About fifteen minutes later, they pulled up to an Engen garage just outside of 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 siphoned gas from the underground tanks with a pump.
Inside the building, all was quiet. The place had been raided before, but there was still some stuff left. Picking through the rubbish, Angie shoved 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,” 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. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I guess it would be hard to get. I mean, not everybody would see the apocalypse as a chance to live actually.”
Angie frowned. Morgan was right. It was hard to get. Who on earth would choose to live like this? Before, life had been perfect. She’d had money, clothes, attention, anything she wanted. Now?
A shout resounded outside before she could reply. Running to the door, they saw Logan jump into the Nyala and start the engine.
Armand stood with one foot in the passenger door, clinging on while Logan raced closer. “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. Angie clenched her hands into fists. “Why do those things have to be so damn fast? 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 had 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 stared at Morgan’s hand. 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 act normal. “I’m sorry. It’s just so overwhelming, you know?”
“I know. Look on the bright side. At least, they’re still stupid,” Morgan replied. “Think how bad it would be if they were smart.”
They drove around for a while before entering a quiet suburb on the outskirts of town. Stopping, the group got out and looked around.
“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 we go in together?” Armand asked, edging closer to Morgan.
A look of irritation flashed across Logan’s faced, not missed by either Morgan or Angie.
“I think we should pair up. That way we can search more houses, and we each have a partner for backup,” Morgan said.
“Sounds like a plan. Why don’t you and Angie start over there? Morgan and I can go that way,” Logan said.
Hope flared in Angie’s chest at the thought of spending time alone with Armand but died when she saw the disappointment on his face. He gave a curt nod, slinging his rifle over his back and gripping his crowbar. “Fine. Come on, Angie. Let’s go.”
He marched 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. I don’t know what to do anymore. Why can’t he see me? I’m right here, I’ve always been right here.
At the first house, they paused and listened for any sounds. Angie pushed her feelings aside for the moment, concentrating instead on her surroundings. Inattention caused death. 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. 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. For a time things went well. The next two houses both proved to be empty of life, and the raid progressed smoothly.
Angie wondered about the people who used to live there. Where were they now? Did they make it? Were they still alive? These questions milled through her head as she rifled through their belongings and stared at old photos.
Angie didn’t know if her own family was still alive or not, didn’t care really. She rarely gave them a thought. An only child, she had no siblings to worry about. As for her parents, she had nothing but contempt for them. Her father only cared about money, spending every waking hour at work while her mother was weak and easily manipulated.
As they approached the next house, the first sign of trouble revealed itself in the form of 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 smeared the handle. She pushed it open and winced when it creaked. Inside, the walls and counters were splashed with old blood.
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 a backup in the form of Armand and a gun strapped to her hip.
They moved into the open-plan dining and living room, and it was evident a struggle had taken place. Furniture lay tossed about with more blood splashed across the walls in a horrid display. A doorway to a second living room beckoned. With a gesture to Armand to follow, she moved forward.
Angie rounded the corner and 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. She needed to move before they did.
Holding her breath, she backtracked and placed each foot with infinite care. Angie trusted in Armand’s savvy, hoping she wouldn’t bump into him. She kept moving, her eyes trained on the doorway the entire time. Each step felt like she was about to set off a landmine. She stretched out a hand and touched the walls to guide her.
Every instinct screamed at her to run, but she knew that’d be a mistake. Her head brushed past a picture frame. She swallowed as it scraped against the wall, dust trickling down. Her nerves were stretched to their limits.
Once back inside the kitchen, Angie turned around and motioned to Armand to go. He recognized the direness of their situation by the look of terror on her face and moved without hesitation.
The doorway loomed ahead. Safety beckoned. They stepped out into the midday sun, and Angie took a deep breath of oxygen. Dear God, we made it out alive.
“Go,” she mouthed.
They jogged along the path and rounded the corner to the driveway. Without Angie noticing, Armand stopped abruptly. She slammed into his back with a thud
, stifled a voluntary cry before she peered around him. In front of them stood another group of infected. Ice water flooded her veins. We’re trapped.
