Dangerous Days: Boxed Set (A Zombie Apocalypse Survival Thriller Books 1-4) Page 3

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself. You did the best you could, sweetheart.”

  “Maybe.”

  They packed food, water, batteries, flashlights, and bedding, then they loaded their supplies into the back of the truck, keeping a careful eye out for infected.

  The crushed and broken bodies on the front lawn were a grotesque sight, one that convinced Julianne they were indeed zombies. Their mouths moved, and their fingers twitched even though there was almost nothing left of them. More than once, she had to stop to vomit into the bushes.

  To Julianne, it felt like a part of her life was ending. Watching John die and then killing his re-animated corpse was the stuff of nightmares. She could tell Morgan was struggling too, but they both tried to hold it together for Meghan’s sake.

  She pulled on a pair of beige cargo pants and a white t-shirt. With her hair pulled back into a ponytail, she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. No traces of the earlier tragedy showed in her eyes which surprised her. I should look different.

  She went to the safe and found a small holster which she attached to her belt. After reloading, she tucked away her pistol. John’s 9mm and holster she handed to Morgan. At least they were better equipped to face danger now.

  “Time to say goodbye,” Morgan said, leading the way. John and Sarah lay side by side on the grass where she had left them, covered in sheets. The sun shone with hateful cheer while birds chirped in the branches overhead.

  Julianne stared at the bodies, struck by the unfairness of it all. Tears welled up, and she let them flow, allowing herself the luxury of grief. Meghan cried as well while Princess whined at their feet. “This is so hard.”

  Morgan placed an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  “I miss him already,” Julianne added. “Why did this happen? Why him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And Sarah…what about her family? She had children.”

  Morgan sighed. After a few seconds, she cleared her throat. “We’ve got to go now, Mom. It’s not safe here.”

  Julianne nodded. After one last look around the house, she walked away, leaving a lifetime of memories behind. Locking the door, she tucked the key under the mat and strode along the path, brushing her fingers over the tops of the rosebushes she’d spent years cultivating. It’s only temporary.

  Silent tears trickled down her cheeks as they reversed out of the driveway. She watched her house getting smaller and smaller in the mirror until it faded from view.

  Julianne navigated the outskirts of Riebeeckstad, taking in the sights of horror that met her eyes everywhere. Meghan crouched inside the footwell with Princess, trying her best to ignore the sounds outside. “Don’t worry, baby. Mommy won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Morgan suggested they drive past the homes of friends, but they saw no one they knew, neither dead nor alive. They also didn’t dare stop anywhere for long. The first time they tried, a mob of infected swamped the car. They beat on the windows with their fists, growling and screeching, frantic to get to the warm, living flesh inside.

  Julianne panicked and jammed her foot on the accelerator. The truck swerved toward the curb, and she slammed on the brakes. They stopped just short of a signpost. Meghan screamed shrilly while Morgan clutched at the dash, her knuckles white. “Careful, Mom!”

  Julianne reversed, rolling over an infected with a sickening crunch, and raced up the street away from danger. “Let’s not do that again.”

  Morgan bobbed her head up and down. “Agreed.”

  Only when they approached the house of Brian’s mother did they get their first break. Brian’s dad had passed away three years before, but his mother, Joanna, still lived. They inspected the yard and blew the hooter.

  Much to their surprise, the curtains in the main bedroom’s window swept aside, and the frightened face of Joanna peeked out. After a careful look, Morgan slid out of the car, holding her gun. She ran over, and they exchanged a hurried conversation.

  “She’s coming. I told her to pack a bag with the essentials,” Morgan explained as she slid back into her seat. “Let’s keep an eye out for danger.”

  “I hope she hurries,” Julianne replied.

  The minutes ticked by, and their impatience grew. Julianne’s head swiveled, paranoia consuming her every thought. This is too dangerous.

  Meghan whimpered in the footwell, and Princess barked for the hundredth time.

