Children of the Apocalypse: Mega Boxed Set

by Baileigh Higgins

  “Peter, put water on to boil. Thembiso, fetch clean towels,” Elise ordered. She turned to Anne, prying her fingers loose. “Anne, sweetie. Take Buzz to your room and keep him busy. I need to help these people.”

  With eyes as large as saucers, Anne nodded and coaxed the dog away. Buzz wasn’t keen on going, his protective instincts coming to the fore. “Go on, Buzz. Shoo!”

  With a whine, he followed Anne, helped along by Peter who dragged him by the collar.

  “What do we do with them, Elise?” Max asked.

  She found it amusing that he’d turn to her for direction when he was the leader. His consternation became apparent, though, when the pregnant woman cried out, causing him to flinch.

  “We need to get the rest of them settled while I see to her, Max. She’s in labor.”

  “Oh, shit,” he muttered, turning pale.

  “Why don’t you help them to one of the spare bedrooms? I’ll be along shortly.”

  “Okay,” he replied.

  Elise was grateful she’d prepared extra rooms in case they found more survivors. Not that she’d been expecting an entire group to show up on their doorstep. She turned to Logan. “Why don’t you check them for bites?”

  “She’s been bitten,” he replied, pointing to the red-haired girl, his eyes cold and remote. “She’s a danger to us all.”

  In an instant, the atmosphere in the room changed. The older man in charge of the motley group placed himself in front of the sick girl. “No one is harming her.”

  The rest of them likewise clustered around, forming a barrier and lending their silent support. It was an explosive situation. They were all armed, and Logan did not inspire confidence with the stony expression on his face. The two brothers, in particular, watched him with wary caution.

  Max stepped to the forefront, raising a placating hand. “No one will hurt her, but we need to check the rest of you for infection, and we’ll have to take precautions.”

  “What kind of precautions?” their leader asked.

  “She has to be guarded at all times. We cannot put anyone here at risk.”

  The older man considered this. “That’s fair.”

  Elise stepped forward. “Logan put her in the bedroom furthest from the rest. I’ll bring a first aid kit to treat her wound.”

  He nodded, and they trooped away.

  Once everyone left, Elise rushed to the storeroom, grabbing supplies as she went. Her mind surged along, considering all the possibilities. She did not foresee the night ending well for either the girl or the pregnant woman.

  Max had led the couple to the nearest spare room, and Elise thrust a first aid kit into his arms. “Here, go check on the wounded girl.”

  “Okay,” he replied, rushing out.

  Elise got to work and piled several large cushions onto the bed to form a backrest. Afterward, she laid out her bundle of supplies on the side table and turned to the woman. “Ma’am, I need to make sure you weren’t bitten. Will you let me take a look before you lie down?”

  The woman glanced up at her husband, fear in her eyes. After a few seconds, he nodded, and Elise shut the door.

  Together they undressed her, and Elise scanned her smooth dark skin for bites. She was clean. They dressed her in a clean nightgown and helped her to lie down, propping her up until she was comfortable.

  Elise turned to the husband. “Sir, if I may, I’d like to help your wife with the birth.”

  He scanned her face with sober eyes and must have been comforted by what he saw because he nodded. “Her name is Tumi, and I’m Joseph. Joseph Masakale.”

  Elise smiled, relieved. “My name is Elise.” She glanced at Tumi who lay moaning on the bed. “How far along is she?”

  His brow knitted in confusion, and Tumi answered instead. “Seven months.”

  Elise’s stomach knotted at the words. Seven months. It’s not enough. Not without a hospital.

  She gave Tumi a broad smile, though. “Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of you.”

  Tumi nodded, some of the tension leaving her face. A knock on the door announced Thembiso with a stack of towels, followed by Peter carrying a kettle.

  “Put it over here,” Elise indicated a spot before waving them away. “Look after your sister, Peter. You know how scared she gets.”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  They left, and Elise turned back to Tumi, examining her. The news wasn’t good. There was no way to halt the contractions. She was fully dilated.

