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

by Baileigh Higgins

  Nodding in agreement, Max opened his mouth but was interrupted by Jacques.

  “I should go with Morgan. I can tell if the place is suitable for farming or not.”

  “Excellent idea,” Ben agreed, smiling like a benevolent father who’d just found a way to end an argument between squabbling children. “Why don’t you take Angie with you? I’m sure you two can learn to work together.”

  Jacques grumbled, and Angie looked pissed, while Morgan’s mouth twitched in silent amusement.

  “This will be an exciting trip,” Morgan said, standing up. “We’ll meet here at dawn. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” everyone involved chorused.

  “I’ll make breakfast,” Elise said.

  “I’ll help,” Joanna said.

  “Well, time to turn in. My old bones need their rest,” Ben added, effectively ending the meeting.

  Max was left behind with the distinct feeling he’d been had. In seeking to keep Logan away from his sister, he’d also lost all control of the meeting. “Hey!”

  “Don’t take it personally, dear,” Julianne said, patting him on the back. “The best leaders know when to step back and let people get on with it.”

  With that parting bit of wisdom in his ears, Max took himself off to bed. He awoke before dawn and lay still, thinking of the day ahead. He didn’t look forward to it at all. Besides a new home, the thing they needed most was weaponry.

  He rose and dressed in his full army uniform with boots, battle jacket, and webbing. He’d cleaned and repaired it to almost its former glory, even shining the shoes. Then he slung his R4 over his shoulder and loaded up with ammo and grenades. Tucking his customary hammer into its spot and slipping on his sidearm, he felt ready. Max walked to the common room with a confident stride.

  It seemed almost everybody was awake, and the air buzzed with anticipation. The kids giggled at his gear and uniform, and he couldn’t help but feel a little macho as he took a chair.

  That feeling faded when he spotted Logan. Dressed in jeans and a tight t-shirt with a five o’clock shadow, he cut a dangerous looking figure. His lean body moved with predatory grace matched by his intense stare.

  Armand hovered nearby, looking nervous but determined. Robust and fit from his active lifestyle on the farm, he was also an excellent shot due to frequent hunting expeditions. A solid addition to the group.

  Morgan walked in, followed by her group. She looked Amazonian with her hair pulled back and a steely look in her eyes. Angie cut a fierce figure with her dark eyes, olive skin, and black hair, while Jacques seemed out of his depth and a little lost.

  Max ground his teeth in chagrin when Logan made a bee-line for Morgan, claiming the seat next to her. The first few days, she’d acted cool towards him and kept her distance, but he persisted, and her manner was warming fast.

  Elise exited the kitchen balancing plates like a pro, followed by Anne, Meghan, and Joanna. Breakfast was served, consisting of a solid helping of bacon, beans, and corn fritters.

  Silence descended as everyone settled down to the serious business of eating. Julianne sat at Max’s table along with Anne and Meghan. The two girls had become fast friends, and Max smiled to see them whispering and giggling together.

  “Hey! Keep your hands off my plate,” Morgan cried, drawing his attention.

  Logan shoved the corn fritter in question into his mouth, chewing with gusto. “I’ll trade you,” he said. “Two fritters for a kiss.”

  He reached for her plate, and she stabbed him with her fork, eliciting a yelp. “Please, like I’d want a kiss from you.”

  “Just admit it,” Logan teased. “You want me.”

  “Yeah, right,” she replied, but her face was beet red.

  Elise walked over and plonked a large lunch box in front of Logan. “So you don’t eat your friends on the road,” she said, referring to Logan’s legendary appetite.

  This earned her a rare and dazzling smile. “You’re the best, Elise.”

  Logan turned his attention back to Morgan and resumed his shameless flirting. Max shook his head. If she wants him, she’ll have to learn how to cook, because the way to his heart is through his stomach.

  Julianne noticed his displeasure. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like Logan?”

  “It’s not that, Mom. He’s a good guy. A loner and unpredictable, but good. It’s Morgan.”

  “What about her?”

