Dangerous Nights (Book 3): Edge of Night

by Higgins, Baileigh

  When the gate was finally open, she floored the gas and roared through, biting her lower lip when she ran over a few of them. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

  A glance at the clock read twenty past eleven. She’d hidden in the shower for far too long. For all she knew, her parents, her sister, everyone she loved, could be one of those things. “I’m coming. Please be okay. I need you to be okay.”

  The trip through town gave her a clear view of the chaos breaking out everywhere. It was horrific. People tried to escape, loading possessions, kids, and pets into cars. Most didn’t make it. Infected swarmed through the neighborhoods and descended on the healthy with rabid hunger. They left the dead in their wake, only to have them rise minutes later to join the hunt. Screams rang through the air and confronted her at every turn.

  A young mother ran out of her house, dragging a little boy by the arm. She spotted Morgan and rushed out into the street. “Help us! Please, help!”

  Behind her, a man burst through the door and sprinted towards them. Morgan slammed on the brakes and leaned over to unlock the passenger door. “Get in. Hurry!”

  The woman ran towards her, feet slapping on the tar road as she closed the distance. The child cried, his mother half-carrying and half-dragging him. Morgan stared at the unfolding scene, and her heart sank when she realized the truth. “They’re not going to make it.”

  The infected man reached them and latched onto the boy first, ripping him out of his mother’s hands.

  “No,” the woman cried, stumbling to a halt. “He’s your son.”

  He ignored her and buried his face in the boy’s neck. Blood, bright red and arterial, spurted through the air. The woman screamed, her desperate wails stabbing into Morgan’s heart.

  She wanted to close her eyes, wanted to look away, but couldn’t. Instead, she watched as the woman grappled with the man that used to be her husband, fighting for the life of her child. It was no use.

  Like a rag doll, the boy was tossed aside to bleed out on the asphalt. His eyes glazed over in death while his mother was savaged beside him.

  The spell broke, and at last, Morgan looked away. She leaned over and locked the passenger door, the click loud in her ears. With an iron grip on the wheel, she steered the truck around the family and drove away. The entire time, she whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” until the words were branded into her psyche. That was the last stop she made.

  Morgan headed for the suburb where her parents lived. It lay on the edge of town. If they were lucky, the infection hadn’t reached there yet. As she drove, the streets became quieter, and her hope grew apace. A hope dashed once she reached her destination.

  A knot of a dozen infected crawled on the front lawn of a neighbor’s house. They were feeding. As the group shifted, a bloody arm flopped out. Morgan swallowed as a flood of bile pushed up her throat. She recognized the next-door neighbors, the Robertson’s, in the pack. Mrs. Robertson still wore a robe with curlers in her hair which prompted a hysterical laugh from Morgan, one she quickly swallowed.

  There was no time for weakness now. Not with her parents and little sister waiting, possibly alive. It was a hope she couldn’t let go of just yet. Morgan stared at the infected and tried to come up with a plan. There was no way she could run past them. Barefoot and unarmed, they’d pull her down and rip her to shreds. However, she sat inside a solid mass of driven metal.

  She rammed into the front runners with a crunch. Bodies bounced off the hood while others disappeared beneath the wheels. The truck plowed through them effortlessly, up onto the lawn into the knot. She shifted into reverse and rolled back, clipping a straggler to the left, then she repeated the whole procedure again, and again.

  It was sickening, but a small part of her felt pride at overcoming such an obstacle. The rest of her was horrified at the slaughter of innocents, no matter how dangerous they might be.

  Afterward, she sat, staring at the carnage. It brought to mind a medieval battlefield with torn and crushed body parts strewn about. A few still tried to move despite their gruesome injuries. That single horrific detail confirmed one crucial fact—they were neither sick nor crazy. They were dead. Zombies.

  Morgan reversed into the driveway with the nose pointed towards the gate for a quick escape. She unlocked the doors and left the keys in the ignition. Behind the seats, she found a tire iron.

