“But…Morgan. Why? Why kill her?”
“Why not?” she said. Her dark eyes glowed. “She deserved it.”
Ben looked stricken. His mouth worked soundlessly, and she laughed.
“Armand got what he deserved too, running after her like a stupid little puppy dog.” She pounded a fist on her breast. “He could have had me! But no, he only wanted her!”
“Armand? You killed Armand too?” Max asked.
Angie smirked, folding her arms. “I’ll never forget the look on his face when I shoved him off that roof. The betrayal. Now he knows what it feels like.” Her smile grew wider. “He screamed like a girl while they ate him.”
A collective gasp went up, and people retreated from her like a wave from the shore. She turned in a circle, glaring. Her face had sharpened, lips drawing back to expose the canines. She looked like a demonic child.
“Oh, I see. You’re all staring at me like I’m crazy. You know what? I don’t care. You’re all just a bunch of cowards, hiding behind your walls, pretending to be civilized. Civilization is gone, people. Only the strong can survive now.”
A subtle shift occurred, a ripple through the crowd. The strongest members of the camp stepped up, closing in on Angie while the rest retreated. Too late, she realized what she’d done. She was surrounded.
“No, wait. I didn’t mean it.” She tried to retreat. “I was confused.”
“Shut up, Angie. We all heard you. It’s over,” Max said. “You’re guilty by your own admission.”
“No, please.”
“Do what you want with her, Logan,” Julianne said. Her face was white, her eyes like chips of glass. “No one will interfere.”
Angie tried to run. Logan grabbed her by the wrist, and she screamed. He locked his hand over her mouth, picking her up off the ground. She wriggled like a worm on a hook and kicked her legs. He ignored her struggles, dragging her to the Landie. With a length of rope, he tied her arms behind her back and tossed her into the back. She never stopped screaming.
“Logan, please.” Ben approached him, wringing his hands. “I know what Angie did was unforgivable, but don’t kill her. She’s still…she’s like a daughter to me. I couldn’t bear it if she died.”
Logan stared at him and struggled to control his anger. “She killed Morgan. She murdered our unborn child.”
“I know, but…” Ben broke down in tears, his large shoulders shaking. Joanna led him away, whispering words of comfort in his ear. Logan felt a twinge of sympathy for the man. It was not enough to prevent him from doing what he planned to, however.
Logan slid behind the wheel and drove, never registering the scenery flashing by. To him, it was all just a blur of nothingness. In the back, Angie struggled against her bonds, but she wasn’t going anywhere. He knew how to tie a knot. She cried out until her throat became raw, pleading for him to let her live. He hardly heard it.
Morgan is gone. She’s dead. His grief knotted inside his chest in a ball of pain. It had to wait, though. He had a job to do. Koppie Alleen loomed in the distance. The lone hill towered above the flat landscape like a beacon and heralded the entrance to Riebeeckstad. Hence its name—which roughly translated to Lonely Hill. A white cross adorned the top, mocking him with its promise of eternal love and forgiveness. There’s no forgiveness for what I’m about to do.
He drove through the abandoned streets of the small town until he reached its center. A heart that was now as dead as the body, no longer pumping with life and commerce. Parking the Land Rover in front of the nearest shop, he climbed out and opened the back.
A terrified Angie scooted away from him, eyes wide with fear. Her face was streaked with tears and snot. He grabbed her ankle and pulled her out onto the pavement. She fell hard, unable to brace herself. Closing the door, he bent down and pulled out his hunting knife. Logan stared at it for a few seconds, contemplating all the things he could do.
She watched him, naked fear flickering across her features. “Please don’t.”
Logan was surprised to find he felt nothing. No pleasure, no satisfaction, nothing at all. He lowered the knife. She flinched. He cut the ropes binding her.
Angie stared at him in shocked surprise. “You’re letting me go?”
“I’m leaving you here.”
“Really?” She pushed herself upright, blubbering. “You’ll never see me again, I promise.”
“No, I won’t.” In one smooth motion, he unslung his rifle from his shoulder and shot her in the knee. At such close range, the high caliber bullet packed a brutal punch. Her knee exploded in a shower of blood, flesh, and bone. She uttered an inhuman cry, unlike anything he’d ever heard before.
Angie collapsed in a crumpled heap, alternating between wailing and sobbing. She clutched at her leg, trying to stop the bleeding. It pushed out between her fingers in a dark crimson stream.
Logan walked away and climbed into his truck. The first shambling corpse appeared in the rearview mirror. Others joined it, the shot drawing them in. They closed in around her and cut off all escape. She crawled, dragging the shattered leg and leaving a trail of blood behind her.
The first corpse fell upon her, sinking its rotting teeth into her open wound. Its fingers hooked into the splintered bones like claws, ripping the joint apart. Sinew and muscles tore. Raw animal cries issued from her throat.
Logan watched. Still, he felt nothing as they feasted on her flesh. Once Angie ceased to exist as a human being, he drove away. Halfway back to camp, he pulled over. For a long time, he sat, staring at nothing.
Unmoving.
Empty.
Hollow.