  “Shut up, Princess,” Julianne hissed, nerves making her short-tempered. Meghan’s face crumpled. “Oh, God. I’m sorry, baby. Please, be quiet,” she whispered before rounding on Morgan. “What the hell is taking her so long?”

  Morgan shrugged. “No idea. She always does this. She’ll be late for her own funeral one day.”

  “Well, this might be the day, because if the zombies don’t kill her, I will.”

  After what seemed an eternity, Joanna appeared around the corner dragging a colossal suitcase far too heavy for her slender arms. She was dressed in her best, done up with perfectly coiffed hair and high heels.

  “Oh, for goodness sake. Does she have feathers for brains?” Morgan swore, sliding out to help. She grabbed the suitcase and an indignant Joanna, heaving both into the back of the truck. A cloud of perfume wafted into the cabin.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Julianne saw an infected race across the lawn, heading straight for Morgan. The woman’s mouth gaped, and fresh blood covered the front of her clothes. “Get in now!”

  Morgan dove inside, and Julianne pulled out the driveway with a screech of burning rubber. This time, they didn’t stop for anything.

  Chapter 3 - Logan

  Logan fumbled in the Land Rover’s cubbyhole for his sunglasses, squinting into the glare of the rising sun. He’d been driving throughout most of the night and was worn out. A glance at the rearview mirror revealed haggard eyes and stress lines around the mouth.

  In front of him, the road stretched as straight as an arrow in the monotonous tedium of the flat, dry landscape, offering nothing to distract the eye. Even this early, the sun scorched all it touched. He’d never liked the Free State and escaped from both it and his parents the moment he finished school. Now he was back.

  In the distance, a man walked beside the road, carrying a military duffel bag. Logan slowed. The man was a soldier, dressed in field gear and carrying a sidearm and rifle.

  He sighed. Should he pull over or not? He wasn’t in the mood for company, but it couldn’t be fun walking in this heat either. The Land Rover rolled to a stop, drawing level with the soldier who turned to face the open window with a look of wary caution.

  “Do you need a lift?” Logan asked.

  “Yeah, I could use one. Where are you headed?”

  “Welkom.”

  “That’s where I’m going too. I’m Max.”

  “Logan.”

  Max got in, and they settled into an awkward silence as Logan pulled away. Max looked to be in his late twenties, with dark blond hair and green eyes. He was big, tall with broad shoulders and an earnest, clean-cut face. Typical soldier boy.

  Logan had been too much of a free spirit and rebel to tolerate the rigidity of the army. Instead, he’d found a job as a game ranger, spending most of his time roaming the bushveld with his rifle and a bushman tracker as his only company.

  Max coughed. “Have you watched the news lately? Lots of strange stuff going on with this viral outbreak, don’t you think?”

  “I’ve seen a little, not much. It’s all over the radio, though. Bullshit, if you ask me. People are panicking over nothing.”

  Max was silent for a while as if weighing his next words. “It’s real, and it’s worse than it looks on TV. A lot worse. That’s why I’m headed home.”

  “Where’d you hear that?” Logan asked.

  “I’ve got contacts in HQ.”

  “So it’s not just the latest case of the flu?”

  “Not by a long shot.” Max shook his head. “We’re in real t
rouble, I tell you.”

  Logan digested this bit of info. “And the army let you go? If things are as bad as you say, wouldn’t they need you?”

  “I pulled strings for a three-day leave to check on my family. After that, I’m heading back.”

  Logan looked at Max askance, wondering how honest he was about his ‘three-day furlough.’ Logan doubted the army would let him go in a time of National crisis, but it was none of his business. He made a point of not meddling in other people’s affairs.

  “Besides, I’ve got a feeling not even the army can turn the tide on this one,” Max continued.

  “Really?” Logan asked, his voice laced with skepticism. “What are you saying, exactly?”

  “What I’m saying is, it might be too late already. This disease is extremely contagious. It kills you and brings you back to life as a cannibal.”

  “Brings you back to life?” Logan snorted. “That’s impossible.”

  Max shrugged. “Believe what you want.”

