“I got you vitamins and over-the-counter cold and flu meds. It’s not much, but I should be able to get more tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
Breytenbach eyed the doctor, recognizing the signs of burnout. He was young, barely out of med school—which was why he preferred being called Jonathan—and idealistic.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out two protein bars and handed it to Jonathan, ignoring his protests. “You need it more than I do. You’re overworked and the only doctor we have. Eat.”
Jonathan took the bars, promising to eat them later, but Breytenbach knew he’d likely give them to a sick patient or hungry child, instead. Oh well. I tried.
When Breytenbach reached the mess hall, dinner was being served. After queuing for fifteen minutes, he received a plate of rice with a generous portion of bully beef and curried vegetable stew from Vicky.
Sitting down on a plastic chair that groaned dangerously underneath his weight, he leaned his elbows on the rusty table and savored the food one bite at a time. Little by little, the ache in his stomach subsided, and the cramps eased.
Halfway through, he was joined by the rest of the team. They all ate their food in silence. They knew how little there was and enjoyed it to the full whenever they had it. Even Mike kept his mouth shut until his plate was empty. Afterward, they said their goodbyes, trudging off to their respective sleeping quarters. When he reached his tent, Breytenbach collapsed onto his stretcher.
He was passed out and snoring within seconds, even forgetting to take his boots off. He slept fitfully, tossing and turning until he awoke several hours later, confused and disoriented. What the hell? Was that an explosion?
Echoes of the blast rang in his ears and got him up in record time. He shoved his knives and sidearm into their holsters and grabbed his rifle, rushing outside. Another explosion rocked the night, and he pinpointed the direction. It was on the Western edge of camp, close to the gates. Grenade. It must be another breach.
All around him, people were waking up, screaming and panicking. The whole camp had erupted into chaos, with people running around like headless chickens. Pushing through the crowds of frightened people, Breytenbach made his way over to the blast area. A flare shot up, brightening the night sky. What the fuck? Which idiot did that? Does he want to signal the entire zombie horde?
Another flash lit the sky. “I’m going to kill that bastard.”
Halfway to the fence, he was joined by Ronnie and Johan. Together they forced their way through. When they arrived, Breytenbach’s heart dropped into his boots.
A whole section of the fence had been flattened. A horde of infected flooded the camp. Soldiers valiantly tried to stem the tide without success. There are hundreds of them! No, thousands!
With a scream of pain, one soldier disappeared beneath the onslaught but only after pulling the pin on his grenade. It exploded, and a shower of dirt and body parts erupted into the air.
Breytenbach grabbed a fleeing soldier. “Stand fast. We can’t let them in.” He turned to the breach, yelling at the faltering defense. “Hold them back. Hold!”
He took a position, flanked by Johan and Ronnie. They laid down suppressing fire on the horde pouring through the gap. “Somebody man the damn RPG’s!”
His rifle clicked on empty. He tossed it aside, picking up another dropped by a fallen soldier. His eyes landed on the man’s belt filled with grenades, and he fumbled for the buckle, pulling it off. With swift movements, he pulled the pin and tossed the entire string into the gap.
A series of booms erupted, rendering the scene in brilliant light. His ears rang. Lit by the explosions, Breytenbach saw the sheer amount of infected clamoring to push their way inside. It’s too late. Sam. Mannuru. The children. We have to get them out.
He screamed at the soldiers, “Fall back. Evacuate now. Evacuate!”
To Johan and Ronnie, he said, “Spread the word and meet me at the Mamba.”
He turned and ran to get Samantha. Bursting through the tent flap, he was met by screaming children with the volunteers barely keeping order. “Get to the vehicles now. We’re evacuating the camp!”
Screams of panic met his announcement, but the women acted quickly, scooping up toddlers and babies.
He pushed through the throng and found Mannuru. “Go! I’ll get Sam.”
Mannuru wasted no time, grabbing two children by the hand and dragging them to the exit. Breytenbach ran to Sam’s crib and snatched her up. Clutching her to his chest with his left arm, he wielded his gun with his right.
“Follow me,” he ordered, storming into the night. It was absolute chaos outside, but he forged ahead with single-minded determination.
