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

by Baileigh Higgins

  She closed her eyes, allowing herself to lean back against his chest. He enveloped her in a warm embrace. It was solid, comforting, and safe.

  “I’m scared, Logan,” she admitted.

  The thought of leaving the relative safety of camp to face the undead terrified her, more than she was willing to accept. At night, when she closed her eyes, she visualized the infected tearing Armand to pieces. It invaded her sleep and gave her nightmares half the time.

  “I know you’re scared. That’s why I think you should do this.” He pressed a soft kiss to her neck. “You’re not a coward, Morgan. You’re a fighter. Face your fears.”

  Morgan took a shuddering breath. Logan was right. She couldn’t allow this to drag her down. The words she’d said to Lisa on the wall echoed in her mind. “Don’t let this beat you.”

  If Lisa could fight, could face her fears, then so could she. She turned to face Logan and met his eyes with a determined stare. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  He smiled. “That’s my girl.”

  ***

  They left camp in Logan’s Landie. The interior was littered with empty cans and wrappers. Morgan pushed it aside with a twist of her lips. “When we get back, you’re washing this car, babes.”

  He looked at her in mock horror. “What? Clean my Landie? Sacrilege!”

  She laughed and reached into the cubby hole for a cigarette. She lit it despite the look he gave her, cracking the window half open to let the smoke escape. It was an argument they’d had before. He wanted her to quit, and she resisted. It’s not like I do it all the time.

  “So where are we going?” she asked in an attempt to distract him.

  “I was thinking somewhere quiet. Maybe an outlying suburb.”

  Morgan shuddered. Same as last time. But she nodded and smiled. “Sounds good.”

  He looked at her, alerted by the strain in her voice. “It’ll be okay, you’ll see.”

  “I know.” She sucked on the cigarette, letting the nicotine soothe her nerves.

  Logan directed the car left at the turn-off to Riebeeckstad. They passed the garage they’d been to with Armand and Angie. Morgan averted her eyes.

  The Landie turned left again, leaving the double lane highway and entering the suburbs. It was the other side of town, an odd mixture of wealthy and poor neighborhoods, old and new houses.

  It had such a dilapidated feel already. The lawns and gardens had gone wild, nature taking back what once belonged to it. Potholes had grown into ditches, and now and then the stench of rotting sewage could be caught. Rats and pigeons abounded. Cats too. Dogs were a rarity, though. Most had been eaten during the first days of the outbreak. Now only the most feral still survived.

  The streets were quiet with hardly any life to be seen. She felt her stomach do a slow flip at the thought of getting out of the truck. The idea of being exposed took her back to the first day it all began. I was so scared. I hate being scared.

  Movement caught her eye, and she craned her neck. Infected. They congregated around a long low building with a zinc roof. It shared a yard with a house but had no windows, only a metal shutter set in the wall next to a single door. The zombies were clawing at the screen, their moans low and insistent.

  Logan had seen it too and slowed. “They’ve got something trapped.”

  It was true. It had to be. There was only one reason the infected would be that desperate to get inside. Survivors.

  “We have to help them,” Morgan said. The words left her mouth before she considered the implications. There were a lot of them for two people. About half a dozen. Could she do it? Did she still have what it took?

  Logan seemed to sense her uncertainty. “You don’t have to do this. Not now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We can come back with reinforcements.”

  Morgan hesitated. There was no judgment in Logan’s eyes, no condemnation. Just endless love and patience. Whatever she might think or feel, he had faith in her, and that gave her the push she needed. She lifted her chin. “I can do this. Let’s go.”

  The corners of his mouth lifted. “Time to kick some ass.”

  His words reawakened a spark of excitement within her, and she jumped out of the Landie with a sense of her old adventure. She was armed to the hilt with her gun on her hip, two knives strapped to her thighs, and a metal spear in her hands.

  She twirled the metal spear like a baton, closing in on the nearest infected. It was a girl or used to be at least. Her braids clung to her scalp, the ends clicking when they moved as the colored plastic beads clacked together. It was the only pretty thing about her. With a snarl, she turned on Morgan, eyes feral.

