It was a beautiful property and well-maintained. It sat on the banks of the river. The water ran past, deep and strong, and an occasional splash pointed to fish. It was peaceful too, the grass green and the wind moving through the leaves with a soft sigh. Cat could almost convince herself everything was normal. Almost.
Besides the two buildings, there was a jetty with a small row boat next to an open lapa. Its thatched roof provided shade over a patio and built-in barbecue. Banks of flowers and ferns decorated the gardens. It was a tranquil setting, one she hoped wasn’t about to be ruined by zombies or hostile owners.
The fence surrounded the property all the way to the banks, providing a strong sense of security to Cat. As long as the wall holds, it should be safe.
A second gate led to the rest of the resort, a board with the words ‘Guest Accommodation’ pointing the way. She decided not to explore there for the moment. If people were staying there, she’d find out soon enough, and if they were infected, at least they couldn’t enter as long as the gate was closed.
During her search, she never heard a sound come from the house, nor did she see movement in the windows. Now, she approached the porch with rising hope. Maybe it’s empty. Or the people are alive and friendly.
Her feet reached the steps and climbed upward. The wood creaked beneath her boots. Strands of hair lifted off her neck in the breeze, and a shiver ran down her spine. She reached for the doorknob. Her hand was shaking.
The door swung open on silent hinges, and she found herself in a small entrance foyer. It was bare, the only ornaments a potted fern and an ornate mirror. A glimpse of her face told a worrying tale. Her cheeks were pinched and pale, purple bruises underlined her eyes.
She crossed the space and emerged into a large living room. Comfy-looking couches were circled around a television, and a hand-woven rug covered the terracotta tiles beneath. Beyond that was a dining room with an open doorway that she surmised led to the kitchen. To the right was the entrance to a long hallway. It likely led to the bedrooms.
“Hello?” The word came out as a whimper.
Silence.
Absolute nerve-wracking silence.
Cat scraped together all her courage and stepped inside. A quick glance assured her that the living and dining rooms were empty. She edged forward and crept across the floor.
The hallway beckoned with ominous silence. Numerous open doors confronted her. She forced herself to move and approached the first one. It was a guest bathroom containing only a toilet. Across from it was a small bedroom. It looked unused, lacking any personal touches, and she guessed it was a spare room.
The next two rooms were another bedroom and a full bathroom. The bedroom looked lived in; posters of alternative rock bands lined the walls. A dressing table was littered with knickknacks: Nail polish, hairdryer, and a framed photo of a young redhead wearing Gothic clothes.
Cat paused, staring at it. The girl in the picture looked older than her and indicated she had likely finished school already. A quick search revealed that the cupboards were bare, leading her to believe that the girl no longer lived there. Her mom probably keeps the room like this for when she visits.
Moving back into the hall, Cat inspected a floor to ceiling cupboard filled with linen next, followed by a small sewing room, and a study. That left only the last and biggest room, the main bedroom. She entered with hesitant steps, swallowing on the lump in her throat.
The bed was made, the window and curtains open. Faint perfume permeated the air, and a men’s jacket hung on a hook. It looked in perfect order. The en-suite bathroom was the same, empty of life with not a single item out of place.
Relieved, Cat turned back. The only place left to search was the kitchen. She was pretty sure that was empty too, though she hadn’t checked yet. With rising optimism and a cautious smile, she walked through the house.
She stepped into the kitchen then stopped so fast she almost fell. She smothered a gasp, pressing a fist to her lips so hard the skin broke on her teeth. A metallic tang filled her mouth. The taste and smell echoed what she saw.
The body of a man lay on the floor. He faced the ceiling, a snarl frozen on his lips. A butcher’s knife was embedded in his eye socket, the handle sticking out. Blood puddled around his head, thick and congealed.
There was more of the crimson fluid in the basin, along with stained dishcloths. A trail of droplets led across the tiles to a closed door at the other end of the kitchen. A bloody handprint was smeared across the wood and handle.
Cat gulped. She didn’t need to be a genius to know what lay beyond that door. She knocked. An answering growl sounded then loud thumping as the infected tried to break through. She took a few steps back, the heel of her boot slipping on the bloody floor. Don’t open the door!