An infected stumbled out of the darkness, leering. He shot it without pause. More people joined up, streaming toward the gate. Samantha screamed, but he ignored her, knowing that salvation lay in getting to the vehicles.
Pale faces flashed by, lit by occasional flares and explosions. It was hard to tell the difference between the dead and the living. To the side, one of the girls fell with a cry, disappearing into the black. He dared not stop.
His toe hooked on something, and he stumbled, nearly going to his knees. Hands grasped his jacket, and he wrenched free. Sam’s voice rose to a shrill screech, ringing in his ears, threatening to burst an eardrum. The group of people around him thinned, falling victim to the dead. “Come on! We’re almost there.”
He snapped off another shot, but his gun clicked on empty. “Fuck!”
Breytenbach dropped his shoulder and rammed into the oncoming infected, plowing through. He ducked through a gap, and the convoy came into view. He was relieved to see his team were all there, taking a stand. A handful of soldiers stood with them under the command of Lieutenant Nathan.“Faster, we’re almost there!”
His team spotted them and laid down cover fire. Visibility was poor, but the floodlights positioned alongside the fence rendered the scene in gray. Reaching the Mamba, Breytenbach shouted at the women and kids. “Get in!” He turned to Johan. “Get them out!”
Johan fired up the engine, waiting until the last remaining woman, Mannuru, got in.
Breytenbach slammed the door shut, and watched as they drove off, followed by a steady stream of other vehicles. He watched them go with hope in his heart until he realized one important fact. He still held Samantha in his arms. “Fuck!”
More people pressed in around them, screaming for help. Behind them, the infected swarmed like locusts, devouring everything in their path. The panicking crowd pushed forward, savage in their all-consuming fear. Bellowing to be heard above the screams, Breytenbach shouted, “Fall back. Fall back!”
His team pulled together around him, forming an island of calm in the storm. Together they backed away from the tide of bodies. He aimed his 9mm with calm, taking down infected as they lunged out of the gloom. One appeared from the side. Unable to get his gun up in time, he shouldered it hard, bowling it off its feet. It fell with a hiss, clawing for his boots until a bullet from Kirstin finished it off.
Lieutenant Nathan closed the door on the last of the available trucks. It pulled away with seconds to spare as a large group of zombies swarmed him. The last Breytenbach saw of the lieutenant was a pale hand reaching out.
The realization that all the vehicles were gone hit him. He knew they’d never make it out on foot. Despair settled over his shoulders like a blanket, killing all hope. He didn’t care so much about himself as Samantha.
He looked down at her tear-stained face. I won’t let them touch her. Slowly, he raised the 9mm, heart hammering at the thought of what he was about to do.
“Captain. Captain!”
He looked around and saw Mike waving at him. “The chopper. Get to the helicopter.”
The crushing weight lifted off his shoulders. He lowered the gun. “You heard him.”
Retreating steadily, his little group made for the Puma helicopter. Mike jumped in and began the process of lift-off.
“Kirst
in. Get in and cover us,” Breytenbach ordered the Norse sniper. She obliged while the rest of them circled the chopper, keeping the zombies at bay.
As for the camp, it was finished. The infected had done their work, and most of the inhabitants were dead. From the interior, a low hum arose. Breytenbach froze, eyes searching for the source of the noise. At the edge of the light, his keen eyes picked out the first figure, running towards them with savage intent. “The camp’s dead. They’ve turned.”
“We’ve got runners!” Ronnie cried.
The figure dropped as Kirstin picked it off, but more surfaced from behind. Young and old, big and small, they came. The rotors picked up speed, and the air swirled, damp and cold with the threatening rain. Backing up until he felt the vibrating metal against his back, Breytenbach prepared to jump in.
A hoarse shout drew his attention. Jonathan emerged from the gloom, clutching a leather bag to his chest. Behind him was a figure in full pursuit. Vicky.
Her pale face shone in the poor light, and her frizzy red hair formed a halo around her head. She was running fast, with all the concentration of a predator. Jonathan would never make it.
