Last Another Day

by Higgins,Baileigh

  Angie pulled her closer with an iron grip, so near her musky breath washed over Morgan's face. Her dark eyes glowed and a triumphant smirk adorned her face. “Finally.”

  “What?” Morgan gasped.

  “I've been waiting for this for ages.”

  Angie dug the knife in deeper, twisting the blade until Morgan screamed in agony. Morgan flailed with her fists, struggling to get away but Angie was like one possessed, her small body exhibiting inhuman strength.

  “I want mine to be the last face you ever see, bitch.” Angie’s expression twisted into a grotesque mixture of suffering and sadistic pleasure. “You took Armand away from me. He should have been mine. He was mine.”

  “No...I didn't...” Morgan's brain scrambled, unable to form a coherent thought as she twisted away from the biting blade, breaking free from Angie's grip. She scrambled backward.

  “He paid for his treachery and now it's your turn.” Angie laughed, insanity breaching the surface. “So sorry, sweetheart,” she hissed.

  Angie stepped closer and stabbed again in a single, fluid motion, sinking the knife to the hilt. She wrenched her arm up in a brutal sawing motion, cutting deep into the flesh.

  Morgan screamed, her voice rising in pitch as the pain morphed into a hellish trail of fire, burning up into her sternum, setting her whole body alight. She clawed at Angie's face, nails hooking into the tender flesh and the girl shrieked in anger.

  “Whore!”

  Morgan gasped again but choked on the river of warm blood that pushed up her throat, filling her lungs. Her knees buckled, and she fell, the world moving past her eyes in slow motion. A dull thud registered and Angie's gloating face hovered above hers for a second before being plucked away.

  Morgan clutched at the long, jagged wounds with numb hands but knew it was hopeless. She was dying. A hoarse shout sounded and then Logan was there, face contorted with shock and rage. Morgan tried to speak but coughed instead. She was drowning in her own blood.

  Logan grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her upright to a sitting position. Her head lolled forwards onto his shoulder and the blood dribbled out onto his chest allowing her to breathe for a moment. “Logan.”

  “Don't speak, love. Save your strength. I'm gonna get help, okay? Just hold on.” He pressed his hand over hers on the gushing injuries, trying to stem the flow of blood.

  “Don't leave me. Please,” she asked. “I can't...die alone.”

  “No, you're not dying. Stay with me.” He grabbed her face with both hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Stay.”

  “I can't.”

  “You have to.”

  “I'm sorry. I didn't tell you.” She coughed again, fresh agony wracking her body. “I'm..I'm...”

  “It's okay, baby. It's okay,” he replied, brushing his thumbs over the fresh blood trickling from her mouth, leaving crimson smears on her cheeks. “Fight.”

  Morgan shook her head, unable to speak further. She was fading, a pool of blood spreading across the grass, soaking into the earth.

  “I saw. I saw the test. I know.” he said. The corner of her mouth lifted, and he choked back a bitter sob. “I can't. I can't do this without you.”

  Her vision dimmed, eyes glazing over as her life slipped away. Logan gathered her into his arms and held her close, lips pressed to her temple. His scent washed over her and his whispers filled her ear.

  “It's okay, love. Go. Go if you have to.”

  It was growing dark, all sound fading away as weightlessness infused her body, removing the pain. Morgan sighed and closed her eyes, her soul winging free on the current of her last breath.

  I'm sorry.

  23

  Chapter 23 - Logan

  Morgan's body lay limp in his arms, lifeless. He clutched her tightly, hands in her hair, holding on to the last moments he'd ever have with her. Deep inside, something broke. Something that died years ago at his father's hands only to come alive again at her touch.

  He knew at that moment he'd never be the same. There would never be another for him, a woman to warm his heart or children to make him laugh. This was it. His one shot at true happiness—and he'd lost it.

  Angie.

  Logan lay Morgan down on the grass, cradling her broken body. He brushed her eyelids closed, rubbing at the drying red stains on her face with his thumbs.

  He looked at his hands, covered in her blood and felt fury well up inside. A cold, unforgiving hatred that turned his heart to stone and pushed out any thoughts of mercy or kindness.