  With one last look around, she slid out of the truck and closed the door with a soft click. She felt vulnerable, standing there in the open air while imagining what those things could do to her exposed flesh.

  With a deep breath for courage, Morgan gripped the tire iron and walked up the driveway. She ignored the few broken corpses that groaned as she passed. They were no threat to her anymore.

  The concrete felt cold and rough beneath her feet, grounding her in the present. She tested the front door and found it locked. With a muttered curse, she walked around to the back. Her nerves jangled. She kept hearing sinister sounds behind her, and only the thought of her family kept her going.

  Morgan turned a corner and screamed as she spotted the remains of her parents’ domestic worker. The woman was barely recognizable. Bloodstained bandages covered her arms, but the cause of death was apparent: A gunshot to the head.

  Hope for her family’s safety faded as she stepped around the body. The back door stood open, and she inched forward to peer inside the kitchen. Her eyes flew to puddles of blood on the floor. The drops formed a trail into the hallway and bedrooms.

  She crossed the kitchen and dared a peek into the hall, then the living and dining rooms. Nothing. It was empty. No signs of a struggle. No sign of her family, either.

  Morgan swallowed, her mouth dry, and moved onward. The silence was eerie. A subtle threat hung in the air. She quailed at the thought of being confronted by the sight of her parents turned into monsters, or even worse, her baby sister.

  The passage promised terror with sticky patches of smeared blood that led past Meghan’s bedroom. Inside, everything was just as she remembered. The stuffed animals on the bed and posters of ponies on the walls made her heart flutter. “Please, God. Let her be okay.”

  After that came the spare bedroom and the hallway bathroom. Both were closed, and she crept past on silent feet. The main bedroom beckoned—a yawning gateway to a mysterious horror. With a growing sense of dread, she moved through the doorway.

  Morgan stopped abruptly, one hand flying to her mouth. On the bed lay her father, stretched out on his back. He was torn up, and she guessed he was attacked. Blood pooled beneath his body and stained the duvet cover.

  She stared, unable to utter a word. First her husband and now her father. How many more people would she lose today? Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and her knees threatened to buckle. Why? Why did this happen?

  A part of her remained alert, though, and after a moment, she dragged a hand across her eyes. No more tears. She needed to find her mother and Meghan. Before it was too late.

  Morgan was about to leave when the smallest of sounds echoed from behind her. The hair on the back of her neck rose. She whirled around, swinging up the tire iron.

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  Chapter 1 - Cat’s Eye

  “Catherine Thompson. Please pay attention in my class unless you want detention.”

  The shrill peal of Mrs. Marais’ voice cut through the haze of boredom surrounding Cat, and she straightened up in her seat amidst snickers from her classmates.

  Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she replied with a respectful, “Yes, Ma’am.” The last thing she needed on a Friday afternoon was detention.

  Forty-five excruciating minutes later, the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. Benches and chairs scraped across the floor as kids ran for the exit, jostling each other in their hast
e to get out. Cat imagined it looked a lot like a prison break.

  She took the time to fish her phone out of her bag first and checked her messages. Three from Chris, her boyfriend, one from her best friend, Nadia, and a voicemail from her mother. On auto-pilot, Cat slung her school bag over her shoulder, picked up her hockey stick and walked out of class while checking Chris’ texts. They were pretty generic. Standard stuff for a Friday.

  “Hey, babes. What’s up?”

  Little kissy faces.

  “Wanna come over tonight?”

  Cat sighed. Instead of butterflies in her stomach, all she felt was leaden dread. For her, the relationship with Chris had soured after the fifth weekend spent watching rugby with his friends.

  The entire time was passed glued to the edge of the couch next to Chris and his buddies. They’d cheer and shout enthusiastically at the TV, discussing the score and players during half-time, while she sipped on the homemade lemonade his mom forced down her throat.

  Her thumb flew over the keys as she replied. “Maybe next time. Got things to do.”

  Next, she checked Nadia’s message. “Hey, Cat. How’s it going, girlfriend? Have you seen the stuff on YouTube? People are going crazy about it. Freaky Friday!”