  Elise turned to Joseph and led him aside. “The baby is coming, and it’s too soon. Do you understand?”

  His eyes darkened, the lines around his mouth deepening.

  “I’ll do what I can, but you need to be prepared. The baby may not survive.”

  After a moment of silence, he turned away, his mouth compressed. She let him be, focusing on Tumi instead who writhed as another contraction gripped her. Minutes later it passed, and Elise turned to Max who’d appeared in the doorway.

  “How are the others?” she asked.

  “I’ve treated the girl’s wound and given her painkillers,” he replied. “She’s all right for the moment, but the virus is progressing fast. It won’t be long.”

  “Poor thing. What will happen once she turns?”

  “Their leader, Ben, has assured me he’ll take care of it when the time comes, but I’ve left Logan to guard the door.”

  Elise closed her eyes for a moment. So young to die.

  “They’re all clear? The rest of them? No bites?”

  “They’re clean.” He pointed at Joseph. “But I still need to check him.”

  Joseph, who’d been listening, stepped forward. “I am not infected, but you can examine me if you want to.”

  Elise left them to it and returned to Tumi. Once Max finished his inspection, he went to organize food and drink for the newcomers while Joseph paced up and down, worry furrowing his brow.

  Elise briefly left to check on Anne and the boys. They were in the common room, playing board games while Buzz hovered around them. Once she was sure the kids were okay, she checked on the others.

  They were all sitting on the red-headed girl’s bed when she entered, their faces drawn. Max must have given the girl strong stuff because she was pretty out of it, staring at the ceiling with glazed eyes.

  The man she now knew as Ben rose when she entered, extending his hand to her. “Thank you for helping us, Ma’am.”

  “Elise,” she answered. “And you’re welcome.”

  “I’m Ben or Big Ben as most like to call me. This is Jacques and Armand.” He pointed to the brothers. “And that’s Angie.”

  Angie nodded, her dark eyes showing no expression while the brothers each shook her hand.

  “What’s her name?” Elise asked, gesturing toward the stricken girl.

  “Susan,” Big Ben answered.

  “What happened?”

  “Our shelter was overrun. In the chaos, one of them got Susan.” His shoulders sagged. “I should have protected her.”

  “It’s not your fault, Ben,” Armand answered.

  Ben did not seem comforted by the words, and Elise felt her insides tighten with sorrow. “Your daughter?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “But as good as.”

  “I’m sorry.” Elise’s eyes traveled to Susan. Her freckles stood out against the pallor of her skin, light blue eyes swimming with the knowledge that death was coming for her. Even the drugs could not ease that.

  Elise swallowed hard, thinking of Anne. That could be her on the bed.

  “You’ve had something to eat? Drink?” she asked, trying to distract herself.

  “Yes, thank you.” Ben looked at her. “How is Tumi? We’re worried about her.”

  Elise decided the group needed no more bad news and plastered on a smile. “She’s fine for now. I’m helping her to deliver the baby. In fact, I’d better get back there right away.”

  He nodded. “Well, thank you again.”

  She left the room,
noting Logan who kept watch like a stone statue. A hard man, she was nonetheless grateful he was there. He’d make sure Susan did not turn and hurt anyone else.

  Elise returned to Tumi’s side, focusing all her attention on delivering the baby. Long hours passed during which Tumi writhed and cried. Elise sponged her brow, gave her water and juice to drink and helped her to the bathroom. There wasn’t much else she could do.

  At one point, Joseph left the room, preferring to stand outside away from his wife’s screams. Elise understood. Witnessing a loved one in pain was hard.

  A little while later, Max reported that Susan had passed. A muffled shot confirmed that someone had taken care of it. Elise didn’t know whether to be sad or relieved and pushed her feelings aside for the moment.

  It was mid-afternoon before the head of the baby crowned. Elise crouched between Tumi’s legs, helping the baby out of the birth canal. The umbilical cord was wrapped around its neck, and one look at the grayish pallor of the skin was enough to confirm her worst fears. That, and the silence.