  Logan strode back to where he’d left the unconscious Angie. A hideous bruise had already formed on the side of her face and her lip was split and bleeding. He reached down and grabbed her by the arms, lifting her up and throwing her over his shoulder.

  Back at the main building, people were gathering for breakfast. He dumped Angie on the ground, prodding her with his boot. She stirred.

  “What the hell, Logan?” Max asked, striding over.

  Logan nudged her again, and she moaned. “This bitch killed your sister.”

  “What?” Max stopped short, floundering.

  “She killed Morgan.”

  “No, that can't be true,” Confusion, panic, and fear warred with each other on Max’s face. “How can you say that?”

  Angie sat up, shaking her head. She groaned again, rubbing her swollen jaw. Blood trickled from the split lip. A livid Ben pushed through the crowd and helped her to her feet.

  “You son of a bitch,” he roared at Logan.

  Logan stared him down, unperturbed.

  “Logan. What are you saying?” Max asked. His voice held a pleading note, begging Logan to tell him this was all a joke, a misunderstanding. “Where's my sister?”

  “I told you. She's dead.”

  Max shook his head but stepped away from Angie, putting distance between them.

  “She's dead and there's your killer.” Logan pointed at Angie.

  “How dare you accuse Angie of something like that.” Ben’s face was purple with fury, puffing up like an angry bullfrog's. He placed a supportive arm around Angie's shoulders and glared at Max. “You can't honestly believe what he's saying?”

  The other people in the camp had gathered, forming a half circle. Their faces were all uniformly shocked and uncertain while Breytenbach and his group stood off to the side, looking on.

  “I saw her do it with my own eyes,” Logan said.

  “I did not. He's lying. He killed her,” Angie cried. “I tried to stop him and he hit me.”

  Eyes turned to Logan, hands covered in blood. He stood stock still, unfazed by the silent accusations being thrown his way.

  “Logan?” Max asked.

  “I didn't do it, Max. I loved her. You know I did.”

  Julianne pushed through the crowd, summoned by Elise. “Where's Morgan? Where's my baby?”

  “She's over there,” Logan replied, pointing in the right direction.

  With a cry, Julianne ran off, followed a few seconds later by an uncertain Max and a grim Breytenbach.

  Logan focused on Angie. “Tell the truth, Angie. Tell the truth and I might make it quick.”

  “You're crazy,” Angie replied.

  “Last chance.”

  “Leave her alone, Logan,” Ben said, shielding Angie with his body.

  “Stay out of this, Ben. She's manipulating you.”

  “Don't listen to him. I didn't do it. He's trying to pin the blame for his murder on me.”

  “I saw the way you smiled when you cut her up. The pleasure you took in causing her pain. You're a killer, Angie,” Logan replied. “Did you know she was pregnant?”

  “Morgan was pregnant?” A choked sob alerted them to Julianne's presence. She stood next to Max who carried Morgan’s body. Breytenbach stood behind them, offering silent support.

  Confused emotion flitted over Angie's face. Horror, disbelief. Then her face settled back into calculating malice. “It wasn't me. There's your killer.” She pointed at Logan.
<
br />   “Lies won't save you, Angie. You're only making it worse for yourself,” Logan said.

  “Seems to me like you're the liar here, Logan,” Ben said.

  The crowd shifted, uncertain who to believe. Some looked at Logan, calm, cold, and emotionless. Others looked at Angie, trembling, wide-eyed, and wild. She too carried the stain of blood on her hands.

  “Examine their knives,” Breytenbach said. His words fell into the tense atmosphere, causing a ripple of speculation.

  “Here's mine,” Logan said, pulling his knife from its scabbard. It was clean, shining silver in the sunlight.

  “Angie. Where's yours?” Max asked.

  “This is ridiculous. I don't have a knife on me.” She drew closer to Ben, huddling behind him.

  “She dropped it on the grass when I hit her,” Logan said.

  “I'll get it,” Breytenbach said, slipping away.