Kirstin sighted on Vicky’s face. Her trigger finger moved imperceptibly, and a neat little hole punched into Vicky’s forehead. Her body jerked backward, halting her headlong rush. She plowed into the mud. Jonathan gained a small lead, but more took her place behind him.
“Run!” Breytenbach screamed. He jumped into the helicopter and took a knee, snapping off shots to make a path. Jonathan reached them with seconds to spare and dove in.
“Go, Mike!”
The Puma rose into the air, higher and higher until they were safe from the grasping hands of the infected. Thrusting Samantha into the arms of the red-faced Jonathan, Breytenbach leaned out to survey the camp as they gained altitude. Blood red streaked the sky to the East, bleeding into yellow and orange as it heralded the arrival of the sun.
Below him, thousands of fresh infected overran the camp, flushing out and killing anything that still lived. He spotted a group of people running for the gates, seeking to escape. Like the bloodhounds they were, the zombies followed, and a mass exodus from the camp ensued.
“God, I hope they make it,” Ronnie said.
“Me too.”
“What about the convoy?”
“They should be well on their way by now,” Breytenbach replied. “We’ll follow, find a safe place to hole up.”
The Puma turned in a graceful arc, picking up speed as they flew over the snarling heads of the infected.
The small group racing to safety on foot raised their hands in despair, screaming. “Wait! Wait for us!”
Breytenbach swallowed, his heart heavy. There was no going back. The zombies caught up to the little group who fell to the tearing teeth. He choked on the words in his throat, “I’m sorry.”
Seconds later, the infected moved on, following the convoy. Behind them, droplets of blood clung to the grass, glittering like rubies in the sun.
Chapter 23 - Breytenbach
Breytenbach gripped the metal sides of the chopper with numb fingers and leaned out into the cold wind. Strands of hair whipped across his eyes as he searched for the convoy, although such a motley assortment of vehicles could hardly qualify for the word.
Not that it mattered now. The only thing that mattered was the lives on board; the last remaining souls to escape the massacre. Mike dipped the chopper’s nose and flew over the vehicles, heading for the front with Breytenbach squinting into the wind. A dark mass on the horizon alerted him to trouble.
“Mike!” Breytenbach pointed at it, and Mike flew towards it. As they neared the shapeless mass, individual forms became apparent.
Kirstin sucked in a breath. “Captain,” she shouted over the rotors. “Infected.”
“Oh, shit,” Breytenbach swore as the truth sunk in. A horde was headed towards the convoy. Thousands and thousands strong. “We have to warn them. They’ve got to turn back.”
“It’s too late, Captain.” Kirstin pointed to the lead car.
It bounced and rattled on the rough dirt track, careening around a corner as the wheels struggled to find grip in the slippery mud. The driver, seeing the mass of zombies ahead, slammed on the brakes.
The car slid across the road, seemed to hesitate for a moment before the balance tipped. It flipped through the air and rolled to a stop near the lead zombies. The windows had smashed in the crash, allowing them easy access. They plucked the hapless victims from the wreck like sardines from a can.
The second car was close behind the first. It too tried to stop, ending up in a ditch on the side of the road. The third followed, making a frantic turn only to plow into the fourth, showering the path with glass and twisted metal.
Breytenbach swallowed on the bile that rose in his mouth. “Mike. Find Johan. Now.”
Mike complied, swinging the chopper low across the convoy. Towards the back, Breytenbach spotted the Mamba. “Radio Johan. Tell him to turn back.”
Mike didn’t bother with niceties or protocols. “Turn back. There’s a horde up ahead. Turn back!”
“Roger,” came the calm reply. The Mamba slowed to a crawl, performed a U-turn, then wound its way through the other cars to the back.
Breytenbach let out a nervous chuckle. “Johan. Always cool under fire.”
“Captain. The infected from camp.”
Breytenbach scrambled over, eyes widening as the first, fresh runners from field appeared. Johan and the rest would be caught between the two opposing forces, trapped in the middle. Breytenbach doubted even the Mamba could resist so many infected for long.
Mike jumped on the radio. “More infected coming your way!”
