Children of the Apocalypse: Mega Boxed Set

by Baileigh Higgins

  With curt nods, they fanned out in different directions. The nearest body he found was that of a little girl, maybe two, her face smeared with blood. She was already dead, and a quick stab through the temple ensured she’d never reawaken.

  The next, another little girl. Her rosebud lips moved without sound, and tears leaked from her eyes. The infected that had attacked her lay to the side, its fingers still buried in her stomach. Bile rose to Breytenbach’s lips. This was too much. Never in all his life…

  But there was no time. Or choice. He knelt down and ended her misery. Brushing her eyes closed, he got up and moved on. This had to be done quickly, or not at all. After that, it all became a blur of faces. Dead children, teachers, and parents.

  He found three more still living. A young father clutched his dead child to his chest as he bled out from a torn artery. A boy was drowning in his own blood. A baby mewled as its last breath left its tiny body.

  Never had Breytenbach seen so much human suffering, or come so close to losing his mind. To the left and right, Kirstin and Lenka went about the same horrific task, their faces pale and drawn. The dead had to be prevented from rising and the dying…the dying had to be granted peace.

  Breytenbach found her towards the end. The woman. She was hunched over in a fetal position, holding something close to her chest. From the looks of things, she had tried to roll into a defensive ball.

  The flesh on her back and shoulders were torn to shreds with bits of rib and spine showing through in places. He positioned himself for a swift stab but paused when she shivered and moaned. “Help me.”

  He nerved himself to do it, to end her suffering. He lifted the knife, pressing the point to her temple. Just do it.

  A bead of blood welled up beneath the sharp edge, and his muscles tensed for the thrust. A mewling sound alerted him, and he stopped. Gently, he rolled the woman over onto her side and gasped. Clutched in her arms was a baby, swaddled in a soft pink blanket.

  The woman tried to speak. Blood bubbled from her lips, and her eyes swam with pain. “Please, take my baby. She’s all that’s left. I couldn’t save…her brother.”

  Breytenbach looked at the little bundle, surprised to find the baby unharmed. She was crying through the pacifier in her mouth, her little face scrunched up in a ball.

  “They took him from me,” the mother whispered, stretching an arm to a crumpled body lying in a pool of blood. It was a boy of about four or five, his eyes glazed over in death, flung down like a rag doll.

  With trembling hands, the woman fumbled for a handbag lying on the floor. “Take… my diary. She must know who she is. Promise me she’ll be safe.”

  He rummaged through the bag and found a black diary, pocketing it before reaching for the pink bundle.

  “I promise,” he said, locking his gaze with hers to show his sincerity.

  She nodded, satisfied.

  He took the baby in his arms and rocked her back and forth. Her crying ceased, and he glanced back at the mother. Her eyes stared unseeingly towards the little boy, one hand stretched out toward him.

  With a heavy heart, he performed his duties, ensuring they’d both rest forever before spinning around and leaving the hall of horrors behind.

  In the foyer, he handed the baby to one of the remaining women to care for. He didn’t want to let go of the warm little body, her eyes gazing up into his with complete trust. “Here, can you take her, please? For now?”

  “Of course.”

  He turned back to his squad and cleared his throat. Back to business.

  “Right, let’s get going. Same positions as before, survivors in the middle,” he ordered. “Make for the mansion.”

  With the women and children bunched together, they moved out as fast as they could. It took longer than Breytenbach would have liked, and they had a few encounters with infected, but thirty minutes later they reached the mansion’s gates.

  A three-man team scouted the grounds and buildings for danger. They found only the billionaire’s son hiding in his room, to the immense relief of Breytenbach. At least, I can still fulfill my mission.

  A bigger problem faced him, however. How to get everyone to safety. Johannesburg was a hot zone, and there was little hope of survival there. Walking out was not possible.

  They had only one option. Hole up at the mansion and radio for an airlift. The walls were sturdy and the gates made of thick steel. They’d be safe for the time being as long as they didn’t advertise their presence.

  With Ronnie and Kirstin on guard duty, he headed inside. It had been a long night, and exhaustion dragged at his shoulders. He longed for a hot shower and a comfortable bed.

