“Follow me,” he ordered, storming into the night. It was absolute chaos outside, but he forged ahead with single-minded determination.
An infected stumbled out of the darkness, leering. He shot it without pause. More people joined up, streaming toward the gate. Samantha screamed, but he ignored her, knowing that salvation lay in getting to the vehicles.
Pale faces flashed by, lit by occasional flares and explosions. It was hard to tell the difference between the dead and the living. To the side, one of the girls fell with a cry, disappearing into the black. He dared not stop.
His toe hooked on something, and he stumbled, nearly going to his knees. Hands grasped his jacket, and he wrenched free. Sam’s voice rose to a shrill screech, ringing in his ears, threatening to burst an eardrum. The group of people around him thinned, falling victim to the dead. “Come on! We’re almost there.”
He snapped off another shot, but his gun clicked on empty. “Fuck!”
Breytenbach dropped his shoulder and rammed into the oncoming infected, plowing through. He ducked through a gap, and the convoy came into view. He was relieved to see his team were all there, taking a stand. A handful of soldiers stood with them under the command of Lieutenant Nathan.“Faster, we’re almost there!”
His team spotted them and laid down cover fire. Visibility was poor, but the floodlights positioned alongside the fence rendered the scene in gray. Reaching the Mamba, Breytenbach shouted at the women and kids. “Get in!” He turned to Johan. “Get them out!”
Johan fired up the engine, waiting until the last remaining woman, Mannuru, got in.
Breytenbach slammed the door shut, and watched as they drove off, followed by a steady stream of other vehicles. He watched them go with hope in his heart until he realized one important fact. He still held Samantha in his arms. “Fuck!”
More people pressed in around them, screaming for help. Behind them, the infected swarmed like locusts, devouring everything in their path. The panicking crowd pushed forward, savage in their all-consuming fear. Bellowing to be heard above the screams, Breytenbach shouted, “Fall back. Fall back!”
His team pulled together around him, forming an island of calm in the storm. Together they backed away from the tide of bodies. He aimed his 9mm with calm, taking down infected as they lunged out of the gloom. One appeared from the side. Unable to get his gun up in time, he shouldered it hard, bowling it off its feet. It fell with a hiss, clawing for his boots until a bullet from Kirstin finished it off.
Lieutenant Nathan closed the door on the last of the available trucks. It pulled away with seconds to spare as a large group of zombies swarmed him. The last Breytenbach saw of the lieutenant was a pale hand reaching out.
The realization that all the vehicles were gone hit him. He knew they’d never make it out on foot. Despair settled over his shoulders like a blanket, killing all hope. He didn’t care so much about himself as Samantha.
He looked down at her tear-stained face. I won’t let them touch her. Slowly, he raised the 9mm, heart hammering at the thought of what he was about to do.
“Captain. Captain!”
He looked around and saw Mike waving at him. “The chopper. Get to the helicopter.”
The crushing weight lifted off his shoulders. He lowered the gun. “You heard him.”
Retreating steadily, his little group made for the Puma helicopter. Mike jumped in and began the process of lift-off.
“Kirstin. Get in and cover us,” Breytenbach ordered the Norse sniper. She obliged while the rest of them circled the chopper, keeping the zombies at bay.
As for the camp, it was finished. The infected had done their work, and most of the inhabitants were dead. From the interior, a low hum arose. Breytenbach froze, eyes searching for the source of the noise. At the edge of the light, his keen eyes picked out the first figure, running towards them with savage intent. “The camp’s dead. They’ve turned.”
“We’ve got runners!” Ronnie cried.
The figure dropped as Kirstin picked it off, but more surfaced from behind. Young and old, big and small, they came. The rotors picked up speed, and the air swirled, damp and cold with the threatening rain. Backing up until he felt the vibrating metal against his back, Breytenbach prepared to jump in.
A hoarse shout drew his attention. Jonathan emerged from the gloom, clutching a leather bag to his chest. Behind him was a figure in full pursuit. Vicky.
Her pale face shone in the poor light, and her frizzy red hair formed a halo around her head. She was running fast, with all the concentration of a predator. Jonathan would never make it.