“Tell him to break to the left,” Breytenbach ordered. The veldt was more open there, and maybe, just maybe, Johan could make it through. He didn’t hold out much hope for the rest of the convoy. They were doomed. The Mamba turned, ramping over termite mounds and swerving to avoid trees. Hope rose in his chest. “Come on, come on.”
Johan slammed on the brakes, coming to a stop.
“What’s he doing?”
Breytenbach lifted his eyes. All hope left him. The zombie horde was too vast. They had encircled the area to the front and sides while the camp’s infected cut off escape to the back. They streamed through the trees, stumbling over ditches and logs.
Hovering above the Mamba, Breytenbach tried to think of something, anything. The hatch in the roof popped open. Johan climbed out, followed by Mannuru. She clutched a child in her arms which she handed to Johan. He lifted the boy up into the air as high as possible. Breytenbach caught on.
“Mike, drop down as low as you can.”
The Puma lowered, swaying above Johan’s head. Reaching down, with Ronnie holding his belt, Breytenbach grabbed the boy. Mannuru reached down into the hatch and came up with a little girl.
The infected, seeing fresh meat so close at hand, sped up their efforts and closed in on the Mamba. Kirstin took up a position with her rifle. The shots mixed with the growls rising from the throats of thousands of infected and the whap, whap of the Puma’s rotors.
Johan held up the little girl, and Breytenbach snatched her up. The infected were swarming faster than Kirstin could shoot, even with Lenka’s help. They surged, reaching up to the roof with eager hands. The dead bodies of their fellows created a platform.
The first infected climbed onto the roof, followed by another. Johan and Mannuru coaxed another child out of the hatch while Kirstin shot down the encroaching zombies with crisp precision. It was no use.
“Too many,” she cried.
Breytenbach pulled his gun and added his shots to the fray, opening his mouth to shout a warning. “Johan!”
An infected latched onto Johan’s shoulder and sank its teeth deep into the muscle. Another grabbed his arm. Johan didn’t go down. He roared in anger and bludgeoned them with his fists. He pushed Mannuru back inside the Mamba, reaching out to close the hatch.
> Three more infected tackled him. He fell, his right hand scrabbling for the lid. Too late. Grinning grotesquely through ragged flaps of flesh, a zombie slithered down the hatch.
Even with all the noise, Breytenbach could hear the women and children inside scream as the monster fell into their midst. A pale hand thrust through the opening but disappeared when more zombies pushed their way inside.
On top of the roof, Johan fought. Great rips appeared in his flesh. He never gave an inch, roaring with rage. Whatever else he was, he was a fighter to the last. “Go!”
“No!” Breytenbach screamed in frustrated rage, preparing to jump out. Ronnie latched onto him, holding him back.
Johan went down, brought to his knees by sheer weight in numbers. They tore into him, and his blood coated the roof of the Mamba. Kirstin sighted down the barrel of her gun, the scope bringing Johan’s face into sharp relief.
She steadied her aim and squeezed the trigger with the whispered words, “Hvil i fred.” Johan slumped, face relaxing into the welcome arms of death. “Rest in peace, my friend.”
Breytenbach would dream about that day for years to come. He would wake in a cold sweat as he relived his best friend’s last moments, and listened to those innocent kids cry as they died in agony and torment. Hell had nothing on Earth at this point.
“Get us out of here, Mike,” Ronnie said, still holding onto Breytenbach.
“No,” Breytenbach cried even though he knew it was futile. The chopper rose, and the Mamba grew smaller. He stopped fighting and slumped to the floor, angry tears burning his eyes.
It was Samantha who roused him from his grief, her voice hoarse and shrill, stretched to its absolute breaking point. The strident peals penetrated his consciousness, and he took her from Jonathan. “Hush, Sam. Hush now.”
Soothing her eased his pain. He leaned back, holding her close. The familiar smell of his jacket seemed to calm her, and she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.
The boy and girl were terrified and shivering, but at least they weren’t crying. Kirstin got them settled into their seats and buckled in. Breytenbach could imagine how they felt. He felt it too.
Children of the Apocalypse: Mega Boxed Set Page 22