He turned his head and looked at the cubby hole, popping it open. The cigarettes Morgan had indulged in, lay there. He took them and got out, the Land Rover’s door creaking. He put one of her smokes between his lips and lit it. The acrid smoke filled his lungs, a hit of nicotine entering his blood vessels.
He used to nag Morgan to stop smoking. An ex-smoker himself, he knew what a bad habit it was. She’d never quite managed. Now, it didn’t matter anymore. She was gone. He’d never see her again.
The empty feeling inside him built and built, growing until he couldn’t contain it. He crumpled the cigarette in his hand, burning his fingers. A tightness built up in his throat, demanding release. A howl of fury tore loose. Rage infused his mind. “Why? Why her?”
He screamed until his voice broke then slumped to his knees. His rifle rested in the dust next to him, and for a moment…but no. He couldn’t. He wasn’t a quitter.
A shambling figure on the road got him to his feet, and he climbed back inside the Land Rover. He drove past the zombie, not paying it any heed. As the camp drew closer, his heart grew heavier. He didn’t know if he could face the questions, the sympathy, the attention. In the end, it didn’t matter.
He didn’t plan on staying long, anyway.
Epilogue - Breytenbach
Julianne looked both beautiful and frail in a black dress; her hair was done in an elegant twist that exposed her slender neck. She stared at Morgan’s grave without a tear in sight, grieving silently for the daughter she’d lost and the grandchild that would never be born.
In the few days he’d known her, Breytenbach had come to admire her. She had a quiet strength, a grace that appealed to him. He had not shown Julianne how he felt, though. Not yet. It was too soon. For now, he would just be there when she needed him.
At her side stood a tearful Meghan, clinging to her mother’s leg. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the grave. To her, death was still a mystery. A frightening specter that took people away forever, just like her daddy.
Max stood beside them, likewise grieving for the sister that had been so close to him, almost like a twin. His eyes were dry, but the tension in his shoulders and mouth betrayed his emotions.
Breytenbach shook his head, remembering the insanity reflected in Angie’s eyes when she spat out her hatred like bile. The depths of the human psyche never failed to amaze him. What a s
enseless tragedy.
Then he looked at Samantha squirming in his arms and reflected that even though they had all lost so much, they still had each other. He had found his family at last, and he knew he’d protect them with his dying breath.
The rhythmic thud of dirt hitting Morgan’s shroud sounded loud in the late afternoon air. Sunlight bathed the clearing in a golden haze, reflecting off the circle of grim faces gathered together. The whole world was quiet, as though it too attended her funeral.
Big Ben was the worst off, perhaps. His eyes were lost, swiveling around without focus while his mouth worked soundlessly. The once great stature he’d possessed was gone, his body crumbling in on itself like an ancient statue. Joanna stood next to him offering silent support, but he hardly seemed to notice her.
The quiet drone of Dave’s voice filled the air as he recited Psalm 23 from the battered Bible he always carried in his pocket. It had been Morgan’s favorite, chosen by Julianne for the service.
‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.’
The words offered hope and absolution to all except Logan. Since his return, he had not said a word nor looked at anyone. Nobody dared ask what had happened to Angie. Her fate was apparent to all, etched into the grooves that lined his features.
There had been no mercy for her, Breytenbach knew. He also knew the deed would change Logan forever. A man cannot kill with such cold-blooded cruelty and not have it stain his soul with the act. No matter how justified.
The old Logan was gone. He looked like a man fashioned of steel. No emotion was reflected in those hard gray eyes, and Breytenbach wondered what he would do next. For a man to have nothing, only to find everything then lose it again was a hard, hard thing.
When the last shovelful of dirt covered the grave, Logan turned and walked away. Breytenbach watched as he climbed into his rusted Land Rover and pulled away with a roar of the engine. He left only a cloud of dust in his wake; a void echoed in the hearts of many.
The service was over. One by one, people drifted away, their murmured condolences humming around Julianne. She thanked each with a stiff nod, her hands clutching Meghan’s shoulders in silent despair.
Max hugged her close before leaving to take up his shift at the wall. Even now, the infected could not be forgotten. They had to remain vigilant.
Breytenbach turned his attention to Julianne, leading her and Meghan away. What they needed the most now was privacy. That and time to process their loss.
Sam was the only one who seemed oblivious to the atmosphere. A monarch butterfly flitted past her face, brushing across her baby-soft skin. She giggled, swinging pudgy fists through the air. Her laughter prompted smiles from Julianne and Meghan while her innocence promised hope for the future.
The sun dropped toward the horizon in a slow descent, streaking the sky in a splendid display of cosmic glamor. As the day drew to a close, Breytenbach felt sure there would be another. Days filled with sorrow, perhaps, but also joy and happiness. We will last another day.
Fear Another Day
Chapter 1 - Nadia
The sun threw its last dying light across the horizon creating a brilliant tapestry of color. A few rays filtered down through a tiny window into the wine cellar below and painted the air the color of diluted blood. Nadia stirred beneath the sheet that covered her thin frame, staring at the window. Time to get up.
It was almost nightfall. She shrugged off the material and stretched her limbs, joints cracking from being locked in a fetal position for hours on end.
