Die Another Day (Dangerous Days - Zombie Apocalypse Book 3)

by Baileigh Higgins

  Nadia tensed her muscles, gripping the hammer in her right hand despite the pain it caused. The eerie eyes never left her, following every move she made with predatory intensity. A cloud moved in front of the moon, drenching her in darkness and the glowing orbs disappeared.

  Seconds ticked by and the tension grew until the moon reappeared. Snarls sounded nearby and the yellow eyes blinked, a lithe figure jumping up onto the pre-con wall and disappearing into the night. All this time she'd been facing off against a cat, wasting time and allowing the zom to catch up.

  “Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, head whipping about as she looked for an escape route.

  Her eyes fell on the house whose yard she stood in, but she dismissed it. Too dangerous. She had no idea what waited inside, and the zom would follow. Doors didn't mean much to fresh infected. They were freakishly strong.

  Up.

  Go up.

  Nadia looked around cataloging and dismissing each option as it came.

  A minibus in the street; too low.

  The top of a garden shed; too flimsy.

  The rooftop of the nearest house; no way to reach it.

  The growls were coming closer and Nadia knew she'd be spotted soon.

  Her heart thrummed in her chest, adrenaline rushing through her veins as her body tensed, gearing up with its fight or flight response. Unable to find a place to climb up, she jogged across the yard, tripping on something in the dark. The fall alerted her pursuer.

  The snarls increased in volume.

  It was after her.

  Nadia went faster, pushing her body into a sprint. But she knew she'd never last as her muscles burned with fatigue. Then her eyes fell on the carport. The roof!

  Her eyes flicked about, landing on a low boundary wall next to it. She grabbed the top, dragging her body up onto it, right boot searching for secure footing. She got up, balancing precariously on the top, arms windmilling for balance.

  Straightening, she gripped the edge of the tin roof and pulled, ignoring the tearing pain shredding her hands. Her arms screamed in protest, the muscles quivering with the strain. She'd never been the most athletic girl and now regretted it. The approaching sounds of the infected spurred her on, however. I'm not on the menu tonight.

  With a shuffle, Nadia edged sideways until she was next to the nearest pole. With a determined leap, she pushed off, getting her elbows over the edge. Her feet scrabbled against the pole for purchase until she was up and over. Just in time too as the zombie's fingers brushed the tip of her boot.

  She collapsed onto her back, chest heaving, eyes fixed on the stars above but not seeing them. Below, the infected scratched at the pillar, screeching its anger and frustration. Not long after, a second infected showed up. Then a third. She was attracting a crowd.

  Her immediate problem lay with her hands, though. It was too dark to see clearly, but she saw enough by the silvery moonlight to tell the damage was bad.

  Nadia slid the rucksack from her back, rummaging inside. She rinsed both hands with a bottle of water then spent the next twenty minutes picking out shards of glass. It hurt like a bitch, and she couldn't get all of it out, especially the splinters. She bandaged the wounds with a pair of socks and swallowed a handful of painkillers. “Shit. This is an infection waiting to happen.”

  She lay back, using her pack for a pillow and waited for the pain to abate. Her mind whirled as she tried to think of a way out of her predicament. The roof was not the ideal place to spend the day. What she needed to treat her hands with, lay in her cellar. Besides, the sun would cook her until she resembled boiled beetroot.

  The pain in her hands did not lessen. It grew worse. “I know I shouldn't do this, but...” She swallowed more pills then wrapped another pair of socks over each palm. Exhaustion dragged at her eyelids, the strain of the chase and the heavy dose of medicine taking its toll.

  With a sigh, Nadia curled up into a little ball. Her breath evened out, sleep claiming her tired body. Morning found her, still asleep, perched precariously close to the edge of the roof.

  One arm dangled down. Blood dripped down her fingers, each ruby red droplet sliding down to the tip where it swelled. It grew fat then plopped down onto the face of the zombie below. He growled, licking up the blood as he eyed her fingers.

  She was so close.

