Last Another Day

by Baileigh Higgins

  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.”

  Then Mike screamed again, “Captain. Up ahead. The infected from camp.”

  Breytenbach scrambled over, eyes widening as the first, fresh runners from camp appeared. Johan and the rest would be caught between the two opposing forces, trapped in the middle and Breytenbach doubted even the Mamba could resist the infected for long. Mike was 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 any 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.”

  Even Kirstin chewed on her lip, watching Johan navigate with hope and uncertainty warring on her face.

  Johan slammed on the brakes, coming to a stop.

  “What's he doing?” Kirstin cried.

  Breytenbach lifted his eyes, and 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. Johan didn't stand a chance.

  Hovering above the Mamba, Breytenbach tried to think of something when 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 little boy up into the air as high as possible. Breytenbach caught on.

  “Mike. Drop. Low as you can.”

  The Puma lowered, swaying above Johan's head. Reaching down, with Ronnie holding him by the belt, Breytenbach grabbed the boy and pulled him inside.

  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 position with her rifle, the shots mixing 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, swinging her into the chopper to join the boy. The infected were swarming faster than Kirstin could shoot, even with Lenka's help. They surged around, reaching up to the roof with eager hands. The dead bodies of their fellows created a platform to climb on.

  The first infected climbed onto the roof, followed by more while Johan and Mannuru coaxed another child out of the hatch. Kirstin shot down the encroaching infected with cool precision, but 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 to Johan as the first infected reached him.

  “Johan!”

  The infected latched onto Johan's shoulder, sinking its teeth deep into the muscle while another grabbed his left arm. Johan didn't go down. He roared in anger and bludgeoned them with his fists, trying to protect those still inside the Mamba. He pushed Mannuru back down inside, reaching out to close the hatch.

  Three more infected tackled him and he fell, right hand scrabbling for the lid. 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 screaming as the monster fell into their midst. A pale hand thrust through the opening but disappeared as more zombies pushed their way inside.

  On top of the roof, Johan fought. Great rips appeared in his flesh but he never gave an inch, roaring like one of the great Viking Berserkers of old. Whatever else he was, he was a fighter to the last.

  “Go,” Johan shouted.

  “No,” Breytenbach screamed in frustrated rage, preparing to jump out. Ronnie latched onto him, holding him back as he struggled.

  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 down, face relaxing into the welcome arms of death.

  “Rest in peace, my friend,” Lenka echoed.

  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 screamed even though he knew it was futile. The chopper rose, the infected and the Mamba growing smaller until nothing could be seen anymore. He stopped fighting and slumped down 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 cries penetrated his consciousness, and he took her from Jonathan.

  “Hush, Sam. Hush now,” he crooned.

  Soothing her eased some of his own pain and he leaned back, holding her close. The familiar smell of his jacket seemed to get through to Sam and she calmed down, falling asleep from sheer exhaustion.

  The little boy and girl were terrified and shivering, but at least they weren't crying. Kirstin got them settled into their seats and buckled up while Ronnie spoke to them softly. Breytenbach could imagine how they felt. He felt it too.

  “It will be okay,” he said to no one in particular.

  Some time later, they found temporary shelter on the roof of an office block in a small town called Kroonstad. How they ended up there, he wasn't sure. Mike had headed for the least populated area on the map and they were now somewhere in the Free State, a province he knew nothing about.

  Mike landed the chopper on the roof. Breytenbach searched it with Ronnie and Lenka. Once they were sure the roof was clear, they ventured into the building itself. It proved empty of infected which Breytenbach was grateful for but it also had nothing in the way of useful supplies.

  Realizing that the children needed food and water, he looked at a shop across the road. It was small and manageable. Taking Ronnie and Lenka with him, he left Mike and Jonathan in charge of the kids. He was concerned about the doctor, though, who seemed catatonic.

  “Jonathan,” he said. “Doc.” He snapped his fingers in front of Jonathan's face but got no response.

  “He's in shock,” Ronnie said.

  “Just watch him, Mike. Make sure he doesn't do something stupid,” Breytenbach ordered.

  They crossed the road, eyes peeled for trouble. Breytenbach pushed open the grimy, glass door and eased inside. A waft of warm air, filled with the smell of death and decay hit his nostrils, carrying the warning of infected. They each brandished a knife, preferring that for close-quarter combat.

  Deeper inside the shop, a figure lurched towards them from the gloom and Lenka dispatched it with a swift thrust. A hand reached out from behind the small counter and Breytenbach put the creature out of its misery without pause. Once cleared, they loaded up.

  It was a tiny shop carrying a little of everything, none of it quality, but he wasn't about to be picky. He filled a shopping bag with diapers, baby wipes, talcum powder, purity, eating utensils and a sippy cup. He added fruit juice, bottled water, and candy bars.