  Inside the house, he was surprised to find a scene of ordered chaos. Two of the women busied themselves in the kitchen while the third watched the kids. The aroma of coffee drifted through the air, intermingled with the smells of frying steak and eggs. The young blond with the umbrella shot him a shy smile and asked, “Can I dish up food for your team, er…”

  “Captain Breytenbach,” he finished. “And yes, I’m sure they’d be grateful.”

  The kids sat in a corner, spooked and deathly quiet. He felt sorry for them. No amount of therapy could take away the sights they had seen, but at least, they were alive.

  A middle-aged brunette approached him, holding the baby he’d rescued earlier in her arms. “Hi, I’m Zelda. I used to be principal of the school.”

  “Captain Breytenbach.”

  “That’s Linda,” she continued, pointing to the umbrella-wielding blonde before introducing the third. “And that’s Mannuru. They’re both teachers.”

  “Glad to meet all of you.”

  “No, thank you, Captain.” She smiled, but her eyes were vacant, empty. He recognized the signs of trauma. “We would’ve died tonight if it wasn’t for you.”

  He shrugged, casting around in his mind for something to say. “It was nothing.”

  “What will happen to us now?”

  For a moment, he hesitated. “To tell you the truth, I’m not a hundred percent sure. I’m here for the boy.” He nodded toward the teenager, huddled in a corner with his head between his knees.

  “As far as I can tell, most people are being evacuated to quarantine zones in Natal, the Drakensberg, and Robben Island. You’ll be taken to one of those, most likely.”

  She shifted the child in her arms. “What about this little one? I don’t know her or her parents. I’m not even sure how she ended up at the school.”

  He pulled the diary out of his pocket. “She’s an orphan now. I’ll find a place for her once we get out of here.”

  “All right. Thank you,” she answered, rejoining the kids.

  Breytenbach looked down at the diary in his hand. It wasn’t much, meant more for telephone numbers and accounts, but there was enough information for him to glean a few basic facts.

  The family lived in a middle-class suburb some distance away. How the mother and her children ended up at the school was a mystery. The boy, Michael, was five, his birthday penciled in for a month from then. The baby girl, Samantha, was the sole survivor of her family. Other family members lived in Riebeeckstad, wherever the hell that was. He wasn’t willing to bet they were still alive.

  Linda interrupted his thoughts by handing him a plate of food, “Here you go, Captain.”

  He accepted the dish, and his mouth watered as the aroma hit his nose. “Have my team eaten?”

  “Yes, Captain,” she nodded. “I made sure of it.”

  “Thank you.”

  The plate was heaped high with steak, eggs, and buttered bread, and he dug in with alacrity. One thing he’d learned in the army was to eat when you can and sleep when you can because tomorrow you might not get the chance.

  He ate fast, sopping up the last of the juices with his bread and swallowing the bitter coffee in one gulp. It settled in his stomach, a pleasant warmth radiating throughout his limbs.

  He handed the cup and plate back to Linda. “That was good food
. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, Captain. It’s the least I could do.”

  “Please, can you gather up supplies?” he asked. “The helicopter should be here in about fifteen minutes, and I don’t know what the quarantine camps look like. Extra supplies might be welcome.”

  “Of course.”

  He left her to the task and stepped outside, glancing at his watch. He watched as Mike let off a flare, the light bright against the inky backdrop of the sky. Who could have thought it would come to this?

  Zombies.

  He’d seen and done so much in his lifetime; he’d thought there was nothing left that could shock him. How wrong that assumption had been. The world was burning, and it was their own dead that struck the match. He felt far older than his forty-nine years at that moment.

  He took out the diary once more and leafed through the pages. In the back, he found a photograph of the family. The husband seemed ordinary enough, sporting a suit and tie.

  Breytenbach recognized Samantha’s mother with ease. She was pretty, with blond hair and blue-gray eyes, unclouded by the suffering he’d witnessed earlier. She smiled at the camera with genuine warmth. In her arms, she held her daughter and clinging to her legs with a shy smile was little Michael.