  Angie's face blanched, but she said nothing. Breytenbach returned, holding up a bloody knife. It was long and slim, pearl handled.

  “That's hers,” Logan said.

  “More lies. It's his knife, not mine,” Angie cried.

  “But, I gave you that knife, Angie.” It came out in a broken whisper. Ben stared at Angie with pleading eyes.

  Angie stared at the faces surrounding her, trapped. Her lips quivered. “No. I didn't do it. Logan did it. He's framing me.”

  No one answered.

  She turned from one to another, desperation shining in her eyes. “Please. You have to believe me.”

  “Angie?” Ben's voice trembled. “It can't be. Not you.”

  In a sudden rage, Angie turned on Ben and shoved him with a violent hiss. He stumbled back on legs turned to water.

  “Don't you dare take their side,” she hissed. “Armand got what he deserved, running after that slut, Morgan, like a damn puppy dog. Well, nobody will run after her now. I gutted her like a fish and I enjoyed it. Every damn moment!”

  “What do you mean Armand?” Max asked.

  Logan’s eyes narrowed, jaws clenching as he studied her face.

  Angie smirked and folded her arms. “I'll never forget the look on his face when I shoved him off that roof.” Her smile grew. “His screams as they ate him...delicious.” She shuddered, madness shining in her eyes.

  A collective gasp went up, and she glared at everyone. “Oh, I see. You're all staring at me like I'm crazy. You know what? I don't care. You're all just a bunch of cowards, hiding behind your walls, pretending to be civilized. Civilization is gone, people. Only the strong can survive now.”

  A subtle shift occurred. The men of the camp stepped closer, closing in on Angie while the rest retreated.

  “No. You wouldn't.” Ben raised a hand to her, tears coursing down his worn cheeks. “Not you.”

  “Shut up, old man,” she said. “You know nothing.”

  Silence fell over the group, tension rippling through the air.

  Too late, Angie realized what she'd done. “No, wait. I didn't mean it.” She pointed at Logan. “He confused me, goaded me. Made me say those things.”

  “Shut up, Angie. We all heard you. It's over,” Max said. His eyes were icy, flitting between Morgan, lying in his arms, and Angie. “You're guilty by your own admission.”

  “Do what you want with her, Logan. Nobody here will stop you,” Julianne said.

  Gasping, Angie turned back to the crowd. “No, please. I didn't mean it.” One by one, they turned away from her. “Please. You can't do this. You can't let him have me,” she begged.

  Her pleas were cut off when Logan punched her once more, knocking her out. He dragged her to the back of his Land Rover, tying her up with rope. Nobody asked him what he was planning to do. Angie was on her own.

  Logan barely registered the scenery flashing by. To him, it was all just a blur of nothingness. In the back, Angie stirred, but he'd hobbled her well and wasn't worried she'd get loose.

  Koppie Alleen loomed in the distance. The lone hill towered above the flat landscape like a beacon and heralded the entrance to Riebeeckstad. Hence, its name—which roughly translated to Lonely Hill.

  He stared as he drove past. A white cross adorned the top and mocked him with its promise of eternal love and forgiveness. There would be no forgiveness for what he was about to do.

  He drove through the abandoned streets of the small town until he reached its center. A heart that was now as dead as the body, no longer pumping with life and commerce. Parking the Land Rover in front of the nearest shop, he climbed out and opened the back.

  A terrified Angie scooted away from him, eyes wide with fear and face streaked with tears and snot. He grabbed her ankle and pulled her out onto the pavement. She fell hard, unable to brace herself and cried out in pain. Closing the door, he bent down and pulled out his hunting knife. Logan stared at it for a few seconds, contemplating all the things he could do.

  She watched him, fear flickering across her features. “Please don’t.”

  Logan was surprised to find he felt nothing. No pleasure, no satisfaction. Nothing at all. He lowered the knife. She flinched. He cut the ropes binding her.

  She stared at him in shocked surprise. “You're letting me go?”

  He gave her a hard stare. “I'm leaving you here.”

  “Really?” She pushed herself upright, blubbering. “You'll never see me again, I promise.”

  “No, I won't.”