Kirstin sighted on Vicky’s face. Her trigger finger moved imperceptibly, and a neat little hole punched into Vicky’s forehead. Her body jerked backward, halting her headlong rush. She plowed into the mud. Jonathan gained a small lead, but more took her place behind him.
“Run!” Breytenbach screamed. He jumped into the helicopter and took a knee, snapping off shots to make a path. Jonathan reached them with seconds to spare and dove in.
“Go, Mike!”
The Puma rose into the air, higher and higher until they were safe from the grasping hands of the infected. Thrusting Samantha into the arms of the red-faced Jonathan, Breytenbach leaned out to survey the camp as they gained altitude. Blood red streaked the sky to the East, bleeding into yellow and orange as it heralded the arrival of the sun.
Below him, thousands of fresh infected overran the camp, flushing out and killing anything that still lived. He spotted a group of people running for the gates, seeking to escape. Like the bloodhounds they were, the zombies followed, and a mass exodus from the camp ensued.
“God, I hope they make it,” Ronnie said.
“Me too.”
“What about the convoy?”
“They should be well on their way by now,” Breytenbach replied. “We’ll follow, find a safe place to hole up.”
The Puma turned in a graceful arc, picking up speed as they flew over the snarling heads of the infected.
The small group racing to safety on foot raised their hands in despair, screaming. “Wait! Wait for us!”
Breytenbach swallowed, his heart heavy. There was no going back. The zombies caught up to the little group who fell to the tearing teeth. He choked on the words in his throat, “I’m sorry.”
Seconds later, the infected moved on, following the convoy. Behind them, droplets of blood clung to the grass, glittering like rubies in the sun.
Chapter 23 - Breytenbach
Breytenbach gripped the metal sides of the chopper with numb fingers and leaned out into the cold wind. Strands of hair whipped across his eyes as he searched for the convoy, although such a motley assortment of vehicles could hardly qualify for the word.
Not that it mattered now. The only thing that mattered was the lives on board; the last remaining souls to escape the massacre. Mike dipped the chopper’s nose and flew over the vehicles, heading for the front with Breytenbach squinting into the wind. A dark mass on the horizon alerted him to trouble.
“Mike!” Breytenbach pointed at it, and Mike flew towards it. As they neared the shapeless mass, individual forms became apparent.
Kirstin sucked in a breath. “Captain,” she shouted over the rotors. “Infected.”
“Oh, shit,” Breytenbach swore as the truth sunk in. A horde was headed towards the convoy. Thousands and thousands strong. “We have to warn them. They’ve got to turn back.”
“It’s too late, Captain.” Kirstin pointed to the lead car.
It bounced and rattled on the rough dirt track, careening around a corner as the wheels struggled to find grip in the slippery mud. The driver, seeing the mass of zombies ahead, slammed on the brakes.
The car slid across the road, seemed to hesitate for a moment before the balance tipped. It flipped through the air and rolled to a stop near the lead zombies. The windows had smashed in the crash, allowing them easy access. They plucked the hapless victims from the wreck like sardines from a can.
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The second car was close behind the first. It too tried to stop, ending up in a ditch on the side of the road. The third followed, making a frantic turn only to plow into the fourth, showering the path with glass and twisted metal.
Breytenbach swallowed on the bile that rose in his mouth. “Mike. Find Johan. Now.”
Mike complied, swinging the chopper low across the convoy. Towards the back, Breytenbach spotted the Mamba. “Radio Johan. Tell him to turn back.”
Mike didn’t bother with niceties or protocols. “Turn back. There’s a horde up ahead. Turn back!”
“Roger,” came the calm reply. The Mamba slowed to a crawl, performed a U-turn, then wound its way through the other cars to the back.
Breytenbach let out a nervous chuckle. “Johan. Always cool under fire.”
“Captain. The infected from camp.”
Breytenbach scrambled over, eyes widening as the first, fresh runners from field appeared. Johan and the rest would be caught between the two opposing forces, trapped in the middle. Breytenbach doubted even the Mamba could resist so many infected for long.
Mike jumped on the radio. “More infected coming your way!”
