Live Another Day (Dangerous Days - Zombie Apocalypse Book 4) Page 11

  Mike, Lenka, and Ronnie nodded, each holding a knife ready. Breytenbach ducked around the corner and crab-walked to the reception. He peered over the countertop, noting the spilled papers and blood spatter on the walls. Auburn hair topped by a white cap stirred on the floor.

  With compressed lips, he slipped around the counter where he saw the receptionist lying prone on the floor, unable to move with no legs or arms. Her limbs had been eaten away to the bone. She opened her mouth, but he silenced her before she could make a sound. A quick look confirmed the cubicle was empty of further life, and he turned back.

  Slipper lady stood with her back to him, swaying from side to side. She was the closest. Beyond her, there were two more infected. One appeared to be a matron still dressed in her nursing uniform, though it was now covered in blood. The other was an old man, and his back bent with rheumatism and age. None of them posed much of a threat, and between them, they finished them off in quick succession.

  Breytenbach found himself faced with several options. A pair of large double doors led to the cafeteria and kitchens. Two single doors fronted guest bathrooms. Another pointed to the offices, while two more at the end was for the infirmary and a medical supply room.

  Both the toilets were closed and latched. He elected to leave them like that. Likewise the offices. They held nothing of interest anyway. The infirmary and cafeteria were a different story. They might contain much-needed food and medical supplies.

  With careful movements, he snuck past the double doors of the dining room and headed for the infirmary. Two small windows provided a look inside. It was not pretty.

  Bodies lay strewn about. Several more moved around with aimless energy, searching for food. Always searching. Blood had turned the floors into a carpet of sticky black while all the beds and equipment had been tossed around as if by a giant hand. We’re not getting anything out of there.

  He removed a cable tie from his pocket and looped it around the two handles, carefully zipping it shut. That should keep them in.

  With relief, he turned to the medical storage room. There was no window this time, and he opened it after a quick nod to the other two. The door swung open, and he leaned back with his hammer held ready. Nothing came out. It was empty.

  They moved in and removed the backpacks from their shoulders. The refrigerated section was a bust, of course, but the room held much else of value. Soon, their bags were stuffed, and a satisfied Breytenbach exited the storeroom with a grin.

  “Now for the kitchen,” he whispered.

  Kirstin moved closer and positioned herself as the sentry while he peered into the dining area. Like the infirmary, it was a mess. Unlike it, they couldn’t afford to move on. We need food.

  “On three?” he asked. Everyone nodded. “Keep it clean and quiet. We don’t want to disturb those in the rooms and bring them down on us.”

  He pushed through the door and launched himself at the nearest infected. It was an old woman, and she caved in like brittle matchsticks. Another reached for him, and he ducked before knocking it over and finishing it off. Mike, Lenka, and Ronnie had likewise thrown themselves into the fray, and together the four made short work of the remaining zombies.

  It was all accomplished in under a minute and with remarkable silence. He glanced over his shoulder at Kirsten. “Still good?”

  She gave him the thumbs up, and he turned toward the kitchen doors at the far end. “Right, let’s do this. Fast as we can, boys. Let’s clear it then look for something to load the stuff into.”

  Breytenbach crossed the floor in a few long strides and reached for the handle of one of the double doors. The shiny aluminum frame opened with a high pitched screech as it caught on the tiles. He froze, and a curse hovered on his lips.

  A bony hand reached through the entrance, and he found himself grappling with a hefty woman. She was much younger than the rest and dressed in uniform. Staff!

  Another one, this a burly man, muscled through from behind her. Lenka jumped in and slammed his knife into the man’s eyeball with a swift thrust. Breytenbach kicked back the woman and caved in her head with the hammer.

  No other infected appeared from the kitchen, and Breytenbach whirled to Kirstin, praying that the noise hadn’t awoken the home’s inhabitants. She shot him a faint smile, and he slumped. Thank God.

  “Right. Let’s move it, guys,” he said.

