Live Another Day (Dangerous Days - Zombie Apocalypse Book 4) Page 3

  “You can talk to the others, those who feel like you do,” he replied with his eyes fixed on the nearest guards. “Tell them to be ready. Tell them that when the day comes, they must join us in our fight.”

  “I...I will try.”

  One of the guards turned toward Michael and stared at them, his eyes narrowed. Michael threw her a look and said, “They notice. We must act the part.”

  She glanced toward the guard and hunched down like a crone. “They mustn't know.”

  With casual contempt, Michael tossed the empty cup at the old woman and shouted, “Now get away. Back to your hole, old woman.”

  The guard laughed and nodded his approval.

  Like a crab, she scurried around and prepared to go. He turned his back on her and looked into the distance before asking one final question. “Rebecca.”

  She paused for the briefest of moments.

  “How can I get Ke Tau to trust me?”

  “Trust you?” She cackled underneath her breath. “If you want Ke Tau to trust you, then you must be like him. You must become him.”

  With that cryptic remark, the old woman left, and the hours passed slowly. One after the other until exhaustion dragged at his lids and sleep beckoned with the sweet promise of relief. His thirst, temporarily sated by the mageu, returned with a vengeance as the sun rose. He dared not sit down for too long lest he fell asleep, a sin that carried dire consequences in Ke Tau's eyes.

  One by one the other guards were relieved, but never him. He alone remained standing at his post, hour after hour. Behind his back, the other men made bets on how long he'd last. This he knew but cared not. Instead, his mind wandered back over the past month. While Ke Tau had seemed to accept his story of him wanting vengeance against the camp because they destroyed all his hopes for a vaccine, the leader had not entrusted him with anything worthwhile.

  Instead, he'd been shunned and assigned to the poorest of jobs. The first week he'd worked like a slave, cleaning toilets and sleeping quarters. The next, he was given the task of shackling zombies to poles and chains. He complied with Ke Tau's orders without complaint, yet this gained him nothing. Once or twice, one of the other gang members took him on, but that stopped when he shoved a plunger down the one's throat. After that, he was treated with wary respect and fear from lesser members.

  About two weeks in, he'd been given a gun and a sweat-stained uniform. This caused him to hope for betterment until he was assigned to guard duty, fated to stand outside no matter what the weather. Shunned by the others, he bided his time and waited.

  “Maybe now things can get moving,” he growled softly.

  He forced his fatigued body to keep going, not allowing himself to falter or fail. Whenever an infected wandered towards him, he dispatched it with prompt efficiency and dragged the body aside. The day wore on, and night fell, bringing with it the return of Rebecca. He watched her approach with eagerness, his parched tissues crying out for moisture.

  “Do you have water?” he asked.

  “I'm sorry. Ke Tau said no water.” She looked ashamed as she uttered the words, her lips pursed in sympathy. “He is intent on seeing how long you can last. It is a game with him.”

  “A game?”

  She nodded. “He wants to see how strong you are. Too little and you are useless to him. Too much...”

  “And he will kill me,” Michael finished.

  “Yes.” She bobbed her head before handing him a cup brimming with Mageu. “He is watching you.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “Because you are different. This disturbs him.”

  Michael remained silent, working this information over in his mind while he drank the sour brew in his hand. If Rebecca was correct, Ke Tau was waiting for something. Either a sign of absolute loyalty or disobedience. Either way, he was running out of time. A month had passed since he arrived, a month during which anything could have happened at camp. He hadn't been able to make any headway over here, or contact any of his people. It was time to do something drastic.

  “Tell me again, Rebecca. What do I have to do to earn his trust?”

  She took his empty cup and once more sneaked him a second after a furtive look around. While he drank, she said, “I already told you. You must become like him.”

  Michael tossed her his cup and shoved his bread into his pocket. “What does that even mean? Give me something I can work with. Do you want to live here forever under his rule, watching your son rot away on a pole?”

