Children of the Apocalypse: Mega Boxed Set

by Baileigh Higgins

  A hollow pop rang out. His skull collapsed and skewed his face. With his snarl frozen in place and bulging eyes, the homeless guy toppled over to lie motionless.

  Cat stood, chest heaving, waiting for him to get up. A slow trickle of blood crept toward her toes, a river of black death. Her hands began to tremble. She smothered a gasp, stepping back until her heels hit the sidewalk. Her knees gave way, and she sat down with a thump, her eyes never leaving the corpse. “Oh, my God. I killed him.”

  Cat wrenched her eyes away and looked up and down the street, half expecting a cop to pull up and arrest her for murder. “I killed him. I really, really killed him! Crap!”

  The trees whirled around her in a dizzying blur of green. An iron fist constricted around her lungs and throat. Cat sucked in a breath, dragging oxygen into her lungs. One hand fumbled for the asthma inhaler in her pocket. She never left home without it.

  Placing the mouthpiece to her lips, she pressed down. With a whoosh, the precious dosage filled her lungs. Cat wrapped her trembling arms around her knees and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. The taut feeling in her chest eased, the dizziness passed. A semblance of clarity returned. “I’ve got to phone Mom. She’ll know what to do.”

  Cat dialed the number.

  Her mom answered on the fifth ring. “Dr. Botha’s office.”

  “Mom! Mom, I just killed a guy. He came at me, and he wouldn’t stop, and I whacked him with a stick, and now he’s just lying there, and he’s not breathing, and half his face is missing, and I don’t know what―”

  “Catherine, slow down. Take a deep breath.”

  Her mother’s voice had an immediate effect, and Cat obeyed. In, out, in, out.

  “That’s it. Get it under control. Now tell me what happened. Take your time, sweetie.”

  Cat slumped, tears spilling over her cheeks and dripping onto her school uniform. “I don’t know what happened. I was walking, and this strange guy attacked me. I screamed and hit him with my hockey stick, but he wouldn’t stop. He was acting all crazy, growling and trying to bite me.”

  “Oh, no. sweetie, are you hurt?” Her mother’s voice was frantic and sparked a fresh surge of panic within Cat.

  “What? No, I’m fine,” she replied, ignoring the sting in her knees.

  “Are you sure? Did he bite you? Scratch you? Get any blood on you?”

  “No, I’m fine. I kept hitting him in the head until he fell. I killed him, Mom!”

  “Thank God. I’ve been hearing stories all morning, but I didn’t think they were real.” A siren blared in the background, shrill over the speaker of Cat’s phone. “I’m coming home. Now.”

  “Stories? What stories?” Cat asked.

  “From the hospitals. One of our patients was attacked, and it’s a madhouse here.”

  “What do you mean attacked? What’s going on?” Confusion hijacked Cat’s thoughts. Her voice rose in pitch until it became a shrill warble.

  “Sweetie, calm down. It’s going to be okay. I promise.” Cat nodded, her mother’s steady voice soothing her ragged nerves. “Now I need you to get up and run home as fast as you can. Can you do that?”

  “You want me to leave? Aren’t I supposed to call the police or something?”

  “There’s no time, sweetie. Just do it. Call me when you get to the house, and lock the gates and all the doors, okay?”

  Cat hesitated, her mind whirling. This is crazy! What’s happening?

  “Catherine. I need you to do as I say. Now.” Her mother’s tone became hard, brooking no disobedience.

  “O…Okay, mom. I’m going. I’ll call you when I get there.”

  “Hurry. Don’t stop for anything. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Okay.” Cat got to her feet, grabbing her hockey stick and school bag with the phone wedged between her cheek and shoulder. She kept her eyes averted from the dead guy, pretending he wasn’t there. “I’m up.”

  “Love you, sweetheart. Stay safe.”

  The line went dead, and Cat shoved her cell into her pocket before breaking into a sprint. She pumped her arms and legs, pushing herself as fast as she could go. The houses flew past in a blur, her bag bouncing up and down on her back. It wasn’t long before she reached her home, the familiar hunter’s green gates coming into view.

  Cat stumbled to a stop, gasping for breath and fumbled with the lock and chain that held it shut. Once inside, she locked again before rushing into the house.