  From a distance, he heard the helicopter approach as it spotted the flare, and he put the diary away to oversee the evacuation. Fifteen minutes later, everybody was loaded and on their way. The last to leave, he jumped in and settled back in his seat, staring down at the now ruined city.

  Like ants, the dead swarmed through the streets, illuminated by the coming of dawn. Fires had broken out, and he could spot the overrun police and military barricades. As they left the once thriving City of Gold, the name of the woman who’d entrusted the safety of her daughter to him lingered in his mind. Lilian.

  Chapter 6 - Morgan

  Morgan stared out the window as the scenery rolled past. The urban landscape had been replaced by the Free State veldt, a mixture of browns and yellows with just a hint of green. But her eyes were unseeing, her chest a hollow void.

  Her mind flashed back to the last time she saw Brian. The image of his inhuman eyes caused her to flinch, and a sob welled up. One she stifled by biting down on her clenched fist. I can’t believe he’s dead. Or…undead. What does that even mean? Will he slowly rot away to nothing, or just stay like that forever?

  Already she missed him, missed his steady presence beside her, always warm and reassuring. To others, he might have appeared dull, but to her, he was home. My safety net.

  Then there was her father. Morgan chanced a look at her mother’s face and regretted it immediately. Silent tears streamed down Julianne’s cheeks. Her lips were pressed together and as white as her knuckles which gripped the steering wheel. Morgan reached over and squeezed her arm. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  “It’s…it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure? Should I drive?”

  “No. Just…how’s Meghan?”

  A swift glance told Morgan that Meghan had dozed off, huddled next to Joanna on the backseat with Princess in her arms. “She’s sleeping.”

  “Good. I don’t know what to tell her. This is bad enough for us, but how do I explain what’s happened to a child?”

  “We’ll think of something.”

  Morgan looked back again, and Joanna’s faded blue eyes met hers. The pain in them was so real it felt like a physical blow to her stomach. Brian’s death had come as a shock to the old lady, one she refused to believe at first. Morgan didn’t blame her. The whole situation was surreal. Like something out of the twilight zone. “Joanna, I…I’m so sorry about Brian.”

  “Is he really gone? Turned into one of those things?”

  “Yes, I don’t know what this is…this virus that takes people over, but he got it last night when that man attacked him.”

  “Why didn’t you take him to a doctor? Why did you leave it?” Joanna’s eyes hardened, turning to chips of ice. “You could have saved him!”

  Morgan gasped, the accusation stabbing deep into her heart. It hurt all the more because she believed it to be true. If she’d listened to her gut and forced him to go to the emergency room, Brian might have gotten treatment in time.

  “I…I didn’t know. How could I know?” she asked, but the words rang hollow in her ears.

  “You should have done something. Anything.”

  “It’s not her fault, Joanna. None of us saw this coming. I know you lost your son, and it hurts, but we all lost someone today.” Julianne’s face was unyielding as she glared at Joanna in the rearview mirror. “Do not place that burden on my daughter’s shoulders.”

  “It’s okay, Mom. She’s right. It’s my fault.”

  Julianne turned angry eyes on Morgan, her voice rising in pitch. “Don’t you dare say that.”

  “But…”

  “Now listen to me, both of you. This is a tragedy. A horrible, senseless tragedy. But it’s nobody’s fault. Neither of you caused this. If you want to blame someone, blame the people who made this sickness or whatever it is. They’re the ones you hate.”

  “You think someone engineered this?” Joanna asked.

  “I do. This has bioterrorism written all over it. Or maybe it was a lab accident. Who knows? But fighting among each other is not the answer,” Julianne said.

  Joanna didn’t reply, but she nodded and looked away. One trembling hand rested on Meghan’s head. She seemed to draw comfort from the child’s presence, an emotion Morgan did not share.

  She stared at the road ahead, and pain flooded her veins like acid. The thought that someone let loose a virus like this on purpose, or even worse, that it was an accident, defied belief. Her chest constricted to the size of a golf ball, and her lungs refused to expand enough to let in oxygen. Black spots danced in front of her eyes, and sound faded away, replaced by blood rushing through her ears.

