage door. She put the keys in her pocket and walked toward the kitchen where Hannah was cooking breakfast.

  The smell of oatmeal and sugar greeted her nostrils, and her stomach rumbled. “Mm, that smells good.”

  “I’m nearly done,” Hannah said, flashing her a smile. “Ten more minutes.”

  “Perfect. Here are the eggs,” Michelle said, placing the basket on the counter. “We’ll water the vegetable plots while you’re finishing up.”

  Jenny and Mark trooped along behind her, and for the next few minutes, they worked outside, watering and weeding. There wasn’t much to do, really. Dave kept the gardens in mint shape, and the plants grew well, but Michelle wanted the kids to learn from an early age.

  “Do you know why we water the plots so early in the day?” she asked. Mark and Jenny shook their heads. “So that the sun doesn’t suck all the moisture from the ground right away. It’s best to water your garden before it gets hot. Or after.”