She squeezed off a single bullet but was too hasty. It missed by mere centimeters. “Fy fæn!”
Meghan fought against the undead creature’s hold with all her strength. It refused to let go. When she realized it was hopeless, she used a different tactic by lifting her feet and dropping to the ground.
Golden strands ripped free from her head, causing tears of agony to form in her eyes. There was no time to be a sissy about it, however. She had to get away. Meghan threw herself away from the questing fingers and scrambled across the ground. Stones cut into her palms, and thorns pierced her skin.
A cold hand latched onto her ankle. It yanked her back again, toward that awful gaping maw filled with rotten teeth. Meghan’s looked over her shoulder as she kicked in vain to get free. Filmy eyes stared at her as her calf was lifted toward the thing’s mouth.
“No, no, no, no!” Meghan sobbed.
Something punched into the zombie’s temple. Its skull exploded. Bits of bone, blood, and brain rained down on the cowering girl. It pattered onto her dress where it clung with horrid tenacity. She tried to scrape it off, screaming all the while.
Max arrived seconds later and scooped her up into his arms. “Oh, thank God. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Meghan blubbered incoherent words. The will to survive that had prompted her to fight now drained away. Intense fear and relief took over. Tears streamed down her face, and she clung to her brother’s strong arms. He’d keep her safe. She knew it.
“Why did you go out alone, sweetheart? Why?” Max asked as he swung back to camp. One hand pressed against the back of her head while the other held her shaking body close. “I thought it’d be too late. Thank God, you’re all right.”
Back on the wall, Kirstin smiled with satisfaction.
Her second shot hadn’t missed.
The child was safe.
Chapter 8 - Henri
Henri watched the Nyalas pull away in a cloud of dust. His heart sank. He would miss them, all of them, but especially Meghan. She’d been a ray of sunshine in his home these past few weeks with her giggling laughter and bouncing curls. A real joy to warm his heart.
After a moment, he turned back to the mound of freshly dug earth at his feet. Hannelie was dead. He couldn’t believe she was gone, plucked away by a rotting corpse with no soul. His lips pressed together. Time to go hunting.
He slung his rifle over his shoulder and patted the Colt pistol riding on his belt. He was too old to sit in the house and wither away. Too old to be of use to anybody. Besides, he didn’t want to live without Hannelie.
“Well, old girl, guess I’ll be seeing you soon. After forty-three years of marriage, I no longer know how to tie my shoelaces without you.” Tears trickled down his worn cheeks. The grief felt like a stone in his chest, weighing him down.
With his mind made up, he released the animals, scattering the last of the feed on the ground. The chickens and geese would be all right, but he was less sure about Pete, the draft horse, and Lola, the milk cow. They were both over their prime and would likely starve without him. After several minutes of mental wrangling, he decided to put them down.
“Can’t have those flesh-eating parasites get a hold of you, now can I?” he said, patting Pete on the shoulder. The horse whinnied, blowing warm air down his neck.
Henri raised his pistol and put it to Pete’s forehead. A gentle squeeze was all it took. The old horse collapsed at his feet, spasming in death. “I’m sorry, boy. You were a good companion. Strong. Faithful.”
After a deep breath, he moved on and repeated the procedure with Lola. Her eyes glazed over while he stroked her head, sadness threatening to overwhelm him. “Sorry, girl.”
He climbed into his truck and drove away, clutching the steering wheel to still his trembling hands. Not once did he look back. If he did, he might not have the courage to leave.
The town was nothing like he remembered. Uncollected rubbish sat on sidewalks. Potholes had grown larger overnight, and everywhere he looked, he was confronted by empty shops, deserted streets, and abandoned cars.
“Well, except for them,” he said, nodding at the undead who wandered around in search of a meal. “This is it, Hannelie. The end of mankind, I’m telling you.” His keen eyes picked out a good spot, and he pulled over. “Time to thin the herd.”