  They poured inside the kitchen. The smell was enough to make their eyes water, so they avoided the fridges and headed straight for the storage area. Mike found a trolley that moved well and didn’t squeak, and they began to load.

  Breytenbach sent up a silent prayer of thanks for the bounty that awaited them. Pallets of canned food, soup packets, spices, water, juice, coffee, tea, sugar, and condensed milk lined the walls while bags of flour, rice, and beans lay on the floor.

  After filling the trolley, they prepared to leave, but Breytenbach planned on coming back for a second load, and maybe a third. Space was cramped, and he squeezed past the gas oven, bumping his hip on the knobs.

  They made their way outside the same way they came in and offloaded their booty. Then they returned for more. It was a simple operation, and it went as well the second time around as it had the first. On the third trip, Breytenbach began to wonder how long their luck would hold. Maybe we shouldn’t push it.

  But the need for food prevailed, and he signaled the group inside for the last time. As he stepped into the dining room, he thought he detected a strange scent in the air. “Ronnie, do you smell something?”

  Ronnie quirked his eyebrows. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. It’s almost like…” As Breytenbach tried to find the words to describe what he smelled, Mike pushed past him to the aluminum doors of the kitchen. As the Irishman pushed them open, sudden recognition flooded Breytenbach’s mind. Gas.

  He remembered in that instant the moment he’d bumped into the oven knobs. Realization set in as he figured that the gas had been leaking ever since, filling the enclosed kitchen. Oh, fuck!

  The door hitched on the tiled floor as Mike pushed. The usual screech preceded a bright spark that struck up from the friction. A bright flash was followed by a loud thump as the gas caught alight.

  Breytenbach threw up his hands to shield his face as a thunderous roar filled his ears. A big ball of flame blasted through the open door and flung Mike backward like a rag doll.

  Tables and chairs toppled over in a clatter of debris while the windows rattled in their frames. Heat singed Breytenbach’s face, and he dropped into a defensive crouch as the explosion washed over him.

  As quickly as it began the wave of destruction receded leaving Breytenbach stunned. He blinked as his shell-shocked senses came back to life. His eyes traveled over the room and took in the smoking mess left behind. Then his gaze settled on the unmoving form of Mike.

  “Mike?” The words came out in a croak. No answer. He looked around. “Ronnie? Lenka? Kirstin!”

  “Here,” Ronnie said, pushing himself to his feet from behind a pile of chairs.

  Lenka mumbled something as he rose from a heap of debris.

  The doors leading to the hallway burst open, and Kirstin ran inside. “Get up now. We have company.”

  Without waiting for an answer, she slammed the doors shut before hunting on the floor for a broken chair leg. This she thrust through the handles seconds before a body crashed into it. It was followed by another, and another.

  Breytenbach jumped up and stumbled over to the crumpled shape of Mike. Ronnie was there already, shaking his friend by the shoulders. “Mike! Wake up!”

  “Is he all right?” Breytenbach asked, but his next words dried up at the sight of the Irishman’s face. Half his hair was burned away, the skin red and raw. Blisters had already formed, popping up like water filled balloons.

  “Mike,” Ronnie cried. “Wake up, you stupid Leprechaun.”

  There was no response. Breytenbach stared at the younger man’s unconscious features and couldn
’t help but wonder. Has his luck finally run out?

  Chapter 13 - Logan

  Logan followed Martin’s vehicle through the exit in the massive wall that surrounded St. Francis. Once more, he admired the feat of engineering it presented, though Martin had explained that a nearby new construction site had provided most of the material.

  Still, it was a testament to the leader’s strength of will that he’d been able to round up so many survivors and get them to work together to safeguard the town. He’s every bit the man Max said he was.

  As the gates clanged shut behind them, they moved in slow convoy past the minefields toward the turnoff that led to the R330. From there, it was an easy drive to the small town of Humansdorp.

  A small and picturesque town, the streets were lined with trees, and it used to serve as a central hub for the local farms and light industry. Josh knew the place well, having raided it often alongside his other teammates. He now directed Martin through the town via the most accessible route by radio.

