“No problem,” Logan said, extending his long legs in front of him.
“Other than that, our water supply is adequate with the current rationing system, and we’re barely staying afloat with guard duty and chores though everyone is overextended,” Julianne continued.
“Once the repairs are done, we should have more hands,” Max said. “That should even out the workload.”
“If they ever get done,” Joseph said with a wave of his hands. “The fences need work. So do the gates, both inside and out. And that breach in our inner wall where that truck slammed through…that’s what worries me the most. We need more material.”
“Ronnie is doing his best, I’m sure,” Breytenbach protested.
“I know he is, but it’s not good enough. If he could bring me what I need, we could all band together and fix our defenses within days. It needs to be done,” Joseph said, his tone of voice rising in pitch. “I have a child, Max, and his safety is of the utmost importance to me.”
“I know that Joseph, it’s just hard with so much else going on,” Max said. “Important tasks like the harvest. We need to eat, don’t you agree?”
“None of that will matter if our defenses fail and we all die. Don’t forget about the plumbing and electrical systems either,” Joseph added. “They might be holding up, for now, thanks to Julianne’s rationing system, but come summer we’ll have a problem.”
“What do you suggest?” Max asked.
“That Ronnie focuses on the materials I need for the next two weeks or so and every spare hand pitches in to help. Once our defenses are stable and we have a steady supply of water and electricity, we can look to the rest,” Joseph said.
A murmur of protests did the rounds as each person voiced their own opinion, convinced that what they required was more critical than the rest. Lisa shook her head at their stubbornness. Couldn’t they set aside their differences? Privately, she agreed with Joseph on the need to do the repairs first. Everything else came second to that consideration.
Max raised his hands. “Okay, everyone. Settle down. Joseph has a point. Dead men don’t eat.” A reluctant silence fell as everyone subsided in their seats. “But before we discuss it further, does anyone else have anything to add to the meeting?”
Lisa raised her hand. It was her turn, at last. “I do.”
“Go ahead,” Max said.
She lifted her chin and stood up. “As you all know, I’m in charge of the security team. We do moat patrols every day as well as occasional raids, sweeps of the area, and guard duty.”
Nods and half-smiles did the rounds. This encouraged her to forge ahead even though she doubted anyone would believe her story.
“As such, I work near the dead. I see them every day. I study their patterns and behaviors, and…” For a few seconds, Lisa hesitated. “I’ve come to conclude that they’re changing.”
“What?” Max said. “Changing in what way?”
“There’s more of them for one thing. Lots more. Every day the moat is filled with the infected.”
“That means nothing, though, does it?” Julianne said. “With all the activity and noise around here, it was bound to draw them in.”
“Maybe, but their numbers should have slacked off by now. The fight happened weeks ago. Even Dr. Lange says so,” Lisa replied.
“Dr. Lange? What does he have to do with this?” Breytenbach asked with narrowed eyes.
“He’s been studying them too,” Lisa replied. “And he agrees. The infected are changing.”
“That’s impossible.”
“It can’t be.”
“Changing?”
“What are we going to do?”
The angry buzz of voices drowned out Lisa’s next sentence, and she pressed her lips together while she waited them out. One foot tapped the floor in a rapid beat. Patience had never been a virtue of hers.
“Where is Dr. Lange?” Max asked. “I’d like to hear from him on this matter.”
Jonathan spoke up. “He went on this morning’s raid with Ronnie.”
“Whatever for?” Max asked.
“He’s gone to study more infected, hasn’t he?” Breytenbach interjected.
With reluctance, Jonathan nodded. “So he says.”
“Well, this is an interesting development,” Max said, leaning back in his chair. “I suppose they’re not back yet?”
“They are due any moment,” Kirstin replied, standing up in one fluid motion. “I know where they went. I will wait at the gates and escort them here.”
“Thank you, love,” Max murmured with a grateful smile before turning his attention back to the meeting. “All right. Until they arrive, I propose we talk about less important matters first. Get that cleared from the agenda.”
