Dangerous Days (Book 2): Fear Another Day

by Higgins, Baileigh

  Logan found it surprisingly fun to teach Nadia about nature. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be out in the bush, foraging, hunting, surviving. This was what he preferred above all else, and the thing he'd missed the most during his time with Max and the others.

  Though he'd been prepared to give up this way of life for Morgan's sake, he now felt his muscles ease back into their old habits. His body instinctively moved like that of a hunter.

  He decided to expand on the lessons, showing Nadia where to look for water, and how to pick a camping spot. By the time they reached the buck spoor, Nadia was chattering like a squirrel and asking a million questions about everything they encountered.

  “Look here,” he said, pointing at the ground. “This is the buck's scat, and over there is a hoof print.”

  Logan went onward, teaching Nadia the basics of tracking. He pointed at overturned stones, chewed twigs and bruised leaves. He knew they were close. Placing his finger to his lips, he gestured to Nadia to hunker down and keep quiet. “Follow me.”

  He crept closer, staying downwind until he spotted the herd grazing in a clearing. There weren't many of them. Logan counted twelve in the bunch, ears flicking back and forth as they listened for danger.

  Silence blanketed the humid clearing, broken by the occasional sound of a stomping hoof. He selected a young male grazing off to the side and raised his rifle. The shot blasted through the clearing. The buck jumped into the air and ran three steps before crashing to the ground. “Got you.”

  Nadia watched, mouth hanging open in awe as the rest of the herd fled. Their lithe bodies bound through the air with their trademark gait. One designed to throw predators off as they switched direction in mid-air, leaping like hares.

  Logan smiled, a warm feeling growing inside at the rapt expression on her face. “Come on.”

  He jogged over to the fallen buck and unsheathed his knife. Kneeling next to the carcass, he examined it.

  “Is it dead?” Nadia asked.

  Logan pointed out the bullet hole behind the shoulder blade, leaking blood. “Shot through the heart.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes grew large. “Now what?”

  “Now we butcher it.” With those words, Logan leaned forward and gutted the buck. Its steaming innards spilled onto the ground.

  Nadia grew pale and backed away. Logan chuckled as he pulled a cloth from his backpack and spread it on the ground. He dug out the liver, kidneys, and heart.

  “Tonight we feast,” he said, placing the organs on the material. Both his hands were coated with the fresh hot blood. Nadia whirled around and threw up once more.

  “Keep watch for zombies. They'll be drawn to the gunshot,” he said, ignoring her weak stomach.

  “Okay.”

  Logan worked fast and peeled back the skin to reveal the deep red muscle underneath. With the expertise that came from long years of practice, he cut the meat into strips and piled it onto the cloth.

  “Here. Stuff this in your backpack,” he commanded.

  The only answer he got was more retching.

  Chapter 15 - Ronnie

  Ronnie shook his head to clear the cobwebs that clung, fogging his perception. He'd spent hours on the wall, keeping watch before snatching three hours of sleep. Now he was up before dawn and outside the grounds with only a single cup of coffee to fuel him.

  On stiff legs, he knelt down to trace his fingers over the indentations left by the horde that had attacked them the previous day. Dew drops clung to the flattened grass, shivering like crystal beads in the morning breeze.

  Goosebumps checkered his arms, the skin pebbling in the chill air. He brushed off his hands and straightened up. The veldt stretched out around him, the passage of the horde apparent by the swath of flattened brush they'd left in their wake.

  “Well, at least it's not hard to tell where they came from,” Mike said, picking his way between stones and tussocks.

  “Question is, why did they come this way?” Ronnie asked. “What drew them here?”

  “Beats me,” Mike replied. “Maybe they got hungry and went looking for a hamburger. Maybe they decided to take a walk. Who knows?”

  Ronnie ignored the flippant remarks and turned back to studying the trail again. Something nagged at his thoughts, like an itch that couldn't be scratched. I'm missing something.

