She gave up trying to clean herself and instead ran the last few steps to the shop. The keys to the padlock were hidden beneath a brick, and she struggled with the chain, fingers trembling from the adrenaline.
Once inside the shop, she leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes. Her heartbeat slowed, and the rush of the close call she’d had faded from her veins. It got easier with time. Killing was something that came naturally now.
“Well, let’s get this over with.” Her voice echoed through the empty shop, reminding her once more how alone she was. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “Why do I even bother?”
For a moment, she considered giving up. Her mind envisioned swallowing handfuls of pills from the drug store. “It would be like falling asleep. It’d be easy.”
Brandon’s face hovered in the background, his dimpled smile making her heart beat faster. They could be together again, in heaven. She snorted. “There’s no such thing. Heaven doesn’t exist.”
It’s your fault he’s dead. It’s your fault all of them are dead.
A tear ran down her cheek, and she wiped it away. Even if heaven did exist it wasn’t meant for the likes of her. She deserved to suffer here on earth, deserved every second of her miserable existence.
With a shrug, she pulled out her torch and trudged to the nearest fridge. Grabbing a bottle of lukewarm water, she swallowed it in one gulp. Once her thirst was sated, she hunted for cloth and soap, washing the zombie gunk off her face and clothes.
“That’s better.” Her voice had evened out, numbing calm taking the place of the desperation from before. She was okay now, the crushing guilt pushed back into its little box in the recesses of her mind.
She picked a backpack from a shelf and filled it with various items. Enough to last a few days. Bottled water, nuts, dried fruit, protein bars, juice, and toiletries. She shoved a book, socks, and painkillers on top and zipped it up. Her stomach cramped again, growling at her. “Yeah, yeah. Hold your horses.”
In the kitchen aisle, she found a can opener and fork, using it to scoff two cans of spaghetti and meatballs. She missed real food and longed for a hot meal but had no idea how to go about it. The power was off, and she didn’t know how to rig up a generator or how to get the fuel to run it. Besides, the noise would draw infected.
Her shoulders slumped as she faced the truth. She was on a slippery slope to nowhere. She’d either starve, die of disease or thirst, or get eaten. Alone.
Nadia shook her head. “Not today. Today we have a good old-fashioned pig-out.”
She grabbed a packet of chips, juice, and a huge slab of chocolate, sitting down on the floor next to the magazine rack. There wasn’t much she hadn’t read yet, but it was better than nothing. No way was she going back to that dismal cellar right away.
A stubby candle provided light, the flickering flame throwing shadows across the pages. Weeks before, she’d stuck old newspapers across the glass doors to prevent any infected from seeing inside or spotting the light. Secure in the familiarity of her surroundings, she settled down to read.
A corner of the newspaper, old and yellowed, sprang loose from the brittle glue with barely a whisper of sound. The end drooped, a triangle of glass becoming exposed.
An hour passed, broken only by the rustling of packets and pages as Nadia gorged herself on chocolate and chips while leafing through magazines. So engrossed was she in this activity, that she never noticed the shadow flitting past the glass doors. Followed by another, and another.
A loud bang startled Nadia, and she shrieked. Dropping the book on her lap, she scrambled to her feet. The glass doors shivered and creaked under the onslaught of several bodies, cracks working its way up the center.
“Shit,” she gasped, backing away.
Her head swiveled, looking for an escape route, but she knew there was none. The only other exit was locked with metal shutters, and there were no windows to crawl through. Nowhere to hide either. She had no other option but to make a run for it.
They’ll pull me down like wolves.
Her eyes fell on a large cardboard display.
Not if they can’t see me.
She grabbed the backpack and shrugged it on, gripped the screwdriver in her right and grasped the display with her left. The glass wouldn’t last much longer.
She rushed forward, stopping close to the doors but off to the side. Nadia squatted down and planted the display in front of her, hiding her scrawny body behind it. A few more bangs and the front of the shop exploded in a shower of glass. Her heart hammered in her throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut for a brief second.