  “You’re talking zombies here.”

  Max nodded.

  “That’s crazy.” Logan shot a disbelieving look at Max, noting the latter’s grave expression.

  “That’s what everybody else thought too until it was too late. Have you even watched the news overseas?”

  “I’m not much of a person for television,” Logan said, wondering if he’d made a mistake picking up a stranger. The guy sounded utterly nuts. The whole story was ludicrous. Still, he had heard a few things on the radio, things that had bothered him enough to make this trip. Maybe it’s like the Ebola or something. A new form of rabies, perhaps.

  Max turned toward the window, leaving Logan to his thoughts, and his mind drifted back to his childhood. None of it had been pleasant, but at least, the intervening fifteen years had done much to blur the worst of it. His father was an alcoholic and a wife beater. Once Logan became old enough to take a punch, his father became a child abuser too. Logan’s mother always made excuses for the man, saying they deserved it by angering him. As a young boy, Logan had believed her at first, trying ever harder to please his father.

  As time passed, he came to recognize the man for what he was—a bully and a coward. Logan grew to resent his mother for failing to protect him. After school, he packed his bags and left, never looking back. Now, with reports of a mysterious disease spreading, he found himself heading back home. Why?

  A sense of loyalty?

  Loneliness?

  He had no idea.

  The small town of Bultfontein loomed in the distance. A small community, it served the farmers in the area and boasted a tiny population. Logan checked his fuel gauge, frowning when he spotted the needle heading towards empty.

  The town seemed quiet, even for a Sunday. Nothing stirred when he arrived. He pulled into the nearest garage and waited for a petrol attendant, but no one appeared. It was like a ghost town. Deserted.

  He glanced at Max. “This is weird.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  “I’ll check inside. There has to be somebody around.”

  Max nodded. “Be careful.”

  Logan got out and walked toward the shop, noting the unnatural silence that hung over the place. There was not a soul in sight, a fact that disturbed him deeply. Where was everybody?

  A lone plastic bag fluttered past in the breeze, and the hair on the back of his neck prickled. He had a strong instinct for danger, honed by years spent among predators, and right now his internal alarm was going crazy. Something is wrong. Could the soldier boy be right, after all?

  With his eyes peeled for trouble, he continued to the tiny store. They needed fuel, or they wouldn’t get much further. He peered through the glass into the dim interior. It was empty. Placing a hand on the handle, he pushed. The door creaked open.

  Logan paused, listening. The radio was playing a love song. The woman’s voice wailed in the background, grating on his nerves. The shop was deserted. The till stood open and abandoned, picked clean. On the counter, a jar of toffees had overturned, spilling its contents onto the floor.

  “Looks like the place was robbed.” He turned in a circle. “Hello?”

  Nobody answered, the place as empty as the lot outside. Once again he wondered if there was some truth to Max’s story. Surely, there should be someone around. If the place had been robbed, the police should’ve been there already.

  On top of the counter lay one of the petrol attendant’s cards. Deciding to take a chance, he picked up the card and backtracked out of the shop, leaving cash in the till. Let’s just get out of here.

  Outside, Logan shielded his eyes from the glare. Before he could take a step, an unearthly snarl sounded from beside him. He whirled and spotted an employee in uniform coming around the corner, but the man wasn’t ordinary.

  Fleshy pink bite marks marred the smooth, dark skin of his face, and a hole in his neck gaped obscenely. Dried blood stained his clothes, and his movements were jerky.

  Logan took a step in the opposite direction, disconcerted. “What the hell happened to you?”

  The attendant’s head swung toward him, and his gaze locked onto Logan’s. The look in his eyes reminded Logan of a rabid jackal he’d shot a few years before. Absolutely crazed

  The employee lurched forward and tried to grab hold of Logan. He skipped backward, stumbling when a stone rolled beneath his foot. He went down on one knee and held his hands out to ward off the incoming attack. Fetid breath washed central his face. The man’s fingers were like hooks, stretching out to catch him.

