Dangerous Days (Book 2): Survive Another Day [Short Story Collection Vol. I]

by Higgins, Baileigh

  It was surprising. Surprising and unnerving. It made her look like just an ordinary child, innocent and sweet, not the predator she had become. The little girl halted, a sixth sense alerting her to live prey. She looked at Angie. Her lips pulled back in a snarl and she charged.

  Angie rose out of her crouch, swinging the pipe. It glanced off the girl's temple, cutting the scalp. Black blood poured over her porcelain skin, marring her face. Her little body fell back then righted itself. With a crack of her neck, her head snapped forward, eyes fixing on Angie who staggered back.

  “Help! Help me!” Angie cried, though she knew no one would answer. It felt like she was drowning in fear. Panic peeled back her defenses like acid rain, leaving her exposed and quivering. The little monster launched itself again.

  Without thinking, Angie struck. The pipe connected with the girl's forehead. Her feet flew out underneath her and she fell, writhing like a worm on a hook. Angie lifted her weapon and brought it down again. Screaming with incoherent rage, she kept hitting, again and again, banishing the fear. Blood and brains spattered her face.

  A sense of power filled her. When the child's head was nothing more than mush, she stood back, chest heaving. This is what it feels like not to be afraid.

  Her triumph was short-lived. Other infected crowded into the shop, drawn by the noise of the struggle. Angie dropped the pipe. It fell with a clang on the floor and she sank to her haunches. With her back to the wall, she sobbed, arms thrown across her face.

  The crack of gunfire.

  Shots popping off like popcorn in a microwave.

  A strange male voice shouted.

  Angie dared to open her eyes. The infected were dead, strewn around her in a circle of destruction. The crunch of footsteps over the threshold sounded and then she saw him.

  He was young, about her age. His hair was thick and honey colored, the fringe flopping over his eyes. No amateur, he checked each zombie to make certain it was dead before picking his way through to her.

  Blue eyes bored into her soul, stripping away the outer layers. Her cheeks grew warm. With trembling fingers, she took the hand he extended, letting him help her to her feet.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, smiling.

  She nodded, her stomach flopping like a dying fish. She held on to his arm, relishing in the warmth of his smile. What she once felt for George paled in comparison to the rush of emotion that roared through her now. This was the real thing.

  “I'm fine,” she replied, flashing him a dazzling smile.

  “Looks like I got here just in time.”

  “I guess you did. You saved my life.” A breathless giggle escaped her lips and she leaned into his side. “I'm Angie.”

  “Armand.” He led the way out, still holding her hand. “So what's a pretty girl like you doing here?”

  “It's a long story.”

  “We've got time, I hope.”

  All the time in the world.

  7

  Chapter 7 - Henri

  Henri watched the Nyalas pull away in a cloud of dust. His heart sank. He would miss them, all of them, but little Meghan the most. She had been a ray of sunshine in his home these past few weeks with her giggling laughter and bouncing curls.

  After a moment, he turned to the mound of freshly dug earth at his feet. Hannelie was dead. He couldn't believe she was gone, plucked away by a rotting corpse with no soul. His lips pressed together. Time to go hunting.

  He slung his rifle over his shoulder and patted the old Colt pistol riding on his belt. He was old. Too old to sit here and wither away. Too old to be of use to anybody. Besides, he didn't want to live without her.

  “Well, old girl, guess I'll be seeing you soon. After forty-three years of marriage, I no longer know how to tie my shoelaces without you.” Tears trickled down his worn cheeks, the grief like a stone in his chest, weighing him down.

  With his mind made up, he released the animals, scattering the last of the feed on the ground. The chickens and geese would be fine but he was less sure about Pete, the draft horse, and Lola, the milk cow. After several minutes of mental wrangling, he decided to put them down.

  “Can't have those flesh-eating parasites get hold of you, now can I?” he said, patting Pete on the neck. The horse whinnied, blowing warm air down his neck.

  Henri raised his pistol, putting it to Pete's forehead. A gentle squeeze was all it took. The old horse collapsed at his feet, spasming in death. “I'm sorry, boy. You were a good companion. Strong. Faithful.”