She had to. If they wanted to make this their home, she had to face the zombie on the other side. “Come on, Cat. You can do this.”
Her hand reached out and turned the knob. The door burst outward. At the same time, Cat side-stepped and raised her hockey stick. A woman fell through the opening, snarling like a rabid dog. She tripped in her haste and dropped to her knees.
With a crack, Cat smashed her on the head. The infected woman collapsed face down. Her body spasmed. Cat raised the stick again, but with a swift jerk the woman grabbed her ankle and pulled.
Cat’s foot left the floor. Off-balance, she fell hard, landing on her coccyx. White-hot pain lanced through her back, and her injured shoulder hit the counter. For a second, she was unable to move, unable to think beyond the agony.
The zombie latched onto her leg with both hands. The grasping fingers dug into her muscles with awful strength. More pain shot through her calf. It was a different hurt that reminded her of the danger she was in. With a gasp, she jolted upright.
She thrust with the stick, knocking the woman in the mouth. Teeth crunched, and the grip on her legs loosened. With her free foot, she kicked at the infected woman. Over and over. Cartilage broke, and blood gushed over the woman’s face.
Cat never stopped kicking until she was free. Scrambling to her feet, she brought her weapon down with all her strength. Three hard blows knocked the woman down, but she kept squirming. On the fourth strike, the hockey stick shattered. “No!”
Cat danced back and stared at the broken end with horror. The infected woman crawled towards her like a worm, growling through the blood that covered her face.
Cat despaired, panic setting in. Her chest tightened with the onset of another asthma attack. She gasped, “Not now. Please.”
Through the haze of fear, her eyes settled on the man with the knife sticking from his eye. An idea emerged. She looked at the jagged end of her stick.
With a final burst of energy, she thrust it into the woman’s one eye and pushed as hard as she could. The eyeball popped, and the woman groaned. For a moment, time was suspended. The zombie woman was dead, and her corpse slumped to the floor.
It was over.
Cat sucked in air, bringing her thoughts and feelings under control. A sense of triumph emerged, overlaying the horror.
“I did it. I really did it!” She straightened up and grinned despite herself. “I got us a home. A place to stay.”
She imagined the look of relief on Juan and Theresa’s faces. The happiness they’d feel at being somewhere safe, sleeping in a real bed, eating real food.
Stumbling out of the door and onto the lawn, Cat raised her head and soaked in the sun. It was far from done yet. That she knew. There was still much to do, much to overcome, and much to survive, but they’d manage. She knew it.
“We’ll make it,” she whispered. “We’ll live.”
Ryan’s Luck - Chapter 1
The car rolled to a stop in front of the house, and Ryan stared at the open street with trepidation. It looked peaceful enough, but he had quickly learned that looks could be deceiving during the zombie apocalypse.
A day had passed since it all began. A day spent running, hiding, and scavenging.
A day that felt longer than forever.
They’d been in the mall when it happened, playing ten-pin bowling. Ryan shuddered as he recalled the look in the floor manager’s eyes when a kid that barely reached his waist ripped into him.
The kid had gone straight for his exposed forearms, tearing great chunks of meaty flesh from the bone, shaking his head like a dog. The manager’s thick plastic glasses had fallen to the ground and landed in an ever-growing puddle of blood. Ryan had not been able to take his eyes off those glasses.
It was Jonathan that grabbed him by his arm and shook him from his funk. It was Jonathan that dragged him out of the slaughterhouse the arcade had turned into, and it was Jonathan who stole the car they were now in.
Neither of them was old enough to drive yet, but there weren’t cops around anymore so that hardly mattered. It didn’t take a genius to figure out zombies had taken over. They’d played enough Zompoc games to recognize the enemy.
Their first destination was Jonathan’s house, hoping to find his parents. It didn’t turn out so great, however. The only thing his friend found was death.
Now it was Ryan’s turn. He gulped as he gripped the tire iron tightly in his hands. The same tire iron Jonathan had used to bash in his dad’s skull.
