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

  Logan looked into the bag and whistled. “You aiming to fight a war?”

  “You never know,” Max replied. He turned to Logan. “I’ve got extra guns and ammo for you.”

  “That’s all right. I’ve got my own.”

  Logan scratched around in a toolbox until he found a small ax with a sturdy handle which he thrust it through his belt. From behind the seat of the truck, he removed a hunting rifle, a .308 Winchester that looked like it’d seen some use.

  “I would prefer to use old trusty here. She and I go back many happy years.” He smiled, running a loving hand over the oiled stock.

  “Suit yourself, but at least carry a sidearm for backup.” Max presented him with a 9mm Parabellum in a holster with extra cartridges. “If you get swarmed that rifle won’t be of much use to you.”

  “Thanks,” Logan slid the holster onto his belt and tucked away the spare ammo.

  They climbed back into the Land Rover and took off, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. When they reached the town, they turned onto the main road running through the heart of it.

  At first, it was quiet, the double lanes empty of traffic with rows of houses flashing by on either side. Max and Logan were silent as they studied their surroundings, wary after their brush with the infected earlier that day.

  A streamer of smoke warned of trouble, and Logan slowed as they approached the first crossing. It was jam-packed with cars, and the main problem was an overturned truck. Debris littered the road, and shards of glass glinted on the tar like diamonds in the sun. A bunch of infected people wandered between the numerous wrecks, their heads turning as one when they spotted the Land Rover.

  “We need to get through,” Max said, craning his head for a viable route.

  “Piece of cake,” Logan replied with more confidence than he felt.

  He gripped the wheel and drove up onto the pavement beside the road. With extreme concentration, he wove between the lamp poles and signposts, jostling over dips and hollows.

  Infected people streamed in from the road, seeking to surround their vehicle, but he ignored them and forged ahead. They scratched at the windows and screeched their rage, not caring when he hit them. In the rearview mirror, he saw them getting back on their feet despite broken bones and debilitating injuries. That more than anything convinced him of the truth. “They really are zombies, aren’t they?”

  “Who’d have believed it possible?” Max replied with a sad shake of his head. “All these people, dead. Just like that.”

  Logan sighed and focused on the road ahead, speeding up and leaving the zombies in their wake. He didn’t get very far before a shrill scream grabbed his attention, though. He twisted in his seat. “What’s that?”

  Behind them, a teenage boy came tearing up the road, followed by a pack of infected. He yelled as he ran, his skinny arms and legs pumping like mad to stay ahead of the running corpses on his trail.

  “What now?” Logan asked.

  “We help him,” Max said.

  “All right.” Logan stopped the truck but left the engine running. He grabbed his rifle and got out, his movements mimicked by Max.

  Bracing himself against the door, he raised his rifle and sighted on the infected closest to catching the boy. He pulled the trigger, and the slug tore a hole through the zombie’s chest. It fell to the ground but got back up, snarling as bloody spit drooled from its lips. What the fuck?

  “Aim for the head!” Max shouted.

  “What?”

  “The head. It’s the only way to kill them.” A spray of bullets from the R4 proved Max’s point as several infected fell, their heads exploding like overripe melons.

  “Good to know,” Logan shouted back, taking the next one down with a headshot. A gap opened between the infected and the boy, and he reached them unscathed and out of breath.

  “Get in the back, and keep your head down,” Logan cried, waiting until the boy was safe before he ducked back inside. With a screech of tires, he pulled away, forging deeper into the heart of town.

  It was clear a battle had raged for its survival, a fight lost as the dead took over. Overrun police barricades and crashed anti-riot vehicles littered vital points throughout the central business district. Infected roamed the streets with few living people to be seen. Those they spotted were either barricaded inside their homes or fleeing in their cars. Columns of smoke rose from burning buildings, the fires spreading with no one to stop them.

  “Where to now?” Max asked, his voice subdued.

  “I need to check on my mom,” Logan replied, not bothering to swerve for a zombie in pajamas. It bounced over the hood, leaving a spray of blood on the window.