  “Morgan? Morgan!”

  Julianne’s voice came from a distance, and she placed both hands on her temples, squeezing her eyes shut. For a moment, she was taken back to her teen years. Years filled with fear and the belief that nothing would be okay, that everything was doomed to disaster. She sucked in a deep breath. Focus!

  A loud bang tore her from the panic-induced attack, and she snapped to attention. The truck swerved off the road as Julianne lost control of the steering. Meghan screamed, and Princess yelped as she flew to the side. The tires bounced over tussocks of grass. With a cry, Julianne yanked the wheel, forcing the vehicle back onto the road before slamming on the brakes.

  Morgan groaned, cupping her forehead where she’d hit the dashboard. An egg was forming, swelling at a rapid rate. There was no time to worry about it, though. Julianne was trying to calm down a hysterical Meghan, helped by a shaken but otherwise unharmed Joanna. That left Morgan as the only one wondering what had caused the accident.

  Blinking, she looked out the window and scanned the area. It seemed clear in the immediate vicinity, but she couldn’t be sure. Reaching down, she felt the gun at her side. She pulled it out and flicked off the safety.

  The truck’s door creaked as it swung open, and she paused. The sun felt hot on her skin after the air-conditioned cab, and her cheeks flushed with blood. She raised a hand, shielding her eyes from the glare.

  “Morgan? What are you doing? Get back inside.” Julianne’s voice held a sharp note of fear, overlaid by Meghan’s shrill cries.

  “It’s okay, Mom. I’m just making sure everything’s okay.”

  “But…”

  “I’ll be right back, don’t worry.”

  Morgan slid out of the truck and placed her booted feet on the ground. Tiny pebbles crunched beneath the soles. With the gun pointed at a half angle, she swiveled, looking for danger. It was clear, but the fine hairs on her arms rose to echo the tension within her breast. With slow steps, she walked around the vehicle, searching for what the cause of the near accident. Her eyes fell on a dark shadow on the road.

  I
t was some distance away, and she squinted, trying to make out what it was. Morgan walked closer, and her confusion gave way to understanding. “A pothole. It’s just a dumb pothole.”

  Shaking her head, Morgan turned back, but her relief quickly turned to dismay when her eyes fell on the front right tire. It was flat. “Shit!”

  She hurried to the truck to examine it. The rim was bent, and the wheel had a deep cut through the rubber. It must have burst on impact. “This is just perfect. Fucking perfect.”

  “What’s wrong, honey?” Julianne’s face popped out of the window above Morgan’s head.

  “We’ve got a flat.”

  “What?”

  “Yup. You hit a pothole back there, and the wheel must have popped.”

  Julianne got out of the cab, her face twisted in worry. “What do we do now?”

  Morgan shrugged. “Guess, I’ll have to change it.”

  “Do you know how?”

  “No, but I’m sure I can figure it out. I’ve watched Brian do it before.” Morgan rummaged in the back for the spare, heaving it out with a grunt. After locating the jack, she positioned it under the car and put the wheel spanner nearby.

  Julianne hustled everyone out of the truck, and they stood huddled to the side. Morgan glanced around, her unease at being out in the open not lessening at the apparent lack of life. “Mom? I think you should keep watch. You know…”

  Julianne’s eyes widened. “You think they’d be out here?”

  “Better safe than sorry.” Morgan turned to the task at hand. The sooner I get this tire changed, the sooner we can get out of here.

  Pumping the handle, she jacked up the truck and watched with satisfaction as the wheel lifted off the road. With a light push, she tested its stability. Seems okay.

  Locking the spanner over a wheel nut, she began the tedious task of loosening them. It was hard, but she managed, her arm muscles bulging with the effort. Her job as a personal trainer now seemed to bear fruit in ways she’d never have thought of before. Thank God I work out a lot.

  Even so, one of the nuts proved particularly tough. After straining for several minutes, she rocked back on her heels. Beads of sweat had risen across her forehead and trickled down her face. The salt stung her eyes, and her head ached from her earlier injury.