Lisa sighed as she sat back down. As she’d feared, this meeting was turning into a long, tedious waste of time. Her only hope was that Dr. Lange would prove to be her ally, though the last time she spoke to him, he’d been reluctant to voice his opinion to Max without more concrete evidence.
A half hour passed during which the group discussed the children and their schooling, laundry and cleaning duties, the possible expansion of the vegetable plots, and combat training.
Lisa perked up at that last bit. While she’d been given a crash course in fighting by Ronnie and Lenka, she was keen to learn more. So were Nadia and a few others she knew. “Captain? Would you be interested in giving a few one on one lessons?”
“One on one?” Breytenbach asked.
“Yes. I know enough to keep me alive, but I’d like to learn more.”
“Maybe,” he replied, not looking sold on the idea. “Depends if I’ve got the time. You know I mostly work with the kids.”
“Oh, okay,” Lisa replied with a disappointed shrug.
Next moment, Julianne elbowed him in the ribs, though, and Lisa suppressed a grin when he agreed to give her a few pointers after all. “Around dusk today? By the far east corner?”
“I’ll be there,” she agreed, and then there was nothing left to do but wait for Dr. Lange.
Luckily, the scientist showed up a short while later, hustled inside by Martin and Kirstin. Once they were seated, Max urged Dr. Lange to share his side of the story.
“It’s simple. The virus is changing. Mutating. It’s adapting to its environment and its human host. In turn, it’s making the infected more resilient as well.”
“In what way?” Max asked.
“We’ve all speculated at one point or another that the undead would rot away eventually. That there’d be nothing left of them except bones, perhaps. Well, this is untrue. Once decomposition reaches a certain stage, it slows and then stops altogether. The zombies are here to stay.”
“Well, that is indeed bad news to all of us who dream of a free world,” Max said.
“Truly, but that’s not the worst of it. The infected are also becoming stronger. As decomposition slows, they become tougher. This makes them more dangerous too.”
“You’re serious?” Max asked, his facial expression echoing the horror of everybody else gathered there.
“Very serious,” Dr. Lange said, opening his hands wide. “Imagine this. A zombie, old but intact, no longer rotting. It becomes tougher, less prone to falling over for the slightest reason. It’s hungry. Hungrier than ever before as the virus prompts it to spread the disease, so it actively searches for food instead of waiting for outside stimulus. It’s hunting.”
Lisa’s mouth fell open. That little titbit was something she hadn’t known. Sure, she’d noticed the undead’s increasing activity levels, their tendency to swarm, and even a certain toughness of late, but that was all. The doctor’s been hiding things from me, from all of us.
A grim silence fell over the room, broken only by the soft clicks of an analog clock on the wall. Lisa took the opportunity to press home her point and stood up. “This is what I’ve been trying to tell you, Max. The moat, the walls, the gates…we’re hard-pressed to keep the undead out as it is. If we
hope to hold the camp, we need to not only repair but also improve our defenses. And we need to do it now.”
Max sighed, and for the first time since she’d met him, he looked defeated. “Is that even possible? We’re low on supplies, and we’re low on labor. How do we do it all?”
Breytenbach stood up. “We pull all hands on deck. We form two, even three raiding parties to find the materials we need. Once we have that, we work around the clock. All of us. We make this camp safe.”
“What about the crops, the cooking, the schooling?” Elise asked.
“We can do that,” Michelle said, surprising everybody when she raised her hand.
“We?” Elise said.
“Nombali, the kids, and I,” Michelle answered. “We can take care of all those things while you work on the walls.”
“Really?” Elise said with a strong hint of disbelief in her voice.
Michelle raised her chin. “Don’t underestimate the children. They’re capable of more than you think. We can cook meals, do the washing, and tidy the bungalows. I bet we could even water and weed the gardens and look after the chickens. It’d be fun. Like a school outing.”
