Children of the Apocalypse: Mega Boxed Set

by Baileigh Higgins

  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.

  Chapter 2 - Julianne

  At the age of forty-eight, Julianne should have had a quiet and restful Sunday to look forward to, but since she’d welcomed a late little lamb into the family fold, that was a foregone luxury. Sure enough, the sun had barely come up when little Meghan jumped onto the bed with her dog, Princess.

  “Morning, Mommy,” she cried, giggling as she rocked back and forth.

  Julianne lay still and waited until Meghan got close. With a mock roar, she pounced on her daughter and yelled, “Watch out for the Tickle Monster!”

  Meghan shrieked with delight, and pandemonium broke out. They rolled around, joined by Princess who let loose a barrage of ear-splitting yaps. Next to them, John groaned and crushed the pillow over his head. Princess took up the challenge and tried to dig him out, much to his chagrin.

 
; Since sleep was out of the question, Julianne got up to shower and dress instead. She brushed her hair back into a ponytail and frowned at the fine lines adorning her eyes, smoothing anti-wrinkle cream onto the delicate skin.

  “You’re still as lovely as ever, sweetheart. Stop frowning; you’re just making it worse,” John said, emerging from the steaming shower cubicle. He smacked her on the bum and laughed when she shrieked.

  An hour later, after a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and coffee, John headed outside to the garage to tinker with his latest project. With Meghan ensconced in front of the TV to watch her favorite shows, Julianne tidied up the house and fed Princess.

  She watched in amusement as the little Jack Russel wolfed down its food then ran back to Meghan, licking her face. The little girl collapsed in a fit of laughter, and for the next few minutes, the two went at it. Princess Sophia. What a ridiculous name for a dog. But that’s what you get when you leave it to an eight-year-old to name a pet.

  Julianne supposed she shouldn’t be so hard on Princess. She was only a puppy, after all. An excellent playmate for Meghan even though she was as naughty as hell.

  Thoughts of the busy week ahead distracted her, and she decided to finish up the ironing. Meghan went through clothes at the rate only kids were capable of doing. With her around, Julianne was forever busy with piles of laundry.

  She was on her way to the washroom when she heard John scream. The agony in his voice kept her frozen for a second before her protective instinct thawed out her muscles. She darted for the door.

  Julianne stopped short when she saw John struggling on the lawn with their maid, Sarah. The woman was off on weekends but stayed in a flat at the back of the property.

  “Sarah?” she cried. “What are you doing?”

  She stared in disbelief as Sarah snapped at John with her teeth much like a rabid dog, making odd clicking sounds. Blood stained his front, dripping from his arms, and Julianne realized this was no joke. He tried to fend her off, but the woman kept attacking with insane fury.

  “John!” she cried as Sarah bit down again and tore a chunk of flesh from his forearm. “No!”

  A girlish scream scared her out of her wits, and she looked down to see Meghan standing next to her with her eyes fixed on the scene. “Daddy!”

  Next to Meghan, Princess Sophia barked, her small body quivering with excitement. Sarah’s head snapped towards them. Baring bloodied incisors, she growled. She abandoned John and sprinted across the lawn, a terrifying caricature of a human being.

  Julianne shoved Meghan behind her, prepared to fight for her daughter. Before she could act, though, John tackled Sarah from behind, pinning her to the ground. “Run, Julianne. Phone the police!”

  Julianne paused, torn between her child and her husband, before reacting. She snatched Meghan into her arms and ran to the house, driven ahead by the sounds of the struggle behind her. Princess followed, claws skittering on the concrete. Julianne slammed the door shut and raced to the bathroom.

  Inside, she put Meghan down and shoved Princess into her arms. “Stay here, and keep quiet. I’ll be right back, but first, I have to help Daddy, okay? Do you understand?”

  When the little girl nodded, she rushed outside and closed the door behind her. Julianne staggered to the bedroom and scrambled for the keys to the safe. Every second counted. She struggled with the lock until the safe opened with a click then pulled out her gun, a small .38 Rossi John had bought her years ago. After checking it was loaded, she ran outside, her breath thin and ragged.

  John and Sarah rolled on the ground, grappling for dominance. John was weakening as blood streamed from his many wounds. At the sight of Julianne hope kindled in his eyes, and he lost concentration. Taking full advantage of his distraction, Sarah clamped down on his exposed throat and shook her head like a beast.

  John screamed, and blood spurted from the wound. Julianne aimed for Sarah’s head. The pistol kicked as the shot rang out. At such short range, she couldn’t miss. The woman slumped, drained of life. She lay with her limbs splayed, and Julianne had the fleeting thought that she looked like a rag doll, flung down by a giant’s hand onto the concrete.

  Her husband moaned in pain; his hands were clamped around his neck as red liquid oozed out between the web of his fingers. There was more blood than she’d ever seen before in her life. “Oh, my God.”