  He wondered why he even cared, why he’d come here in the first place. It wasn’t like he missed or loved her. She’d failed him all his life, and when he left, she’d spurned his offer to escape with him. She chose him. She always chose him.

  He left the shopping centers behind and headed for a suburban area on the edge of town. It was one of the poorer districts, the houses old and dilapidated, the streets rutted and full of holes.

  Logan was ruthless, leaving a wake of destruction behind him. A black-haired girl without a jaw passed by his window as he plowed over a rose garden, leaving muddy tracks on the lawn. He clipped a sedan reversing out of its driveway, ignoring the string of expletives the driver flung at him.

  A police car raced past them with sirens blaring only to collide with another oncoming vehicle. With a hard right, Logan swerved around the crash. In the mirror, he spotted a bruised and bloody officer staggering from his car before he was pulled down by two infected.

  Another wreck blocked the road ahead, and once more, Logan plowed over gardens, driveways, and infected, crunching over the odd garden gnome and bird bath. A chuckle escaped his lips. It grew into a laughing fit which prompted a glare from Max. “What? Didn’t you see the pink flamingo? It flew!”

  Max returned his smile with reluctance before bursting into laughter as well. “Yeah, okay. That was funny. Did you see the gnome?”

  Their hysterical mirth relieved the tension, but it returned full force when they reached their destination. At the sight of his old house, Logan was abruptly thrown back to his unhappy childhood. Once again he played in the dusty yard under the blazing sun. There’d be nary a breeze, and sweat would trickle down his back, staining his threadbare clothes. It was better than being inside the house, though.

  On the rare occasion the ice cream truck made a pass, his mother would sneak him a bit of money behind his father’s back, even though she’d get in trouble for it later. He’d race against the heat, lapping up the chocolaty goodness as it melted over his fingers before crunching into the sugar cone. Pure bliss.

  Logan blinked, taken aback by the memory. He suddenly knew why he’d come back. I still love her, my mother, despite everything. I’m here to save her…from him.

  “Ready?” Max asked.

  “Yes.”

  “We’ve got to move fast. More infected will come.”

  “I know.” Logan got out, not at all sure if he wanted to do this. He sighed, remembering his mother’s haunted eyes and work-roughened hands. What if she’s one of them?

  “Let’s go,” he told Max before turning to the back window. “Hey, boy. Stay down and keep quiet. We won’t be long.”

  He jogged up the garden path and stepped through the open front door, followed by Max. The familiar walls of his childhood home closed in around him, and his heart thumped in his ears. The faded carpets brought back memories of the hours his mother spent on her knees scrubbing the rough fibers because his father refused to replace them.

  Everything was quiet except for a ticking clock on the wall. The furniture gleamed, the air rich with the mixed odors of wood polish and fried bacon. Logan walked through the living room and past the dining room where he spotted a half-empty plate of food on the table. The kitchen was empty, the oven still warm to the touch.

  He moved toward the other s
ide of the house, and the hair on the back of his neck prickled. He stepped into the hallway, glancing back to make sure Max was still behind him. Much as he hated to admit it, he needed the reassurance.

  With careful steps, he made his way to the end, checking each room as they went. All was clean; all was as he remembered it. Nothing had changed.

  They reached the bathroom, and Logan paused when he saw a trail of blood leading to his parent’s bedroom. He swallowed and pointed it out to Max before rounding the corner on silent feet, with the 9mm held ready to fire.

  He jerked to a stop, and his eyes fixed on his mother’s kneeling form. She wore a bathrobe, pink and fluffy, now torn and stained. She was chewing on his father’s intestines, her fingers digging into the open cavity with wanton abandon.

  The old guy was still alive, his mouth working as his eyes rolled around in their sockets. His limbs twitched every time she pulled a piece of meat free, fresh blood gushing from his lips.

  So, she got the old bastard, after all, Logan thought, the errant thought buzzing around in his brain while shock and horror held him immobile.