Henri steadied his rifle on the doorjamb, lining up with the nearest zombie. With methodical precision, he killed it before moving on to the next. His eyes noted their physical traits. That one was a woman, blond and maybe pretty once. That one was a male, an oldster by the looks of it, and in bad shape. A kid…no telling if it was a boy or girl.
His conscience twinged, and he took it as a sign from Hannelie whom he was sure was watching over him. “They aren’t people anymore. There are no souls in those empty husks, I’m telling you. I’m doing them a favor, releasing them from those rotting shells.”
Upon emptying his rifle, he reloaded and drove to a new spot, repeating the ritual. “I’m not quite ready to join you yet, dear. I’ve got a job to do first. The more of these things I kill, the more lives I might save. It’s the least I can do, I guess.”
By late afternoon, his stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten all day. Rooting in the bag of supplies he’d brought with him, he made a meal of water and dry rusks. It was enough to still the pangs of hunger in his stomach, but he wanted more.
The sight of a liquor store roused his interest, and he pulled over. After grabbing a six-pack of beer, he picked up a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. “Yeah, I know, Hannelie. I quit years ago, but if I’m gonna die today, I might as well enjoy myself.”
He imagined her disapproving look in his mind’s eye and chuckled. “Calm down, old girl. It’s just this once, I promise. I’ll be sitting next to you on a big fat cloud soon enough, stringing a harp.”
He climbed back into the cab and leaned back, cracking the window open. Three infected had zeroed in on him, but he ignored them. Their swaying gait, slow and painful, presented little threat to him.
He cracked open a beer and took a deep swig of the warm brew. The bitter taste flowed across his tongue, heating the pit of his stomach. Eyeing the can, he mused, “Too bad you’re not cold. Now that would have been a real treat.”
With the borrowed lighter he lit his first smoke in eighteen years. It took him back to the days when he was a young man, smoking because it was popular. No one had yet realized how poisonous it was. He closed his eyes and remembered the way Hannelie looked when he first met her, dancing in a red dress with red lipstick and red hair. Everything about her had glowed. “I was lost the minute I saw you, darling. You were the most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on.”
Pain washed over him. It leeched the will to live from his bones, leaving him a dry husk. “You know what, dear? I think I might as well join you now.”
His resolve strengthened when the first infected reached the truck, mashing its rotted face against the window. It brought home the ugliness of the new world to Henri, and he picked up the Colt, thumbing back the hammer. “See you soon, darling.”
A shrill scream interrupted his fond farewell, and he paused. It was the first human voice he’d heard all day. Living, that was. He twisted in his seat and scanned the area. Two youngsters ran down the road. A cluster of infected was chasing them. They were the fast variety, and Henri marveled at the sight. He’d never seen newly infected before. Max had told him about them. They were scarce nowadays, testifying to the rarity of survivors left to infect. It saddened him, the knowledge that yet more people had succumbed to the virus.
Shoving open the door, Henri snapped off a shot at the zombie that had tried its best to claw through the window. The bullet passed through the skull in a spray of red mist. He tossed down the Colt and grabbed his rifle.
He made each shot count, squeezing the trigger after a short lead. The knot of chasing infected thinned and fell to the road one after the other. The youngsters gained a slight lead.
“Come on,” Henri shouted, waving at them. He jumped back into the truck, opening the passenger door. Turning on the ignition, he revved the engine. The two survivors reached the vehicle, their faces shining with sweat as they got into the passenger side. Henri roared away from the horde, and the tires squealed in his haste.
The zombies continued to chase the truck with desperate intensity, their arms and legs moving at a speed he found incredible. They were no match for the vehicle, though. After a time, their figures dwindled in the rearview mirror.
Once it was clear, Henri pulled over and turned to study the newcomers. They were young, a boy and a girl. Early twenties, he guessed. What he found most surprising was the girl. She was pregnant, her belly protruding far enough to suggest she was a few months along already. Tears streamed down her face while she huddled against her…friend? Boyfriend? Henri’s eyes dropped to their hands, and he noticed the wedding bands. Ah. Married with a baby on the way. What a lousy time to be in a delicate way.