In an instant, Angie realized they’d never be able to fight off the lot in front of them before the bunch in the house behind them were alerted. They’d be caught between the two groups and ground to mincemeat. Or rather, chewed.
Armand must have reached the same conclusion. 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 hunting cries of the infected. From the house, an answering roar rose. They had only a few precious seconds to get to safety. Levering herself up, Angie swung her legs over and turned, flinging out her hand.
Armand jumped, caught the edge with one hand and gripped her forearm with the other. Together, they inched him to safety. Small as she was, Angie possessed an iron grip. He got one elbow onto the roof and prepared to swing up his legs. Angie stared into his face, still holding his hand.
Without warning, a bubbling volcano of emotions erupted within her chest. Love, adoration, obsession, and despair, but most of all, hate. Pure and undiluted hate. I could have given you everything. My heart, my soul, my entire existence. Yet, you chose her. Her!
Angie gripped him by the collar of his shirt with her free hand. Instead of pulling, she leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “Goodbye love.”
He stared at her in confusion. “What?”
She shoved him off the roof with all of her strength. Armand fell with a cry, landing with his left foot bent inwards. His ankle snapped with a loud crack. He stared at her, one hand stretched upwards in a futile gesture.
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.
Angie leaned over the edge, and her pulse raced with excitement. Her dark hair hung down like a flag, reaching to him like black tendrils of death. She watched them render Armand into a shapeless, quivering mass of flesh. His blood spattered the stones.
The feelings that welled up inside her defied description, but one stood out above the rest. Power. The power of life and death over another.
Armand’s voice grew fainter, gurgling through the fluid that filled his lungs. Silence fell. Disappointed it was over, Angie watched a little longer, prolonging the pleasure, before she assessed her 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 and huddled 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, faces pale, and Angie stumbled to a halt. Her breath staggered with raw, untapped panic. Oh God, what if they know? What if they saw what happened?
“What happened? We heard screams,” Morgan said, her eyes winging in Armand’s direction.
Angie slumped, relief coursing through her veins. They don’t know.
Bursting into tears, she cried “Armand’s dead.”
Morgan gasped. “Oh, no!”
Logan stepped up and ushered them both into the Nyala. “I’m sorry girls, but we’ve got to go. Get in the truck.”
They clambered into the vehicle with Angie sitting in the middle. She sobbed, blubbering her story while they drove. “I’m so sorry. I tried to pull him up, I did, but he was too heavy.”
Morgan placed her arms around her shoulders, pulling her close. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”
“It’s all my fault. I let him die!”
“No, sweetie. It’s not your fault. You did everything you could.”
Angie pressed her face against Morgan’s shoulder, hiding a smile. Her shoulders shook as the fake tears continued to flow. She allowed herself a moment’s satisfaction at her ability to act. If you only knew.
The rest of the drive passed quickly with Angie huddled on the seat, allowing herself to be comforted. Basking in all the attention, she reflected that it had been an excellent day. Not only had she paid Armand back for his betrayal, but she could look forward to several days of pampering as the victim in this horrid tragedy. Of course, it wouldn’t last, but that didn’t matter. She was already planning her next murder.
Chapter 21 - Morgan
Morgan scrubbed the floor with ferocious intensity. The brush in her hand swept back and forth in a rhythmic manner, loosening the dirt ingrained into the dark tiles. The soap frothed around her chapped fingers, burning the torn cuticles. It was soothing, though. It helped calm her mind.
Ever since the disastrous raid during which they lost Armand, she felt…unsettled. Or maybe the real word she was looking for was guilty. We shouldn’t have split up. We should have stayed together.
She hadn’t planned on taking him along. It should have been just her and Logan. But Armand had been so eager, so insistent, that she hadn’t been able to say no despite Logan’s visible irritation.