  For a second, Morgan froze, panic kicking in. Her breathing became shallow; spots danced in front of her eyes. She saw Logan stab one through the temple before whirling to stick another in the eye. Both fell.

  The girl charged, snapping Morgan out of her funk. Instinct kicked in, and she dropped beneath the outstretched arms. Sticking one leg out, she tripped the infected girl and delivered a downward stab to the back of the head.

  She turned, lunged forward and drove her shoulder into the next infected. It staggered backward and bowled over another. An upward thrust pushed the point of the spear through the soft tissue beneath the chin. It penetrated the brain and lodged in the top of the skull.

  Morgan didn’t bother trying to remove it. Instead, she spun around and pulled out the two knives strapped to her legs. She fell on the next attacker, burying both weapons in its eye sockets. She looked up, panting for breath, in time to see Logan finishing off the last zombie. His head lifted, and their eyes met. Morgan nodded, conveying her silent gratitude. “Just like riding a bike.”

  He grinned and cocked his head at the door. “Shall we have a look?”

  They knocked on the door, shouting. At first, nothing happened. Then the sound of a lock being turned alerted them. The steel door swung open to reveal a young couple.

  They looked haggard with dark circles under their eyes. Hungry too. Both were painfully thin, their skin stretched taut over their bones. Morgan’s gaze dropped, and she gasped. “Oh, my God. You’re pregnant!”

  The girl’s slender hands cradled her protruding belly. It was all the more prominent because of her being so slim. A wedding band encircled her ring finger looking like it was about to fall off.

  “Are you okay? No, of course, you’re not,” Morgan answered her own question. “We need to get you to our nurse.”

  “A nurse? You have a nurse?” Tears welled up, and the girl swayed. Her husband stepped closer and steadied her, concern lining his features. Morgan put his age at around twenty-two. He had sandy hair and wore glasses. The plastic square kind in a horrible orange color.

  He blinked at her, the thick lenses making his eyes appear smaller. “I’m sorry. We’ve had a rough time of it. We’ve been trapped here for about a month, I think.”

  “A month?” Morgan looked over his shoulder into the dim interior of what appeared to be a shop. A run-from-home type of business. It stank, and so did the couple.

  The girl must have realized because her pale cheeks colored, and she ran a self-conscious hand through her greasy auburn hair. Morgan immediately felt bad and reached out a tentative hand. “Don’t worry, sweetie. You’re safe now. We’ll take care of you, won’t we, Logan?”

  “Of course,” Logan agreed. “Let’s get you guys out of here. You look like you could use some food.”

  “Thank you. We ran out a few days ago. Luckily we still had water or…” The boy didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. “Can I ask where you’re taking us? We were actually on our way to the Riot control center.”

  “The Riot control headquarters?” Morgan asked, frowning. “On the edge of town?”

  “Yes, we were told there were survivors there.”

  “Told?” Morgan asked, perplexed. “By whom?”

  “This old guy. He saved our lives and told us to go there and ask for Max.”

 
Excitement unfurled in Morgan’s breast. “Old guy? Was his name Henri, perhaps?”

  “Yes!” The boy’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”

  “He was my friend.” Morgan reached out and gripped the boy’s arm. “Where is he? Where’s Henri now?”

  He looked down, unwilling to meet her eyes, and shook his head. “I’m sorry. He didn’t make it.”

  Disappointment rushed through Morgan, and she let go, stepping back. Blood rushed through her eardrums, and she hardly heard the boy’s stuttered explanation.

  Henri’s dead? No. She didn’t want to believe it.

  Somehow, she’d always held on to the belief that he was okay. That he still lived on his farm, milking Lola and riding Pete. She’d imagined that one day he’d show up on their doorstep, wearing his dusty khakis and battered hat. Now that hope was dashed. It was a fantasy, always had been, but a comforting one.

  Logan grasped her shoulder with a gentle touch. “Come on, love. Let’s go. They can tell us more on the way.”

  Morgan nodded, allowing Logan to steer them into the Landie. On the road, the couple’s story emerged. Their names were Sean and Erica. High school sweethearts, they were devoted to each other and got married despite family objections.