The infected pushed through the opening and rushed into the shop, growling and snapping at the air. She waited for the bulk of them to run past her. The moment she spotted an opening, she darted forward.
Time slowed to a crawl; it felt like her body pushed through water. She slipped around the nearest infected, pushed through a gap between two more and ducked beneath the grasping arms of another. The cold air of the night beckoned. Fingers brushed through the back of her hair, one hooking on an earring. A flash of pain flared as it tore out of her earlobe, throwing her off balance.
Nadia stumbled, falling onto her hands and knees. Jagged glass cut into her hands. She cried out, but fear kept her moving forward, and she crawled right between the legs of a zombie. It bent down to grab her, but the backpack stymied its efforts, and it toppled over.
Snarls echoed from behind her as she shot to her feet, sprinting across the street and heading for an alley between two buildings. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her hands were on fire. She didn’t care. A grin spread across her face as she tore down the alley and turned a corner. I got out. I can’t believe it.
She risked a quick glance over her shoulder, and cold fear wormed its way into her stomach. “Fuck!”
Two infected.
Fresh.
Fast.
The worst kind.
A young woman trailed behind a beefy man dressed in khaki. He looked like a farmer. Locals. Survivors like me turned recently.
Nadia ran faster, pumping her arms and legs with furious effort. I can’t let them catch me. Not after everything.
She raced through street after street trying to lose them but failed. They were too fast, too determined, and didn’t get tired. Unlike her. Her lungs were burning. A stitch stabbed into her side. She couldn’t stop. Fighting two fresh infected was impossible.
She ran all the way through the town center until faced by rows of houses. Slow infected, rotted and aged, shuffled on sidewalks and lawns. They uttered creaky moans at the sight of her. Nadia never slowed, ducking in and around them with the agility of the young and desperate.
With a fresh burst of speed, she turned a corner and headed for a low fence. Zombies weren’t good climbers. Behind her, one of the infected fell over something judging by the frustrated snarls and crashing sounds. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed it. The woman was gone.
Hope lent her strength, and she vaulted over the upcoming fence, using one hand for support. She screamed as the glass shards ground deeper into the flesh of her palm. Then she was over the wall.
Nadia dashed across the overgrown lawn, hoping she wouldn’t trip. A low hedge appeared, and she crashed over it. Another headlong sprint and she smashed into the next barrier, a concrete border. Her fingers gripped the edge, and she pulled herself, falling to the ground with a graceless thump.
The remaining zom was now well out of sight, trying to climb over walls and fences his uncoordinated brain wasn’t meant for. Nadia hurried across the lawn, hissing when she stepped into a hole and twisted her ankle.
She pushed on, waddling on her sore leg like a penguin. Only when she was sure it was safe did she stop to crouch behind a bush, gasping for breath. As her heartbeat slowed and the fear receded, the precariousness of her position hit her.
She was lost in a strange neighborhood far from her safe house. Her hands were injured. Even now as the
adrenaline wore off, fiery pain shot through her arms, screaming up her nerve-endings. The blood will draw more. I need to hide.
A rustle of leaves to the left alerted her. Nadia scrambled to her feet, holding the hammer. In the pale light of the moon, two eyes shined yellow, staring at her with unblinking intensity.
She swallowed, primal fear flooding her veins as every nerve screamed at her to run. Run from the monsters, hiding in the night, waiting to devour her soul. Her feet remained rooted to the spot. Running wouldn’t help her now.
Nadia tensed her muscles, gripping the hammer in her right hand despite the pain it caused. The eerie eyes never left her, following every move she made with predatory intensity. A cloud moved in front of the moon, drenching her in darkness and the glowing orbs disappeared.
Seconds ticked by, and the tension grew until the moon reappeared. Snarls sounded nearby, and the yellow eyes blinked, a lithe figure jumping up onto the pre-con wall and disappearing into the night. All this time she’d been facing off against a cat, wasting time and allowing the zom to catch up.
