They ran, tripped, and fell over themselves to reach her, and she realized they would continue to follow her no matter where she went.
Some were faster than others, agile too. This rang true of the last broadcasts they’d heard about the infected. The fresher and more intact the zombie, the more dangerous they were, retaining their previous speed and strength for a time.
Using a circuitous route on less inhabited roads, she lost most of them until she faced her destination, the pharmacy. In the distance, three infected still hobbled along. They were slow, the old and decayed type. She was sure she could make it in and out in time. “Now or never.”
Despite her determination, her voice sounded shrill to her ears. Fear was an ever-present obstacle.
Morgan ran to the shop, holding the ax at the ready. The glass front had been shattered leaving the inside wide open and well-lit.
“That’s a plus,” she muttered before yelling, “Hello?”
Nothing moved. Tightening her grip, she gathered the nerve to walk inside, her feet crunching over glass and debris. But it soon became apparent that the place was ransacked, and her enthusiasm waned. Would she find what she was looking for? The only good thing about the situation was that a raided shop meant other survivors. Perhaps even the army.
The knowledge that three infected were heading her way spurred her on, and Morgan grabbed a basket. She walked through the aisles, scanning the shelves and floor for anything useful.
Petroleum jelly, vapor rub, tampons, soap, shampoo, and toothpaste all found their way into the basket. Energy bars and drinks followed. Morgan loaded with haste, the hair on the back of her neck prickling.
At the back, the shelves were empty of medicine, and Morgan ground her teeth in frustration. A few bottles were strewn on the floor, though. She scrabbled around, pushing aside papers and files. There. Amoxicillin. That’s an antibiotic, right?
Morgan grabbed the bottle along with another of anti-inflammatories. Sure that her time was up, she got up and ran to the exit. The light was bright after the dim interior, forcing her to pause while her eyes adjusted.
A wild feeling of relief flooded her when she noticed that the three infected were still a little way off. She rushed to the truck, tossed the supplies in with the basket and all, and made a return trip. This time, she scored cough syrup, wet-wipes, batteries, and plasters.
By now, the infected were too close to ignore. She either had to kill them or leave. Next to the pharmacy, a convenience store beckoned with the promise of precious food and water, everything they needed. Morgan hesitated, torn between the desire to flee and the urge to get more supplies.
With a deep, fortifying breath, she squared her shoulders and took a firm, two-handed grip on the ax. She’d have to learn to face the infected at some point. Might as well be now.
She set her sights on the closest one and sprinted forward until she was within reach. It snarled at her through torn lips, and the smell made her want to gag. Before she could overthink it, she brought the blade down onto its skull, splitting it the same way she’d been cutting logs for weeks.
Brain matter and black blood sprayed out, and she danced back to avoid it. The ax stuck in the bone, pulling the zombie with it. It toppled over, nearly falling onto her legs. With one foot planted on the shoulder, she wrenched her weapon free with barely enough time to get ready for the next one. Don’t get it stuck in the bone again!
A short choppy blow to the temple put the second infected down, and she readied herself to face the third. From this close up the actual horror of the virus revealed itself in minute detail.
Milky eyes, putrid flesh, and a death head’s grin combined with tattered clothes and stringy hair to conjure up a person’s worst nightmare. Morgan forced herself to look, to study and if possible, get used to it.
A sideways blow to the neck struck it to the ground where a second strike caused the head to roll free, teeth gnashing at the air. With a shudder, Morgan turned away, her stomach heaving, but overlaying it was triumph. She was strong enough to do this.
With newfound determination, Morgan turned in a slow circle to study her surrounds. It was clear. For now, at least. A quick jog took her to the shop front, the doors propped open by strewn trolleys and baskets.
The interior looked far spookier than the pharmacy had. Precious little light found its way inside, and Morgan paused, daunted by the gloomy sight.
“Hello,” she called, waiting.