“Tell him to break to the left,” Breytenbach ordered. The veldt was more open there, and maybe, just maybe, Johan could make it through. He didn’t hold out much hope for the rest of the convoy. They were doomed. The Mamba turned, ramping over termite mounds and swerving to avoid trees. Hope rose in his chest. “Come on, come on.”
Johan slammed on the brakes, coming to a stop.
“What’s he doing?”
Breytenbach lifted his eyes. All hope left him. The zombie horde was too vast. They had encircled the area to the front and sides while the camp’s infected cut off escape to the back. They streamed through the trees, stumbling over ditches and logs.
Hovering above the Mamba, Breytenbach tried to think of something, anything. The hatch in the roof popped open. Johan climbed out, followed by Mannuru. She clutched a child in her arms which she handed to Johan. He lifted the boy up into the air as high as possible. Breytenbach caught on.
“Mike, drop down as low as you can.”
The Puma lowered, swaying above Johan’s head. Reaching down, with Ronnie holding his belt, Breytenbach grabbed the boy. Mannuru reached down into the hatch and came up with a little girl.
The infected, seeing fresh meat so close at hand, sped up their efforts and closed in on the Mamba. Kirstin took up a position with her rifle. The shots mixed with the growls rising from the throats of thousands of infected and the whap, whap of the Puma’s rotors.
Johan held up the little girl, and Breytenbach snatched her up. The infected were swarming faster than Kirstin could shoot, even with Lenka’s help. They surged, reaching up to the roof with eager hands. The dead bodies of their fellows created a platform.
The first infected climbed onto the roof, followed by another. Johan and Mannuru coaxed another child out of the hatch while Kirstin shot down the encroaching zombies with crisp precision. It was no use.
“Too many,” she cried.
Breytenbach pulled his gun and added his shots to the fray, opening his mouth to shout a warning. “Johan!”
An infected latched onto Johan’s shoulder and sank its teeth deep into the muscle. Another grabbed his arm. Johan didn’t go down. He roared in anger and bludgeoned them with his fists. He pushed Mannuru back inside the Mamba, reaching out to close the hatch.
Three more infected tackled him. He fell, his right hand scrabbling for the lid. Too late. Grinning grotesquely through ragged flaps of flesh, a zombie slithered down the hatch.
Even with all the noise, Breytenbach could hear the women and children inside scream as the monster fell into their midst. A pale hand thrust through the opening but disappeared when more zombies pushed their way inside.
On top of the roof, Johan fought. Great rips appeared in his flesh. He never gave an inch, roaring with rage. Whatever else he was, he was a fighter to the last. “Go!”
“No!” Breytenbach screamed in frustrated rage, preparing to jump out. Ronnie latched onto him, holding him back.
Johan went down, brought to his knees by sheer weight in numbers. They tore into him, and his blood coated the roof of the Mamba. Kirstin sighted down the barrel of her gun, the scope bringing Johan’s face into sharp relief.
She steadied her aim and squeezed the trigger with the whispered words, “Hvil i fred.” Johan slumped, face relaxing into the welcome arms of death. “Rest in peace, my friend.”
Breytenbach would dream about that day for years to come. He would wake in a cold sweat as he relived his best friend’s last moments, and listened to those innocent kids cry as they died in agony and torment. Hell had nothing on Earth at this point.
“Get us out of here, Mike,” Ronnie said, still holding onto Breytenbach.
“No,” Breytenbach cried even though he knew it was futile. The chopper rose, and the Mamba grew smaller. He stopped fighting and slumped to the floor, angry tears burning his eyes.
It was Samantha who roused him from his grief, her voice hoarse and shrill, stretched to its absolute breaking point. The strident peals penetrated his consciousness, and he took her from Jonathan. “Hush, Sam. Hush now.”
Soothing her eased his pain. He leaned back, holding her close. The familiar smell of his jacket seemed to calm her, and she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.
The boy and girl were terrified and shivering, but at least they weren’t crying. Kirstin got them settled into their seats and buckled in. Breytenbach could imagine how they felt. He felt it too.
At some point, they found temporary shelter in a small town called Kroonstad. How they ended up there, he wasn’t sure. Mike had headed for the least populated area on the map, and they were now somewhere in the Free State, a province he knew little about.