  Max nudged him, and he looked away long enough to collect himself. He had no choice. Raising his gun, he aimed at his father’s head. At the last moment, his dad saw him and reached out a trembling hand. Disturbed, his mother looked up with empty eyes before she snarled, her fingers wrapped around a rope of bulging innards.

  Logan pulled the trigger…twice.

  Two shots and he lost the only family he ever had.

  With the gunfire ringing in his ears, he turned and stumbled outside in a daze. At Max’s insistence, he handed over the keys and allowed himself to be driven. Not once did he notice his surroundings or ask where they were going. None of that mattered now.

  All he could see when he closed his eyes was his mother’s dead gaze, any sign of the gentle soul that once inhabited her body gone. Despite everything, he’d always loved her, and now he’d never get the chance to tell her that.

  Chapter 4 - Max

  As he approached the turnoff to Riebeeckstad, Max closed his window. Wind edged through a small gap at the top, and the atmosphere was stifling. Sweat pooled under his armpits, staining his uniform with salty patches. Up ahead, the crossing materialized. Once again, disaster had struck.

  Cars choked the road with broken, bloodstained windows while infected wandered about aimlessly. He glanced at Logan who stared into the distance, showing no signs of interest. “You okay, Logan?”

  Seconds ticked by before Logan responded. “I will be. Just get us to wherever we’re going.”

  Max took the hint.

  Using Logan’s tactics from earlier, he steered onto the shoulder of the road and forced the Land Rover around the crossing, driving through ditches, over rocks, and termite mounds. Infected tried to cut him off, but he ignored them, gritting his teeth whenever he clipped one.

  They’re not people anymore, he reminded himself when guilt threatened to set in. They’re dead; their souls are long gone.

  He glanced into the back where the boy they’d rescued earlier still waited. Happily, the kid had enough sense to keep his head down. He’d been lucky to escape, and Max guessed his family was gone.

  He’d heard enough at the army base to know what was really happening. The virus had broken out several weeks before in Europe. Due to a combination of disbelief, denial, and incompetence it could not be contained and spread throughout the unsuspecting population. Like everyone else, the South African government ignored the signs. They didn’t believe the reports streaming in until it was too late. The virus snuck in, and from there on, it was all downhill.

  A family returning from holiday unwittingly brought it with them. A ferocious little girl bit their twelve-year-old son on the beach. After a visit to the clinic and a tetanus shot, the incident was forgotten. They went home the next day.

  At OR Tambo airport in Johannesburg, a businessman returning from Tokyo neglected to mention injuries incurred that morning when he was attacked on the street. A day later he became violently ill and died in hospital. Unfortunately for the medical staff at the morgue, he failed to remain dead.

  Elsewhere, an illegal immigrant crossed the border. He settled into a hostel with fellow illegals and turned during the night. It was a bloodbath.

  The virus took South Africa by storm when these incidents culminated that fateful week, reaching the more sparsely populated Free State countryside by Saturday morning and exploding into a full-blown catastrophe by the next day.

  Max had not reckoned on the virus moving so fast. Earlier that week the bulk of the army had been dispatched to all the main cities. They believed the situation could still be resolved as they scrambled to put quarantine measures in place. News reports from the media about virus related violence was suppressed to keep order, and the government reassured people everything was under control.

  This prevented a widespread panic but also left people unprepared and vulnerable to attack. Max applied for leave then went AWOL when his request was denied. Though loyal to the uniform, his family came first. He snuck out of the base with all the equipment and guns he could carry. It cost him a boatload in bribes but was worth it in the end.

  He glanced at Logan, wondering what kind of man he was. He was older than Max, mid-thirties and tough looking. Tall and lean, with the air of a troublemaker, stubble lined his jaws, and his dark hair stuck up at all angles. Max hoped the two of them would get along as he had the distinct feeling they were stuck together for a while.

  The drive through the streets of his hometown proved challenging, but not as tricky as Welkom with its much larger population. When they reached the home of his sister Morgan, however, they faced a problem. Several zombies wandered about, and more had followed them from the previous block.