“A school outing,” Elise repeated faintly.
“It’s a chance for us to prove ourselves. To pay you back for everything you’ve done for us, ” Michelle said.
Lisa looked at the petite, sandy-haired girl who’d once been her fellow captive and felt a deep surge of respect well up within her breast. It was the first time Michelle had ever stood up for anything, and it made Lisa proud to be her friend.
“I say let them do it,” Lisa said, prompting a shy smile from Michelle.
Julianne looked around her and shrugged. “It’s a thought, guys. If they take up the slack, we can get this place fixed up once and for all.”
Rumbles of assent rose until Max stood up. “It’s settled then. Michelle, Nombali, and the children will run the camp while the rest of us get to work on the defenses.”
After a few more minutes of back and forth, it was decided that Jonathan and Dr. Lange would remain in the infirmary while Hannah would join Michelle, Nombali, and the kids. As the only medical personnel, they couldn’t be risked. Dave, however, opted to participate in the repairs as would everybody else not engaged in raiding.
With the meeting adjourned, Lisa strode outside with a feeling of relief. The crushing weight of responsibility on her shoulders had lessened. Finally, someone had listened to her. Now we can get things done, at last.
Chapter 7 - Michael
Michael woke with a start in the cold grey hours of dawn. He blinked several times while he tried to regain his bearings. A quick glance around told him he was lying in the backseat of a car. His cheek was pressed to its grainy brown material, and a thin blanket covered his length.
The car’s windows were fogged up and empty, the interior dead silent. He shifted his weight and winced; each joint was locked in place by the long hours of sleep. Faint images lingered from the dreams that haunted him. Glimpses of Mpho’s dark eyes and full lips mocked him.
His gaze locked onto the bundle of cloth in his fist. A crimson scarf. He raised it to his nose and breathed in her scent. It was faint, but there, and all he had left of her. Mpho.
After a moment, he shook off the memories, concentrating instead on the icy knot of hatred inside his breast.
Hiran.
That was the only name that mattered to him now.
With a grunt, Michael sat upright and got his feet underneath him. A quick check confirmed everything was in place, and he took a moment to stretch his spine and work the kinks out of his neck.
He was interrupted by the groans of a zombie, and next moment, it had its face glued to the window. Streamers of flesh hung from its cheeks, and one eye was missing.
“Oh, fuck off, will you?” he muttered, his patience with all things undead worn away.
The infected woman sped up her efforts and clawed at the clear glass, smearing it with grime. He ignored her antics and gathered up his things instead, before packing it into his backpack. Knife in hand, he exited the car and waited for the zombie lady to twig onto his re-appearance. “Over here.”
She paused mid-groan before attempting to claw her way across the roof. He rolled his eyes and sighed. “God, you’re stupid. Around the car.”
Finally, she caught on and stumbled toward him, rasping her hunger like a broken record. Impatient to get going, Michael kicked her in the knee and broke the joint. She fell to her face, and he ended her struggles with a quick stab to the back of the head.
After a quick look around for danger, he donned fresh socks, brushed his teeth, and made a meal of water and a protein bar. A few minutes later, he was on the road again, walking to the next town. The car he’d slept in was nothing more than a rusting hulk, its battery long dead, and he left it behind without a second glance.
The morning passed swiftly as he settled into a ground-eating jog. His breath eased in and out of his lungs at an even pace that matched his heartbeat. Running was a favorite pastime of his, one he’d always enjoyed for the peace it afforded him.
When he ran, he could forget about his troubles, forget about Valerie and Mpho. He could focus on the physical. On the smooth rhythm of his limbs and the sound of his feet on the asphalt. It allowed his brain to switch off for a brief, but merciful, period.
On either side, the winter landscape streamed past, a monotonous blur of beige, brown, and grey. An occasional stunted tree reached for the sky with clawed branches, and termite mounds stood guard like silent sentinels.
