Dangerous Days: Boxed Set (A Zombie Apocalypse Survival Thriller Books 1-4)

by Baileigh Higgins

  Logan took the lead as they searched the house. They found the bathroom with the bloodied railing and broken door, but no Morgan.

  “Well, looks like she put up a fight and got away. Any idea where she’d run to?” Logan asked.

  “My parents. That’s all I can think of. It’s the only family we have here. Our other sister lives in Johannesburg.”

  “We’d better hurry then.”

  They rushed back to the Land Rover and drove off without delay. Fifteen minutes later, they pulled to a stop in front of the house and sat there, surveying the scene. It looked like a war zone. Somebody had taken down a sizable group of zombies on the front lawn with what they guessed to be a truck.

  “I’m impressed. Your sister’s quite resourceful,” Logan said, a tinge of admiration lacing his voice.

  “That she is,” Max agreed.

  It didn’t take long to find the bodies. The sight of his father’s face, bloodied and still, shook Max to the heels of his feet. The horrific wounds and the gunshot told its own story. He didn’t even need to read the explanation in the note stuck on the fridge to know what had happened.

  He was relieved to learn everyone else was safe until he realized one crucial fact. He had no idea where they’d gone and had no means of finding them.

  “Shit.” Max scratched his head.

  “Now what?”

  “We have to find a place to fort up and survive. A base from which I can search for them.”

  “Any idea where that might be?”

  Max thought about it. “What about the riot police quarters? It has a sturdy fence, and it’s outside of town.”

  “It might still be occupied.”

  “Even better. We can team up with them.”

  “Worth checking out, I suppose.”

  A few minutes’ drive was all it took before they faced the entrance. Everything appeared quiet, and the gates stood wide open. There were no people and precious few vehicles left on the premises. No infected either.

  Being placed on the edge of town like it was, there weren’t that many people around, and those that were got an early warning from the riot police. Rolling through the gates, they kept watch but saw no movement.

  Half an hour later, after a quick and thorough search, they confirmed their suspicions. Whoever had been there had responded to the emergency situation and never returned. It was deserted.

  With relief, Max rapped his knuckles on the Land Rover’s back window. “You can come out now. It’s safe.”

  With some hesitation, the boy emerged, apparently unconvinced by this statement.

  “Thanks for saving me,” he whispered, ducking his head.

  “I’m glad we could help,” Max said. “What’s your name?”

  “Thembiso.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  Max sucked in a breath. “Your family?”

  Thembiso shook his head, his eyes fixed on the ground. “They’re gone.” Fat teardrops slid down his cheeks, dripping onto his torn t-shirt.

  “Did you get bitten? Scratched? Got blood in your mouth or eyes?” Logan probed.

  The boy shook his head.

  “Will you let me have a look?” Max asked.

  “Okay.”

  After a brief search, Max declared him clean, and they headed inside.

  “We should secure the place as best we can for the night. Close all the windows and curtains and shut off any lights as you go. Look for the keys too while you’re at it,” Max said. “Oh, and shut off anything that can make noise. Phones, alarms, anything that could draw those things here.”

  “Good thinking,” Logan replied.

  They each headed off in their own direction.

  Thembiso stuck to Max like a shadow, and no wonder after everything he’d been through. The secretary’s office yielded a set of keys to the building and a stash of chocolate. Another office offered up half a bottle of Jack Daniels.

  In the equipment and storerooms, they found a bounty of uniforms, batons, shields, rubber bullets and stun grenades. Max wasn’t sure if the bullets and grenades would have much effect on the undead, but he wasn’t about to complain. Logan found the keys to the gate and the two Nyala anti-riot vehicles left behind in the parking lot.

  “These will come in handy,” Max said, dangling the keys. Though the army didn’t use them, Max knew that Nyala’s were uber tough.

  Together they searched the lockers and bathrooms, finding a wealth of personal items. It was sad to see all those people’s stuff, knowing that most of them were probably dead.