The boy blinked at him, eyes twitching in what Henri assumed to be a nervous tick. His glasses were thick, the frame a bright orange color. “Thanks for helping us, Mister…”
“Henri. Call me Henri.”
“Okay, uh…Henri. I’m Sean, and this is Erica. Thanks again. Without you…” The boy trailed off, and his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed.
“Sure thing. You two okay?”
Sean shook his head while the girl cried harder, fingers spread across her stomach to protect the life cradled within. He wished Hannelie were there. She’d know what to do.
“Come now, Miss. Stop crying, please. I’ll get you somewhere safe, okay?”
“S…safe?” Erica sniffed, looking at him with red-rimmed eyes. A pretty little thing, she seemed overwhelmed and on the verge of panic.
“I know of other survivors who’ll take you in.” Henri smiled, hoping to calm her fears. “They’re good folks.”
“Really?” Disbelief and hope chased each other across her face, fighting for dominance.
“Yes.” Henri threw a glance out the window and noted that the sun hung low on the horizon. “But first we have to find a place to hole up for the night. It’s getting late, and I’d rather not drive around in the dark.”
Erica burst into fresh sobs, burying her face in Sean’s neck. He patted her back and threw an apologetic look at Henri. “Sorry. It’s been a tough few weeks.”
“Trust me, son. I know.”
***
A short while later, they were parked in front of a house on the outskirts of town. It was located on a culdesac in a neighborhood that used to be quiet before the apocalypse. Henri hoped that would prove to be a boon now.
He’d chosen the house with the best security and stared at it, evaluating. The sun dipped below the edge of the earth, its last rays fading before the invading forces of the night.
“Stay here. I’ll check it out.” After checking the rounds in his guns, he turned to Sean. “If something happens, drive off and find a safe place for the night. In the morning, head to the old Riot Police quarters. You know where that is?”
Sean nodded, eyes wide.
“Good. Now stay put while I clear the place.”
The street was deserted with not a single infected in sight. The light was fading fast and urged him to haste, so Henri walked to the gate and rattled it. It wouldn’t budge. The electric motor was dead. “Dang it.”
He eyed the stone wall with suspicious eyes, wondering if his old bones could do the climb. The truck door opened, and Sean appeared. “Need help?”
“Sure. Could you give me a boost?”
Sean knelt down and cupped his hands together. With a lot of shoving, grunting and cursing, they got Henri up onto the wall. First, he surveyed the yard for movement until he was confident it was empty.
“Right, here I go, Hannelie. Watch over me now.” He dropped into the tall grass. It whispered as he walked which did nothing for his nerves, and he hoped nothing hid within the overgrowth ready to jump out at him.
With deft hands, he clipped the gate motor to manual and slid it open partway. “Never know if I might need a quick getaway.”
The path to the front door of the house was paved, and weeds pushed through the cracks between. Crickets sang in the background while the empty windows were like eyes watching him. A shiver worked up his spine. He reached for the door handle. It was unlocked, the hinges creaking when it swung open. A musty smell greeted his nose, tinged with the sweet undertones of rotten flesh. I’m not alone.
The hairs on the back of his neck rose when he stepped inside. A whisper of sound warned him in time, and he whipped up his rifle. The stock connected with the body of a child and flung it back. It hissed and scrambled across the carpet towards him. Henri grabbed a handful of its greasy hair to keep its teeth out of his flesh.
It was a girl, clawing at his arms. She wore pink pajamas, the left slipper still on. He clubbed her to death, using the rifle to crack her skull until it popped. Like a broken doll, she sank to the floor, her dead eyes dull. Averting his gaze, he shuffled past her to search the rest of the house.
In the living room, he found the remains of the family dog. The bones gleamed white in the last light filtering through the windows, lying in a pool of dried blood. An antique grandfather clock adorned the wall.
After a cursory check inside the kitchen and dining room, Henri braved the hallway. Five doors led off it, two to each side and a final one at the end. All were open except for the one at the end.