  After a deep breath, he moved on and repeated the procedure with Lola. Her eyes glazed over while he stroked her neck, sadness threatening to overwhelm him. “Sorry, girl.”

  He climbed into his truck and drove away, clutching the steering wheel to still his trembling hands. Not once did he look back.

  Town was nothing like he remembered, filled with empty shops and houses, deserted streets and abandoned cars. “Well, except for them,” he said, nodding at the walking corpses wandering around. “This is it, Hannelie old girl. The end of mankind, I'm telling you.” His keen eyes picked out a good spot, and he pulled over. “Time to thin the herd.”

  Henri steadied his rifle on the doorjamb, lining up with the nearest zombie. With methodical precision, he killed it before moving on to the next. His eyes noted their physical traits. That one was a woman, blond and maybe pretty once. That one was a male, an oldster by the looks of it and in bad shape. A kid...no telling if it was a boy or girl, however.

  His conscience twinged and he took it as a sign from Hannelie whom he was sure was watching over him. “They aren't people anymore, dear. There are no souls in those empty husks, I'm telling you. I'm doing them a favor, releasing them from those rotting shells.”

  Upon emptying his rifle, he reloaded and drove to a new spot, repeating the ritual. “I'm not quite ready to join you yet, dear. I've got a job to do first. The more of these things I kill, the more lives I might save. It's the least I can do, I guess.”

  Around noon, his stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't had breakfast yet. Rooting in the bag of supplies he'd brought with him, he made a meal of water and dry rusks. It was enough to still the pangs of hunger in his stomach but he wanted more.

  The sight of a liquor store roused his interest, and he pulled over. After grabbing a six-pack of beer, he picked up a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. “Yeah, I know, Hannelie. I quit years ago but if I'm gonna die today I may as well enjoy myself.”

  He imagined her disapproving look in his mind's eye and chuckled. “Calm down, old girl. It's just this once, I promise. I'll be sitting next to you on a big fat cloud soon enough.”

  He climbed back into the cab and leaned back, cracking the window open. Three infected had zeroed in on him but he ignored them. Their swaying gait, slow and painful, presented no threat to him.

  He cracked open a beer, taking a deep swig of the warm brew. The bitter taste flowed across his tongue, heating the pit of his stomach. Eyeing the can, he mused, “Too bad you can't be cold. Now that would have been a treat.”

  With the borrowed lighter he lit his first smoke in eighteen years. It took him back to the days when he was a young man, smoking because it was cool. No one yet realized how poisonous it was. He closed his eyes and remembered the way Hannelie looked when he first met her, dancing in a red dress with red lipstick and red hair. Everything about her had glowed. “I was lost the minute I saw you, darling. You were the most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on.”

  Losing his wife hit him again. Pain washed over him, leeching the will to live from his bones, leaving him a husk. “You know what, dear? I think I might as well join you now.”

  His resolve strengthened when the first infected reached the truck, mashing its rotted face against the window. It brought home the ugliness of the new world to Henri, and he picked up the Colt, thumbing back the hammer. “See you soon, darling.”

  A shrill scream interrupted his fond farewell, and he paused. It was the first real huma
n voice he'd heard all day. He twisted in his seat, scanning the area. Two youngsters were running down the road. They were being chased by a cluster of infected. The fast variety.

  Henri marveled at the sight. He hadn't seen newly infected before. Max had told him about them. They were scarce, testifying to the rarity of survivors left to infect. It saddened him, the knowledge that yet more people had succumbed to the virus.

  Shoving open the door, Henri snapped off a shot at the zombie that had tried its best to claw through the window. The bullet passed through the skull in a spray of red mist. He tossed down the Colt and grabbed his rifle, taking aim.

  He made each shot count, squeezing the trigger after a short lead. The knot of chasing infected thinned, falling to the road one after the other. The youngsters gained a slight lead.

  “Come on,” Henri shouted, waving at them. He jumped back into the truck, opening the passenger door. Turning on the ignition, he revved the engine. The two runners reached the vehicle, faces shining with sweat.