  “How long have you been a raider?” Logan asked, keen to learn more about the young man.

  “From the very beginning,” Josh replied. “Martin knew my father through the service. He contacted us when the outbreak hit and organized resistance. We moved everyone we could to St. Francis as it was more isolated and easier to defend.”

  Logan had heard much of this during his stay in the coastal town but still listened with interest. “Martin had a lot of foresight.”

  Josh nodded, and his sandy hair flopped over his eyes. “That he did. He’s a great man and an even better fighter.”

  “Your dad?”

  “He didn’t make it. We lost him when we had a breach early on. A lot of good people died that day. It wasn’t easy, especially in the beginning.”

  Logan thought back to his early days with Max, Thembiso, Elise, Peter, and Anne. It hadn’t been easy for them either. “I know what you mean.”

  They lapsed back into watchful silence, and not long after left behind the town with scarcely a hitch and continued until they hit the turnoff to the N2. It was a national highway and provided smooth sailing all the way across the Zalverige Valley Dam and past the Jeffrey’s Bay Wind Farm.

  As ever, the rolling green hills covered with wind turbines struck Logan as a beacon. In the past, it provided hope for a more ecological future and fewer carbon emissions. Now, it represented the possibility of sustainable electricity to survivors of the apocalypse, if the power it produced could be harnessed and directed.

  They drove over the Gamtoos river bridge, past the tiny town of Thornhill, and into a nature reserve that crossed a spectacular gorge. Josh, used to the stunning scenery, lay with his head back against his seat while he pretended not to notice Nadia who’d practically crawled onto his lap. She sat the entire time with her face pressed to the window, and Logan had to suppress his smile at the look of awe on her face.

  “Have you never seen this part of the country before?” he asked.

  “No, never. We didn’t travel much.” Her face took on a faraway look. “My mom spent all her money on drugs and booze. We never went on holiday. Ever.”

  “We?”

  “My brother and I.”

  Logan was surprised. “You have a brother?”

  “Had.” Her lips twisted. “He died when he was five.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, wondering at the grief and anger in her voice. What kind of life did she have before all this?

  “So am I.” She sat back in her seat and stared ahead with a stark expression.

  Logan searched for something to say but came up empty. For the first time, he realized he didn’t know that much about Nadia or her past. He’d never thought to ask and now regretted it.

  “Logan, come in. Logan,” Martin’s voice crackled over the radio bringing relief from the thick atmosphere.

  “I’m here.”

  “We’re taking exit 713 and getting onto the R102 to Uitenhage. It’s no good trying to go through Port Elizabeth. The place is a deathtrap.”

  “Are you sure about that? The highways would be the fastest route.”

  “I’m sure,” came the blunt reply.

  Josh opened his eyes and nodded. “He’s right. That city is a graveyard. The highways are impassible and the streets clogged with those things. Not to mention the gangs.”

  “Gangs?” Nadia asked, sitting upright.

  “There’s plenty of them, all fighting for survival in a city rich with both supplies and the dead,” he answered.

  “So they’re dangerous?”

  “They’re some of the meanest folk I’ve ever seen,” Josh said.

  “Yeah, but Uitenhage?” Logan asked. “It’s right next to Port Elizabeth and chock full of people. Dead people.”

  “It’s the better bet.”

  Logan didn’t agree. He’d rather take a chance on the multi-lane highways in the hopes of saving time. Guess it’s not up to me, though.

  Nadia turned to him. “How long will it take us to get to your camp?”

  “If it was a straight shot on good roads with no delays, it could be done in nine hours. Now though, it’s a different story. We’ll be lucky to make it halfway by tonight. Damn lucky.”

  “Wow, okay,” she sat back with a defeated look on her face.

  He nudged her with his elbow. “Not keen on spending so much time with me?”

  She shrugged. “Nah, I guess I'm just hasty.”

  “We’ll get there soon enough.”

  “If you say so.”

