After a brief break, the women set to work on the bungalows, joined by Joseph's wife Tumi, who had arrived with Logan and Thembiso from headquarters. The three arrived with a truckload of building material and the men were now engaged in building up the inner walls and repairing the bungalows damaged in the grenade blasts. All except Armand, who was finishing up the solar system.
Angie watched him from underneath her lashes as she cleaned the windows of the bungalow. He's so handsome. Sweat pearled on his forehead and his blond hair stuck to his neck in the cutest way. She pictured his muscled arms cradling her at night, becoming lost in the daydream.
A giggle to the left distracted her for a moment. Frowning, she noticed Lisa pointing at Armand and whispering to Michelle.
What the Hell? Impotent rage paralyzed Angie. What was that? Are they looking at him? He’s mine!
Angie calmed herself and flashed the two a dimpled smile when she noticed them staring at her with shocked surprise. She forced herself to turn away and return to work, but the rest of the day passed in a haze of red anger.
That night, supper was as dismal for Angie as the previous night. Nobody talked to her, put off by her sullen mood and she felt rejected.
Bitches. Once again she struggled to sleep and woke up exhausted. Washing her face, Angie stared at her reflection in the mirror and noted the dark circles under her eyes. She looked worn out, haggard.
She could feel something moving deep inside of her, like a worm burrowing into her heart. All the stress and strain, made bearable only by her love for Armand, was threatening to overwhelm her. Something had to give. Pressing her lips together, she shook off the depressing thought and marched out to join the others.
“Angie,” someone shouted, startling her. Looking over, she saw Armand waving at her and her stomach did a back-flip of delight.
Hurrying over, she flashed him a huge smile. “Hey there. Looking for me?” she asked, then kicked herself at the fawning note in her voice.
So much for acting cool.
“Yeah, Morgan showed up, and she wants us to go on a scavenging trip with her.”
Angie's heart dropped as she realized the excitement on his face wasn't because of her but rather the prospect of spending time with Morgan.
“Sure. I'd love to.” She gritted the words out between clenched teeth, fingers curling into fists.
“Great. We're leaving now.”
She followed Armand with legs that felt like lead. Tears lay just below the surface and her hands shook. Blinking, she shoved them into her pockets and smiled up at the oblivious Armand.
Up ahead, she spotted the familiar figure of Morgan, and a surge of jealousy suffused her mind. She shot a glance at Armand and saw the worship written there, moments before it turned to disappointment and anger.
Looking back, she was treated to the sight of Morgan squealing in delight as Logan approached, throwing herself into his arms for a passionate kiss.
Ah, so that's why.
Smirking, Angie stepped up and greeted the two love birds with a fake smile before jumping into the back of the truck. A forlorn Armand joined her, stewing in anger so the trip passed mostly in silence.
Men are so stupid.
About fifteen minutes later, they pulled up to an Engen garage just outside town and got out with caution. They surveyed the parking lot and determined it to be clear. The girls headed to the shop while the men tried to siphon gas from the underground tanks with a pump.
Inside the shop, all was quiet. The place had been raided before but there was still some stuff left. Picking through the rubbish, Angie stuffed any useful items she found into her bag.
Glancing at Morgan, she asked, “So, why did we come on this raid exactly? I thought we had enough supplies to last us a while.”
“You know Max. He's always worried about not having enough. And besides, I thought a break from all that work would be nice. Have some fun instead.”
“I think you're the only one who would consider this fun, Morgan,” Angie grumbled. “Are you sure you're not a psycho?”
Laughing, Morgan shook her head, “Nope. I just feel like this is my second chance, you know?”
Angie shook her head, mystified. A shout resounded outside before she could reply. Running to the door, they saw Logan jump into the Nyala and start the engine. Armand was standing with one foot inside the passenger door, clinging on for dear life as Logan raced over to the girls.
Stopping in front, Armand shouted, “We've got company. Get in!”
They slung their bags into the back and tumbled in, slamming the door shut as the first runners entered the parking lot.
“Shit, why do those things have to be so damn fast?” Angie asked. “And why do some stay fresh for longer while others deteriorate in no time? And where do all the new ones come from? I thought we were the only survivors in the area? In fact, why did any of this have to happen?”
A note of hysteria crept into her voice and Morgan laid a soothing hand on her arm. “Hey, sweetie. Calm down. I don't have all the answers either but we have to make the best of this.”
Angie nodded, staring at Morgan's hand as hatred boiled up inside.
Don't pretend to be nice. You're just a slut who parades around for all the men.
Focusing on her rage, she calmed down enough to reassure Morgan. “I'm sorry. It's just so overwhelming, you know?”
“I know. But hey, look on the bright side. At least, they're still stupid,” Morgan replied. “Think how bad it would be if they could think.”
They drove around for a while before entering a quiet little suburb on the outskirts of town. Slowing to a stop, the group got out.
“We haven't been here yet and Max thought it might be a good place to look for supplies. The people here used to be well off,” Logan said.
“So what do we do? Split up and go from house to house?” Armand asked.
“I think we should pair up. That way we can search more houses and we each have a partner for backup,” Logan replied.