  Henri pulled away the moment they were in. The running infected chased the truck with desperate intensity, their arms and legs moving with a speed he found incredible. But they were no match for the truck. Their figures dwindled in the rearview mirror. When it was clear, he pulled over, turning in his seat to study the newcomers.

  They were young, a boy and a girl. Late teens or early twenties, he guessed. What he found most surprising was the girl. She was pregnant. Her belly protruded far enough to suggest she was a few months along. Tears streamed down her face while she huddled against her...friend? Boyfriend? Henri's eyes dropped to their hands, and he noticed the wedding bands.

  Ah. Married with a baby on the way. What a bad time to be in a delicate way.

  The boy blinked at him, his left eye twitching in what Henri assumed was a nervous habit. His glasses were thick, the frame a bright orange color. “Thanks for helping us, Mister...”

  “Henri. Call me Henri.”

  “Okay, uh...Henri. I'm Sean and this is Erica. Thanks again. Without you...” The boy trailed off, Adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed.

  “Sure thing. You two okay?”

  Sean shook his head while the girl cried harder, fingers spread across her stomach to protect the life cradled within. He wished Hannelie were there. She'd know what to do.

  “Come now, Miss. Stop crying, please. I'll get you somewhere safe, okay?”

  “S...safe?” Erica sniffed, looking at him with red-rimmed eyes. A pretty little thing, she looked overwhelmed and on the verge of panic.

  “I know of other survivors who'll take you.” Henri smiled, hoping to calm her fears. “They're good folks.”

  “Really?” Disbelief and hope chased each other across her face, fighting for dominance.

  “Yes.” Henri threw a glance out the window, noting the sun hanging low on the horizon. “But first we have to find a place to hole up for the night. It's getting late, and I'd rather not drive around in the dark.”

  Erica burst into fresh sobs, burying her face in Sean's neck. He patted her back, throwing an apologetic look at Henri. “Sorry. It's been a tough couple of weeks.”

  “Trust me, son. I know.”

  ***

  An hour later, they were parked in front of a house on the outskirts of town. It was located on a culdesac in a neighborhood that used to be quiet before the apocalypse. Henri hoped that would prove to be a boon now.

  He'd chosen the house with the best security and stared at it, evaluating. The sun dipped below the edge of the earth, its last rays fading before the invading forces of the night.

  “Stay here. I'll check it out.” After checking the rounds in his guns, he turned to Sean. “If something happens, drive off and find a safe place for the night. In the morning, head to the old Riot Police quarters. You know where that is?”

  Sean nodded, eyes wide.

  The street was deserted, not a single infected in sight. The light was fading fast, urging him to move. Henri walked to the gates, rattling them. They wouldn't budge. The electric motor was dead. “Dang it.”

  He eyed the stone wall with dubious eyes, wondering if his old bones could make the climb. The truck door opened and Sean appeared. “Need help?”

  “Sure. Could you give me a boost?”

  Sean knelt down, cupping his hands together. With a lot of shoving, grunting and cursing, they got Henri up onto the wall. At first, he sat, surveying the yard for movement. Nothing.

  “Right, here I go, Hannelie. Watch over me now.” He dropped into the tall grass. It swished as he walked, soothing his nerves. With deft hands, he clipped the gate motor to manual and slid it open partway. “Never know if I might need a quick getaway.”

  The path to the front door of the house was paved, weeds pushing through the cracks between. Crickets sang in the background while the empty windows were like eyes watching him. A shiver worked up his spine. He reached for the door handle. It was unlocked, the hinges creaking when it swung open. A musty smell greeted his nose, tinged with the sweet undertones of rotten flesh.

  I'm not alone.

  The hairs on the back of his neck rose when he stepped inside. A whisper of sound warned him in time and he whipped up his rifle. The stock connected with the body of a child, flinging it back. It hissed, scrambling across the carpet towards him. Henri grabbed a handful of greasy hair to keep its teeth out of his flesh.