Ryan looked at Jonathan. “I can’t. What if it’s Kerry?”
“It won’t be her anymore, Ry.”
“Yeah, I know but…” Ryan swallowed hard on the lump in his throat. “I don’t think I can do it.”
“I didn’t think so either. Until it was either Dad or me.”
Ryan swallowed again. If he can do it, so can I. I’ve got balls, don’t I?
“Come on, man. In and out. You can always run if they’ve turned,” Jonathan said. A faint note of condescension had entered his voice.
At seventeen, Jonathan was a year older than Ryan, a fact he liked to wave around like a red flag. He thought he was tougher too, often bragging of his many fights won against other boys. A ripple of anger stiffened Ryan’s spine. It was enough to get him going.
After a last quick look around, he jumped out of the car and ran to the front door. He pushed it open slowly. It creaked as he’d known it would. Ryan froze, listening. Nothing happened. Forcing his stiff legs to move, he entered the house.
The interior was dim and silent. The only sound to be heard was the murmur of voices from the television. His feet sank into the thick carpet, muffling his footsteps. He moved deeper inside. The living room was deserted, a half empty cup of coffee the only sign his mom had been there. She was a coffee addict and drank tons of the stuff every day.
The kitchen was likewise bare. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink, and breadcrumbs littered the countertop. It had happened early then. Mom would never have left it like that for long.
The cat’s food and water bowls were empty, and Ryan could find no sign of the feline. That was a relief, at least. He’d dreaded stumbling across its carcass. The past two nights had granted him lots of time to conjure up all sorts of terrible scenes in his mind.
He neared the hall and slowed. From his little sister’s bedroom, he heard a telltale moan. It sounded plaintive and forlorn, sad even. The saliva in his mouth dried up. His stomach did a slow roll as horror set in. Who was it? Mom? Kerry?
For a second, he hesitated. Sweat trickled down his brow, and his hands shook. Could he do it? Could he kill whoever waited inside? No. I can’t.
With carefully placed steps, he retreated from the open doorway. Another moan, long and low, froze him to the spot. Silence fell once more, and Ryan nerved himself to back away.
Then he heard a whimper. A choked little sob. It was followed by guttural snarls and loud bangs. Girlish screams rang out, and a surge of hope coursed through him. Kerry!
Ryan charged into the room without thinking before he stumbled to a stop. His mother’s corpse, still in her nightgown, banged on the closed cupboard doors where Kerry hid. Her skin was tinged gray, her hair lank and greasy. Unwashed. A rank smell wafted from her body.
To Ryan, this was the worst. In all his life, his mother had never been anything other than perfectly groomed. Every hair would be in place before she’d set foot outside the house, a cloud of perfume wafting in her wake. This thing wasn’t his mom.
“Leave her alone!” he shouted to bolster his courage. The zombie turned towards him and milky eyes fixed on his face.
Ryan lifted the tire iron, heart banging in his chest. Her lips curled back, revealing the canines. She growled. He had the fleeting thought that she looked possessed, demonic. “No, please don’t.”
She didn’t blink and launched herself at him with outstretched arms. Instinct took over. The tire iron smashed into her head, whipping it around. It didn’t stop her. Her head rolled back into place with a crack of the vertebrae, and she sprang forward.
With an undignified yelp, Ryan scrambled aside. He hit her again and landed a glancing blow to the temple. She fell to the carpet but scuttled across like a loathsome spider and latched onto his ankle. She closed in, mouth yawning to bite down on his calf.
He swung his weapon, hitting her over and over again. A loud pop signaled the rupture of the cranial bones. The thing that used to be his mother collapsed at his feet. Her fingers relaxed, blood and brains leaking from her cracked skull.
He stared, shocked into immobility. I killed her. I killed my mom.
Kerry’s cries roused him. He opened the cupboard doors and gathered his sister’s shaking body into his arms. “Shh, sis. It’s me. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
He clasped her to his chest and ran for the door. Outside, Jonathan gestured for him to hurry, his motions frantic. Ryan ran as fast as his skinny legs allowed, hampered by Kerry’s weight. She kept slipping down, her feet banging against his shins.