  Rheumy tears welled up in her eyes. This elicited a twinge of sorrow, but Michael had no time to pussyfoot around and stood firm.

  She sighed and looked away. “Tomorrow, Ke Tau and a few others are going on a raid. They've seen signs of a small group of survivors on the outskirts of town. You must convince Ke Tau to take you with him.”

  “How? I'm not allowed to leave my post.” Michael gestured around him.

  Rebecca bit her lip. “I will speak to someone I know. He respects me for my wisdom, though he will not show it in front of the others. I will tell him you wish to go, and that you need to speak to Ke Tau. Perhaps, he can arrange it, though I promise nothing.”

  “Say he does manage, what then?”

  “Then you must convince Ke Tau to give you a chance.” She sucked in a deep breath. “It is a risk.”

  “No more a risk than standing here while he plays his games.” Michael squared his shoulders. “If he does let me go with him tomorrow, then....”

  “You will have your chance to prove your loyalty.” Her shoulders bowed to the ground, and her eyes traveled to the thrashing shape of her son tied to his pole in eternal punishment. “Just like my son had. He failed. What about you?”

  “I will not fail.”

  “So when the time comes, you will kill and torture innocents?” She studied his face. “All to gain his trust?”

  Michael felt a cold knot form in his breast when she uttered the words out loud. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  It was a simple question, yet one loaded with nuance. Michael knew she was testing him, weighing him, and that her future cooperation might count on his words. But what choice did he have?

  He'd known what could and likely would happen when he volunteered for this job. It was why he'd offered. Because he knew none of the others back at camp would be able to do it, and the mission would fail. This he could not allow. Ke Tau had to be defeated if Dr. Lange stood any chance at discovering a vaccine to the virus.

  He looked the patiently waiting Rebecca in the eyes and said, “I will do it because I must.”

  “You are certain? It is a heavy burden to bear. The pain and suffering of another.”

  “Rather I carry it than someone else.”

  She turned to leave, pausing only to say, “I'll see what I can do.”

  Satisfied, Michael turned away and gazed out into the night. Perhaps tomorrow, he'd finally get his chance. A chance to prove himself to Ke Tau, whatever that might entail. The cold knot in his chest grew, and he mumbled what he knew to be true. “It's for the greater good.”

  For a second, his mind drifted away as a memory returned to haunt him. The sight of soft brown eyes clouding over in death, full lips gasping a silent plea for mercy as his hands closed over tender skin and squeezed. Why couldn't he stop squeezing?

  “I have no choice. It needs to be done.” This time, Michael wasn't sure for what, or who, the words were intended.

  Chapter 4 - Max

  Max stood with one hand shading his eyes while he studied the bare veldt around them. He saw no signs of life, not a single indication of undead. Yet, he knew they were there. Ever since Ke Tau launched the attack that took Rosa's life, things had not eased for the inhabitants of the camp. In fact, they'd grown worse.

  Joseph straightened up from his crouch and dusted his hands on his pants. “It looks good. No sign of wear or sabotage so far.”

  Max grunted and ran his eyes along the barbed wire that made up the outer fence. The thi
ck strands looked solid, the wooden posts immovable. Steel pipes reinforced the poles, planted diagonally into the ground. Rolls of razor wire were strung along the bottom, the sharp edges an extra layer of defense besides the moat that surrounded it.

  On both sides, the brush was cleared away leaving nowhere to hide and a clear field of fire. Inside the fence stretched a nine-meter wide fireguard. This was born not only out of fear that the dry summer could cause veld fires but also by the possibility of arson.

  They continued with their inspection of the fence, testing each section as they went. To Max's right inside the perimeter, the fields lay bare after the late summer harvest. The crops had been sparse due to low rainfall, a worrisome thing to his mind, but Phillip had planted a separate section with winter vegetables and assured Max there would be a sizable bounty later in the year.

  At least the goats are doing well, Max thought. The hardy animals had proved a boon over the past weeks, neither falling ill nor needing a lot of care. They fed on the low brush and dry grasses around them, supplemented by kitchen scraps and a trough of water. In return, they produced milk, cheese, and on occasion, meat.

