Baileigh Higgins
Survive Another Day
Short Story Collection - Volume 1
First published by Baileigh Higgins in 2016
Copyright © Baileigh Higgins, 2017
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
First Edition
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Contents
About The Author
Acknowledgements
Dedication
Chapter 1 - Brian
Chapter 2 - Lilian
Chapter 3 - Ryan
Chapter 4 - Max
Chapter 5 - Maria
Chapter 6 - Angie
Chapter 7 - Henri
Author's Note
Die Another Day - Sample
About The Author
South African writer and coffee addict, Baileigh Higgins, lives in the Free State with hubby and best friend Brendan and loves nothing more than snuggling up on the couch with pizza and a bad horror movie. Her unhealthy obsession with the end of the world has resulted in several books on the subject as well as a secret bunker only she knows the location of.
Visit her website at baileighhiggins07.wixsite.com/mybooks and sign up for updates, freebies, and more!
Acknowledgements
My heartfelt thanks to Reedsy for helping me produce such a professional book, Prowritingaid for reducing my workload during editing and Lauria at Fiverr for the great cover. Thanks, guys!
Dedication
Dedicated to Shannon, my sister and best friend in the world. Love you lots, sis!
1
Chapter 1 - Brian
The smell of frying onions filled the air, creating a pleasant atmosphere accompanied by the rattle of pots and pans. Brian stared at the computer screen in front of him, blinking as the light assaulted his tired brain. His report on the effectiveness of their latest marketing strategy was due on Monday, which was why he was still working on a Saturday night.
A pair of warm arms slid around his neck and the scent of vanilla and honey filled his nostrils, soothing his frayed nerves.
“Are you still working on that report? Why don't you call it a night and I'll pour us a glass of wine?” Morgan's voice was low in pitch, with a sexy roughness to it that never failed to excite him.
He sighed and shook his head. “Sorry, love. Just give me another hour, okay?”
“If you must.” She sighed, pressed a soft kiss to his temple and retreated, hips sashaying.
Brian immediately missed her nearness, staring after her with regret. He loved her so much it felt like a physical ache in his chest but he often got the feeling she had settled for him. That she chose him because he was solid, dependable, and loyal.
Boring. That's what I am. The safe bet.
But to be honest, it didn't matter. He would take whatever she offered just for the chance to be near her, to touch her, hold her. That's what he lived for and it was enough. Most of the time.
Brian sighed and re-focused on the screen in front of him, fingers flying over the keyboard. The minutes sped past, and he was nearing the end of the assignment when Morgan called from the kitchen.
“Honey! Won't you get us some bread? I want French toast in the morning and we're out.”
Brian pushed back his chair and stood up, stretching the tense muscles in his back. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was a quarter past eight. “Shop's closed. I'll have to go to the petrol station, buy from the 24-hour shop.”
“Ugh. Their bread's always stale but it'll have to do, I guess.”
He grabbed his car keys and stepped outside. The night was pitch-black, the moon hidden behind a thick bank of clouds. Brian crossed the grass to his truck with long strides, enjoying the fresh evening air accompanied by a chorus of crickets.
It was a short drive, and he hummed tunelessly as he drove, drumming his hands on the wheel in time to the beat of the song playing on the radio. Along the way, his headlights fell on a lone figure stumbling along the road. A pale face flashed by, illuminated by the yellow glare and for a moment, Brian could swear the man was snarling. He shook his head, dismissing the thought.
Probably drunk, the poor bastard.
He pulled into the parking area and walked to the shop, nodding at the petrol attendant on duty. It was a cheerless place, all gray concrete lit with flickering lights and staffed by grudging people unwilling to crack a smile in rebellion to their poor salaries.
Brian took a loaf of bread, picking the freshest of the lot. On the way to the till, his eyes fell on a slab of hazelnut chocolate, Morgan's favorite, and he grabbed it. Dumping his purchases on the counter, he fished out his credit card, handing it to the cashier who was half asleep in his chair. A moth fluttered around his face and he brushed it away, eyes wandering to the windows. Through the grimy glass, he noticed the drunk from earlier stumble into the lot.
Brian frowned as he stared at the man. Something about the stranger was off. A sense of unease stirred, and his attention remained fixed on the stumbling figure as he took his receipt and card.
He pushed open the door and stepped outside, digging in his pocket for his keys. Brian watched as the drunk's head swung towards him, the eyes like those of a predator. The lips peeled back and Brian froze. Alarm bells went off in his head and he took a step back, the hair on the nape of his neck rising.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
The stranger broke into a run, the awkward gait from before making way for fierce speed as he closed the distance. There was no time to think, no time to act. He slammed into Brian with terrific force. The bread flew, the chocolate slab tumbled to the ground. Clawed hands latched onto Brian's left wrist. He cried out when a sharp pain shot up his arm and jerked back, shoving the man to the ground. A quick glance showed a crescent bite mark on the flesh just above his wrist, blood trickling from the puncture wounds.
He bit me!