  While Logan slipped out to go lock up, Max set about making coffee in the small kitchen. In a cupboard, he found bread; the fridge yielded butter, an overripe tomato, cheese, and some leftover chicken. Somebody’s lunch.

  After a rough supper in the small sitting room just off the kitchen, Logan fetched the last beers from his Land Rover. Max posted Thembiso off to sleep with a stiff shot of Jack Daniels.

  “Poor boy needs it,” he said with a shake of his head.

  They had no bedding, but it wasn’t cold, not with summer in full swing. Seating themselves in the central office with the beer, Max tried to raise someone on the radio but with no success. They tested all the phones again.

  Nothing.

  “I hate feeling so damn isolated,” Logan said.

  “Yeah, it sucks. Not knowing what’s going on out there. Let’s try the Internet.”

  To their surprise, the Internet still worked.

  “Must be because it’s an ADSL line. The land lines are still going for now,” Max explained.

  They found one horror story after the other, flooding the web like viruses. It was apparent the world was in chaos, and billions of people had died.

  “Please, if anyone can help me, I’m trapped in my apartment. They’re at the door, and I don’t know how long it will hold. Please, can someone help me?” a young girl begged on her Facebook page. She wasn’t the only one.

  Some governments were telling people to fort up and survive while others, including their own, told people to go to their nearest hospital or community center.

  “Big mistake,” Max muttered. Too many individuals in a confined space spelled disaster if the infection got in. Some sites offered advice to survivors: aim for the head, watch out for fresh ones because they’re fast, stick together.

  The list went on and on.

  There was more. Too much to take in.

  Max sighed, rubbing his stiff neck. He glanced at his watch. “It’s late. Let’s bed down for the night. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

  The last thought he had as he tried to stuff his tall body onto a couch was of Lilian. Are you still alive, Sis?

  Chapter 5 - Breytenbach

  The night air was cold with just the barest hint of a breeze. It rustled through the leaves on the trees, granting a whisper of sound to the quiet surroundings. With complete confidence, the group moved through the shadows. They operated as a unit, running in concert to hand signals passed between them.

  They passed through the wealthiest suburb in Johannesburg with as little sound as possible, heading towards their target. Only once, as they flowed around a car parked on the sidewalk with the passenger door open, did a sound disturb them. A low growl shivered through the night as a zombie lurched out.

  With quiet efficiency, one dark figure dispatched the corpse with a powerful thrust from a fearful looking knife. He stabbed up into the brain through the soft tissue beneath the chin. Without a sound, it crumpled to the ground.

  A gleam of white teeth showed in the faint glow of the moon, all the more startling against ebony skin. The owner of the knife cleaned it on his trouser leg and thrust it back into its sheath. His massive frame moved with the grace of a cat as he took up his position at the back of the group again.

  One, two, three more blocks they walked, well on the way to their target, until they heard it. A dark, low thrum that issued from the throats of countless undead
to form one collective groan. The source of this unearthly sound soon became evident. Not far to the left, a horde of infected pushed against the fence of a kindergarten school.

  Inside, lights shined, and the cries and screams of children could be heard if the group listened hard enough. The fence bowed beneath the horde’s onslaught. It wouldn’t last. Even as they watched, it buckled under the combined weight of so many bodies.

  Captain Breytenbach could only shake his head at the blatant stupidity of the people inside the school. With all the lights and noise, they’d put up a virtual sign saying: Attention all Zombies. Fresh food!

  It was a miracle they’d lasted this long already. Then again, people never thought straight in a crisis, and panic usually overcame common sense. Either way, it was none of his business. He was on a mission to rescue a billionaire’s son hiding in his family mansion not far away, a job he’d been paid handsomely for.

  Ex-military, Breytenbach and two other members of his team used to be part of the South African Army’s special forces. Having fought and trained together for years, they were happy to sign up when Breytenbach opened his own security company, one that catered to the super-rich. Over the years, other professionals had joined the team. Mercenaries one and all, they lived for the action and the money.