  “Don’t you think it’s too soon? Brian’s only been gone for a few weeks.”

  Julianne was silent for a while. “What’s too soon, Max? Six weeks might not seem like a lot, but so much has happened.”

  “I don’t know,” Max shrugged. “I thought she loved Brian, that’s all.”

  “She did love him,” Julianne replied, “but he wasn’t the love of her life.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “She settled, Max. She chose security and loyalty over passion. That’s not a bad thing, and if Brian had lived, they’d probably have been very happy together. Now he’s dead, and real passion is staring her in the face. Should she deny it?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. I just think she should wait,” he replied, wondering if he knew anything about his sister at all.

  Settled? Did she settle for Brian?

  Max kept quiet after that, feeling chastened. Perhaps, Julianne was right. Life was short. Even more so now. Could he blame Morgan for moving on? Maybe not. That started him thinking along different lines. What about me? What do I want? What am I waiting for?

  ***

  After breakfast, they loaded the Nyalas with their gear, and the two groups set off, each on their mission. The going was slow as Max tried to sneak into town without attracting too much attention.

  Several times he was forced to take a detour due to roadblocks and car crashes, but after two hours they arrived at their destination. He parked across the street and scouted the area.

  The police station squatted next to the road like a toad, staring at them from shattered windows. The parking lot was blocked off and impassable to vehicles. It looked like a war zone. Blood encrusted the ground while wrecks and burn marks decorated the tar.

  The police had created a perimeter, setting up barricades in a half moon around the doors. It hadn’t worked, and they’d been overwhelmed.

  To Max, the aftermath was apparent, the scene playing out in front of his eyes like a ghostly theater. The officers were crouching behind their flimsy shelters, shooting at the oncoming dead, taking some down but unable to stem the tide. Perhaps one of their own had been bitten earlier, and now turned on his colleagues, killing and infecting. Or maybe there were just too many to shoot, and the dead flooded over the barricades like water.

  Now, infected wandered around between the abandoned barricades. They were aimless, lifeless. That would change if Max and the rest tried to enter the lot.

  “Shit,” Armand said. “What now?”

  “We need a diversion,” Logan replied. “Something to draw them off. There’s too many to kill.”

  Max chewed on this. Logan was right, of course. A diversion was the only way. And that means bait. I can’t ask it of them. I’m the leader.

  “I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll draw them away on foot while you two go in.”

  “That’s crazy, Armand said. “You can’t run forever.”

  “I’m not planning to. I’ll get them to chase me for a block or so and circle around.” He fixed them with an earnest look. “Just hurry. When I come back, it will be with a horde of hungry fuckers on my heels, and you’d better not still be in there.”

  “Are you sure about this?” Logan asked. “The chances of you making it are slim. We can always come back with more fighters.

  “I know, but a shootout here? In the middle of town? We’d be overrun within seconds. More would die, Logan.”

  “We can come up with a different plan.”

  “It’s okay, Logan. I’ll be fine. I’m fast, fit, and armed. We need those guns, so
let’s get them.”

  “Fine, but be careful,” Logan replied. He reached out and shook Max’s hand. “Don’t die on me. I’d never be able to tell Morgan or your mom. They’d kill me.”

  Max laughed. “I’ll try.”

  He opened the door and slipped his legs out. His boots hit the asphalt with a dull thud. A shiver ran through his spine. This had better be worth it.

  “Hey, assholes! Come and get it! Fresh meat!” A dozen sets of diseased eyes fixed on him.

  He backed away from the Nyala and broke into a sprint when the spell broke. The infected in the lot ran, shuffled, and crawled after him, each according to their capabilities. More emerged from the shadows and alleys. The trickle of bodies became a stream, then a river.

  The hunt was on.

  Chapter 15 - Logan

  Logan and Armand waited until Max disappeared around a corner before heading to the station in a low run. The doors stood wide open, and the entrance was well lit, illuminating the streaks of blood on the walls. Time was of the essence, and Logan knew they had to move quickly.