  2

  Chapter 2 - Breytenbach

  A thick layer of frost covered the brittle grass, crunching beneath Breytenbach's boots as he walked around the perimeter of the camp. It glittered on a few remaining leaves clinging to bare branches, creating the illusion of purity.

  “Winter's on its way,” he said, shoving his cold fingers into his pockets.

  Lenka grunted in agreement, his breath puffing out in a white cloud.

  “It's early this year.”

  Another grunt.

  Breytenbach eyed his companion's sleeveless vest with a raised eyebrow. Lenka's biceps bulged with each movement he made, the smooth ebony skin stretching to accommodate the flesh underneath. “Don't you ever get cold?”

  A negative shake of the head.

  Breytenbach sighed. Conversations with Lenka tended to be a tad one-sided, so he turned his attention to their surroundings, instead. To his left stretched the fence, reinforced with steel supports and barbed wire. It encircled the land on which the camp lay, providing their first layer of defense.

  A small herd of goats grazed on the shrubbery, an occasional bleat drifting across the currents in the air. Their hardy constitutions meant they were suited to this environment, needing little care. As long as they stayed within the fence, they were safe from the grasping hands of the infected.

  Dry, yellowed grass stretched as far as the eye could see, the flat expanse dotted with stunted trees and shrubs. The landscape failed to attract, the mottled browns and grays lacking the lushness of more tropical climes. Yet, it had a beauty all its own, lonely and desolate. Breytenbach supposed it was suited to their current circumstances.

  To his right, lay a ditch or the 'moat' as it was jokingly called. Ten feet deep and eight feet wide, it ran alongside the wire and was filled with sharpened stakes. Without it, the fence would long since have fallen.

  It had taken the concentrated efforts of two six-man teams working around the clock for weeks to finish it. They'd been lucky to find a backhoe on a nearby farm which sped up the process, but cutting and planting the stakes had been a nightmarish task.

  Breytenbach walked next to the silent Lenka, crunching across the bare strip of ground between the fence and the moat. The breeze picked up, swirling around his collar. Goosebumps peppered his skin. He shivered and glanced back, estimating that they were close to completing their circuit of the grounds.

  A faint growl reached his ears, alerting him to the presence of infected, and he picked up the pace. Lenka got there before him and balanced on the edge of the deep ditch. “We've got a little one, Captain.”

  Breytenbach slowed and closed his eyes. He didn't want to look. The screams of dying children echoed through his mind, taking him back to that place. A kindergarten filled with tiny corpses, their flesh torn apart by the teeth of the infected. He could smell the tang of blood once more, coating the inside of his nostrils.

  “Captain,” Lenka's deep voice pulled him from the void that had opened up inside him. He walked to the edge of the moat.

  It was a little girl. That much was clear from the torn remnants of her dress and the stringy blond hair clinging to her scalp. Her fingers scrabbled at the earthen wall that entrapped her, the fingernails staying behind in the hard clay.

  A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed. It never got any easier. With reluctance, he took aim with his spear, stabbing the point deep into her eye. The snarls stopped abruptly, but her small teeth remained bared, contorting her face. He reversed the spear, and it came free with a sucking sound. She collapsed, a marionette whose strings had been cut.

  Lenka jumped down into the moat and levered out the body whi
ch Breytenbach loaded onto a stretcher. Without exchanging a word, they continued their patrol, taking turns to drag the corpse.

  The sun rose, dispelling the chill that lingered. Patches of wheat, sunflowers, and maize waved in the wind while rows of spinach and cabbage offered a hint of green. Because of the hot, dry summer and low rainfall, the crops were sparse. It was better than nothing, though.

  Distant figures moved among them, tending the plants and harvesting the bounty they offered. Squinting against the light, Breytenbach made out the tall figure of Phillip. The man was something of an enigma, showing up at their gates earlier in the year on the back of a tractor. He had no family, no friends except two erstwhile employees.

  Breytenbach had immediately taken a shine to the trio. Phillip was stern yet fair, the type who held to his Afrikaner roots and its belief in hard work. As for the farmhands, they consisted of a father-son duo. Abraham resembled a raisin, old and wrinkled, but still had a twinkle in his eyes and moved with surprising vigor. His son, Abe, was possessed of a curious mind and a deep love for the earth. They were a welcome addition to the ranks.