  Now he weighed their options, considering the risk to his team. The simplest thing would be to slip past the zombies and carry on with their mission. That’s what they were paid to do, but the thought of children being torn apart while he did nothing didn’t sit well with him. Mercenary he might be, but he still had honor. He looked at each of his team and asked a silent question. Detour?

  One by one they nodded. With a faint smile of approval, he motioned Lenka to the right flank. With his knife skills and incredible strength, he was a fearsome adversary. Johan, his right-hand man, took the left, while he and Ronnie took the lead. Kirstin and Mike stayed in the back, providing cover fire to the rest.

  Shots fired through silencers filled the night with muffled pops as they picked off the undead. They fell by the dozen, thinning the crowd as Breytenbach’s group advanced. A few stragglers caught on, charging them only to be intercepted by the flankers.

  At the front, the throng finally pushed over the fence, trampling each other in their rush to get to the school. Glass shattered, the bell-like tinkling followed by hysterical screams as the infected broke through the windows. Urgency descended on the group. They sped up their efforts and closed in on the building.

  The doors dangled on their hinges, granting easy access. They slipped inside. The foyer was empty, and a pot plant had toppled over; the only sign of disturbance. The screams were coming from the left.

  The Captain placed Ronnie and Mike at strategic points in the foyer to cover their rear while the rest advanced. They moved down a corridor and passed two offices. The first was deserted, while the second revealed a trio of undead feeding on a woman. Her vacant stare burned into Breytenbach’s mind as he put a bullet between her eyes, preventing her corpse from rising while Lenka took care of the infected.

  Breytenbach pushed aside all feelings of horror and pity, to be taken out and examined at a later date. For now, his entire focus was on the sounds issuing from a set of double doors, smashed open. It led to a large hall, likely used for functions and concerts. Now it played host to a macabre scene of pain and suffering.

  Screams ripped through the air as harsh to the ears as nails on a chalkboard. The bodies of tiny children were strewn about. Broken porcelain dolls stained with the dark red of arterial blood. A few were still alive, trying to crawl away from the monsters tearing at their flesh. Others lay silent, their sightless eyes staring up at the ceiling as their bodies jerked in concert with the feeding mouths.

  It was a traumatic scene that burned itself into the mind forever, flashing to the forefront with all the shock and brilliance of a lightning strike at times. Breytenbach lifted his gun and pulled the trigger. Beside him, Lenka, Kirstin, and Johan stepped up, their shots joining the swirling chaos.

  The infected dropped like fat, bloated ticks off a hide, their thick, black blood draining out to mingle with the fresh, crimson blood of the living. The smell of it hung in the air and coated his tongue with a coppery tang.

  In a corner, three teachers were fending off attacks with an assortment of makeshift weapons. A small knot of children cowered behind them. They were the last left standing. With controlled haste, Breytenbach moved his squad closer.

  The undead continued to fall until the last dropped to the ground with a loud groan, protesting the injustice of its final death. The thundering of Breytenbach’s heart slowed to a murmur. He lowered his gun, surveying the scene.

  “Fucking hell,” Johan said, staring.

  Dozens of bodies were thrown about, the walls and floor coated in blood. Breytenbach looked at the remaining women, settling on one. “Miss, can you move everyone to the foyer, please?”

  She wielded an umbrella like a cricket bat, eyes so large they almost popped out of her head.

  “Miss? I need you to take these children to the foyer. You’ll be safe there.” She gaped at him before managing a shaky nod.

  “Johan, go with them. Make sure they’re all right. Check them for bites,” he ordered.

  With the survivors out of the way, Breytenbach turned to the grim task ahead. “Kirstin, Lenka, move out. We need to take care of the injured and the dead. You know what to do.”

  With curt nods, they fanned out in different directions. The nearest body he found was that of a little girl, maybe two, her face smeared with blood. She was already dead, and a quick stab through the temple ensured she’d never reawaken.