  Mike walked past him, sipping from a silver flask. The pungent smell of whiskey reached Ronnie's nostrils. “Really, Mike? It's not even seven in the morning yet.”

  Mike shrugged. “Do you blame me? I need something to fortify me.”

  “You need to stay alert,” Ronnie said.

  “Relax,” Mike said. “You can count on me.”

  “Whatever,” Ronnie replied, suppressing a surge of irritation. Taking command of the team had proved harder than he thought. While Mike had respect for him, their friendship made it difficult. Mike simply did not have the same regard for authority toward Ronnie as he did with the Captain.

  Ronnie's feet led back along the trail left by the horde, his eyes roving the ground for clues. He didn't know what he was looking for, but he was sure it was there. Call it a gut feeling.

  At the edge of a dirt track curving through the terrain, he paused. Where it led was anybody's guess. Probably a farm or the main road. What caught his eye though, was what he found on the rough track.

  He knelt down and reached out to pick up the object between his thumb and forefinger. A thousand questions milled through his brain, screaming for answers.

  His thoughts were interrupted by Kirstin's calm voice at his shoulder. “What have you found?”

  Ronnie shook his head. “When I know the answer to that, I'll tell you.”

  He pocketed the item then stood and trudged back the way he came. Kirstin followed behind him.

  He called out to Lenka and Mike, gathering up the little group. “Let's go, guys. The objective today is guns and ammo. We need more firepower.”

  “Gotcha,” Mike replied, throwing him a lazy salute matched by a wink. Neither Kirstin nor Lenka said a word.

  They all climbed into Tallulah, and Ronnie settled behind the wheel. A twist of the key started the engine, and he drove off. The camp and its inhabitants faded from view, and his sense of responsibility grew. We'd better get this right. Everyone depends on us now.

  ***

  Their first stop was the police station. According to Max, Logan and Armand had grabbed only what they could carry during their previous raid. By his reasoning, there should still be plenty left.

  Now Ronnie stared at the entrance to the station, perplexed. He opened the door and slipped out, his feet carrying him nearer. He paused and studied the scene before him. “What happened here?”

  Corpses lay strewn about, flung to the tar by the force of the bullets that ripped their flesh apart. He studied the bodies. “These were zombies before they died.”

  His eyes lifted toward the police station, and he chewed his bottom lip in worry. “Someone beat us to it, guys.”

  Mike prodded one of the dead infected with his foot, nodding. “I think you're right.”

  “Someone who had lots of ammo,” Kirstin agreed, pointing to the walls of the building. Bullet holes peppered the mortar in crazy patterns, a macabre display of power. “They did not even try to conserve their ammunition.”

  Ronnie found himself agreeing with her. “Let's check inside. Just to be sure.”

  The inside of the station had seen the same destruction as the outside. Shell casings and dead zombies painted a stark picture. The raiders had stormed in, meeting little resistance before the hail of gunfire they rained down. The armory was stripped clean. Not a single gun or bullet remained.

  “Shit,” Ronnie muttered. “One down, two to go.”

  They left the derelict law enforcement building behind, driving in silence. Ronnie glanced at the map on the dashboard. Three red circles dotted the paper. One was now useless to them, and he sent up a fervent prayer that the other two would deliver.


  He approached the parking lot of their second target, and his heart sank. It looked the same. He jumped out, raw anger coursing through his veins. He kicked the tire of the Casspir. “Fuck. What's the point of taking all the guns and ammo, if they're just going to waste it? I mean, look at this!”

  The other three said nothing, their expressions somber as they studied the destruction around them. Once more, shell casings and bodies littered the lot.

  They checked inside, just to be sure, but they neither expected nor got anything. To Ronnie, it felt like their mission was a worthless one. He fired up the engine of the truck and drove toward the third and final destination. If that one yielded nothing, they'd be going home empty-handed.

  Minutes later, Ronnie parked the Casspir in front of their designated objective and switched off the ignition. The mood inside the cabin was serious. They all felt the pressure.

  “This is it,” Kirstin said, pointing at the red circle on the map.