  With Max's blessing, they took charge of the fields and planted crops. They soon found a willing helper in the form of Liezel, erstwhile assistant to Dave the old pharmacist. She showed a surprising aptitude for farming. Her practical nature and love for the outdoors were well suited to the activity.

  After a week, she managed to recruit Big Ben as well. Four months had passed since Angie took such cruel revenge on Morgan. Four months during which Logan disappeared and Ben became a recluse.

  When Liezel first approached him, he agreed to help, much to everyone's surprise. He threw himself into the hard physical labor required of farm work, regaining his former stature and a ruddy tan. He even took his meals in the common room once more. A welcome change.

  With a feeling of relief that Breytenbach spied the outer gate. At least today, he wouldn't have to kill any more children, however soulless they might be. He opened it and trudged through, following the rutted dirt track to the stone walls that encircled the main camp.

  Kirstin threw him a salute from her perch up in the guard tower. She spent hours up there, scouting the countryside. This had earned her the nickname, The Watcher. Breytenbach wasn't sure how she felt about that and wasn't about to ask either. They were met at the inner gate by Thembiso and Peter. The two teenagers had matured far beyond their years over the past couple of months, a side effect of the apocalypse.

  “Hi, boys.”

  “Captain,” they chorused, grins splitting their faces. With gruesome fascination, they eyed the stretcher and its pitiful cargo.

  “Can you two to take care of this?”

  “Sure thing, Captain,” Thembiso replied, quivering with excitement. He nudged Peter in the ribs. “Off to the killing field.”

  Breytenbach frowned. “Don't call it that. We're not murderers.”

  He looked down at the stretcher, his heart shrinking to the size of a walnut. In true death, the little girl's face had smoothed out. Despite the decomposition, she looked what she was. A child. “Have some respect. They used to be people once. I shouldn't have to tell you that.”

  The boys' faces fell. With a hushed, “Yes, Sir,” they trudged off to the empty field where the corpses of the infected were burned.

  Their bodies were slim, the limbs awkward and hampered by oversized hands and feet. It reminded him how young they were, and a twinge of remorse shot through him. “Think I was too hard on them?”

  Lenka shrugged. “It's easy to forget the diseased ones were once like us.”

  “I guess.”

  Lenka clapped him on the shoulder, throwing him off balance. “That is why they need us to remind them where they come from. Who their forefathers were. Family is all. Family and respect.”

  With a lazy salute, Lenka sauntered through the gates, leaving Breytenbach to rub his throbbing shoulder. “I think that's the most he's said all year.”

  He headed to Max's office, a small space set aside for the purpose of discussions and meetings. Their camp had grown and with it, their responsibilities. It had soon become necessary to set up a form of formal leadership.

  While he walked, Breytenbach marveled at how much the place had changed in the four months since he'd arrived. It was nothing short of astonishing.

  The stone wall surrounding the inner buildings was now broad enough to allow for a walkway on top. It formed a rough triangle with a tower at each corner. These were manned around the clock by a rotating team of four. A formidable gate was the only access point, held closed by metal bars that slid across the length of it.

  The main buildings had been expanded and boasted a large kitchen, cafeteria, laundry, pantry, and storage rooms. Extra living quarters had been built to cater for the growing population, and little bungalows dotted the grounds in a haphazard fashion. A dorm provided sleeping quarters to the camp's single men, the interior resembling barracks with bunk beds and footlockers lining the walls. Breytenbach felt pride well up inside him. We've come far, done much.

  Childish laughter and barking interrupted his musings. He spied the figures of Meghan, Anne, Mark, and Jenny outside the schoolroom. They were chasing the resident dogs, Buzz and Princess, around the swings.

  A smile tugged at his lips, only to be replaced by a grimace as he spied the playground equipment. Julianne had insisted on an area for the kids to be...well...kids. She was backed up by half the other women in camp, rendering his objections moot. It now sported one of the few patches of grass they had, a sand pit, swings, and monkey bars.