  Logan turned the wheel, following after Martin, and they drove in silence for a while. In the distance, he spotted the large town, and his stomach twisted. “Look lively; we’re here.”

  Josh and Nadia perked up as the first buildings enfolded them. They passed on either side in a monotone of brick, paint, glass, and mortar. Some of them were old, relics from a previous century and well-preserved. Banks of Strelitzias, the city’s national flower, and trees lined the roadsides.

  “It’s pretty,” Nadia said. “If you ignore the zoms.”

  “Yeah, it is,” Josh agreed. “Or used to be.”

  The radio crackled, and Martin’s voice came on. “We’ve got trouble. Drive slow and follow me.”

  Up ahead, the truck slowed as a crash site came into view. A knot of cars had been involved in a pileup and now formed a wall of twisted metal and broken glass.

  Logan concentrated on navigating through the mess, but it was unnerving when the first infected spotted them and closed in. Decayed faces pressed against the window next to him, leering with yellowed teeth and questing tongues. Next to him, Nadia shuddered and huddled a bit closer.

  They made it through but had scarcely gone any distance at all before Logan spotted something. He reached for the radio. “Martin, come in.”

  “Yes?”

  “You’ve got a flat.”

  “Ah, shit. I thought she was feeling a bit sluggish.”

  “Let’s look for an open spot and change that tire pronto.”

  “Roger.”

  Martin drove a few more kilometers before he halted in the middle of a four-way intersection. It was clear except for a few straggling zombies and provided an open field of fire with three possible escape routes.

  “Right, we’re up. Nadia, you’re with me. Josh, stay here and provide backup with your gun. You’re the only one with a silencer.”

  “Sure thing,” Josh replied as he took a position half in and half out of the Land Rover.

  Logan slipped out and removed his knife from his scabbard. Nadia followed with a long screwdriver in hand, and they headed for the nearest clump of infected.

  The first turned in a slow circle to face him. It was a man, and his lips peeled back from his teeth as if in a smile. Logan aimed for the eye socket and grasped the infected by one shoulder to steady it. The man’s jacket slid beneath his fingers as the rotten flesh sloughed off the bone, the rank smell of decay following soon after.

  Clenching h
is teeth against the stench, Logan stabbed his blade into the brain and twisted. The infected man slumped down, and he pulled his weapon free. Nadia took care of the remaining two, her movements a graceful ballet of death as she whirled and stabbed.

  “Hey,” he said. “You’re making me look bad.”

  She grinned and flipped her hair. “Keep up, slowpoke.”

  Muted pops sounded and two more infected dropped to the ground courtesy of Josh. He was a good shot, Logan noted and filed that information away for the future. Martin and Caleb changed the wheel while Jed and Donya took care of the last three zombies.

  Jed was every bit as capable as he looked, but Logan had to give it to Donya too. The girl could handle herself, even though he didn’t trust her. He noted the nasty look she shot Nadia as she bent to wipe her blade clean, and he made a mental note to watch her at all times. I won't be surprised if she tries something.

  Nadia hefted her screwdriver before pointing back the way they'd come. “We’ve got company.”

  Logan looked over his shoulder. A wall of infected was moving toward them, faster than he’d have thought possible. They came in all shapes and sizes, every gender and nationality. A wave of humanity. “Move your ass, Caleb.”

  “I’m almost done.” The younger man grunted as he lifted the new wheel into place before fitting the nuts. Martin hovered over him, while the rest shifted restlessly.

  “There’s more,” Donya said. Her eyes had picked up movement from a different direction.

  Logan watched the approaching swarm. This group was closer. So close he could make out individual features. His feet carried him to the Landie. “Nadia, get in the car. Now.”

  She shot him a startled look but obeyed. Josh remained in his position inside the passenger door. With calm precision, he began picking off a few of the frontrunners.

  “Caleb,” Logan said with urgency coloring his tone, though he tried to remain calm.

  “I’m almost done. One more.” Caleb fit the final nut and spun the wheel spanner with rapid haste. Sweat beaded his forehead, and his face had gone a pasty white.