  Julianne grabbed him by the arm and lifted him off the ground. Staggering beneath his weight, she helped him to the bedroom where she tried to staunch the bleeding with towels. “Just hold on, John. Don’t give up. I’m calling an ambulance.”

  She snatched her cell, and with trembling fingers dialed emergency services only to be met by busy tones. “What’s going on?”

  Trading her cell for the house phone, she punched in the numbers, hands shaking. This time, she got a dialing tone, but calling for help proved pointless. A harassed operator responded to her pleas with vague promises. “Ma’am, we will send an ambulance as soon as we can, but we currently have no units available to respond.”

  “What? That’s crazy. My husband is dying!”

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry but—” The line died.

  “Damn it.” She rushed back to the bedroom, determined to take John to the emergency room herself. All such thoughts drained away when she returned to him. He lay still, eyes closed, his features slack. For a moment, she stood still, fighting against the knowledge that welled up inside her mind. He was dead.

  Julianne couldn’t recall a time without him, the faint memories of her childhood obscured by the life he’d given her. Now snatched away by a crazy person. Anger blossomed in her chest, only to be replaced by sorrow. “Oh, John. What did she do to you?”

  For a moment, she wanted to collapse, to wail in grief and despair, but the thought of Meghan sustained her. She closed his eyes and kissed him on the forehead.

  With what felt like unnatural calm, she walked toward the bathroom, but sounds from outside drew her attention. She opened the front door and stared out into the street. Two people ran past, terror glued to their faces as several more gave chase. The pursuers looked like Sarah had. Crazy. The two runners had only a small lead. One, a senior man, was far slower than the other and ran with a pronounced limp.

  It didn’t take long for the crazed people to overtake the straggler. He went down with a weak cry. She looked on, sickened, as he disappeared beneath a heaving mass of bodies.

  Julianne had no illusions about trying to help. There were far more of them than she had bullets for, and she had Meghan to think of too. She closed the front door and locked it before closing all the curtains and switching off the TV.

  Without a sound, she went to the bathroom and slipped inside, closing the door behind her. At the sight of Meghan’s frightened face, her calm deserted her, and tears welled up unbidden.

  Meghan looked from her mother’s pale and tearful face to the blood stains on her clothes. Her face crumpled, and she blubbered something about her Daddy.

  Julianne gathered her into her arms and squeezed her tightly. “Come here, baby. It’s okay. It’ll be all right.”

  She whispered meaningless words into Meghan’s ear and sang old lullabies, rocking back and forth. Princess crawled onto her lap, whining, and they sat like that, seeking comfort from each other’s arms.

  ***

  The sound of an intruder roused Julianne from her cocoon of grief. She whispered to Meghan to be quiet. Getting up, she pulled the gun from the back of her jeans. She opened the door and gasped in shock. Morgan, her middle daughter, stood holding a tire iron in the air as if she was about to bash in her skull.

  “Morgan!” she said.

  They stared at each other for a second. A mixture of relief and joy flooded Julianne’s veins. Her eyes fell on the large blood stain on the front of Morgan’s pajamas. Alarmed, she said. “Are you hurt?”

  Confused, Morgan stared down at her clothes. “Huh? Oh, no, it’s not mine.”

  Julianne lowered her gun and st
arted towards her daughter, a happy smile on her face, but from the bed rose a bloody specter of death. John.

  He looked different, wild and crazed. With his eyes fixed on Morgan’s unprotected back, he charged with arms outstretched. Before Julianne could process what was happening, she raised the gun and aimed it at his head.

  At the outer edge of her consciousness, she was shocked by her actions, but her hands were steady as she squeezed the trigger. Three steps from his daughter’s back, John’s head snapped back, and he collapsed in a heap on the carpet. Her need to protect her child had won out over her love for her husband.

  For a second, nobody moved, nobody even breathed. The gunshot faded away, leaving a gaping emptiness. Julianne broke the silence first by grabbing Morgan and hugging her with fierce intensity. “Are you okay?”

  Morgan nodded, her eyes as large as saucers.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m all right.” Morgan turned back to look at the body on the floor. “But Dad…”

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” Julianne cried. “What’s happening? Do you know?”

  Morgan shook her head, unable to reply.

  Julianne rushed into the bathroom and gathered Meghan into her arms. With one hand shielding the child’s eyes, she said, “Morgan. I hate to ask this, but we can’t let her see him. Please…”

  Morgan blinked, shifting her eyes from Julianne to her father’s corpse. “Okay…I’ll…I’ll do it.”

  While Morgan wrapped up the body in a sheet and dragged it outside, Julianne took the time to calm herself and Meghan down. She settled the little girl in her room once she stopped crying and put on her favorite movie. Afterward, she headed to the kitchen and made two strong coffees laced with whiskey.