When nothing happened, she cast a last glance around and stepped inside. She cleared a path and grabbed a trolley, heading for the nearest rack. It didn’t take long to determine that raiders had been here too, and most of the items on the shelves had been carried off.
The sweet smell of rot hung in the air, and she studiously avoided the refrigerated section. Scavenging among the empty aisles, she found a few forgotten items. It was not anywhere near enough for their needs, though. Guess I’ll have to look somewhere else.
Morgan headed outside, eager to leave the dank, stinky shop behind. Tossing caution aside, she quickened her pace and ran smack into a zombie coming around the corner.
Acting on instinct, Morgan shoved hard with the trolley and bowled it over. A quick glance up the street caused her heart to drop. Infected were trickling down from all sides, converging on her location.
Abandoning her meager supplies, Morgan ran for the truck, not prepared to lose her life over a can of baked beans. Behind her, the surprisingly limber zombie got back to its feet and followed, its snarls spurring her on.
She sprinted around the back of the truck but stopped short at the sight of two more zombies waiting at the driver’s side. She groped for the ax then remembered she’d left it in the trolley.
In one smooth motion, she pulled the gun from its holster and fired, hitting the closest infected in the face. Her expertise was mainly due to an insistent Henri who’d forced her to practice every day for weeks now.
Morgan shifted her aim, ready to pull the trigger again, but grasping fingers hooked onto her ponytail. A sickly stench washed over her face as the zombie leaned in for the kill, its raspy growl raising goosebumps on her flesh.
Morgan wrenched her head free and stepped out of reach. Its other hand flailed, brushing across her chest. The sound of tearing cloth barely registered as she twisted free and dashed up the street.
With infected closing in on all sides and the way to her truck blocked, she was left with only one option: run. She tore up the street, arms, and legs pumping as she ducked and weaved between the limbs reaching for her with bloodthirsty eagerness.
Panic lent speed to her feet while all rational thought fled beneath the onslaught of fear that pulsed through her veins with each step. She no longer cared about supplies. No longer cared about anything other than escape with the specter of being eaten alive looming large in her mind.
Once she’d outdistanced the infected, a semblance of clarity returned, and she stumbled to a halt, heaving for breath. Her truck now lay far behind her while her panicked flight had carried her into the heart of town. From the corner of her eye, she spotted more zombies heading her way. To make matters worse, they were fresh which meant fast. “Oh, God.”
She broke into a run again, pulling on reserves of strength she didn’t know she had. Over the next hour, she evaded groups of infected until her body came close to collapse.
Ducking behind a small wall, Morgan pressed her back against the cool concrete and tried to catch her breath. It came in deep, ragged gasps that shuddered through her ribs. The stitch in her side made her wince every time she moved. She slid down to her haunches and huddled in the shade as she listened for the sounds of pursuit.
Morgan snuck a quick peek around the corner of her barricade. She had to get back to her truck. There was no way to get out of town alive without it. Breathing deeply to calm her panicking heart, she reflected that it felt like forever now since she’d arrived that morning. It sucks to be at the bottom of the food chain.
She peered around the corner again. No sign of zombies yet, but she knew they were coming. It was only a matter of time.
“Dear God, please let me make it out of this alive,” she pleaded, wiping her forehead with a trembling hand. “And I don’t mean by becoming a zombie!”
Judging by the sun, it was around noon, and it was blisteringly hot. Sweat trickled down her back, and her ponytail drooped. Her mouth was parched.
In the distance, she heard the sounds that heralded the arrival of another group of infected. Upon looking around the corner, she saw a big crowd moving up the street in her direction. They were aimless for now, but they’d spot her soon enough.
Closing her eyes, she marshaled all her strength. It was make or break now. Throughout the chase, she’d been tracing a large circle back to her vehicle. Now she was finally close enough to reach it in one last push.
“C’mon, Morgan. You can do this.”
Taking a deep breath, she plunged forward and took off at a flat run. Behind her, she heard the moment they spotted her and gave chase. Adrenaline coursed through her veins. Sweat streamed down her face, but she ignored it and focused on her footing. To fall now would be the end of her.