“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, head whipping about as she looked for an escape route.
Her eyes fell on the house whose yard she stood in, but she dismissed it. Too dangerous. She had no idea what waited inside, and the zom would follow. Doors didn’t mean much to fresh infected. They were freakishly strong.
Up.
Go up.
Nadia looked around cataloging and dismissing each option as it came.
A minibus in the street; too low.
The top of a garden shed; too flimsy.
The rooftop of the nearest house; no way to reach it.
The growls were coming closer, and Nadia knew she’d be spotted soon.
Her heart thrummed in her chest, adrenaline rushing through her veins as her body tensed, gearing up for its fight or flight response. Unable to find a place to climb up, she jogged across the yard and promptly tripped over something in the dark. The fall alerted her pursuer.
The snarls increased in volume.
It was after her.
Nadia went faster, pushing her body into a sprint, but she knew she’d never last as her muscles burned with fatigue. Then her eyes fell on the carport. The roof!
Her eyes flicked about, landing on a small boundary wall next to it. She grabbed the top and dragged her body up onto it, right boot searching for secure footing. She got up, balancing precariously on the top with her arms windmilling for balance.
Straightening, she gripped the edge of the tin roof and pulled, ignoring the tearing pain shredding her hands. Her arms screamed in protest, and the muscles quivered with the strain. She’d never been the most athletic girl and now regretted it. The approaching sounds of the infected spurred her on, however. I’m not on the menu tonight.
With a shuffle, Nadia edged sideways until she was next to the nearest pole. With a determined leap, she pushed off and got her elbows over the edge. Her feet scrabbled against the pole for purchase until she was up and over. Just in time too as the zombie’s fingers brushed the tip of her boot.
She collapsed onto her back, chest heaving, eyes fixed on the stars above but not seeing them. Below, the infected scratched at the pillar and screeched its anger and frustration. Not long after, a second infected showed up. Then a third. She was attracting a crowd.
Her immediate problem lay with her hands, though. It was too dark to see clearly, but she saw enough by the silvery moonlight to tell the damage was bad.
Nadia slid the rucksack from her back and rummaged inside. She rinsed both hands with a bottle of water and spent the next twenty minutes picking out shards of glass. It hurt like a bitch, and she couldn’t get all of it out, especially the splinters. She bandaged the wounds with a pair of socks and swallowed a handful of painkillers. “Shit. This is an infection waiting to happen.”
She lay back, using her pack as a pillow and waited for the pain to abate. Her mind whirled as she tried to think of a way out of her predicament. The roof was not the ideal place to spend the day. What she needed to treat her hands with, lay in her cellar. Besides, the sun would cook her until she resembled boiled beetroot.
The pain in her hands did not lessen. It grew worse. “I know I shouldn’t do this, but…” She swallowed more pills and wrapped another pair of socks over each palm. Exhaustion dragged at her eyelids, the strain of the chase and the massive dose of medicine taking its toll.
With a sigh, Nadia curled up into a little ball. Her breath evened out, sleep claiming her tired body. Morning found her still asleep and perched precariously close to the edge of the roof.
One arm dangled down. Blood dripped down her fingers, each ruby red droplet sliding down to the tip where it swelled. It grew fat before it plopped down onto the face of the zombie below. He growled, licking up the blood as he eyed her fingers. She was so close.
Chapter 2 - Breytenbach
A thick layer of frost covered the brittle grass, crunching beneath Breytenbach’s boots as he walked around the perimeter of the camp. It glittered on a few remaining leaves clinging to bare branches, creating the illusion of purity.
“Winter’s on its way,” he said, shoving his cold fingers into his pockets.
Lenka grunted in agreement, his breath puffing out in a white cloud.
“It’s early this year.”
Another grunt.
Breytenbach eyed his companion’s sleeveless vest with a raised eyebrow. Lenka’s biceps bulged with each movement he made, the smooth ebony skin stretching to accommodate the flesh underneath. “Don’t you ever get cold?”
A negative shake of the head.