  Joseph nudged him on the shoulder. “We should get a few cattle.”

  “If we can find any,” Max replied. Though they'd raided all the nearby farms, they'd yet to find any living livestock besides the goats and a few chickens. The fenced in animals had proven easy prey to the voracious appetites of the infected, not to mention those that starved to death when their masters died.

  “We should go to the big farms. They cannot all be gone.”

  “Maybe, but we've got more important things to do than run after cows at the moment.”

  “Agreed, but I have a son now, and healthy boys need meat to grow.” As ever, when Joseph spoke about his son, born not long after Erica's daughter, his eyes glowed, and his face sported a foolish grin.

  “Your boy is as healthy as a horse, just like his father. Besides, I'd rather go for a few pigs.” Max's face took on a distant stare. “Eggs and bacon for breakfast. Yum.”

  “Pigs are dirty,” Joseph replied. “Just think of the smell. No, cattle are better. A nice, thick, juicy steak.”

  Max laughed. “If you say so.”

  They continued bickering about food as they walked, a not unusual topic of discussion lately. Everyone had his or her cravings for things they missed from the past. The most common were pizza, hamburgers, ice cream, and beer. Their argument ground to a halt, though, when a familiar sound made itself known.

  Max walked closer and leaned over the edge of the moat to gaze at the infected trapped within. It rasped a plaintive moan when it saw him, and its fingers scrabbled at the earthen walls surrounding it. An answering cry went up from further down the deep ditch, and two more figures shambled closer to join the first. The trio reached up with grasping fingers, eager to reach the human flesh that hovered so tantalizingly close.

  “There's more of them today,” Max said.

  “Everyday, there's more than the last,” Joseph replied. “Yesterday we pulled out eight during the morning shift.“

  “Eight?” Max asked.

  “Yes,” Joseph replied with a somber nod.

  Max sighed and straightened up, thinking it over. Whichever way he looked at it, the news was bad. After the horde had attacked, they'd experienced a brief lull in infected activity, but this was changing with more falling into the moat by the day.

  “Well, let's get this over with,” he said as he took up a fighting stance.

  Together they leaned over the side to stab the unfortunate zombies to death before hauling the bodies out onto a stretcher, adding to the two already there.

  As ever, Max automatically tried to see the human in them. Tried to see who or what they'd been in their previous lives. It was a bad habit for it made it that much harder to kill them, yet he didn't ever want to forget that they used to be people either, and so, he looked. Now, however, it was becoming increasingly difficult to tell.

  Months had passed since that day, the day the zombie apocalypse arrived. Months during which the weather had done its work, combined with various other factors too, not least of them being wear and tear caused by their continual roaming.

  For that was one thing they'd learned. Unless trapped inside a house or vehicle, the infected kept moving. They never stopped in their search for prey. Dr. Lange said it was the virus. That it compelled them to propagate the spread and to keep the host alive.

  Whether this was true or not, Max wondered if there'd ever dawn a day without zombies again. A day when the last one died, and humanity was free to leave its high walls behind. He'd do anything to see such a day, if only for the children's sake.

  The wind whipped around his collar and swirled the stink of the bodies on the stretcher up his nose. He sneezed and glanced upward. It was mid-afternoon, and the sky was overcast. The sun hid behind a thick blanket of clouds, and the stiff breeze cut through the bare branches of the trees. With each passing minute, the light dimmed until it resembled a time closer to dusk than noon.

  “We'd better hurry back,” Max said. “It looks like a storm's brewing.”

  “Good idea,” Joseph replied. “Tumi will be frightened. She hates bad weather.”

  “Right. Let's move then.” Max took a firm grip on one handle of the stretcher while Joseph managed the other.

  Together they sped across the last stretch of the open ground until they reached the gates. Here they paused while Abe and Nick opened for them. They trudged through with their burden and prepared to continue onward.