  Cat frowned. She hadn’t looked at her phone all day. By rights, she wasn’t even allowed to take it to school but had put it on silent and hidden it at the bottom of her bag.

  Her feet carried her out of the gates of High School Kroonstad. After crossing the busy street filled with irate parents and happy kids, she set off for home. She lived only three blocks from the school, so her mom had decreed that she walk every day. Cat didn’t mind, though. She liked the solitude.

  Cat sent Nadia a reply. “What stuff? Haven’t seen a thing. By the way, can you come visit this December holiday?”

  “Check YouTube and Facebook. Crazy stuff! It’s all over SA and even overseas. As for a holiday, no can do, sister. My mom’s been kinda out of it lately, and Dickhead bitched about the money for the bus ride.”

  Cat frowned at that bit of news. When had Nadia’s drug-addict mom not been out of it? All her life she’d watched her best friend be pushed around and mistreated by her alcoholic mom and abusive step-dad. When Nadia’s little brother Bobby drowned, that had been a new low. To top it off, six months later they moved to Upington, and Cat despaired of ever seeing her best friend again.

  “Well. We’ll just have to make a plan,” she sent back. If there was one thing that could be said of Cat, it was that she was stubborn. Even if she had to bribe Nadia’s step-dad, she’d do it.

  “Hope so, C. Catch you later. Branden and I’ve got a date.”

  “Have fun,” Cat replied before listening to the voicemail her mother had left three hours earlier.

  “Catherine, I’m going to be late tonight. We’re swamped with patients today, and the boss wants us to work in. There are leftovers in the fridge. See you later, sweetheart.”

  Cat sighed and tucked her phone away, resigned to a night spent in front of the TV with a bucket of ice cream. It wasn’t unusual. Her mom worked as an admin assistant at a local doctor, and she often stayed late when it got busy.

  About halfway home, Cat’s attention was caught by a man staggering down the road. He had a full head of dreadlocks, topped with a Rastafarian beanie and wore a long trench coat. At first, Cat paid him no mind and continued walking.

  There was something odd about him, though. He stumbled along haphazardly, moaning in an eerie way. The front of his coat was stained with what looked like black tar. A light breeze brushed over her face, lifting the hair off her neck and carrying a sickly sweet smell with it. She gagged, pulling her shirt over her mouth. “What the hell?”

  Cat eyed the man she assumed to be either homeless or stoned and quickened her pace, hoping to slip past unnoticed.

  No such luck.

  When he spotted her, he raised his hands towards her, growling in a way she’d ordinarily find hilarious but now didn’t seem quite so funny.

  Cat stopped and backtracked, raising a hand to ward him off. “Hey, back off, buddy. I don’t have any money.”

  He ignored her and kept coming. As he got closer, the smell intensified until it rolled across her senses in a tidal wave of rot. She could now make out the smaller details of his appearance through watering eyes.

  His bottom lip was missing, exposing the lower teeth and jaw, pink flesh and white bone shining through clotted blood. Her stomach rolled as her eyes fixed upon the stain on his clothes. The black stuff she’d thought was oil, now looked more like old blood. Bits of hair and other things were matted into it. Her stomach heaved. “Oh, God, is that…a tooth?”

  Cat screamed, stepping back as he reached for her with hands that had turned into claws, the nails crusted with dirt. She swung her hockey stick and hit him, dancing on her toes to put distance between them.

  He regained his footing, and she whacked him over the head again, the sound hollow to her ears. Her school bag swung like a pendulum, pulling her off balance. With a cry, she fell.

  Her bare knees hit the asphalt, sharp pain flaring up her legs. She shrugged it off, rolling away when he reached for her. He tripped over her bag and fell in a tangle of limbs. Cat ripped the strap off her shoulder and scrambled away on all fours, gravel digging into her palms. Her heart banged in her chest, air whistling in and out of her lungs as her throat closed.

  Not now, she prayed.

  Cat lunged to her feet and whirled, brandishing her hockey stick. Like a loathsome crab, the homeless guy rose from the ground, joints cracking as he scuttled toward her.