  It had been hell loading the damn stuff on the back of a truck, drawing far too much attention from the local undead. The mental image of teeth clipping shut mere inches from his wrist caused him to shudder. An experience he would rather forget.

  “Uncle Christo!” Meghan shrieked, running towards him. She threw herself into his arms, and he brushed a calloused hand across her soft blonde curls.

  “Hey, little mouse. What are you up to?”

  “We're playing tag.”

  “That's nice. Aren't you supposed to be in school by now?”

  “Teacher said we could play first.”

  “Well, go on then. Your friends are waiting.”

  She ran back, leaving Breytenbach with a warm feeling in his chest. Jenny and Mark smiled and waved, but as ever Anne hung back, eyes fixed on her toes. A shy child, she didn't talk much.

  “Have fun, kids.”

  With the sounds of their play pursuing him, Breytenbach walked on. He reached the office and rapped on the door before entering. Inside, the air was warm and stale. The walls were painted a bland beige. A large table and chairs were the only furniture besides a clipboard and filing cabinet.

  Max sat hunched over a pile of papers, a worry line creasing the skin between his brows. An empty coffee cup and biscuit crumbs littered the table top. He looked up when Breytenbach arrived, a tired smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Good morning, Captain.”

  “Morning to you too.” Breytenbach eyed Max. “Did you get any sleep at all last night?”

  “Sleep? What's that?” Max laughed, running a hand through his tousled blond hair. “How's the perimeter?”

  “Secure.”

  “Good.” Max nodded. “That moat was a brilliant idea. Joseph deserves a medal for coming up with it.”

  “That he does.” Breytenbach pointed to a stack of papers. “Work?”

  Max shook his head. “Demands.”

  “Like?” Breytenbach pulled a chair out, whirled it around and straddled it, arms resting on the backrest.

  “Jonathan needs more equipment for the clinic. Specialized stuff. He says it's urgent.” Max waved a sheaf of papers around. “Wrote me a whole list with descriptions too. I don't even know what half of this stuff is.”

  “That means raiding a hospital.” Breytenbach turned the idea over in his mind. It was dangerous. Hospitals were death traps.

  “I know.�
��

  “Why the sudden rush?”

  Max shrugged. “Erica. She's due any moment now.”

  Breytenbach blew out a breath. “Are there problems?”

  “Looks like it. Jonathan doubts she can give natural birth.”

  “That is a problem,” Breytenbach agreed. He stretched out his hand. “Let me see.”

  “You sure about this?” Max asked, handing over Jonathan's list.

  “No. But I'm sure as hell not going to sit by while she dies in childbirth. We might as well give it a shot.” Breytenbach squinted at the doctor's spidery handwriting before tucking the papers into his pocket. “Too bad we don't have an optometrist. I could use a pair of glasses.”

  Max laughed. “Ask Elise to fix you up with one of those cheap ready-made ones. There are tons in the stores.”

  “I'd rather die than be seen in one of those.” Breytenbach gave a mock shudder. “Can you imagine the ammunition that would give Mike?”

  “True.” Max waved at the mess in front of them. “But at least you don't have to deal with everybody's complaints.”

  “Yeah, I wouldn't want to be in your shoes, that's for sure.” Breytenbach sighed. “Any problems?”

  “A few.” Max pointed at a sheet of paper covered in a scribbled list. “We need more solar panels. Not all of the buildings have power yet. We also need more water. Any thoughts on that?”

  “Nope, sorry. Not my area of expertise.” Breytenbach shrugged. “By the way, how are the newcomers settling in? Sharyn seems...exuberant.”

  Max's mouth twitched, but his face remained bland and innocent. “She is a bit over the top, I'll grant you that.”

  “At least her husband Nick's the more subdued type.”

  “The useful type too. He's a mathematician. Pretty good at science as well. Taught at the Bloemfontein University before the outbreak.”

  “Really? Maybe he could teach the kids then.”

  Max nodded. “My thoughts exactly. Between him, Rosa, and Michelle, we should be able to raise a bunch of kids who aren't total dumbasses.”