The little girl’s room was first. Stuffed toys sat alone and abandoned on the bed while a book about unicorns lay open on the floor. The opposite room was a boy’s room, likely a teenager’s. Clothes were strewn across the floor, and an empty pizza box sat next to a dead computer. This raised an immediate question. Where is he?
The next two rooms were a bathroom and a study. Henri sighed with relief. Only two kids then.
He found himself facing the final bedroom. Night had fallen, and it was dark inside the house. His heart beat like a drum, fast and hard, speeding up to accommodate the fear that threatened to unman him. After a second, he shook his head. “All right, I’m going. Can’t stand here all day.”
With a swift movement, he shoved open the door. For a single moment, nothing happened until rapid footsteps sounded. A growl carried to his ears. Something hit him low and hard. Hands latched onto his body, and fingers hooked into his shirt.
He twisted away and swung the rifle. It connected with a hollow thump, but the thing didn’t let go. Teeth sank into his forearm, digging deep. Pain shot through him, and he lashed out, loosening the infected’s grip. It fell back, and he pulled the pistol from his belt. It bucked twice, one shot finding its mark. The thing slumped, its head deformed by the bullet.
Buoyed by adrenalin, Henri spun, ready for more attackers. There were none, but a thump came from a closed door at the other end of the room. A quick check revealed that the infected he’d killed was the boy. “That leaves the parents.”
With his heart in his throat, he strode to the door and yanked it open. The pistol was ready; the barrel pointed forward. A rasping snarl issued from the figure of a woman that lay at his feet, and he danced back a few steps. Long hair hung across her shoulders. Her arms reached for him, yearning. Faint light streamed through the windows and bathed her skin in hues of gray.
He shot her and checked the rest of the bathroom. It was empty. He looked at the woman he now assumed to be the mother. Her body was in bad shape and covered in bite marks and gouges.
“Poor old girl,” Henri muttered. He dragged her body into the tub, closing her eyes and arranging her dressing gown for modesty. “Did your boy turn and attack you and his sister? Or was it the girl who turned first?” He shook his head, covering her with a towel. “They must have laid into you something awful before you hid in here.”
With a sigh, Henri retraced his steps, carrying the bodies of the children to the bathroom as
well. He arranged them on the floor close to their mother before he paused. “I’m not one for saying prayers. That used to be my wife’s job. All I can say is, I’m sorry this happened to you. Rest in peace.”
With a soft click, he shut the door. His eyes dropped to the crescent bite mark on his arm. It gleamed with dark blood. “Guess I’ll be seeing you soon, Hannelie.”
After a final search of the house and grounds established there were no more zombies, he strode outside. Down the street, he saw a few shambling figures, drawn by the gunshots, no doubt. They were still a fair distance away, and he waved at the youngsters. “You can come out now. It’s safe.”
The couple got out, hesitant and nervous. Henri climbed into the truck and parked inside before helping Sean to secure the gates. As he moved, he noticed the wound was starting to burn. It wasn’t too bad yet, more of a tingling sensation in the arm and shoulder. Still, it served as a warning of what was to come. I’d better get moving.
“Let’s get you two inside,” he said. Removing the supplies from his truck, he hustled them into the house. “Here’s a little food and water. A flashlight. Enough for the night, at least.”
He clicked on the light, and the darkness receded. Dark hollows beneath the kid’s eyes made them appear ghostly, and their skin was stretched tightly over their cheekbones. They haven’t eaten much lately.
Erica collapsed into a chair, her shoulders slumped forward. Sean hovered over her. “Are you okay, sweetie?”
She nodded, but her eyes drooped.
“She’d better get some rest. Her and the baby.”
“I know. It’s been hard.” Sean’s thin hands picked at his shirt.
“It’ll be okay now. Tomorrow you’ll be safe. The people at the riot center have food, shelter, and weapons. There are even a few children.”
“Really?” Erica asked. “It sounds wonderful.”
Children of the Apocalypse: Mega Boxed Set Page 34