Of course, Morgan had been aware of Armand’s crush. That’s why she’d told him to bring Angie as well. She’d hoped the younger girl would distract him, which was why she’d suggested they split up. It’s my fault.
She knew this despite Logan’s reassurances. The sight of Angie’s tearful face was bad enough, but Ben…that’s what killed her. Every time she closed her eyes she could see the expression on his face when he got the news. Almost like he was expecting it, like the universe was out to get him, and he’d known it all along. God, I’m so sorry, Ben.
She hadn’t seen him since. According to her mom, he was close to having a breakdown, but they were doing all they could to help him. Max had assigned him his own bungalow, and Joanna spent a lot of time with him. Suicide watch. Those were Julianne’s exact words. Hannah even put him on anti-depressants.
Angie appeared to be coping, at least. She was a tough girl, and even though she mourned she still held her head high. Morgan shook her head, biting her lip. We’ve lost so many. All of us. How do we keep going?
She shifted back on her heels, flexing her cramped fingers. Her leg twinged, and she winced. It had healed well, without infection, and the stitches had been removed. Still, it hurt a little when she moved in a certain way. Not that she was about to complain. She was luckier than most.
She looked around, her eyes traveling over the whitewashed walls, the thatched roof, the double bed, and wooden drawers. Curtains fluttered at the small bay windows, and the scent of freshly cut grass drifted in on the breeze. It was theirs now, the cottage, assigned to her and Logan.
Our new home. Morgan relished the words on her tongue. It felt good, saying it. The previous place had never been anything more than a temporary base, but this could be home. If we make it so.
Her eyes fell on the lean figure of Logan, installing wiring through the roof. He balanced on a small ladder, his deft hands working to bring electricity into the bungalow from the solar panels on the ceiling. They’d never be able to turn back time, to watch television or surf the net again. But they’d be able to switch on a light at night or a fan in summer. Even listen to music or watch a DVD if they had enough power stored.
These thoughts faded away while she watched Logan work, noting the way his body stretched and moved. Her eyes fixed on his lips, and she smiled, remembering what those lips had done to her the previous night. Goosebumps rose on her skin, and warmth stirred in the pit of her stomach. She
imagined him grabbing her and throwing her onto the bed, ripping her clothes off. He’d kiss her neck and slowly travel down to her―”
“Are you perving on me?” His amused voice tore her from her dirty fantasies.
She blushed. “Yeah, kinda.”
He flashed her a look, tied off a wire, and climbed down the ladder. With slow steps, he closed the distance and reached out a hand. She stood up, her body sliding up against his. His hands snaked around her waist, warm fingers splaying across her back. One moved down, cupping her ass and grinding her hips against his.
A gasp escaped her lips, smothered when he kissed her, his tongue moving inside her mouth. Her nipples hardened, and the sensitive nubs brushed against his chest. Naked need built within her, and she longed for him to take her right there on the floor.
Logan broke off the kiss and pulled back. “Tonight.”
“What?” Morgan groaned with frustration. “You can’t be serious?”
“Oh, I am.” He pressed a finger to her lips, stilling her protestations. “It’ll be worth the wait, I promise.”
She narrowed her eyes and gave him an evil stare. “It better be.”
He laughed. “Let’s go cool off, shall we?”
Morgan leaned back in his arms, puzzled. “How?”
“Let’s go on a raid. It’s still early. We’ve got plenty of time.”
“Seriously? After what happened with…” Her voice trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
“That’s exactly why we should. It’s been three weeks, love. Time to get back on the horse.”
Morgan shook her head. “No, it’s not that easy. I…I don’t think I can.”
“Yes, you can. Just you and me. No one else. That way you won’t feel responsible for anyone. No guilt.”
“I’m not…I’m fine!” Morgan pulled away, turning her back. “I don’t feel guilty.”
Logan sighed and placed his hands on her shoulders. “It’s okay, love. I understand.”
Dangerous Days: Boxed Set (A Zombie Apocalypse Survival Thriller Books 1-4) Page 19