The stitch in her side was back, and her lungs burned like fire. She could hear them gaining. In the distance, Morgan made out the shop where she’d parked that morning and kept going through sheer force of will.
A quick glance over her shoulder nearly proved her undoing when she saw how close the infected were. She could almost smell the decay, could practically feel the teeth sinking into her flesh. Not far in front of her, a second group ran out of a side street, seeking to cut her off. Shit!
Redoubling her efforts, Morgan closed the distance, and a kernel of hope blossomed inside. I’m going to make it!
With only a hundred meters to go, she spotted a zombie beside her truck. Biting back a curse, she forged ahead. There could be no stopping now.
She pulled out her gun and shot at the zombie as she ran. Most of her shots went wild, but one bullet hit got in the shoulder and spun it around with enough force to make it fall. Vaulting over it, she hit the door of her truck and jumped in with seconds to spare.
The first zombie slammed into the side with enough force to make her cry out, and within seconds she was surrounded. Morgan fumbled for the keys in the ignition and froze. Her fingers grasped at air. Where are the damn keys?
With her brain in overdrive, Morgan tried to remember where they were, what could have happened. She’d last gotten out and…her pocket! She patted the small breast pocket on the front of her shirt and came up empty.
The material flapped loosely, and the memory of tearing cloth returned to her. Craning her head, she stared at the spot outside the truck where the zombie had hooked its fingers into her shirt. Sure enough, a glint of silver shone in the sun.
It was only a few meters away, but it might as well have been the breadth of the ocean. The swarm was upon her, and there was no escaping this time.
She was trapped.
In a sudden fit of rage, Morgan smashed her hands against the steering wheel, pouring out her anger in a torrent of abuse. Then she burst into tears. Sobs wracked her body as she stared at the monstrous faces leering at her through the glass. I don’t want to die.
At that moment, she realized that no matter how bad things were or how much she missed Brian, she wanted to live. More than anything.
The infected beat on the windows, and she wondered how long the glass would hold. The seconds ticked by as the tears on her cheeks dried up. The beating fists retreated to a distant thrum, and a hollow space opened up inside her.
A few of the infected crawled onto the hood and slammed on the windscreen. A crack appeared in front of her eyes. She watched it run across like a line being drawn with an invisible pen. Little starbursts punctuated it, and with trembling hands, she pulled her gun from its holster.
Morgan pressed the barrel to her temple and squeezed her eyes shut, filling her mind with images of happier days. “I’m sorry, Mom, Meghan.”
A distant sound penetrated her thoughts, and her finger froze on the trigger. It sounded like gunshots. Wild hope suffused her body with a tingling rush. For several seconds, nothing happened. Then the throng surrounding her thinned out as their attention shifted. The crowd rippled before it rolled away from the truck toward the new arrivals.
One by one, the infected dropped to the tar, black blood puddling around their wounds. When the last one fell, a muted shout reached her ears, and she craned her head to see. In the distance, a man waved at her. “Anyone in there?”
Tentatively, Morgan cracked the door open, checking for lurkers. She waved a trembling hand at her rescuer. “I’m here!”
He slung his rifle over his shoulder and jogged over.
As he neared, her heart jumped.
No.
Impossible.
That gait, those shoulders.
Can it be?
She jumped out and screamed, “Max? Is that you?”
He faltered. “Morgan?”
“Oh my God. It is you,” she cried, sprinting towards him. How many nights had she tossed and turned, wondering if he was still alive?
He met her halfway and swept her off the ground. She cried as his familiar arms enveloped her, his voice booming with laughter. A year younger, they’d been close as siblings, always getting into trouble together. He dwarfed her at six foot three, and she always felt safe around him.
“Max, I can’t believe it’s you. I’ve missed you so much. I thought you were dead,” she said, alternating between crying and laughing.