  “Are you sure?” Ronnie asked. His eyes drifted over the unassuming storefront, fixing on the bicycles advertised in the window.

  “Very.”

  Ronnie had reached the end of his patience. “Let's hope so.”

  They fanned out as they approached the store with Kirstin providing cover from Tallulah's roof. The doors creaked when he pushed them open, the hinges stiff from months of disuse.

  Puffs of dust billowed around his boots, raised by each step he took inside. He took that as a good sign. It doesn't look like anyone's been here in a long time.

  The interior was dark, lit only by faint light streaming through the glass front. He clicked on his flashlight. The bright circle of light cut through the black, spotlighting the various articles it landed on.

  Bicycles.

  Display stands filled with odds and ends.

  The decayed face of a zombie lurching towards him.

  Ronnie swung his knife from left to right, the weapon held with the blade pointed at his forearm. The tip pushed through the temple, embedding the blade into the thing's brain. The infected fell with a raspy growl.

  Mike wrestled with a zombie that had hold of his ankle, teeth poised to sink into his lower leg. Before it had the chance to latch on, Lenka brought his enormous boot down on its head. The cranium collapsed inward with a crackle followed by a dull pop and wet squelching sounds. The brain oozed out onto the floor, bits clinging to Mike's trousers.

  “Oh, yuck. Man, that's gross,” Mike said, dancing away. He shook his leg, trying to dislodge the rotting brain matter. “Why'd you do that? I could have taken him.”

  Lenka ignored him, searching behind the counter for more zombies. Ronnie grinned but quickly sobered when he remembered their purpose and continued to canvas the shop.

  “Clear,” he shouted when he finished.

  “Clear,” Mike and Lenka echoed.

  They found the keys to the gun safe in the pocket of an infected Ronnie had dispatched, identified by the name tag on his breast as Mr. Richardson.

  “Sorry dude, but we need it more than you do,” Ronnie muttered when he unlocked the safe. He swung the door open, holding his breath. “Here goes.”

  Rows of neatly lined up guns and boxes of ammo met his eyes. It was not the score that he'd hoped for, but after the disappointments of earlier, he'd take it. A deep sigh of relief escaped his lips. “Right, guys. Let's load 'em up.”

  With swift movements, the duffel bags they carried were filled to the brim. Shouldering his bag, Ronnie jerked his head at the front door. “Let's go. Back to Tallulah.”

  They jogged outside and unloaded, then returned to the store until it was stripped clean of weapons and any other useful supplies it carried. All under the watchful eyes of Kirstin and the long reach of her Galil.

  After they'd made their final trip, Ronnie paused next to the driver's door of the Casspir, hands on his knees while he caught his breath. Sweat dripped off his forehead, splattering onto the tar. He straightened up and glanced at the others. “Ready to go?”

  They nodded and seconds later pulled away. Ronnie stared at the white lines in the middle, streaming past in a hypnotic blur. He had something on his mind. Something he had to share with the others.

  Ronnie thought back to what he had seen that morning on the dirt track. Cigarette butts. Fresh ones. His mind flashed to the emptied armories at the police station and industrial. He thought of all the empty houses they'd encountered in the past few weeks, the occupants murdered in acts of wanton barbarity. He remembered the rooms full of blood and the silent screams that still echoed.

  “Listen up, guys. I've got something to tell you.”

  Three sets of eyes turned his way.

  “Yesterday's attack was no accident. That horde was led to us on purpose.”

  “What do you mean?” Mike asked.

  Ronnie told them about the cigarette buts.

  “You are sure of this?” Kirstin asked.

  “As sure as it's possible to be at this stage without more info.” He paused, considering. “I think it's them.”

  “Them?” Mike asked.

  “The same lot that has been killing innocents, looting and stealing.”

  “It is possible,” Kirstin agreed.

  Lenka grunted.

  “I think they've mopped up all resistance...except for us.” Ronnie sighed.

  “That's why they took all the guns. To prevent us from getting our hands on it.”