  The baby was stillborn.

  Small enough to fit into her cupped hands but perfectly formed, Elise cried silent tears as she handed the tiny form to Tumi. The poor woman burst into heart-rending sobs.

  “I’m so sorry,” Elise said to Joseph when he entered.

  He stood beside the bed with a stricken expression, reaching out a hesitant hand toward his wife. She gripped his fingers in hers, clinging to him. Their pain was hard to watch, private and intense. Elise excused herself, brushing away her tears. It would have been a perfect little boy.

  Chapter 12 - Morgan

  The dull thunk of an ax blade echoed through the humid air. Two pieces of wood landed in the grass on either side of an old stump. In the distance, dark clouds promised rain, but the heat was unrelenting.

  Morgan wiped the sweat from her brow and lifted the ax high again, bringing it down in a smooth arc. For half an hour, she split logs until there was enough to last them a few days.

  She groaned, straightening up to ease the nagging ache that nestled in the small of her back. Her skin prickled with heat, and she longed for an ice cold drink.

  Morgan loaded the split logs into a wheelbarrow and headed towards the house. She added the firewood to the small stack next to the kitchen door before going inside.

  Weathered by sun, wind, and rain, the battered old farmhouse welcomed her into its shadowed confines. She pulled off her work gloves, tossing them on the table before slumping into a chair.

  Hannelie stood by the counter, chopping tomatoes and onions while Joanna stirred a boiling pot. Flames flickered in the old coal stove Henri had dug out of storage. If it weren’t so hot, it would be homey.

  “Finished, my dear?” Hannelie asked.

  “For now,” Morgan replied. “I still have to check the fences with Henri. Where is he?”

  “In the barn, but have a drink first before you go.” Hannelie pressed a tepid glass of water into her hands, and Morgan swallowed it gratefully. These past few weeks, she’d learned not to complain.

  Her thoughts wandered back to the first day of the outbreak. It all seemed like a bad dream now. Brian, her father, all of it. A nightmare they had yet to awaken from. The first few nights, she’d cried herself to sleep, mourning everything she’d lost, but by now a certain numbness had set in.

  “Are you all right, dear?” Hannelie’s concerned voice broke into her thoughts.

  Morgan shook off her depression. “I’m all right.”

  Hannelie had welcomed them into her home without any reservations. One night turned into two and before they knew it, a week had passed. She never complained, taking them in like the lost orphans they were.

  The farm workers disappeared one by one, leaving to be with their families. The oldest, Daniel, who would have brought his family back to the farm, promised to see them within a day or two. He never returned either.

  Being young and active, Morgan had volunteered to help with the farm work, while Joanna and Julianne helped around the house. At night, they watched the news on TV to keep abreast with events. When all broadcasts ceased, they listened to the radio. Eventually, that stopped too.

  The cellphone networks never came back on, and none of them knew what had happened to friends and family. Perhaps, it was better that way.

  After two weeks the electricity went off, and the water followed soon after. Morgan reckoned it had been around six weeks now and things weren’t looking good. Then there was her little sister.

  “How’s Meghan doing?”

  “Still the same,” Joanna replied.

  That was bad news. A few days ago, Meghan had developed a hacking cough which soon escalated. Last Morgan saw she was running a fever, a fiery red blush coloring her cheeks. Julianne never left her side, sponging her forehead ceaselessly.

  Morgan sighed and put down the empty glass, wishing for more. She would not ask, though. Time to get back to work.

  Henri was busy mucking out the barn when she found him. As small as his wife was large, he possessed copious amounts of energy. The gleaming tack on the walls and carefully arranged equipment testified to that.

  Lola, the milk cow, lowed at her when she walked in, and Morgan scratched her forehead while the chickens clucked around her feet.

  “Need help?” she asked.

  “Not with this,” Henri replied. “But you can put the buckets out for when it rains.”

  “You think it will?”

  “I’m hoping so. We need the water.”