  Ronnie grabbed more water and food while Lenka scrounged up a cheap pot, a packet of plastic forks and over-the-counter meds. As an afterthought, Breytenbach looked at the toy section. The selection was miserable, but he found a stuffed rabbit for the girl and a toy car for the boy.

  Back on the roof, Sam's hysterical wails greeted his ears.

  “What's going on he
re?”

  Mike jiggled her up and down. “I don't know. She won't shut up.”

  It would have been comical if the situation wasn't so dire. Sam's scrunched-up face was the color of beetroot and her screams carried across town, calling every infected in earshot. The other two kids were also crying, huddled into little balls on the concrete.

  “For the love of God. Must I do everything?” Breytenbach shot a glare at the useless doctor and hapless Mike, grabbing Samantha. “Ronnie, give the kids food and water. Try to calm them down.”

  Breytenbach stripped off his jacket and lay Sam down on it. Undressing her, he changed her dirty nappy, smoothing bum cream over the rash that had developed. He cleaned her sticky body with the wipes and finished with a sprinkling of baby powder before picking her up again.

  Opening a jar of purity, he coaxed a spoonful into her mouth. Her rosebud lips sucked on the food and her crying subsided to the occasional hiccup. After feeding her, he gave her juice in the sippy cup and a generous spoonful of Panado syrup. “There. That should hold you,” he said.

  Perhaps drugging her with pain medicine wasn't the greatest idea, but Breytenbach needed her to keep quiet. It was hot, with no sign of the rain that had plagued them at their previous camp so he didn't bother dressing her again. Instead, he rocked her gently, smiling as she burped. His team, meanwhile, watched him with various looks of amusement and glee.

  “What?”

  “Never thought I'd see the day the Captain became a babysitter,” Lenka said.

  “Yeah, you're a real softy, Captain,” Mike laughed.

  Ronnie had a smirk on his face and Kirstin was smiling.

  “Oh, shut up, all of you!” He ignored the lot of them as they snickered and grinned but secretly he was pleased. It lightened the grim atmosphere.

  He frowned, however, when he spotted Jonathan huddled in the same spot, still clutching his leather bag. The man hadn't moved a muscle since they landed over an hour ago. He opened a can of pears.

  “Here, eat this.” He forced the food into Jonathan's hands and pried the leather bag from his fingers. “It's going to be okay, doc. We will be okay."

  Jonathan gave a jerky nod and lowered his eyes to the can. Lifting it up, he drank the juice and fished out a piece with his fingers. Breytenbach gave his shoulder a squeeze.

  At least, he's doing something.

  The kids had eaten and drunk but both looked miserable. Hoping to cheer them up, he handed them each the candy bar and toy he had found earlier. This rewarded him with faint smiles and after a moment the boy pushed his car around, making the appropriate vroom, vroom noises. The girl clutched the rabbit to her chest like it was her last hope.

  Squatting down on his haunches, Breytenbach opened up a can of meatballs and ate them one by one, spearing them with his knife. He looked at his hands, weathered and worn from years of rough work. They were shaking.

  After finishing his meal, he grabbed a bottle of water and patrolled the rooftop, trying to clear his head. He had no idea what to do or where to go next. He was lost. To think that only yesterday he was responsible for three-thousand souls and now they were down to nine.

  Nine out of three-thousand and I lost my best friend.

  “Captain. Captain.” Mike called, waving him over.

  “What is it?”

  “I raised someone on the radio, Sir. Other survivors.”

  “Where?” Breytenbach asked, a small flower of hope blooming in his chest.

  “About 60 kilometers from here, Sir. Not far at all. Their leader's name is Max, and he wants to speak to you.” Mike handed him the radio.

  “This is Captain Breytenbach. Out.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Captain. I'm Max. I hear you are in need of assistance. Out,” a strong, young voice replied.

  Breytenbach let out a deep breath. “We are. Our camp was overrun. Can you help us? Out.”

  “We can. We have a secure base and if your intentions are good, you're welcome to join us. I've already given your pilot directions to the rendezvous point. Out.”

  “We aren't going directly to your camp? We have children and a baby with us. Out.”

  “No offense, Captain but I don't know you and I've learned not everybody can be trusted. Out.”

  “Fair enough. Will let you know when we reach the rendezvous. Out.” Breytenbach replied. His respect for Max had increased by this point. At least, he knew better than to let just anybody into his camp.

  “All right, everybody. You heard him. Get in the chopper. Let's go.”

  “Do you think we can trust them, Captain?” Kirstin asked.

  “I don't know but with two kids and a baby, we need to find someplace safe. Fast. We don't have a choice.”

  “All right, Captain.” She turned and hustled the two kids into the chopper, strapping them in. Breytenbach scooped up the sleeping Samantha and held her close during lift-off. Thanks to the medicine she slept throughout, not waking once.