The son of a bitch bit me!
The stranger snarled and got to his feet, fingers grasping at the air. Acting on instinct, Brian clubbed his attacker in the temple with a fist. Once, twice, three times, sending him tumbling backward. It wasn't enough. Those fingers kept reaching, and the growls sawed through the air unabated. Brian backpedaled, his mind reeling with the possibilities. Recent disturbing news reports of cannibals and an infectious disease surfaced.
The door to the shop slammed open and the cashier rushed out, latching onto the stranger's arms and twisting them up behind his back. They struggled, the crazy man making insane noises as he jerked and pulled. The cashier cried out to the shocked petrol attendant, who'd been standing the entire time gaping at the spectacle.
Brian swung his head, looking for something to use and spotted a length of electrical cord. He snatched it up and together, the three of them tied up the stranger. Heaving for breath, Brian stared down at the wriggling form, taking in the rolling eyes, blackened gums and blood-encrusted shirt.
“What do we do now?” the cashier asked.
“I don't know. Call the police.” Brian scooped up his fallen car keys. “They can figure it out.”
The petrol attendant did not agree. “He's been bewitched. This is the work of evil spirits.” He spat on the ground and
backed away, shaking his head.
“Whatever,” Brian replied. He wanted nothing more than to go home. He thumbed a business card out of his wallet, wincing when a stab of pain shot through his hand. “If the police want to talk, they can call me on this number.” Handing the card to the cashier, he left before anyone could argue.
He drove home in a hurry, only realizing when he pushed open the kitchen door that he'd left the bread and chocolate on the ground where he'd dropped it. Morgan was in the kitchen, dancing to a song on the TV, hips swaying from side to side.
She turned when he walked in, noting his pinched expression and empty hands. “What's wrong?”
Brian showed her his arm, the crescent bite wound was swollen and puffy, leaking droplets of blood.
“Oh, my God! What happened?”
“Some crazy guy attacked me out of nowhere. I fought him off, but he got me.”
“He bit you?” Morgan gaped at him, aghast.
Brian told her what happened, but made light of the event, convincing himself it was just a bum, hopped up on drugs or alcohol. The alternative was too frightening to entertain.
Morgan pulled out her first aid kit and cleaned the wound with antiseptic, laughing when he winced. “Don't be such a baby! It's not that bad.”
“He took a chunk right out of me,” Brian protested.
“Oh, please. It's not very deep,” she scoffed, but a frown marred her forehead while she wrapped it up with a bandage. “I hope this doesn't get infected. Human mouths are filthy.”
Brian had to agree.
“I think you'd better see a doctor tomorrow, just in case.”
“Anything you say, love.”
She tied off the end of the bandage then leaned over and kissed him on the lips. “Hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Good, because I made extra.”
Brian set the table while Morgan poured a glass of wine for each of them. “To relax you after your harrowing ordeal,” she joked.
“If the wine's for me then how come the bottle's half empty?”
“Because cooking supper was a harrowing ordeal for me,” she replied, giggling. “Tomorrow's your turn.”
“Deal.”
She toasted him across the table and Brian marveled at how beautiful she was when she smiled. Her green eyes sparkled, the soft skin at the corners of her lips dimpling.
God, I love her.
Silence fell, broken only by the clinking of crockery. With his knife, Brian cut off a big chunk of steak, the pink juices squeezing out to mingle with the gravy. His stomach rumbled in anticipation, saliva flooding his mouth. A few more bites and the meat was gone but not his hunger.
“Is there more?” he asked.
“Sure. On the stove.”
Brian lifted the lid on the oven pan, smiling with pleasure when he spotted the thick piece of rump. Loading it onto his plate, he returned to the table and dug in with enthusiasm.
“You're hungry today,” Morgan remarked.
“Can't help it,” he mumbled around a full mouth. “It's so good.”
He polished the steak, then the potatoes and carrots, his stomach languishing warm and contented afterward. Pushing back his plate, Brian's gaze settled on Morgan. A frown cut grooves between her brows while she stared at her fork, peas hovering on the edge of the tines.“What's wrong? Not still worried about me getting sick, are you?”
“No, it's not that. Well, not just that,” she replied. The peas lost the battle and tumbled down. With a sigh, Morgan laid down her fork and reached for her glass.
“What's bothering you then?”
“It's Lilian.”
“What about her?”
“Earlier today, I received three missed calls from her but when I phoned back she never answered.”
“I'm sure she'll call you soon. She's probably just busy with the kids and all.”
“It's not like her,” Morgan insisted. “I tried phoning Ronald too. No answer. I'm getting really worried.”
“I'm sure it's nothing. Why don't you try again tomorrow?”
“What if something happened to them? What if they got robbed or...” Morgan trailed off, chewing her lip. “Johannesburg's a dangerous place.”
“It's not that bad, love. And they stay in a secure complex. Tomorrow Lilian will phone you and everything will be fine. You'll see.”