  That they did. Once a day, Henri switched on the generator to power the borehole, pumping just enough water for their most pressing needs. More he could not do as they were fast running out of fuel.

  Morgan set the buckets down outside, glancing at the clouds on the horizon. “Please let it rain.”

  Afterward, she saddled Pete, an old draft horse, and set off to check the fences. It was an essential task every day. They could not afford for any infected to get through. That barrier was all that stood between them and death.

  It was also the one task she looked forward to every day. Riding on Pete’s broad back gave her a taste of precious freedom. A freedom lost now that they were confined to the farm.

  Every day she wished she could head out, explore, find out what was going on in the outside world. The old folks wouldn’t hear of it, though, insisting it wasn’t safe. Perhaps it wasn’t, but the uncertainty was killing her.

  The ride also gave her a chance to process the feelings of guilt and grief she harbored. At first, it had been all she could think of. Now it wasn’t so bad anymore, perhaps because she was too busy trying to survive.

  Today, like most days, the ride was uneventful, free from intruding zombies. Within an hour, she was on her way back. Only twice in the past weeks had she come across an infected. Both times they were stuck in the fence, entangled in the wire. The memory of their empty eyes caused a shudder to ripple through her. Still, she had done what needed to be done.

  When she reached the farmyard, a cool breeze stirred her ponytail, bringing blessed relief from the heat. The clouds had moved closer, and once more she prayed for rain.

  She spent the rest of the afternoon weeding the vegetable patch, noting with displeasure the wilted stalks and leaves. If it didn’t rain soon, they’d have to pump more water.

  Supper was a quiet affair, notable only by the absence of Julianne and Meghan. It was also bland beyond belief. Since the electricity gave out, all the refrigerated goods had spoiled. They were left with the pantry and what the animals and garden could provide. Tonight, it was maize porridge with tomato and onion gravy. No meat. What I wouldn’t give for a nice juicy steak.

  But food was food, and Morgan scraped her plate clean until it shone before putting it in the sink. “Thanks for supper, Hannelie. Joanna. I’ll just go check in on Mom and Meghan.”

  “Take them something to eat while you’re at it, dear,” Hannelie replied, pointing to two plates on the stove.


  Morgan obeyed, making her way to the small room Julianne shared with Meghan. As expected, Julianne sat hunched over on a stool next to the bed where Meghan lay, tossing and turning. Every few seconds her small body spasmed, wracking coughs tearing through her chest. It was painful to hear.

  “Here, Mom. Have something to eat.”

  Julianne looked at the plate like it crawled with insects. “I’m not hungry, thanks.”

  “Come on. Try to eat, please. You’ve had hardly anything all day.”

  Julianne took it from her with reluctance, picking at a tomato without enthusiasm while Morgan tried to coax a few bites into Meghan. Hannelie had used some of their precious sugar and milk for the little girl’s porridge, knowing it was her favorite.

  “Do you think she’ll get better?” Morgan asked.

  “I don’t know.” Julianne shook her head, looking defeated. “Her fever is so high. If only I had medicine to give her. Antibiotics.”

  Afterward, Morgan went to the kitchen where Hannelie was preparing a pot of tea. The older woman eyed the two plates and pursed her mouth. “You might as well eat that, dear. It will only go to waste if you don’t.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. You need it anyway, working as hard as you do.”

  This was true, or so Morgan’s screaming stomach tried to convince her. Before she could feel too bad about it, she gulped down the leftovers, groaning with satisfaction when the cramping in her abdomen eased.

  “Have some tea.”

  Hannelie thrust a steaming mug into Morgan’s hands which she accepted with muttered thanks. Henri lit his pipe, sucking on the aromatic tobacco while Joanna read out of the battered Mills and Boon book she always carried around with her.

  She must have read that thing a thousand times by now, Morgan thought.

  She said nothing, though, not mentioning that the smell of tobacco was torture to her either. It was nobody’s fault she was a smoker. One who now had to do without her usual fix. Still, it was hard to contain the irritation boiling up within. God, I’m so tired of this, I could scream!