  Running from room to room, she shut the windows and closed the curtains. Shrouded in gloom, she collapsed onto a chair at the kitchen table. Her hockey stick lay in front of her. A fresh surge of panic at the sight of the blood staining the wood sent her scrambling to the washbasin to scrub it off. Where’s Mom? I need her!

  She reached for her phone, dialing her mom’s cell. It rang and rang, each ring punctuated by an empty click when her mother failed to answer. An awful sense of premonition washed over Cat when it went to voicemail. A tinny female voice told her to leave a message.

  She called again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Voicemail.

  “No, no, no! Where are you, Mom?”

  Cat phoned the office number.

  “Dr. Botha’s office,” a harassed female voice answered.

  “Aunt Sue?” Cat asked, picturing her mom’s colleague. Frizzy red hair, thick-rimmed glasses, a heart of gold, and a pocket full of sweets summed up Susan Elliot. She was always a favorite with the kids who visited Dr. Botha. “Is that you?”

  “Catherine?”

  “It’s me. Is my mom there? I need to talk to her.”

  “I’m sorry, sugar. She left ages ago.”

  Cat’s stomach dropped. “Are you sure? She’s not answering her phone. I’m worried.”

  “I’m sure. She grabbed her bag and ran out of here shouting something about you needing help.” Concern tinged Sue’s voice. “Are you okay, sugar?”

  “I’m fine,” Cat replied. For a moment she considered telling Aunt Sue what had happened but couldn’t face having to explain the whole story. It was too awful. “Had a tussle with some homeless man, that’s all.”

  “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “No, I’m okay. Look, Aunt Sue―” The line died, leaving Cat staring at the phone in her hand.

  “Crap!”

  Next, she dialed emergency services.

  Then the police.

  Nobody answered.

  Cat slumped over the table, tears streaking down her face. With numb fingers, she logged onto Facebook. She scrolled down the page, horror taking hold. Shots of car crashes and riots filled the screen. One picture showed a mob swarming a bus. Further down, a girl she knew from school had posted a picture of her older brother with the title: WTF?!? There was a chunk missing from his arm.

  A video of a Fourth Grade teacher attacking one of her students had gone viral. Cat stared at the grainy footage, watching in disbelief as the woman bit the boy on the shoulder, sinking her teeth in before working her jaws to loosen the flesh. Childish screams filled the kitchen. Cat pressed pause, her eyes locked on the teacher’s dead gaze that peered at the screen over the chunk of meat in her mouth.

  Bile pushed up Cat’s throat. She crossed the floor to the window overlooking the gate, fixing her eyes on it in the vain hope that at any moment her mother’s battered red Ford would appear. “Come on, Mom. Where are you?”

  With a frustrated growl, Cat ran to the living room and switched on the TV. She perched on the edge of the seat and flicked through the channels. Report after report streamed in, airing live from Johannesburg, Durban, and Cape Town. Frightened news reporters ran around, their cameramen capturing footage of enormous traffic pile-ups, mobs, looters, and attacks.

  Headlines ran on a loop at the bottom. They read: Mystery illness strikes population; Husband eats wife in front of witnesses; Is this the end?

  After staring at the screen for half an hour, Cat switched the volume to mute. Restless,
she jumped up and paced, breaking off only to spray Mercurochrome onto her skinned knees and force down a sandwich. Twice more, she stopped to use her inhaler, the constant anxiety worsening her asthma.

  The minutes ticked by, each second longer than the last. The hands on the clock moved with stilted clicks across a bland white face.

  Twenty.

  Thirty.

  Forty.

  Fifty.

  An hour.

  Two hours, thirty-three minutes, and fifty phone calls later, Cat was forced to admit the truth. Her mother wasn’t coming home. Something terrible had happened to her. “What to do? What to do?”

  She redialed emergency services and raised the phone to her ear slowly, hoping with every cell in her body somebody would answer.

  “Emergency services, how can I assist you?”

  “I need help! Please send someone,” Cat cried, relief making her dizzy.

  “I’m sorry, Miss, but we have no vehicles available at the moment.”