  In one smooth motion, he unslung his rifle from his shoulder and shot her in the knee. At such close range, the high caliber bullet packed a brutal punch and her knee exploded in a shower of blood, flesh, and bone. She uttered an inhuman cry, unlike anything he'd heard before.

  Angie collapsed in a crumpled heap, alternating between screaming and sobbing. Logan climbed back into the Land Rover. As he pulled away, the first shambling corpse appeared in the rear-view mirror. Others joined it, the shot drawing them in.

  They closed in around her, cutting off all escape. With a wild look around, she crawled, dragging the shattered leg and leaving a trail of blood behind her.

  “May you rot in hell, Angie,” Logan said.

  The first corpse fell upon her and sank its rotting teeth into her shattered leg, fingers hooking into the splintered bones like claws, tearing it open further. Raw animal cries of pain ripped from her throat, shivering through the air in a symphony of suffering. Her death lasted a long time.

  Logan drove away. As far as he was concerned, she no longer existed. Outside of town, he pulled over. For a long time, he sat. Unmoving. Staring into the distance.

  He looked at the cubby hole, popping it open. The cigarettes Morgan indulged in on occasion, lay there. He took them and got out, the Land Rover's door creaking. He put one of her smokes between his lips and lit it. The acrid smoke filled his lungs, a hit of nicotine entering his blood vessels.

  He used to nag Morgan to stop smoking. An ex-smoker himself, he knew what a bad habit it was. She’d never quite managed, always going back to them when stressed or worried. Now, it didn't matter anymore. She was gone. He'd never see her again.

  The empty feeling inside him built and built, growing until he couldn't contain it. He crumpled the cigarette in his hand, burning his fingers before tossing it aside and fell to his knees. A tightness built up in his throat, demanding to be released.

  A scream of fury tore loose. Rage infused his mind. “Why? Why her?”

  He screamed again, screamed until his throat was raw and he slumped down on his knees, spent. His rifle rested in the dust next to him and for a moment...but no. He couldn't. He wasn't a quitter.

  A shambling figure on the road got him to his feet, and he climbed back inside the Land Rover. He drove past the zombie, not paying any notice. As the camp grew closer, his heart grew heavier. He didn't know if he could face the questions, the sympathy, and the attention.

  It didn't matter. He wasn't planning on staying long.

  24

  Epilogue - Breytenbach

  Julianne looked bo
th beautiful and frail in her black dress, her hair done in an elegant twist that exposed her slender neck. She stared at Morgan's grave without a tear in sight, grieving silently for the daughter she’d lost and the grandchild that would never be born.

  In the few days he’d known her, Breytenbach had come to love and admire her. She had a quiet strength, a grace that appealed to him. He was too old, he reckoned, for an exciting, passionate relationship. All he wanted was the faithful love and loyalty of a partner he could come home to every night.

  He had not shown Julianne how he felt, though. Not yet. It was too soon, and she had lost too much these past days and weeks. For now, he would just be there for her when she needed him. He would be her rock in these times of uncertainty.

  At her side, a tearful Meghan stood, clinging onto her mother's leg. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the grave. This was a terrible and confusing tragedy for them both and Breytenbach's heart ached for them.

  He looked at Samantha, squirming in his arms and reflected that even though they had all lost so much, they still had each other. He had found his family at last and he knew that he would protect them with his dying breath.

  The rhythmic thuds of dirt hitting Morgan's shroud, sounded awfully loud in the late afternoon air. The whole world was quiet, as though it too attended her funeral, a funeral upon which Breytenbach had insisted.

  He knew that in these times, the biggest mistake they could all make would be to lose their humanity. They needed to do this, needed to remember their loved ones and honor their passing, even when all they wanted to do was forget.

  Max stood beside his mother, grieving for the sister that had been so close to him, almost like a twin. Mike swayed in the wind drunk already, half supported by the long-suffering Ronnie, but for once, Breytenbach didn't mind. If he didn't have so many responsibilities, he'd be drunk too. Lenka, who didn't enjoy funerals, had volunteered to stand guard during the event.