  He dashed through the lobby, checking rooms as he went. Armand, nervous and pale, stuck close to his heels. They came upon the body of a policeman stripped to the bone. Despite that, it still stretched out skeletal fingers and gnashed its teeth in hunger. Logan hacked into its skull with his ax.

  Further down the hall, they came to an office barricaded from the outside. He leaned his ear against the door. Faint rustles could be heard from the inside, and he shook his head. With a finger to his lips, Logan motioned to Armand, and the two snuck past without a sound.

  They continued down the hall, painfully aware of every second that passed. Max couldn’t run forever and would make his way back soon. If he makes it back at all.

  It was a thought Logan didn’t want to entertain for long. Despite his natural loner inclinations, Max was his friend.

  They pressed deeper into the building. Hair prickled on the back of his neck. He hated being cooped up inside strange buildings, loathed the sense of entrapment. Visibility decreased as the windows dwindled. The atmosphere grew creepy, the silence pressing down on them and crushing the breath from their lungs.

  Another door loomed ahead, cracked half-way open. Logan peeked around the corner. Confronted by three infected, he backtracked but was too slow.

  With a raspy growl, the first threw itself at him. Gripping it by the throat, he lifted his ax, but the second zombie was almost on him. With a wild flail, he sunk the blade into its face.

  Holding the one by the throat and the other by the ax handle, he braced for the third. Armand appeared, shoving it away before stabbing it through the temple with his sharpened crowbar. He wrenched out the crowbar and reversed his aim, catching another zombie through the back of the skull. It too crumpled to the ground.

  Logan focused on his remaining attacker. With a kick he knocked it to the ground, pulling the ax out of its face. A swift hack finished it off. Silence fell.

  “Man, that was close,” Armand said.

  “Too close,” Logan agreed, wiping spatters of blood from his face with his shirt tail. “Come on. We have to hurry.”

  A set of bathroom doors once more halted their progress. Logan approached with caution. The ladies’ bathroom was locked from the inside, and Logan decided he didn’t want to know what awaited within.

  The men’s bathroom door gave without a struggle, creaking open on unoiled hinges. A hand shot through and grabbed his ankle, followed by a hideous face.

  “Fuck!” Logan screamed as teeth sunk into the toe of his boot. Shaking his leg, he tried to dislodge the corpse attached to his foot. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

  Armand jumped in and bashed the zombie on the head until it resembled ground meat. Even then it wouldn’t let go, hanging on like a dog with a bone.

  Shuddering with disgust, Logan pried loose its jaws and examined his shoe, relieved to find it intact.

  “Did he get you?”

  “No, I was lucky.”

  Armand snickered, and Logan looked up with a frown. “What?”

  “You should have seen your face!”

  “Shut up,” Logan muttered, embarrassment turning the tips of his ears red.

  “Wait till Max hears about this,” Armand said, unfazed by the scowl Logan bestowed upon him.

  “Let’s go.” Logan shoved past with a sour look, but his ill humor soon faded when they reached the rec room and cafeteria. The door stuck when they tried to open it, only moving a finger width. “We need to go through here. Help me push, and be ready for anything.”

  With grunts of effort, they shoved the double doors until they moved in with a harsh grating of wood on tile. No infected came rushing out through the gap to attack, so Logan stuck his head through.

  It stank—a peculiar mixture of sewage, rotten food, and disease hung in the air—but he couldn’t see any zombies.

  “Clear,” he called to Armand. He squeezed through the gap then stopped short, stunned by what he saw. “We’ve got a problem.”

  “What’s wrong?” Armand stepped inside, then froze as he spotted what Logan already had. “Holy shit.”

  A man was propped up against the wall, staring at them with glassy eyes. He was emaciated to the point of death, the bones threatening to burst through skin strung as tightly as a drum. The only sign that he was still alive was the faint rise and fall of his chest.

  About a meter away from him, lay a woman, curled on her side. She was dead, her eyes glazed and unseeing.

  “Please,” the man croaked through cracked and bleeding lips.