  “Everything clear?” Abe asked.

  “All good,” Max replied. “The fence is in good shape, and the moat is empty for now.”

  “Happy to hear that.”

  “When will your shifts be over?”

  “In an hour or so,” Abe said with a grin. He moved with the agility of a monkey, and his smile was infectious which prompted a likewise response from Max.

  “Not too long,” Max said. He smiled at the more serious Nick as well and received a sober nod in return. “Great. See you guys at supper then?”

  “Wouldn't miss it.”

  Max and Joseph continued on their way, their route taking them to the field where they burned all infected bodies. It was in the furthest corner of the land they occupied, the ground scorched and blackened. Soot clung to their boot soles, and a shallow trench contained bits and pieces of unburned bones, teeth, and even jewelry. Sad remnants of lives claimed by the virus.

  A stack of firewood stood to the side along with matches and a canister of fuel. Joseph started the fire while Max unloaded the bodies and put them in a pile. Doused with petrol, the infected burned strongly. The flames raced along their rotted limbs and through their hair, the smoke billowing through the branches of the large trees that stood watch over the pyre. The evergreen boughs served a purpose, though. Their leaves thinned the smoke until only a faint smudge remained in the sky above. Camouflage.

  Max rolled his head across his shoulders to ease a spasm that had hold of the muscles. Clearing his throat, he uttered a brief prayer for the undead, wishing them well in the next life. Once finished, he began the trek home behind Joseph with neither of them saying a word. They'd go back the next day to dispose of the remnants.

  The walls of the inner camp came into view soon after, much to his relief. He longed for nothing more than a hot bath and a warm plate of food, though it was unlikely he'd get either.

  Kirstin met him at the gate and placed a cool kiss on his cheek. Her hand was warm, however, when she wound her fingers through his. As ever when he gazed into her eyes, he felt a familiar tightening in his chest, a feeling that all was right with the world. It was a sensation he hoped would never grow less with time.

  “How did the inspection go?” she asked.

  “It went well.” Max shot a grin at Joseph. The man stood with his arms around his wife blowing air kisses at the infant in her arms. “Joseph and his team did an amazing
job on the fence line.”

  “Yes, we did,” Joseph agreed.

  “So modest,” Max joked.

  “Modesty is for fools and insecure idiots,” Joseph replied.

  “I am happy to hear all is well,” Kirstin said before studying him with a critical look. “You look tired. Why do you not have some rest?”

  “No time. I need to speak to Breytenbach.” Max looked around for any signs of the Captain.

  “It can wait. First, you must rest.”

  “I can't sleep now,” he protested. “There's too much to do.”

  “So much that you cannot even wash and eat?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Seriously?”

  “Max, do not make me make you,” she replied in a firm tone. “Go home and wash. Rest.” Kirstin gave him a little push in the direction of their bungalow. “I will bring you food.”

  He resisted. “Not yet. I will go later.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she enunciated each word separately. “Go. Wash. Now.”

  “Why?” he asked, plucking at his shirt. “I'm fine.”

  “You stink.”

  “What? I do not!” He took a surreptitious whiff of his armpit and wrinkled his nose as a sour smell hit them. “Okay, maybe I do.”

  “You smell very much. Ever since the water rationing started, you have not bathed once.” She pinned him to the spot with a glare.

  “We have to save water, and I've got to set an example,” he protested after making sure no one else could overhear.

  “I know, but I'm sure we can spare a little bit.” She waved him off. “Go. For all our sakes.”

  “Fine, I'm going, but if you see Breytenbach...”

  “Yes, yes, I will call you. Now shoo.” She waved him off without further ado.

  Feeling more than a little indignant, Max stalked off in the direction of their rooms. Once inside, he stripped down and stepped into the shower. The water was ice cold, and there was only a sliver of soap left, but none of that mattered as the dirt sloughed off his body. The water around his feet turned brown and swirled down the drain in a mini whirlpool of foamy scum.