  “How is that possible? I need help; my mom is missing. She’s in trouble. I’m sure of it.”

  “Yes, Miss, I hear you, but we are currently overwhelmed with calls. I have no available vehicles to send to your location.”

  “What?” Cat’s voice rose a few decibels in pitch, matching her growing disbelief.

  “Miss, I advise you to remain calm. The situation is―”

  “The situation is crazy. That’s what it is. What’s going on?”

  “I can’t answer you, Miss. I’m very…Carl?”

  Silence.

  A dull thud.

  The rustle of papers.

  A rasping groan.

  “Carl? What are you doing?”

  “No!”

  Cat listened in growing horror as the dispatcher screamed, pain lacing every note. She dropped the phone and backed away, eyes locked to the speaker. The screams continued, the vowels expanding until they became her, consumed her.

  A final peal of agony rang out, followed by strange noises before the line died. Noises that sounded like someone eating. Cat’s heart banged in her chest, and she sat down on the carpet with a thump as her legs gave out.

  Cat’s Eye - Chapter 2

  “I’m coming, Mom. Just hold on.” After crying for a solid ten minutes, Cat picked herself up from the floor, determined to find her only family. “If the police can’t help me, I’ll have to do it myself.”

  She ran to her room and rummaged through her closet for a backpack, tossing it onto the bed. Peeling off her school uniform, she considered her wardrobe.

  “Dress for a fight. You’ve got no idea what’s waiting outside.” Cat grabbed a sports bra and knickers. Next, she slipped on a pair of pliable skinny jeans and hiking boots, followed by a vest, t-shirt, and leather jacket. “I might die of heat, but nobody’s going to chomp my flesh,” she said as she zipped the jacket to the top.

  Dropping her chin, Cat scraped her hair into a tight ponytail, tucked her phone and charger into her pockets and slipped on a pair of shades. On the way out, she paused at the mirror to admire her new look. Panic and fear had given way to a strange sense of calm coupled with a dry sense of humor. Her mother needed her, and she’d be damned if she sat around crying like a baby any longer.

  Next, Cat went to the kitchen and loaded the backpack with food and drink, tossing in her mom’s first aid kit and a flashlight too. From the cupboard, she took a full inhaler plus a spare and tucked both inside her vest pocket. With her hockey stick in one hand and a kitchen knife looped through her belt, she felt prepared. At the last minute, she turned back and grabbed a meat cleaver from the counter, hefting it. “Now I’m ready.”

  With a deep breath, she unlocked the door and stepped outside. The bright light of midday had given way to the softer yellows of late afternoon, but the heat was unrelenting. Beads of sweat formed on Cat’s upper lip, and she grimaced at the salty taste.

  In the distance, the wail of sirens blared while shouts sounded down the street. Remembering the terrible things she’d seen, Cat’s grip on the meat cleaver tightened, her knuckles turning white.

  “You can do this,” she said and willed her feet to move. With faltering strides, she walked to the gate and looked out into the street but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  The houses were silent, their windows like eyes gazing at the deserted block. A hot breeze stirred the leaves on the trees, a soft susurration accompanying the cooing of pigeons.

  Cat reached for the lock, slipping the key into the lock. With a soft click, it opened. She unwound the chain. As she gripped the gate and prepared to slide it open, movement drew her attention.

  Across the street, growing next to the neighbor’s driveway, stood a huge old tree that had probably been there for a hundred years. The spreading branches were covered in thick foliage and cast a dark pool of shade onto the ground. Inside that gloom, something stirred.

  It pushed up from the ground, each limb unfolding with slow, deliberate care until it stood swaying. The head turned towards her. A groan of longing carried to her on the breeze. The figure stumbled towards her, the left leg dragging. Sunlight fell on its face. Cat gasped as she recognized the blond hair and strong build.

  “Chris!” She shook her head unable to believe what she saw. “What are you doing here?”

  The horror that was Chris advanced on the gate, a low rasp emanating from his throat. His head turned as he shuffled and exposed the gruesome wound on the left side of his face. Teeth showed through the gaping tear, granting him a death’s head grin.

  A sense of despair sapped the strength from her arms, and she stood frozen while he stumbled towards her. Each step was laborious, his progress slow but steady. His diseased eyes fixed on her with deadly determination.