A sheen of sweat covered her skin, beading on her upper lip and forehead. Autumn rated barely a blip on the radar in this region, the only sign of its coming being the chill that descended at night.
During the day, the thermometer hovered around a scorching forty degrees Celsius, made worse by the enclosed atmosphere of the cellar. It was the safest place she could find, though, and safety was the only thing that counted anymore.
Nadia pushed herself upright with a sigh. Every day it was harder to get up than the last. One day, she wouldn’t get up at all. That knowledge frightened her less with each passing week. What’s the point of living if you’re all alone?
She folded up the mattress, sheet, and pillow, placing it on the bottom rack of a shelf against the wall. With a handful of wet wipes, she cleansed her skin, ridding it of the accumulated sweat before slipping on leopard print underwear. They were the most expensive knickers she’d ever owned, pilfered from the closet of a dead rich lady.
A pair of skinny jeans, combat boots that reached to mid-calf, a see-through vest, and a leather jacket followed. She ran her fingers through her spiky black hair then applied a thick layer of black eyeshadow and liner. “If I’m going to die, I might as well look good.”
It was silly. She knew that. Holding onto your vanity when it was the end of the world, was stupid. She couldn’t help it. Vanity was all she had left. It was the last thing connecting her to her old life and the teenager she used to be.
An array of rings went onto her fingers, chunky stones and silver skulls gleaming in the fading light. A cross as long as her hand hung from a thick chain around her neck, followed by several studs and earrings.
After zipping up the short jacket, she slung a belt over her hips containing a variety of odd implements: a screwdriver, bolt cutter, knife, hammer, and scissors. In her pockets, she carried a lighter, nail file, hairpins, and paper clips.
Armed and ready to face whatever the outside might throw at her, Nadia strode to the door and pressed her ear to it. In the thick silence, not a sound could be heard. She rapped her knuckles on the wood and waited for any telltale moans. Still nothing.
With a heave, she pushed the heavy metal box that barricaded the door away and dropped down on all fours to peer through the gap beneath it. No movement. All was quiet.
Nadia pulled the hammer from her belt and held it ready as she opened the door. Her heart thumped while it creaked open. No matter how many times she did this, it never grew easier.
The short passage leading to the stairs was empty, the door at the top of the stairs still closed. Nothing had entered during the day. Her hideout remained undiscovered. For now.
She fumbled for a flashlight and shone it upwards, placing each foot with care as she walked up the stairs. Some of them were creaky, and she stepped accordingly.
When she reached the top, she repeated the procedure from earlier before stepping out into the kitchen. It was pitch black as all the windows had been boarded up, and she swept the beam of her torch up and down, assuring herself it was empty.
A quick check of the house proved it was undisturbed. Nothing had entered, either dead or living. She couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. Some days she wished a horde would find her and put her out of her misery. Other days she hoped survivors would stumble upon her.
Then she’d remember what happened to the last group she was with and a lead weight would settle in her stomach. I’m better off alone.
Dusk was nearly over by the time she was ready to leave the house. A full moon had risen, casting ample light over the darkening streets. She did a quick circuit of the yard, noting the weather, before sidling up to the gate. After a careful look around, she scrambled over.
Fifteen minutes later, she was hiding behind a dumpster, waiting for a trio of infected to shuffle out of sight around a corner. Avoidance always trumped confrontation.
A lesson learned early on during the outbreak.
Once they were out of sight, she continued in the opposite direction. Her methods were simple. She carried a hammer in the right and a screwdriver in the left. Both were efficient at caving in rotten skulls.
She went out at night, on days when the weather was clear and the moon bright. Moving silently, she stuck to the shadows, pausing in strategic places to ensure the route was clear. It was a tactic that had kept her alive thus far. Whether her luck would hold or not, was a different story. Not that she had much choice. A girl had to eat.
The small supermarket where she got her supplies, loomed at the end of the block. She crouched behind a low wall, surveying the street. It looked clear. Her stomach growled. She was starving. Scurrying across the street, she sprinted along the wall of an apartment block, abandoning caution in her haste. Nearly there.
A few meters from the shop, a hand reached out from an alley, grabbing the collar of her jacket. Her feet flew out from underneath her as she was jerked to a sudden stop. The air left her lungs in a whoosh. Nadia gasped for breath, fingers scrabbling on the concrete for grip.
A diseased face loomed above her, leaning in for the kill. She reacted on instinct, punching it hard in the teeth. Its head snapped back, granting her a split second. She grasped the cross lying on her chest and stabbed upward, aiming for its eye. The cross slid in as neatly as a dagger, the long point sharpened by hours of honing on a concrete floor.
The zombie stiffened, putrid fluid spraying from the punctured eyeball. Nadia gagged, turning her face away. She heaved the corpse off her chest, searching on the ground for her fallen weapons. Her fingers closed on the hilt of the hammer. She jumped up, crouching on the balls of her feet. She was ready in case the zom had friends, but a quick whirl assured her it had been a loner. She relaxed.
“Gross!” She shuddered as she wiped at the putrid stuff running down her face, heaving when the smell hit her nose. “This sucks.”
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