  “What about that last place? It had some,” Mike said.

  “I don't think they knew about it. According to Max, it wasn't common knowledge.” His hands tightened on the wheel. “And now that they've got it all, they're coming for us. Luring the zombies there was just the first step.”

  “I believe you are right,” Kirstin said. “We should warn Max.”

  “Soon as we get home,” Ronnie agreed. I just hope we're not too late.

  Chapter 16 - Nadia

  The late afternoon sun filtered through gaps between the wooden boards that covered the window, casting a pool of golden light onto the couch. Nadia sat curled up in that spot, licking her finger as she thumbed through the pages of a book.

  “It's time.”

  Nadia looked up at Logan, startled. “Time for what?”

  “It's time for us to leave,” Logan replied. “Your hands have healed, and I've even managed to teach you some manners. You're officially house trained.”

  Nadia pulled a face. “Haha, very funny.”

  A knot of anxiety formed in the pit of her stomach. Though she'd been waiting for this day, she now wondered if she was ready. Can I cope with being around other people? What if I infect someone? Will they even want me?

  Her hand flew to her head, fingers brushing through the short, blonde tendrils. She'd cut her hair, removed her piercings, even changed her clothes. She'd changed everything about herself to please these people of whom Logan spoke with such fondness. But will it be enough?

  Logan's eyes rested on her face. “Relax. They'll love you.”

  “You think so?” she asked, hating the plaintive note that crept into her voice.

  “You got me to like you. A pretty amazing feat, I might add.” He smirked and ducked to the side. Nadia's book fluttered past his ear. He scooped up the battered copy, smoothing the creased pages. “But you might want to work on your people skills.”

  “Screw you, Logan.”

  “And your language.”

  Nadia rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  Logan sauntered over to the kitchen, digging into the cupboards. “Hungry?”

  “I'm always hungry.”

  “True. I feel sorry for Max and Elise. Keeping you fed is a full-time job.”

  “Now we know why you left. They kicked you out for being such a pig,” Nadia replied.

  Logan's mouth quirked as he put a pot of water on the stove, turning on the gas flame. It sputtered before catching, burning blue then settling in a mild yellow. Logan dumped a few packets of instant noodles
into the pot and turned back to her.

  “We leave in the morning. Be ready.”

  Nadia chewed her lip, gazing at him.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don't nothing me. I can see something's bothering you. Spit it out.” He narrowed his eyes, glaring at her over the rim of his glass before downing the amber liquid in one swallow.

  “You talk about these people as if they're...” Nadia hesitated.

  “As if they're what?” Logan prompted, his impatience showing.

  “Nice. Decent. Good people,” she finished.

  “Yeah, so?” Logan frowned at her, dragging the whiskey bottle closer with one hand for a refill. It was already half-empty.

  “What if...what if I hurt them? What if I infect someone?” She paused, searching for the right words. “I couldn't take it if I did that again. I can't be responsible for their deaths. It would kill me.”

  Logan unscrewed the top of the bottle, filling up the glass in a slow trickle. The alcohol frothed and swirled before settling into golden calm. Already he was showing the first signs of drunkenness; a slight sway in his gait, the hint of a slur in his voice.

  “I won't let you hurt them, Nadia. They're my friends.” He took a sip from the glass and shrugged. “Well, some of them anyway.”

  “How are you going to do that? Are you staying there with me? To watch me?”

  Logan shook his head, grimacing. “No. I could never live there again.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because.”

  Nadia eyed him, wondering at the pain she saw lurking beneath the surface. Logan didn't want to go back. He was only going there for her sake. What had happened to make him so bitter and angry? Over the past few days, she'd tossed out hints, trying to find out what lay in his past, but no matter how well they got on, Logan remained a closed book.

  Another thought occurred to her. The moment he dropped her off at this camp, he'd disappear into the sunset. She'd never see him again. A stab of pain lanced through her chest at the realization. I'll miss him.

  “Couldn't you even try to stay there? For me?”