Mike landed the chopper on the roof of an office block. Once they were sure it was clear, they ventured into the building itself. It proved empty of infected which Breytenbach was grateful for, but it also had nothing in the way of useful supplies.
Realizing that the children needed food and water, he looked at a shop across the road. It was small and manageable. Taking Ronnie and Lenka with him, he left Mike and Jonathan in charge of the kids. He was concerned about the doctor, though, who seemed catatonic.
“Jonathan,” he said. “Doc.” He snapped his fingers in front of Jonathan’s face but got no response.
“He’s in shock,” Ronnie said.
“Just watch him, Mike. Make sure he doesn’t do something stupid,” Breytenbach ordered.
They crossed the road, their eyes peeled for trouble. Breytenbach pushed open the grimy, glass door and eased inside. A waft of warm air filled with the smell of death hit his nostrils, carrying the warning of infected. They each brandished a knife, preferring it for close-quarter combat.
Deeper inside the shop, a figure lurched towards them from the gloom. Lenka dispatched it with a swift thrust. It was a tiny shop carrying a little of everything, none of it quality, but he wasn’t about to be picky. He filled a shopping bag with baby stuff and odds and ends.
Ronnie grabbed water and food while Lenka scrounged up a cheap pot, a packet of plastic forks and over-the-counter meds. As an afterthought, Breytenbach looked at the toy section. The selection was miserable, but he found a stuffed rabbit for the girl and a toy car for the boy.
Back on the roof, Sam’s hysterical wails greeted his ears. “What’s going on here?”
Mike jiggled her up and down. “I don’t know. She won’t shut up.”
It would have been comical if the situation wasn’t so dire. Sam’s scrunched-up face was the color of beetroot, and her screams carried across town, calling every infected within earshot. The other two kids were also crying, huddled into little balls on the concrete.
“For the love of God, must I do everything?” Breytenbach shot a glare at the useless doctor and hapless Mike, grabbing Samantha. “Ronnie, give the kids f
ood and water. Try to calm them down.”
Breytenbach stripped off his jacket and lay Sam down. Undressing her, he changed her dirty nappy, smoothing bum cream over the rash that had developed. He cleaned her sticky body with the wipes and finished off with a sprinkling of baby powder.
Opening a jar of purity, he coaxed a spoonful into her mouth. Her rosebud lips sucked on the food, and her crying subsided to the occasional hiccup. “There. That should hold you.”
It was hot, with no sign of the rain that had plagued them at their previous camp, so he didn’t bother dressing her again. Instead, he rocked her gently, smiling when she burped. His team, meanwhile, watched him with various looks of amusement and glee. “What?”
“Never thought I’d see the day the Captain became a babysitter,” Lenka said.
“Yeah, you’re a real softy, Cap,” Mike laughed.
Ronnie had a smirk on his face, and Kirstin was smiling.
“Oh, shut up, all of you!” He ignored the lot of them as they snickered and grinned but secretly he was pleased. It lightened the grim atmosphere.
He frowned, however, when he spotted Jonathan huddled in the same spot, still clutching his leather bag. The man hadn’t moved a muscle since they landed over an hour ago. He opened a can of pears.
“Here, eat this.” He forced the food into Jonathan’s hands and pried the leather bag from his fingers. “It’s going to be okay, doc. We’ll be fine.”
Jonathan gave a jerky nod and lowered his eyes to the can. Lifting it up, he drank the juice and fished out a piece with his fingers. Breytenbach gave his shoulder a squeeze. At least, he’s doing something.
The kids had eaten and drunk, but both looked miserable. Hoping to cheer them up, he handed them each the candy bar and toy he’d scavenged. This rewarded him with faint smiles. After a moment the boy pushed his car around, making the appropriate vroom, vroom noises while the girl clutched the rabbit to her chest.
Squatting down on his haunches, Breytenbach opened up a can of meatballs and ate them one by one. He looked at his hands, weathered and worn from years of rough work. They were shaking. Johan…Mannuru…I’m sorry.
Dangerous Days: Boxed Set (A Zombie Apocalypse Survival Thriller Books 1-4) Page 22