  It was a girl, clawing at his arms. She wore pink pajamas, the left slipper still on. He clubbed her to death, using the rifle to crack her skull. Like a broken doll, she lay on the floor, her dead eyes dull. Averting his eyes, he shuffled past to search the rest of the house.

  In the living room, he found the remains of the family dog. The bones gleamed white in the last light filtering through the windows, lying in a pool of dried blood. An antique grandfather clock adorned the wall, its hands stopped at three-fifteen.

  After a cursory check inside the kitchen and dining room, Henri braved the hallway. Five doors led off it, two to each side and a final one at the end. All were open except for the one at the end.

  The little girl's room was first. Stuffed toys sat alone and abandoned on the bed while posters of ponies adorned the walls. The opposite room was a boy's room, likely a teenager's. Clothes were strewn across the floor, an empty pizza box sitting next to a computer. This raised an immediate question. Where is he?

  The next two rooms were a bathroom and a sewing room. Henri sighed with relief. Only two kids then.

  He stood facing the final bedroom. Night had fallen, and it was dark inside the house. His heart beat like a drum, fast and hard, speeding up to accommodate the fear that threatened to unman him. After a second, he shook his head. “All right, I'm going. Can't stand here all day.”

  With a swift movement, he shoved open the door. For a single moment, nothing happened. Then swift footsteps sounded. A low growl carried to his ears. Something hit Henri low and hard, hands latched onto his body and fingers hooked into his shirt. He twisted away, swinging the rifle. It connected with a hollow thump but the thing didn't let go. Teeth sank into his arm, digging deep. Pain shot through him and he lashed out, loosening the infected's grip. It fell back, and he pulled the pistol from his belt. It bucked and the thing slumped, head deformed by the bullet.

  Buoyed by adrenalin, Henri spun, ready for more attackers. There were none, but a thump came from a closed door at the other end. A quick check revealed that the infected he'd killed was the boy. “That leaves the parents.”

  With his heart in his throat, he strode to the door and yanked it open. The pistol was ready, barrel pointed forward. A rasping snarl issued from the figure of a woman, lying at his feet. Long hair hung across her shoulders and her arms reached for him, yearning. Faint light streamed through the windows, moonlight bathing her skin in silver.

  He shot her, then checked the rest of what turned out to be the master bathroom. No sign of the husband. It was empty except for the woman he now assumed to be the mother
. Her body was in bad shape, covered in bite marks.

  “Poor girl,” Henri muttered. He dragged her body into the tub, closing her eyes and arranging her dressing gown. “Did your boy turn and bite his sister? Then you dragged him into your room and closed the door to keep her safe?” He shook his head, covering her with a towel. “He must have laid into you something awful before you hid here.”

  With a sigh, Henri retraced his steps, carrying the bodies of the children to the bathroom too. He arranged them on the floor close to the mother then paused. “I'm not one for saying prayers. That used to be my wife's job. All I'll say is I'm sorry this happened to you and you can rest now.”

  With a soft click, he shut the door. His eyes dropped to the crescent bite mark on his arm. It gleamed, blood pearling on the skin. “Guess I'll be seeing you soon, darling.”

  After a final search of the house and grounds established there were no more zombies, he strode outside. Down the street, he saw a few shambling figures, drawn by the gunshots. They were still some distance away, and he waved at the youngsters. “You can come out now. It's safe.”

  The couple got out, hesitant and nervous. Henri climbed into the truck and parked inside, helping Sean to secure the gates. As he moved, he noticed the burn in his wound. It wasn't too bad yet, more a tingling sensation up the arm. I better get moving just in case.

  “Let's get you two inside,” he said. Removing the supplies from his truck, he hustled them into the house. “Here's a little food and water. A flashlight. Enough for the night, at least.”

  He clicked on the light and the darkness receded. Dark hollows beneath the kid's eyes made them appear ghostly, their skin stretched tight over their cheekbones. They haven't eaten much lately.

  Erica collapsed into a chair, shoulders slumped and mouth was drawn. Sean hovered over her. “Are you okay, sweetie?”