  After a while, he leaned back and closed his eyes. He was exhausted. Hell, they all were. His muscles relaxed, his mind eased and just like that, he nodded off. Mere minutes later, the sound of a grinding noise followed by a blaring alarm woke him with a start.

  “What the...” Black smoke billowed in and out of the chopper causing him to cough from the fumes of burning oil.

  We're crashing.

  “Everybody hold on! We're going down!” Mike cried. He fought with the controls, trying to land them safely. Somehow, he gained control for a moment and took them further down.

  If anybody can do this, Mike can. He could fly a sardine can if he had to.

  A second grinding shriek reverberated through the air. They hung, suspended as if by a puppeteer's strings and then plummeted. Breytenbach's stomach clenched and he clutched Samantha to his chest, trying to shield her from the worst as the force of the crash slammed him forward. The kids screamed, and he heard Kirstin cry out through the sound of shattering glass.

  The seatbelt slammed into his sternum and a deep rumble vibrated up and down his spine. Pain shot through his skull and his vision darkened. The chopper was still moving, sliding across the ground before coming to an abrupt stop.

  Smoke and dust obscured his vision and in the distance, he heard Mike scream at everyone. “Get out. Get out now.”

  Breytenbach fumbled with his seatbelt, unclipping it with numb fingers. Crawling through the wreckage with Sam clutched to his chest, he made it out. Hands lifted him to his feet and Lenka's soot stained face peered down at him.

  Shaking his head to clear the ringing, he looked down at Sam. She was awake, screaming and unharmed. A miracle. He looked around. Jonathan was unconscious, blood trickling down his face. Ronnie dragged him further from the crash while Kirstin and Mike each carried a child.

  “We need to get away, Captain. It might catch fire, explode.” The urgency in Mike's tone brought Breytenbach back to his senses. He thrust Samantha into Lenka's arms.

  “Go,” he ordered, stumbling back to the crash.

  “Captain, no!”

  The smell of burning oil hung heavy in the air, burning his eyes and lungs. He ignored it, searching the wreckage until he found his backpack. Slinging it onto his shoulder, he stumbled back. A muffled thump sounded, and he was flung forward, ears ringing as he plowed into the ground.

  “Captain.” Ronnie and Lenka hoisted him up, dragging him further away for the raging inferno the Puma had now become.

  “The veldt is catching fire. We need to get out of here,” Ronnie said.

  Breytenbach looked around. Crimson flames, fueled by the crash, licked at the dry Acacia thorn trees, brush and grass that surrounded them. This place hasn't seen rain in a while, he realized. Fear coiled in his gut. He'd seen enough bush fires in his day to know the dangers.

  “This way,” Mike cried. “There's a dry riverbed. We might find water.”

  “Right. Everybody, follow Mike.” Breytenbach ordered. “Mike, are you armed?”

  “Yes,
Captain.”

  “Lead the way and watch for infected. They'll be drawn for miles to the crash.”

  “Will do, Captain.”

  “Lenka. Can you carry Jonathan?”

  Lenka hoisted the unconscious doctor to his left shoulder, holding his knife with his right hand. “Ready, Captain.”

  “Kirstin, you take the girl. Ronnie, the boy. I'll take Samantha.” During this brief time, the flames had spread, burning higher and hotter with each second. “Let's go.”

  The group stumbled off, following Mike while Breytenbach took up the rear. Warm blood trickled from his left ear and more ran down his right arm, dripping from his fingers.

  Burst eardrum and who knows what else, he surmised. There was no time to stop, though. The infected would come, drawn to the crash.

  We'd better not be here when they arrive.

  20

  Chapter 20 - Max

  Max handed the receiver back to Sean, excitement coiling in the pit of his stomach. Success! He gazed at Sean with gratitude. If it wasn't for him, they'd never have managed to set up a working radio system out of the junk they scavenged.

  “You did it, Sean. We found our first survivors on air and it's all thanks to you.” Max beamed at the shy, young man. He remembered the day, just over a week ago, that they'd found Sean and his pregnant wife, Erica, hiding in a spaza shop, starving to death.

  Sean was the perfect example of a classic gamer and nerd. Pale and thin, he rarely saw the sun and had the strong, supple hands of someone who spent his entire life holding a controller. With his curly hair and freckles, he was unassuming and pleasant.

  A computer programmer in his previous life, he also knew a lot about radios and volunteered to set up a radio room. He was embarrassingly grateful to have a safe place to stay, with the worry over Erica and the coming baby.

  “I'm just glad I could help, Max,” Sean answered. He fiddled with the various knobs and dials on the radio, blinking every few seconds, a nervous tick Max had come to recognize.

  “I'll be back soon, Sean. Call me if anything happens. I need to make arrangements for the rendezvous.”