  During the outbreak, they tried as best they could to survive, managing to last several weeks on their own, but their luck ran out when infected discovered their hide-out. They ran until it seemed certain they would die. That was when Henri stepped in, saving the day. He found an overnight shelter for them but got bitten while clearing the house.

  He left the two young ones with some supplies, a rifle, and a truck, telling them to go to Max. They never made it. The vehicle broke down, and they were forced to hide in the spaza shop. There they stayed until Logan and Morgan found them, living off bottled water, cold drinks, and packaged food.

  Erica reached out a hand, laying it on Morgan’s forearm. “We’d have died if you hadn’t found us. So would our baby. Thank you.”

  Warmth filled Morgan’s chest cavity. “It’s nothing. I’m just glad we got here in time.”

  “You did. As for Henri, don’t be sad. He wanted to go. He mentioned someone…his wife?”

  “Yes, Hannelie.” A tear pricked at the corner of Morgan’s eye. “He loved her very much.”

  Morgan sniffed, thinking about the old couple who took them in all those weeks before. They embodied everything she held in high esteem. Honesty, generosity, and selflessness. I can only hope we prove worthy of their sacrifice.

  Chapter 22 - Breytenbach

  Breytenbach awoke to the sound of rain pattering on the canvas of his tent. For several seconds he just lay there, listening to the sound. Swinging his legs off the uncomfortable stretcher that served as his bed, he pushed himself upright, resting his elbows on his knees. Never had he felt this fatigued.

  He’d seen terrible things in his life and lived through some hairy situations. Not least of them being the border war between South Africa and Angola. He’d slept on the ground, gone hungry, been shot a few times, and even got stung by a scorpion once.

  Yet, he’d never experienced this level of quiet desperation before. Breytenbach wondered if it was because he was getting on in years. At fifty, he no longer had the resilience of youth. He hadn’t even told anyone it was his birthday the day before.

  Sighing, he pulled on his socks, grimacing at the smell. His right toe pushed through a hole, and he stared at it, wiggling it back and forth before he pulled on his boots. He slept fully dressed, only taking off his shoes when he went to bed. You never knew when the next attack would come.

  He stepped out of his tent and waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. The camp stirred, and people stumbled about their dismal routine for the day, vague figures in the rain. One young woman came into focus as she trudged past him on her way to the large communal tent where meals were served. She carried a baby in her right arm and clutched a young boy with her left.

  She looked the same way they all did. Pale, haggard, and starved. Without saying a word, Breytenbach fell in next to her and scooped up the little boy. “Let me help you. Going to the mess hall?”

  She nodded and smiled. “Thank you, Captain Breytenbach.”

  “You know who I am?”

  “Everyone knows who you are. You’re the reason we’re still alive.”

  He didn’t say a word after that, surprised beyond measure. A structure came into view, obscured by the curtain of falling rain. They quickened their pace, eager to get out of the wet.

  ‘Mess hall’ was a grand word for the tent where volunteers cooked and served what little food the soldiers found. It was an impossible situation, and once more he cursed the idiotic politician who thought that this site would make a haven for survivors.

  The people forced to stay there suffered under the constant threat of starvation or dehydration. For weeks, the summer sun scorched them with its relentless heat, making the situation worse until the rains came. For the first few days, it was bliss. People washed clothes and collected water in empty containers, enough to last awhile.

  Tensions eased.

  However, as the days passed and the rains continued, the situation worsened. The entire camp turned into a sea of mud. Clothes and blankets became moldy while shoes fell apart. The sewage trenches were the worst and became foul-smelling swamps. A stream of people overwhelmed the medical tent suffering from colds, flu, bronchitis, and fungal infections.

  Breytenbach accompanied the woman to the long line of people waiting for breakfast and left her in the queue. He spotted Vicky, a volunteer, at the front of the line dishing out a small scoop of oatmeal to each person. The woman was a saint, working tirelessly for the betterment of others, and he held her in high esteem. “Hey, Vicky. How are things looking?”

  Shooting him a glance, she shrugged, “You know how it is. We’re almost out of everything. No supper tonight.”