From all the corners of the neighborhood, figures emerged from the shadows. Kerry’s screams had drawn them out like moths to a flame.
Panic surged through him, spurring him on. His arms felt like lead, and his thighs cramped, but he sped up.
The open car door beckoned like a shining light at the end of a dark tunnel. He reached it just when he thought he would collapse and dove inside, landing on top of Kerry. With his legs still sticking out, he screamed, “Go, go, go!”
Jonathan spun away with a screech of burning rubber. Ryan hung on, clawing his way up into the seat. Kerry wriggled beneath him, but he ignored her and reached for the door handle. He managed to slam it shut and fell back gasping. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Way ahead of you, Ry.” Jonathan flashed him a cocky smile. “Man, that was close. Did you have to…you know…kill, anyone?”
“Really? That’s all you care about?” Ryan righted himself in the seat while helping his sister into the back.
“Come on. You know I don’t mean it like that,” Jonathan protested.
“Not in front of Kerry, okay? She just saw our mom die. Not cool!” Ryan felt fury at his friend’s callous attitude well up inside. He’d just killed his mother, and Jonathan treated it like it was a joke.
“Okay, okay, relax. I’m sorry about your mom, Ry. That’s a tough one.” Jonathan sounded sincere, and Ryan allowed his anger to ebb.
Before either of them could say anything else, Kerry flung herself between them. “What’s happening? What made Mom like that? Where’s Dad?”
Ryan shook his head, sadness bowing his shoulders. “I’m sorry, sis.”
“Where’s Dad?” she repeated, her voice growing shrill.
“I don’t know, Kerry. I don’t know.”
Ryan didn’t want to voice what he already knew. They’d driven past his Uncle Mick’s house where his dad had been visiting the day before. The front door had stood open with bloody handprints smeared across the cream paint on the walls. Jonathan had honked the horn. From inside, figures had spilled like maggots from a rotting wound. Uncle Mick, Aunt Susan, Mr. Jameson the next-door neighbor, and at last, Dad.
They’re gone. They’re all gone. The
enormity of their situation settled over Ryan. At sixteen, he was now responsible for his eight-year-old sister. It was a crushing blow.
“What now?” Kerry asked. She looked as scared as he felt.
Good question.
“We’re leaving town. Going somewhere safe,” Jonathan replied.
“Where’s that?” she asked, sniffling.
“We’ll see, sis. We’ll see.” Ryan pulled Kerry close, and she huddled against him with her chin on his shoulder.
He watched the scenery whiz by, the buildings thinning out to be replaced by open plains. Time passed as Jonathan drove with Ryan scarcely paying attention. An hour? Who knew?
A sign flashed by: Bloemhof 20km.
“Bloemhof?”
“It’s as good a place as any, man,” Jonathan replied. “My dad and I fished there last summer at a resort on the river.”
“Okay.”
“It’s got water; we can fish and stuff. There are fences to keep the zombies out, and the town is small. Not too many people.”
“Sounds okay,” Ryan replied. It wasn’t like he had a better suggestion.
“It’s a whole new world now, Ry, and we gotta make it work.”
Jonathan flashed him a crooked smile, and Ryan wished he could be as confident. But his friend was right.
They would make it work. They had to.
Ryan’s Luck - Chapter 2
A sign appeared on the roadside, drawing Ryan’s attention. It was an advertisement for a farm stall. Complete with restrooms, a petrol pump, and fruit and vegetable market. “Jonathan, pull over.”
“Why?”
“We need fuel,” Ryan replied, pointing to the gauge on the dashboard. The needle hovered just above empty.
“Oh, crap, I didn’t even notice.” Jonathan eased the car off the road and into the turn-off. “But we had better be prepared, Ry.”
Ryan nodded, his right hand searching for the tire iron. He found nothing, and his mouth dried up with fear. “I left the tire iron in the house.”
“What?” His friend shot him an angry glare. “Now what are we gonna do? What if there are zombies? Are you gonna slap them silly?”
Children of the Apocalypse: Mega Boxed Set Page 95