“I suppose.” Morgan turned her attention back to her plate, spearing an unfortunate pea with a vehement stab of her fork.
Despite his reassurances, Brian could see she was still worried about Lilian so kept quiet about his own growing discomfort. During the meal, he'd noticed a burning sensation spreading from the bite wound on his arm, his fingers tingling until the tips became numb. Reluctant to worry Morgan further, he ignored it but by slow degrees, the feeling was spreading throughout his body.
After dinner, they settled on the couch to watch a movie. Morgan curled her warm body into his, putting her head on his shoulder and he looped an arm around her back. The fragrance of her skin tickled his nostrils and Brian leaned back, trying to relax.
The burning sensation had abated somewhat which was a relief but he still felt hot with sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades and pooling beneath his armpits. Suddenly, his stomach cramped, and he convulsed.
Morgan sat up. “Are you okay?” she asked, frowning.
Another cramp gripped him and he gritted his teeth. A growing sensation of nausea was taking hold. Sucking in a deep breath, Brian tamped down the feeling.
“I'm fine.”
“Are you sure? You look pale.”
“I'm okay. Really.”
After a few seconds, Morgan lay back down, and they resumed watching TV. Brian's stomach continued to churn, but he ignored it, biting on his lower lip and leaning his head back whenever it got bad. Deep down, he knew something was wrong but he couldn't bring himself to say anything.
I'll go to the doctor tomorrow. It's nothing serious. No reason to spoil our night.
After the movie, Morgan got up, squeezing his hand. “Ready for bed?”
“Why don't you go ahead? I'll be right there.”
He waited until she was in the bedroom before he rushed to the guest bathroom in the hallway. Slamming the door shut, he fell to his knees in front of the toilet. The contents of his stomach came up in a rush, forcing its way out through his throat. A noxious mixture of bile and masticated food filled the bowl. Trembling, he got to his feet and flushed the toilet then turned to the washbasin to splash cold water on his face.
A look in the mirror revealed a haggard visage, his eyes bloodshot and puffy.
“I look like shit.”
A knock on the bathroom door interrupted him.
“Babes, are you okay?”
“I'm fine,” he replied. “Be right out.”
“Okay.”
He waited until he heard her footsteps recede down the passage then unwound the bandage covering his wound. Swollen and inflamed, it pulsed with heat and deep purple lines radiated from the bite.
“Shit,” he muttered, staring at his forearm in disbelief. Again, the recent news reports of an infectious virus spreading across the continents flashed through his mind. He shook his head, refusing to consider it.
It's bullshit. It's not real. It can't be.
But the evidence was staring him right in the face. Mystery illness or not, his wound was infected. “Fuck it. I'll go to the doctor in the morning. Probably just need antibiotics and a shot or something.”
He rewound the bandage after sloshing antiseptic from the bathroom cabinet over the crescent bite mark. It burned like fire and he convinced himself it would fry any bugs clinging to his flesh. It's not that bad.
Brian splashed water on his face, rinsed his mouth then fixed a relaxed smile onto his features. Morgan awaited him in the bedroom, already dressed in silk pajamas. With a casual demeanor, he prepared for bed but she wasn't fooled, frowning at his bloodshot eyes and flushed face.
Pressing a cool hand against his forehead, she gasped. “You're burning up!” She grasped his forearm, studying the bandage. “Is it your arm? Let me see.”
Her fingers reached for the cloth and he snatched his hand away. “It's not necessary.”
“How can you say that? You're running a fever, Brian. I'm taking you to the emergency room.”
“No, you're not. There's nothing wrong with me that a good night's rest won't fix. And I'll see a doctor in the morning, okay?”
“But...”
“Morgan, I'm fine. It's just a bug, that's all. I won't ruin your night by dragging us to the hospital for nothing.” Brian turned his back on her, hiding the fear he felt inside and turned down his end of the duvet.
A soft touch on his shoulder turned him around to face her. “You'll tell me if I should be scared, won't you? You'll tell me if something's wrong.”
Brian reached out and brushed his fingers across her cheek. “Of course, love.”
She hesitated. “Promise?”
“I promise. Now let's go to bed, okay?”
“Okay.”
Sliding between the cool sheets was a relief to his overheated skin. Morgan lay on her side facing the wall, her buttocks pressed to his hip. He switched off his bedside lamp and stared up at the ceiling, allowing the darkness to soothe him. After a few minutes, he drifted off.
Burn.
I'm burning.
Tongues of flame licking at my skin...what's happening?
Where am I?
Brian jerked awake, shooting upright, his heart banging in his chest. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes and dripping onto the sheets. Morgan mumbled, stirring next to him but he hardly heard her so focused was he on the heat that consumed him.
What's happening to me?
He fumbled in his bedside drawer for the bottle of ibuprofen he took for his tennis elbow and swallowed several, choking on the bitter pills. Using the remote, he cranked the air conditioning up, the blast of cool air a blessed relief.
Dangerous Days (Book 2): Survive Another Day [Short Story Collection Vol. I] Page 1
