Dangerous Days (Book 3): Die Another Day
Baileigh Higgins
Die Another Day
Book 3 Dangerous Days
First published by Baileigh Higgins in 2017
Copyright © Baileigh Higgins, 2017
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
First Edition
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Contents
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Chapter 1 - Nadia
Chapter 2 - Breytenbach
Chapter 3 - Logan
Chapter 4 - Nadia
Chapter 5 - Breytenbach
Chapter 6 - Logan
Chapter 7 - Nadia
Chapter 8 - Julianne
Chapter 9 - Max
Chapter 10 - Logan
Chapter 11 - Nadia
Chapter 12 - Breytenbach
Chapter 13 - Julianne
Chapter 14 - Logan
Chapter 15 - Ronnie
Chapter 16 - Nadia
Chapter 17 - Logan
Chapter 18 - Ronnie
Chapter 19 - Max
Chapter 20 - Lisa
Chapter 21 - Ronnie
Chapter 22 - Breytenbach
Chapter 23 - Michael
Epilogue - Logan
Author's Note
The Black Tide - Remnants
Free Download
About the Author
South African writer and coffee addict, Baileigh Higgins, lives in the Free State with hubby and best friend Brendan and loves nothing more than lazing on the couch with pizza and a bad horror movie. Her unhealthy obsession with the end of the world has led to numerous books on the subject and a secret bunker only she knows the location of. Visit her website to sign up for updates, freebies, and more!
https://baileighhiggins07.wixsite.com/mybooks
Acknowledgments
Credit goes to RebeccaCovers for the awesome cover and Reedsy for the formatting. And to all my friends and family for their continued support. Love you guys!
Dedication
Dedicated to my father, Vincent Jooste. It hasn't always been easy Dad. But I persevered. Hope this makes you proud.
1
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 around her hips containing a variety of odd implements: 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 then 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 wished 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 method 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.”
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 a 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, a 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, then another, 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 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 cool 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.
Then she risked a glance over her shoulder. 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. Yet 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 fel
l 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, twisting 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.