  The next, another little girl. Her rosebud lips moved without sound, and tears leaked from her eyes. The infected that had attacked her lay to the side, its fingers still buried in her stomach. Bile rose to Breytenbach’s lips. This was too much. Never in all his life…

  But there was no time. Or choice. He knelt down and ended her misery. Brushing her eyes closed, he got up and moved on. This had to be done quickly, or not at all. After that, it all became a blur of faces. Dead children, teachers, and parents.

  He found three more still living. A young father clutched his dead child to his chest as he bled out from a torn artery. A boy was drowning in his own blood. A baby mewled as its last breath left its tiny body.

  Never had Breytenbach seen so much human suffering, or come so close to losing his mind. To the left and right, Kirstin and Lenka went about the same horrific task, their faces pale and drawn. The dead had to be prevented from rising and the dying…the dying had to be granted peace.

  Breytenbach found her towards the end. The woman. She was hunched over in a fetal position, holding something close to her chest. From the looks of things, she had tried to roll into a defensive ball.

  The flesh on her back and shoulders were torn to shreds with bits of rib and spine showing through in places. He positioned himself for a swift stab but paused when she shivered and moaned. “Help me.”

  He nerved himself to do it, to end her suffering. He lifted the knife, pressing the point to her temple. Just do it.

  A bead of blood welled up beneath the sharp edge, and his muscles tensed for the thrust. A mewling sound alerted him, and he stopped. Gently, he rolled the woman over onto her side and gasped. Clutched in her arms was a baby, swaddled in a soft pink blanket.

  The woman tried to speak. Blood bubbled from her lips, and her eyes swam with pain. “Please, take my baby. She’s all that’s left. I couldn’t save…her brother.”

  Breytenbach looked at the little bundle, surprised to find the baby unharmed. She was crying through the pacifier in her mouth, her little face scrunched up in a ball.

  “They took him from me,” the mother whispered, stretching an arm to a crumpled body lying in a pool of blood. It was a boy of about four or five, his eyes glazed over in death, flung down like a rag doll.

  With trembling hands, the woman fumb
led for a handbag lying on the floor. “Take… my diary. She must know who she is. Promise me she’ll be safe.”

  He rummaged through the bag and found a black diary, pocketing it before reaching for the pink bundle.

  “I promise,” he said, locking his gaze with hers to show his sincerity.

  She nodded, satisfied.

  He took the baby in his arms and rocked her back and forth. Her crying ceased, and he glanced back at the mother. Her eyes stared unseeingly towards the little boy, one hand stretched out toward him.

  With a heavy heart, he performed his duties, ensuring they’d both rest forever before spinning around and leaving the hall of horrors behind.

  In the foyer, he handed the baby to one of the remaining women to care for. He didn’t want to let go of the warm little body, her eyes gazing up into his with complete trust. “Here, can you take her, please? For now?”

  “Of course.”

  He turned back to his squad and cleared his throat. Back to business.

  “Right, let’s get going. Same positions as before, survivors in the middle,” he ordered. “Make for the mansion.”

  With the women and children bunched together, they moved out as fast as they could. It took longer than Breytenbach would have liked, and they had a few encounters with infected, but thirty minutes later they reached the mansion’s gates.

  A three-man team scouted the grounds and buildings for danger. They found only the billionaire’s son hiding in his room, to the immense relief of Breytenbach. At least, I can still fulfill my mission.

  A bigger problem faced him, however. How to get everyone to safety. Johannesburg was a hot zone, and there was little hope of survival there. Walking out was not possible.

  They had only one option. Hole up at the mansion and radio for an airlift. The walls were sturdy and the gates made of thick steel. They’d be safe for the time being as long as they didn’t advertise their presence.

  With Ronnie and Kirstin on guard duty, he headed inside. It had been a long night, and exhaustion dragged at his shoulders. He longed for a hot shower and a comfortable bed.