“Sounds like a plan. Why don't you and Angie start over there? Logan and I can go that side.” Morgan said.
Hope flared in Angie's chest at the thought of spending time alone with Armand before dying again when she saw the disappointment on his face. He gave a curt nod, slinging his rifle over his back and gripping his crowbar. “Come on, Angie. Let's go.” He marched off to the nearest house and Angie followed, dragging her feet.
She stared at the rigid muscles of his back and wondered where it all went wrong. She dashed at the tears forming in the corners of her eyes and choked back a sob.
I don't know what to do anymore.
As they approached the first house, Angie pushed aside her feelings. Now was not the time unless she wanted to get eaten. As obsessed as she was, she did not want to die for love. Not even Armand's.
Pushing open the gate, they paused and listened for any sounds but heard nothing. Inside, they checked the front of the house before moving to the back. All was quiet.
There weren't any cars in the driveway and the garage doors stood open which they took as a good sign. Usually, that meant the occupants were gone and the house empty. After a thorough search, this turned out to be true, so they turned their attention to supplies.
Filling their packs with items, Angie tried to strike up a conversation. “Good thing we don't live in America.”
Frowning, Armand asked, “Why's that?”
“Don't they all have basements and attics, like in the movies? That would be scary. Wouldn't you hate having to go into some dark and creepy basement with zombies waiting to ambush you?”
Laughing, he said, “Okay, I get your point.”
After that, some of their old camaraderie was restored, and for a time things went well. The first two houses both proved to be empty of life. In each, they found a wealth of goods.
Angie found it odd to raid these people's houses. Where were they now? Did they make it? Were they still alive? These question
s milled through her head as she rifled through their belongings and stared at their old photos.
Angie didn't know if her own family was still alive or not. She rarely gave them a thought. Her father only cared about money during his lifetime and all he was good for, was providing her with the best. Her mother had been weak, easily manipulated, and Angie held nothing but contempt for her.
As they approached the next house, the first sign of trouble revealed itself in as the family dog. Its carcass was stripped of flesh and the desiccated remains were pathetic to behold. A car stood in the driveway with the boot open. It held suitcases and a few bottles of water.
They shared a look, readying themselves for a fight. Angie took the lead, her boots crunching on the gravel underfoot, followed by Armand's heavier tread. The kitchen door stood ajar and dried blood decorated the handle. She pushed it open, wincing as it creaked and stepped inside. More blood was splashed on the walls and counters.
Angie tried to steady her breathing and wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. This was something she'd never get used to. The anticipation that something lurked around the corner, ready to pounce. She reassured herself that she had backup in the form of Armand and a gun strapped to her hip.
Moving into the open-plan dining and living room, it was clear a struggle had taken place. Furniture was strewn about with more blood arced across the walls in a horrid display. A doorway to a second living room beckoned, and with a gesture to Armand, she moved forward.
As Angie rounded the corner, she came face to face with a living nightmare. Inside, stood at least a dozen zombies. They weren't doing much, swaying from side to side as they waited for someone like her to activate their hunting instincts. Angie's heart slammed against her rib cage so hard she was sure they'd feel the vibrations. So far they hadn't spotted her, but she needed to move before they did.
Holding her breath, she backtracked, placing each foot with infinite care. Angie trusted in Armand's savvy, hoping she wouldn't bump into him and kept moving, eyes trained on the doorway the entire time. For several seconds, she forced her limbs to move slowly and silently. She stretched out a hand, feeling behind her for the walls.
Every instinct screamed at her to run, but she knew that'd be a mistake. Her head brushed past a picture frame and she swallowed as it scraped against the wall, fine dust trickling down.
Once back inside the kitchen, Angie turned around and motioned to Armand to get out. He recognized the direness of their situation by the look of terror on her face and moved without hesitating.
The doorway loomed ahead, and safety beckoned from outside. As they stepped out into the midday sun, Angie took a deep breath of oxygen.
Dear God, we made it out alive.
Now if they could only make it all the way to the Nyala, everything would be fine.
They jogged along the path and rounded the corner to the driveway. Without Angie noticing, Armand stopped abruptly, and she slammed into his back. In front of them stood another group of infected.
We're trapped.
In an instant, Angie realized they'd never be able to fight off the lot in front before the bunch in the house were alerted. They'd be caught between the two groups and ground to mincemeat.
Or rather, chewed.
Armand must have reached the same conclusion because instead of fighting, he dropped his crowbar, gripped her by the waist and heaved her up to the roof of the carport.
“Climb!”
Grabbing onto the edge of the zinc roof, she pulled with everything she had, motivated by the sounds the infected made as they spotted them and charged.
From the house, an answering cry rose up as those infected came racing out. Armand and Angie only had a few precious seconds to get to safety. Levering herself up with his help, Angie swung her legs over then turned and flung out her hand.
Armand jumped up, caught the roof edge with one hand and gripped her forearm with the other. Together, they pulled and heaved to get him to safety. Small as she was, Angie possessed an iron grip.
The infected reached out and scraped at the air beneath Armand’s feet. Angie stared into Armand’s face. A bubbling volcano of emotions erupted within her. Love, adoration, obsession and despair, but most of all, hate. Pure and undiluted.