He whooped, swinging her in a circle, “I’m here. It takes more than a few zombies to get rid of me.” He set her down and inspected her at arms-length, “Are you okay? Where’s Mom and Meghan?”
“I’m fine, and they’re safe for now, but if you had shown up two seconds later, I’d have been a goner.” She stared at the bodies littering the parking lot in the ugly aftermath of death. “Speaking of which, we’d better get out of here. The shots are going to draw more of them.”
Max nodded, “Let’s go. You’ve got a ride?”
She walked over to where the keys lay and picked them up. Dangling them between thumb and forefinger, she grimaced. “Now I’ve got these, I’m ready to go. Go ahead, I’ll follow.”
Max shook his head, herding her to the passenger side. “I’m driving.”
He jogged back to the Nyala and had a brief conversation with the driver. Next moment he was back, sliding in next to her.
Although they followed a circuitous route, she recognized the riot police’s quarters when they got there. It didn’t look at all the same. The walls were reinforced with barbed wire and sheet metal on the outside and an assortment of vehicles on the inside. The gate was heavily fortified, a barrier extending out from the sides on top of which two young men stood guard. They each had an R4 rifle slung across their backs and carried long metal spears.
As Max drove inside the barriers, the men scanned their vehicles and the surroundings before giving the all clear. Only then did the gate open, swinging inwards on its hinges.
Once inside, Max cut the engine. “Can you get out for a moment, sis?”
Hesitating, she stared at the unfamiliar faces surrounding her.
“Don’t worry. It’s just procedure. Anybody who’s gone outside has to be checked for bites.”
The driver from the Nyala jumped out when she did. Morgan looked on in silent appreciation as he walked over to join them. Tall and well built, he was handsome with black hair and steely gray eyes.
“Logan, this is my sister, Morgan.”
“Nice to meet you.” She smiled and stuck out her hand, feeling awkward beneath his intent stare. Have I got something on my face?
He shook her hand, and his touch sent a tingle up her spine. “The pleasure is all mine.”
Morgan could feel a blush creeping up her cheeks and stepped back. How embarrassing.
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Max carried on with the introductions, and Morgan took the opportunity to get away from Logan. The man was dangerous. She could sense it. She also didn’t like her reaction to him. It felt like a betrayal to Brian.
The two men on the wall gave her a wave as Max introduced them. “That’s Armand and Jacques,” he indicated, “and this is Angie.”
A petite, young woman with dark eyes and hair stepped forward to shake her hand. “Hi, if you don’t mind, I’d like to check you for bites.”
With a nod, Morgan allowed her.
Makes sense, she thought. The last thing anybody needed was for the infection to hitch a ride inside.
Her amazement increased as they got back into their vehicles and drove around the back. The cars parked alongside the fence had been formed into a makeshift walkway with an assortment of material, and little guard towers dotted it at intervals.
Max explained it all to her on the way. “We have at least two people guarding the walls at all times. The zombies stumble across us often and have to be dealt with swiftly before they draw more of their kind. We’ve found the spears are a good way to kill them from a height.”
“When did you get here? How did you do all this?”
“I arrived here the day of the outbreak. I must have missed you and Mom by a matter of hours. As for the rest, I’ll explain inside.”
“All right, but we have to hurry. Meghan is sick and needs medicine. I have to get back.”
He turned to her, face sober. “She’s sick? How bad is it?”
“We don’t know. She’s got a cough and a fever, and it’s getting worse. She needs antibiotics.”
He nodded. “Right, let’s hurry then.”
She followed Max inside, surprised to find it so cozy. A little girl sat at a table coloring in pictures. An Alsatian lay at her feet, while a blond woman prepared sandwiches in the kitchen. The smell of fresh bread filled her nostrils, and her mouth watered.
“You’ve got electricity?”
“Yes. Courtesy of a generator. The fuel won’t last forever, but for now, we’re comfortable enough. Water is the main problem here.”
Dangerous Days: Boxed Set (A Zombie Apocalypse Survival Thriller Books 1-4) Page 11