  “Leave me alone,” Cat cried, wheezing for breath.

  He kept coming, teeth snapping like a rabid dog. Cat danced away like a boxer and hit him again, harder this time. His head swung, but he kept coming.

  “Bugger off!” Spots danced in front of her eyes as the tightness in her chest increased. It was a feeling both familiar and unwanted, like a distant family member who overstays their welcome at Christmas.

  Cat skipped sideways and swung the hockey stick like a baseball bat, putting all her strength into the blow. The edge connected with his temple, and she heard the sound of cracking bone. He fell to his knees, and she hesitated. Blood streamed from the cut on his scalp, but it looked odd. Thick and sluggish. Once again, the smell that emanated from his form assaulted her senses.

  “Stay down,” Cat whimpered. “Please, stay down.”

  A low growl vibrated from between her attacker’s clenched teeth. He lurched forward, crawling towards her. With a wordless cry, she swung again, aiming for the same spot as before.

  A hollow pop rang out. His skull collapsed and skewed his face. With his snarl frozen in place and bulging eyes, the homeless guy toppled over to lie motionless.

  Cat stood, chest heaving, waiting for him to get up. A slow trickle of blood crept toward her toes, a river of black death. Her hands began to tremble. She smothered a gasp, stepping back until her heels hit the sidewalk. Her knees gave way, and she sat down with a thump, her eyes never leaving the corpse. “Oh, my God. I killed him.”

  Cat wrenched her eyes away and looked up and down the street, half expecting a cop to pull up and arrest her for murder. “I killed him. I really, really killed him! Crap!”

  The trees whirled around her in a dizzying blur of green. An iron fist constricted around her lungs and throat. Cat sucked in a breath, dragging oxygen into her lungs. One hand fumbled for the asthma inhaler in her pocket. She never left home without it.

  Placing the mouthpiece to her lips, she pressed down. With a whoosh, the precious dosage filled her lungs. Cat wrapped her trembling arms around her knees and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. The taut feeling in her chest eased, the dizziness passed. A semblance of clarity returned. “I’ve got to phone Mom. She’ll know what to do.”

  Cat dialed the number.

  Her mom answered on the fifth ring. “Dr. Botha’s office.”

  “Mom! Mom, I just
killed a guy. He came at me, and he wouldn’t stop, and I whacked him with a stick, and now he’s just lying there, and he’s not breathing, and half his face is missing, and I don’t know what―”

  “Catherine, slow down. Take a deep breath.”

  Her mother’s voice had an immediate effect, and Cat obeyed. In, out, in, out.

  “That’s it. Get it under control. Now tell me what happened. Take your time, sweetie.”

  Cat slumped, tears spilling over her cheeks and dripping onto her school uniform. “I don’t know what happened. I was walking, and this strange guy attacked me. I screamed and hit him with my hockey stick, but he wouldn’t stop. He was acting all crazy, growling and trying to bite me.”

  “Oh, no. sweetie, are you hurt?” Her mother’s voice was frantic and sparked a fresh surge of panic within Cat.

  “What? No, I’m fine,” she replied, ignoring the sting in her knees.

  “Are you sure? Did he bite you? Scratch you? Get any blood on you?”

  “No, I’m fine. I kept hitting him in the head until he fell. I killed him, Mom!”

  “Thank God. I’ve been hearing stories all morning, but I didn’t think they were real.” A siren blared in the background, shrill over the speaker of Cat’s phone. “I’m coming home. Now.”

  “Stories? What stories?” Cat asked.

  “From the hospitals. One of our patients was attacked, and it’s a madhouse here.”

  “What do you mean attacked? What’s going on?” Confusion hijacked Cat’s thoughts. Her voice rose in pitch until it became a shrill warble.

  “Sweetie, calm down. It’s going to be okay. I promise.” Cat nodded, her mother’s steady voice soothing her ragged nerves. “Now I need you to get up and run home as fast as you can. Can you do that?”

  “You want me to leave? Aren’t I supposed to call the police or something?”