Breytenbach sighed. Conversations with Lenka tended to be a tad one-sided, so he turned his attention to their surroundings, instead. To his left stretched the fence, reinforced with steel supports and barbed wire. It encircled the land on which the camp lay, providing their first layer of defense.
A small herd of goats grazed on the shrubbery, an occasional bleat drifting across the currents in the air. Their hardy constitutions meant they were suited to this environment, needing little care. As long as they stayed within the fence, they were safe from the grasping hands of the infected.
Dry, yellowed grass stretched as far as the eye could see, the flat expanse dotted with stunted trees and shrubs. The landscape failed to attract, the mottled browns and grays lacking the lushness of more tropical climes. Yet, it had a beauty all its own, lonely and desolate. Breytenbach supposed it was suited to their current circumstances.
To his right, lay a ditch or the ‘moat’ as it was jokingly called. Ten feet deep and eight feet wide, it ran alongside the wire and was filled with sharpened stakes. Without it, the fence might long since have fallen.
It had taken the concentrated efforts of two six-man teams working around the clock for weeks to finish it. They’d been lucky to find a backhoe on a nearby farm which sped up the process, but cutting and planting the stakes had been a nightmarish task.
Breytenbach walked next to the silent Lenka, crunching across the bare strip of ground between the fence and the moat. The breeze picked up, swirling around his collar. Goosebumps peppered his skin. He shivered and glanced back, estimating that they were close to completing their circuit of the grounds.
A faint growl reached his ears, alerting him to the presence of infected, and he picked up the pace. Lenka got there before him and balanced on the edge of the deep ditch. “We’ve got a little one, Captain.”
Breytenbach slowed and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to look. The screams of dying children echoed through his mind, taking him back to that place. A kindergarten filled with tiny corpses, their flesh torn apart by the teeth of the infected. He could smell the tang of blood once more, coating the inside of his nostrils.
“Captain,” Lenka’s deep voice pulled him from the void that had opened up inside him. He walked to the edge of the moat.
It was a little girl. That much was clear from the torn remnants of he
r dress and the stringy blond hair that clung to her scalp. Her fingers scrabbled at the earthen wall that entrapped her, the fingernails staying behind in the hard clay.
A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed. It never got any easier. With reluctance, he aimed with his spear and stabbed the point deep into her eye. The snarls stopped abruptly, but her small teeth remained bared, contorting her face. He reversed the spear, and it came free with a sucking sound. She collapsed, a marionette whose strings had been cut.
Lenka jumped down into the moat and levered out the body which Breytenbach loaded onto a stretcher. Without exchanging a word, they continued their patrol, taking turns to drag the corpse.
The sun rose, dispelling the chill that lingered. Patches of wheat, sunflowers, and maize waved in the wind while rows of spinach and cabbage offered a hint of green. Because of the hot, dry summer and low rainfall, the crops were sparse. It was better than nothing, though.
Distant figures moved among them, tending the plants and harvesting the bounty they offered. Squinting against the light, Breytenbach made out the tall figure of Phillip. The man was something of an enigma, showing up at their gates earlier in the year on the back of a tractor. He had no family, no friends except two former employees.
Breytenbach had immediately taken a shine to the trio. Phillip was stern yet fair, the type who held to his Afrikaner roots and its belief in hard work. As for the farmhands, they consisted of a father-son duo. Abraham resembled a raisin, old and wrinkled, but still had a twinkle in his eyes and moved with surprising vigor. His son, Abe, was possessed of a curious mind and a deep love for the earth. They were a welcome addition to the ranks.
With Max’s blessing, they took charge of the fields and planted crops. They soon found a willing helper in the form of Liezel, erstwhile assistant to Dave, their pharmacist. She showed a surprising aptitude for farming. Her practical nature and love for the outdoors were well suited to the activity.
After a week, she managed to recruit Big Ben as well. Four months had passed since Angie took such cruel revenge on Morgan. Four months during which Logan disappeared, and Ben became a recluse.
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