  Logan kneeled on the floor and examined the stranger. “He’s close to death.” Looking up at Armand, he added, “We don’t have time for this. We need to get those guns.”

  Armand was shocked. “Let’s make time.”

  Logan debated then shook his head. “No. We leave him.”

  “We can’t. I can’t.” Armand squared his shoulders and looked Logan in the eye. “I’ll take him back on my own if I have to.”

  Logan sighed. “He won’t make it.”

  “We have to try.”

  With a final shake of the head, Logan gave in. “Fine. Let’s carry him out, but you better hope we make it in time.”

  “Thank you,” the man whispered before closing his eyes, worn out by the effort of speaking.

  They each took an arm and lifted the stranger off the floor. He weighed almost nothing so was hardly a burden, but the smell that wafted off his body was enough to make anyone hurl.

  “He’s been here all this time. Hiding. Living off the cafeteria food until it ran out,” Armand said as they walked out, shock evident in every word.

  “Yes. Too scared to come out.”

  Armand swallowed. “The girl. What an awful way to die.”

  “We’ll all die if we don’t move faster.”

  They hurried along, their sense of urgency causing them to drop their guard. They rounded a corner and stepped right into the middle of a crowd of infected.

  With a guttural growl, the nearest flailed a hand at Logan. He threw up an arm, backpedaling to gain distance. “Get back!”

  Too late.

  Several hands latched onto the stranger. For the briefest of moments, Logan resisted their pull. He let go when a hand closed on his shoulder and jerked. Armand was shoved aside by the weight of two infected, fighting fiercely.

  The zombies wrenched the stranger into the center of the group. With a cry, he fell, one hand outstretched. They shredded his flesh like a school of piranhas. Warm blood spurted out, coating Logan’s face in a red mist.

  He fought, swinging his ax with lethal precision. The undead fell, but it was the stranger’s death that saved their lives. It distracted the mob and gave them enough time to kill a few, evening out the odds.

  The last one fell, and Logan stared down at a heap of bone and innards, all that remained of the stranger. Whether he knew it or not, he saved our lives.

  Armand pointed at th
e previously barricaded door they’d passed earlier, standing wide open. “They must have heard us.”

  “Yes.” Logan turned back the way they came. “Now, let’s go.”

  Armand stared at him, shell-shocked. “What?”

  “We need to go,” Logan repeated, enunciating each word with care. “We need to get the guns.”

  Armand stared at him, mouth working.

  Logan sighed. Why was it always up to him to be the hard ass?

  “If we don’t go now, Max will get back with a horde of zombies on his ass, and we’ll all die. If we don’t get the guns, the people back home might very well die. Understand?”

  With that, he spun on his heels and made his way back, trusting that Armand would follow.

  He did.

  They skirted around the woman’s corpse in the cafeteria, and five mercifully uneventful minutes later, they reached their goal.

  The armory turned out to be a gold mine. Whistling, Logan eyed all the guns lined up on the walls. “Let’s get cracking. There’s not much time left.”

  They unslung two duffel bags from their backs and loaded up. Guns in the one, ammo in the other. When both were full, Logan nodded. “Let’s go.”

  They ran back, pausing outside to let their eyes adjust. It was still clear. No sign of Max. Come on, buddy. Where are you?

  They ran to the Nyala, slinging both bags into the back. “Get in. We’ve got to be ready to go.”

  Slamming the door shut behind Armand, Logan scanned the streets. He jogged to the driver’s side and waited beside the open door. The seconds ticked by. He itched to move, shifting from one foot to the other. Just when he was about to go, a distant yell resounded. Max rounded a corner with a horde of infected on his tail.

  There were quite a few of the fast variations in the crowd, and they were hot on Max’s heels. Red-faced and stumbling, it was evident he was spent. Logan doubted he’d make it on his own. With icy calm, he swung his rifle off his shoulder and rested the muzzle on the frame of his door.

  In quick succession, he dropped three of the infected closest to Max. His next two shots went wide, and Logan took a moment to center himself before dropping two more. Always a good shooter, he’d never needed his aim to prove true more than then.