In the distance, hills rose above the ground interspersed with rocky outcrops. The occasional cell tower reminded one of the past while thick brush lined the overhangs. Michael had the brief thought that some of those towering hills would make for a safe base but soon dismissed it as irrelevant to his current situation.
Around noon, he paused to take a break and built a small fire with brush and twigs. From his pack, he filled a metal cup with water and boiled it on a flat rock. Once it was hot, he dumped in a tea bag and let it steep while he munched on a few apples he’d plucked from a tree. They were small and sour, having grown far too late in the season, but he didn’t care. His body needed nutrition, and that’s all that mattered.
As Michael sipped his tea, he reflected on the past few days. Following Hiran’s trail had proved more difficult than he’d thought it would. First, he’d returned to Ke Tau’s hideout to look for clues.
There were none.
All he found were new reasons to hate the man and his followers. Although the bodies of the women and children had been removed and cremated, the evidence of the massacre remained. Splashes of dried blood covered the floors. Slash marks adorned the painted walls where knives and machetes had missed their victims and hit concrete instead. A metallic tang hung in the air, overlaid by the sweet stench of rot.
The place was also a hub for the undead, and the damned things nearly swarmed him while he was there. He barely got out with his skin intact and moved on with alacrity.
From there on, he’d searched the rest of town, though he found precious little to point him in the right direction. Hiran and his men had disappeared into the night like the murdering thieves they were.
Finally, he’d moved on to the next town, and then the next, using what resources he could find along the way to survive. He slept in alleyways and old cars, abandoned buildings and garden sheds with only a thin blanket and bedroll for warmth. Once, he even spent the night in a tree. That was the most uncomfortable he’d ever been.
When he was able to, he bathed and washed his clothes in streams. The rest of the time he smelled, though he always took care of his feet. He ate what he could find or kill. Even rats and pigeons.
The infected were a nuisance. The things seemed to be more active than he remembered them being, and they wandered around in a perpetual search for food. He killed them when he had to, avoided them when he couldn’t, and never once let go of his
end goal: find and kill Hiran. A week passed in this fashion, then two. He never stopped looking.
In Hennenman, he found a clue. Several, in fact. The crucified bodies of people nailed to the doors of their hideouts. From there, he’d followed the trail to a farmhouse, and after that, to a slew of other small communities. Each time, he found more unfortunates forced to die in the same fashion. As Michael investigated the scenes, he came to certain conclusions.
Like any tyrant, Hiran ruled through fear. As long as his men feared him, they’d obey him. Toss in the occasional reward for following him and Hiran had it made. Even though he was in no way religious, killing his victims through crucifixion delivered a message. An unequivocal message. One designed to strike fear into the hearts of anyone who either followed or opposed him.
It was apparent to Michael that while Ke Tau had been a shrewd and violent man, Hiran was a far more dangerous adversary.
“It doesn’t matter. His blood runs just as sweetly as anybody else’s,” Michael muttered under his breath.
He was now nearing Brandfort, a tiny town not far from Bloemfontein which was where Hiran had gone if his current estimate was correct.
The town appeared in the distance, and Michael slowed to a walk. He approached with caution, one hand resting on his rifle while the other gripped his knife.
The sun was high by now, and the midday heat was pleasant after the morning chill. The pockmarked road led between two rows of buildings, worn and dilapidated after more than a year without any upkeep.
He saw no movement and spotted no life except for pigeons roosting in the eaves and a stray cat that took off the moment it saw him. Not even the usual undead candidates came out to greet him. It felt like a ghost town.
Empty windows and shop fronts seemed to stare at the street with bland indifference. Clogged gutters overflowed onto the pavements to join the garbage rotting to mush in alleys and corners. Weeds poked through the cracks in the concrete, and the road was filled with growing holes and trenches.
It was nothing he wasn’t used to, and he wondered how long it would take until nothing remained at all. Mankind’s time on earth had been brief, and it seemed their legacy would be even more fleeting.
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