I could have given you everything. My heart, my soul, my entire existence. Yet, you chose her.
Angie gripped him by the collar of his shirt with her free hand. Instead of pulling, she whispered in his ear, “Goodbye, my love.” She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek then shoved him off the roof with all her strength.
Caught by surprise and off balance, Armand fell with a cry, landing with his left foot bent inwards. His ankle snapped with a loud crack. For the briefest of moments, he stared at her, one hand stretched upwards in a futile gesture, face contorted in pain. His eyes were filled with the shock of betrayal but Angie felt nothing. Nothing but satisfaction.
That's what it feels like to be betrayed.
A second later, the first infected fell on him. They swarmed across his body like ants, ripping and tearing. His screams of agony rang out with awful clarity, every millisecond of suffering etched in unrelieved sound. He fought, uselessly in her eyes. His every gesture was as futile and pathetic as the struggles of a fly caught in the web of a spider.
Angie leaned over the edge, watching with gruesome fascination as they rendered him into a shapeless, bloody mass, her pulse racing with excitement. This, this was what she'd been looking for all her life. The power of life and death over another, complete control in her own two hands.
It had to come to an end. Armand couldn't last forever. His screams grew fainter, then stopped altogether. Disappointed it was over, Angie watched a little longer, prolonging the pleasure she felt before assessing about her own situation. She was stuck on the roof of a carport with a crowd of zombies below.
Not ideal.
Scooting over, she glanced at the Nyala. Beyond that, she spotted the figures of Morgan and Logan moving closer. They must have heard Armand's screams. Waving at them, she got an answering wave.
Working her way over to the other side, she cursed as the hot zinc roof burned her skin, raising blisters. Until now, she hadn't even noticed the heat. The opposite edge of the roof bordered the neighbor's yard. Checking that the zombies were still occupied with their meal, she lowered herself down, huddling behind the wall.
From there, she made her way to the Nyala, using what cover she could and giving the zombies a wide berth. Logan and Morgan were there before her, staring at her with horror. Her breath staggered with raw, untapped panic.
Oh God, they know.
“Angie? What happened? We heard screams.”
Angie sagged with relief.
They don't know.
She put on her most terrified and grief-stricken face. “Armand's dead. They got him.” She sobbed while Logan ushered them into the Nyala.
“I'm sorry girls but we've got to go. It's too dangerous out here,” he said. Once inside, he drove home as Angie recounted the tragic story.
“I'm so sorry. I tried to pull him up, I really did but he was too heavy.” She sobbed harder. “It's all my fault! I let him die!”
“No, sweetie. It's not. You did everything you could,” Morgan consoled, pulling Angie into a hug.
Hiding a smile against Morgan's hair, Angie thought, if you only knew. She allowed herself to be comforted until she could realistically stop crying and lay back on the seat, still nestled in Morgan's arms.
Behind closed eyelids, she relived every moment of Armand's death, savoring the memory of his suffering. It was perfect in its exquisite beauty.
A new thought occurred to her.
I can do whatever I want now.
17
Chapter 17 - Breytenbach
Breytenbach awoke to the sound of rain pattering on the canvas of his tent. For several seconds, he lay there, listening to the sound while he cataloged the various aches and pains he had accumulated as of late. Swing
ing his legs off the uncomfortable stretcher that served as his bed, he pushed himself upright, resting his elbows on his knees. Never had he felt this depressed or fatigued.
Sure, he'd seen some terrible things in his life and lived through some hairy situations. Not least of them being the border war between South Africa and Angola. He had slept on the ground, gone hungry, been shot a few times, and even got stung by a scorpion.
Yet, he'd never experienced this level of quiet desperation. Breytenbach wondered if it was because he was getting on in years. Nearing fifty, he no longer had the resilience of youth. Sighing, he pulled on his socks, grimacing at the smell. His right toe pushed through a hole and he stared at it, wiggling it back and forth before pulling on his boots.
He slept fully dressed, only taking off his shoes when he went to bed. You never knew when the next attack would come. He stepped out of his tent and waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom.
Around Breytenbach, the camp stirred, people stumbling about their dismal routine for the day, vague figures in the rain. One young woman came into focus as she trudged past him on her way to the large communal tent where meals were served. She carried a baby in her right arm and clutched a young boy with her left.
She looked the same way they all did. Pale, haggard, and starved with dark circles under the eyes. Without saying a word, Breytenbach fell in next to her and scooped up the little boy.
“Let me help you. Going to the mess hall?” he asked.
She nodded and smiled.
“Thank you, Captain Breytenbach.”
“You know who I am?”
“Everyone knows who you are. You’re the reason we’re still alive.”
Breytenbach didn't say a word after that, surprised beyond measure. A structure came into view, obscured by the curtain of falling rain and they quickened their pace, eager to get out of the wet.
'Mess hall' was a grand word for the tent where volunteers cooked and served what little food the soldiers and mercenaries like him scrounged up. It was an impossible situation, and once more he cursed the idiotic politician who thought that this site would make a haven for survivors.
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