  “Are you prepared to back me up? I need to check if my sister’s here,” Max asked.

  Logan nodded, his face cold and remote. He pushed open his door, jumped out, and swung up his rifle. His every move spoke of intense and uncontrolled violence. It was evident he wasn’t thinking straight.

  “Logan, wait!” Max cried in alarm.

  Logan ignored him, taking down the nearest infected with a quick headshot. Max jumped out, scrambling to catch up before Logan could get himself killed.

  His feet barely touched the ground when an infected raced for him at full speed. Startled, he fumbled with his gun, all training deserting him in an instant. His first shot missed by a mile. Before he could shoot again, she pounced on him, and they rolled on the asphalt together.

  He grabbed her by the throat and pushed back. He couldn’t keep his grip, however, and his hand slipped down to her collarbone. Like a snake, she slithered from his grasp and bit him on his chest. Shock reverberated through his body like an earthquake. Instinct kicked in, and he lashed out, knocking her to the side.

  Grabbing his pistol, he shoved the gun into her mouth and pulled the trigger. Blood and brains exploded onto the pavement, splattering the right side of his body.

  Max got one foot underneath him before another zombie fell onto his legs. He kicked it in the chest before planting a bullet in its forehead. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and his nerves steadied. Two more of the monsters were almost upon him.

  Taking a deep breath, he aimed and killed one after the other, still crouched on the ground. He jumped up, trying to get his bearings. Another hissed as it crawled towards him, its face twisted in a mask of bloody death. The gun bucked in Max’s hand, and its head exploded in a fine spray of red and gray. The ruby drops glittered in the sun as an uneasy silence fell.

  Max gazed around, his muscles tense as he readied for another attack, but the infected were all down. Logan nodded at him, his eyes remote and deadly. A circle of the undead surrounded him, a silent testament to his deadly aim.

  In a moment of clarity, Max remembered being bitten and grabbed his chest. There, on his tactical vest, bloomed a sticky wet patch with deep teeth indentations. Desp
ite her best efforts, the zombie had failed to bite through the thick material.

  “Oh, thank God.” Max slumped in relief. “That was close.”

  Relief made way for anger. Furious, he rounded on Logan. “What the fuck were you thinking? We’re supposed to work together.”

  “I work alone,” Logan said.

  “Then you can die alone too.”

  A muscle ticked in Logan’s jaw, and his eyes were as hard as stone. His knuckles whitened as his fists clenched.

  Tensed for a blow, Max waited.

  After a long moment, Logan relaxed and blew a breath out of his nose. “Fine. We’ll work together. For now.”

  With a terse nod, Max pointed to the house and said, “Let’s go before the gunshots attract more of those things. We don’t have a lot of time.”

  He clapped the back of the Land Rover. “We’ll be right back, okay? Stay down and keep quiet.”

  The boy’s head popped up, eyes wide and frightened, but he nodded and ducked out of sight again.

  The gate stood open, and judging by the bloody tire tracks, someone had made a run for it. After a quick check revealed no zombies and no car in the yard, Logan said, “Seems like they got away.“

  “I hope so,“ Max replied as he opened the kitchen door and stepped inside. “This is probably a waste of time, but—”

  Brian leaped at him, howling in fury. Surprise froze Max to the spot, and he was helpless to defend himself. Logan yanked him back by his collar, hauling him out the door and onto his ass. Swinging his rifle like a cricket bat, Logan nearly decapitated Brian. With a thunk, the gun connected with his temple, crushing the bone and brains into mush. A second hit put him down for good.

  After a second, Logan nodded at the corpse, “Who was that?”

  “That…that was my brother-in-law, Brian,” Max said, shaky after his second near brush with death. He climbed to his feet, brushing off his pants with trembling hands. At this rate, I’ll be dead by sundown.

  He bent down and examined the corpse with a sense of grief and remorse even though he’d never known Brian very well. “Rest in peace, brother.”