  “I’m going out today. I’ll see what I can do.”

  She smiled her thanks before turning back to her task, and Breytenbach left the tent with no food himself. He wouldn’t be able to stomach it anyway with all those gaunt faces staring at him.

  He realized why he felt so depressed. It wasn’t his own situation that bothered him. He’d been through worse. It was the sight of all those sick and hungry women and children that sapped his strength.

  “Captain Breytenbach! Wait up!” A familiar voice called out from behind him, signaling more bad news to come.

  Turning around, he spotted Jonathan, the resident surgeon. Although Breytenbach liked and respected the man, he also felt his heart sink into his boots whenever he saw him. There was only one reason the doctor would single him out. “Yes, Doc. What can I do for you?”

  “Are you and your men heading out today?”

  “Yes, we are, and before you ask, I will look for medical supplies. I always do.”

  Jonathan flushed. “I know you do, Captain, and I appreciate it.” He looked at Breytenbach, his eyes tired. “Could you also look for vitamins, please? I’m seeing the first cases of scurvy now.”

  Breytenbach reassured the doctor as well he could and hurried away. Scurvy. That’s just great.

  Then again, he’d expected something like that to happen. It was inevitable. Breytenbach reached the gates, squinting at the two soldiers stationed there. They looked miserable.

  At the camp’s vehicle convoy, Mike and Ronnie lounged against their truck, bouncing a cigarette. Spotting him, they straightened up and nodded a greeting.

  “Where are the others?” he asked.

  “Johan’s on his way, and Lenka’s over there,” Ronnie answered.

  Breytenbach turned his head and spotted Lenka questioning one of the patrols.

  Stubbing his cigarette out with his boot, Ronnie blew out a stream of smoke through his nostrils. “Oh, and Kirstin’s waiting inside the Mamba, cleaning that rifle of hers.”

  Breytenbach walked over to the military vehicle. It used to belo
ng to the army, but he’d appropriated it for his use since they’d arrived. Nobody argued as long as they brought in the goods.

  Going out on raids was dangerous for more reasons than just the infected. Several gangs had made themselves known in the past few weeks, and they were armed and dangerous. The Mamba offered protection from both gunfire and landmines and was suited to rough terrain, making it perfect for their use.

  “Get everyone together, ASAP. We need to get going. We’re burning daylight here.” He pulled himself into the driver seat and started the engine.

  Mike jumped in, grinning. His green eyes glistened with excitement through a mop of reddish-brown curls. Slender, of average height, with a mischievous smile and pointed ears, he was formerly part of the Army Ranger Wing in Ireland. A first-rate fighter and helicopter pilot, he was also crazy in Breytenbach’s opinion.

  “Take your boots off my dashboard.” Breytenbach shoved Mike’s feet away.

  Ignoring his Captain’s ill humor, Mike twisted around in his seat and eyed Kirstin with a cheeky grin. “How about you and me go on a date tonight, love? I’ll be sure to make it worth your while.”

  Kirstin stared at him for a long second. “How about I shoot your balls off instead?”

  Laughing, Mike turned back and fiddled with the radio. It was an old dance between the two. No matter how many times she turned him down, Mike kept asking. Breytenbach couldn’t figure out if he was genuinely interested or just trying to irritate the shit out of her.

  Johan and Ronnie jumped into the back, grunting under the weight of their gear. Pure Afrikaner, they were large, brawny men with open faces and straightforward manners. They had both served with him in the bush war, and the three were like brothers. Lenka followed, an erstwhile member of the military police. A bear of a man, he bulged with muscle and towered over everyone.

  Glancing back, Breytenbach met the icy blue eyes of Kirstin. She nodded a cold greeting before turning back to her high-powered Galil sniper rifle. Born in Norway, she was as Viking as they came with a tall, athletic body and stern features. Her platinum blond hair was smoothed back into a thick braid, and her skin was as flawless as marble. Beautiful but cold, she rebuffed all overtures of friendship. In all his life, Breytenbach had never met anyone who shot as accurately as her. I couldn’t ask for a better team.