  Suddenly, a shot rang out. The thing that used to be a man collapsed in front of Logan, half his head blown away. Logan blinked, shocked into immobility.

  A spray of dark red blood stained the rough stones, and something about it drew his interest. He looked closer. It had a thick, clotted appearance which struck him as odd.

  Old blood.

  The blood of a dead man.

  “No fucking way,” he said, staring at the corpse. So Max was right after all. The sound of Max’s voice calling to him pulled him out of his daze, and everything snapped back into focus.

  “Move your ass, Logan!” Max cried. “We’ve got to go. They’ll be drawn to the gunshot.”

  He jumped to his feet and raced toward the truck. Sliding the petrol card through the pump’s slot, he thrust the nozzle into the tank. The air hummed as fuel pumped into the Landie.

  Logan looked around, still shocked by what he’d seen. A dead man, a corpse, had just attacked him. It seemed unreal except…it was real. No use denying it.

  Movement in a nearby shop window drew his gaze. A flash of white. Stumbling figures emerged from doorways and side streets, their feet carrying them toward Logan and Max. They all moved as the petrol attendant had. Jerkily and off balance.

  “Shit, there’s more of them,” Logan said.

  “I told you,” Max replied in a terse tone. “Just fill the tank as fast as you can.”

  Logan eyed the meter, willing the numbers to move faster. He didn’t want to think about what had just happened, or about what was coming their way. Is the whole town dead?

  The meter ticked with excruciating slowness. “Come on, come on.”

  “Logan. We gotta go,” Max warned. “Now.”

  A growing tide of groans reached Logan’s ears, carried on the wind. A whiff of rot filled his nostrils. “It’s not enough. We need more.”

  “Logan, there’s no time.” Max’s R4 let loose a barrage of bullets. He’d set it to full-automatic, his arms braced against the door frame. Meaty thuds told Logan the shots found their mark.

  “Almost there,” he said, nervous tension causing his muscles to twitch.

  “Hurry!” Max screamed. “They’re coming. Get in, get in!”

  Logan glanced up the street, and his stomach clenched. The stumbling figures had become a tidal wave of crazy that rolled towards them in astonishing numbers. The front-runners were fast, their attention fixed on the truck and its two occupants. “
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Where did they all come from?”

  He slammed the petrol cap shut, sprinted around the car and jumped in with mere seconds to spare. They roared out of the lot as bodies slammed into the Land Rover, monstrous faces obscuring the windows. They growled, screeched, and rasped until the noise rose to an ear-splitting crescendo.

  Logan raced up the street, swerving to avoid stationary cars. The Landie shook and shuddered as it powered through the throng, loud thuds echoing through the interior.

  Max clutched the dash with both hands. “Shit!”

  “Almost there,” Logan answered, swerving to take advantage of a small gap. They shot through, one man bouncing off the bonnet to disappear from view. Blood and gore splattered the windows.

  At last, the buildings thinned, and the town’s population fell back. When Bultfontein and its undead were left behind, Logan let out a deep breath and slumped back in his the seat. “Man, that was close.”

  Max was pale, his lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s spreading faster than I anticipated. We might be too late.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Logan said, shaking his head. “Real zombies.”

  “Told you,” Max said, though he sounded anything but happy about it.

  Half an hour later, Welkom showed on the horizon, its buildings beckoning to them. They decided to come up with a strategy first and got out to stretch their legs. Logan pulled two beers out of a cooler box in the back and handed one to Max.

  “If the infection has reached this far, we’ll be facing a horde of hostile people. We need to prepare,” Max said.

  While Logan watched, he reached into his duffel bag and pulled out an R4 rifle, standard issue for the army, and a tactical load-bearing vest, or ‘battle jacket.’ Strapping on the vest over his short-sleeved camouflage shirt, Max loaded it with magazines for the R4 and a few hand grenades.

  There was space for eight magazines on each side and nine grenades in the front. That much Logan remembered from his brief stint in the army. At thirty-five rounds per magazine, Max packed quite a punch.