  Cat jumped when Chris slammed into the gate, hands clawing through the bars. His growls sawed into her brain until she wanted to fall to the ground and cry. She took another step back, shaking her head.

  Chris banged on the metal that separated them, desperate to reach her. The gate shifted, the wheels sliding along the track as the thing that used to be a boy threw himself against it. Over and over. A gap appeared, widening with each second that passed.

  Cat sobbed, unable to nerve herself to kill him. The familiar feeling of an oncoming asthma attack poured through her, and she gasped. If she didn’t do something soon, she’d be incapacitated. Vulnerable.

  Kill him.

  “I…I can’t.”

  You must.

  “But he…it’s Chris!”

  Not anymore.

  “No.”

  What about Mom? You have to find her.

  Thoughts of her mother flooded her mind and unfroze her limbs. Cat sucked in a deep breath and squared her shoulders, stepping closer to the gate. It had slid open far enough for a child to slip through.

  “Don’t make me do this,” she pleaded. “Please!”

  The Chris thing rattled the bars in answer. His fingers curled around the edge and discovered the opening he’d made. Pressing her lips together, Cat raised a trembling hand and aimed with the meat cleaver. A quick chopping blow to the forehead did nothing but cut through the scalp. Black blood spilled over his face.

  Cat gagged, and her stomach heaved. Chris never paused and threw his body into the gap, his weight rolling the gate further open. He fell inside and tripped over his own feet to land on his stomach. His hands reached for her. His fingertips grazed the toe of her boots.

  With a cry she danced back, dropping the hockey stick and gripping the cleaver with both hands. Chris levered himself towards her and crept forward on his elbows, mouth agape.

  She raised the knife above her head and brought it down, putting all her weight into the blow. The sharp edge bit deep into the crown, bone grating on steel as it sunk into the skull. She let go and watched as he collapsed. Blood trickled across his scalp, staining the golden hair a rusty hue.

  Cat fell to her knees. She fumbled for her inhaler and sucked in a dose. Her e
yes never left Chris’ face. His slack expression was so different from the boy she’d known, that her mind couldn’t process it. He’s dead. I can’t believe it. I killed him. What’s he doing here?

  She pulled her phone from her pocket and checked her messages. Throughout the afternoon it had beeped off and on, but she’d ignored it when she saw the notes weren’t from her mom. Now Cat scrolled through the texts, reading one after the other in quick succession. They were all from Chris.

  “Have you seen the stuff going down on TV?”

  “Where are you, babes? You home yet?”

  “Crazy things are happening all over town. Are you okay?”

  “Why aren’t you answering?”

  “I’m getting worried about you. Answer me, babes.”

  “My dad’s not answering his phone either, and my mom never came back from fetching Stacy at dance class. What’s happening?”

  “Peter says it’s zombies. Zombies!”

  “I can’t sit here like this. I’m coming over.”

  “See you soon, babes. xxx.”

  Guilt burned through Cat’s veins like acid, made worse by the fact that she didn’t feel about him the way he had felt about her. It was her fault he’d come here. Her fault he’d been attacked. Why didn’t you just stay at home?

  Zombies. Was that what this was? It was crazy. Her eyes drifted back to Chris, taking in the gray pallor of his skin, the horrific wounds, and clotted blood. Old blood. Dead blood. The blood of a corpse. Zombies.

  “Holy crap,” she breathed. Cat studied the body and noted the twisted ankle and torn clothes. “What happened to you?” It was a question fated never to be answered.

  With trembling fingers, she reached for the meat cleaver and pulled. It was stuck. She clenched her teeth and pulled harder. The blade grated on bone. Vomit pushed up her throat, and she let go. She picked up the hockey stick instead.

  “At least I still have you, my pretty,” Cat said, her hand wrapping around the sturdy wood handle. She turned to the gate, settled the backpack in place and tucked her phone and inhaler away.

  A quick glance revealed an empty street and Cat took off, feet pounding the pavement. She sucked in deep lungfuls of oxygen as she ran and focused on finding her mom, pushing the image of Chris’ dead gaze from her mind.