Last Another Day Read online

  He parked in front of the house. Garbage bags lay uncollected on the sidewalk while a gentle breeze stirred the tops of the daisy bushes lining the pre-con. No signs of life could be seen.

  Where are the zombies?

  “Well, time to find out if the neighborhood is really as deserted as it looks,” Logan said.

  They got out of the Land Rover and walked to the front door. Logan held his ax at the ready while Max carried a hammer he borrowed from Logan's toolbox. Neither wanted to attract infected with the sound of gunshots.

  The grass was neatly trimmed and beige curtains covered the windows. It was the type of bland, generic house Logan hated.

  The front door stood wide open, leading to a stuffy, pompous looking living room. Porcelain figurines stared at them from shelves on the wall while a clock ticked away the time in age-old fashion.

  Max took the lead as they searched the house, room by room. Nothing had been disturbed. It was empty. Either the owners had run at the first sign of trouble, taking nothing with them or...

  Or they never came home.

  After making sure the house was secure, they split up to search for supplies. Logan spotted the fridge and his stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn't had breakfast yet.

  He opened the door and his mouth watered. “Jackpot.”

  Logan unpacked margarine, cheese, ham, pickles, and mustard then scouted for the bread bin, making himself a huge sandwich.

  “That's better,” he mumbled through a huge mouthful.

  “I see you've got the food supplies well in hand,” Max said when he walked into the kitchen with a first aid kit under his arm. He shook his head. “Just leave some for the rest of us.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Relax.” Washing down his breakfast with a glass of orange juice, Logan scrounged around for plastic bags and packed up the rest of the food.

  They stripped the house of anything useful, taking care not to let their guard drop or make a noise. With the Land Rover loaded, they dropped the stuff off with Thembiso then went on to the second house.

  “We should get furniture,” Max mused.

  “What for?”

  Max shrugged. “You know, make it homey.”

  Logan looked at Max with raised eyebrows. “Homey?”

  “Hey, we'll be staying there for a while. Might as well be comfortable.”

  “If you say so.”

  “A few beds would be nice. There aren't any at our base and those couches are damn shitty to sleep on,” Max added

  Logan thought about it for a moment. “True. We could load it on the roof rack. We should get fridges too, to store the meat and stuff in.”

  “It's all about the food for you, isn't it?” Max laughed.

  “Funny, but I'd like to see how long you keep cracking jokes on an empty stomach.” Logan shook his head. “I've spent many a hungry night in the bush. You won't believe some of the stuff I've eaten.”

  “I can imagine,” Max shuddered. “But seriously, how long do you think the power will last?”

  “Around a week. Two if we're lucky. We should get generators and fuel. Keep the fridges going.”

  “Mmm. This is gonna be more problematic than I thought.” Max frowned, fiddling with the radio, bringing forth nothing but static.

  “Electricity, water, guns and ammunition, food, medicine. All the more reason to get moving,” Logan said.

  The second house didn't look as peaceful as the first. The front door stood open and blood spatters marred the walls.

  “Looks like trouble,” Logan said.

  “Agreed.”

  “You first.”

  “Chicken.”

  Max took the lead and together they searched the rooms, finding nothing. Back in the hallway, he turned to Logan. “Looks clear...”

  A female zombie burst out of a door behind Max, bowling him over. As small as she was, Max went down with her on top of him, snapping at his face like a rabid dog.

  Jumping forward, Logan lodged the ax into her temple before she could bite. She slumped to the side, eyes glazing over. An old lady, dressed in a flowery dress and cardigan, with court shoes and permed hair, she looked like just she got home from church.

  Serenity graced her elderly face and Logan gently pulled her to the side, closing her eyes. She reminded him of his grandmother. He tore his gaze away, staring at the wall instead.

  Max got to his feet—face pale, lips compressed. Thick, black blood covered the front of his jacket. He went to the bathroom to clean himself.

  “How did we miss her? We checked everywhere,” Max said.

  Logan shrugged. “Not well enough it seems.” He turned away. “I'll check again.”

  That house set the tone for the rest of the day. Having learned from their mistake, they checked every corner of the houses they visited, never assuming it was safe.

  It was hard, dangerous work and unpleasant too. Each zombie they dispatched used to be a person—seeing them in their homes brought that to the forefront of their minds.

  The worst were the children.

  Logan ran his fingers over a row of plush toys sitting on a shelf. Their button eyes stared at him, cold and empty. The flowery bedding beside him emitted a faint baby powder smell and from a framed picture, a pretty young girl smiled at him.

  He averted his eyes from the pair of red shoes that peeked out from underneath a blanket on the floor.

  Like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz.

  His eyes kept flicking to the small form. From underneath the cloth, a growing pool of black blood spread, reaching tentacles of death towards him.

  He fled, slamming the door behind him and leaned back against the smooth wood.

  Max emerged from the room next to his, face white, a bag of teenage boy clothes in his left hand. “Thembiso could use these.”

  “One more for the day then we call it quits?”

  “Best idea I've heard so far.”

  They loaded up and moved on to the next and hopefully also the last house. It was a beautiful old place that spoke of loving care. The lush gardens beckoned to the weary Logan, promising rest and reprieve amidst the green foliage. A pang of longing for the wild hit him and had to be repressed with an effort.

  Logan fixed his eyes on the goal and approached the side door to the garage, pushing it open. It creaked and an answering raspy growl alerted him to infected.

  From the gloom, a middle-aged man wearing nothing but shorts appeared. He lifted a hand and shuffled closer, dragging a useless left leg behind him. Logan split his skull, then pulled aside the body, gagging as he caught sight of the mangled leg.

  “Some zombie really got hold of you.”

  On a happier note, Logan discovered an Amarok, almost brand new, parked inside. “Now this will come in handy.”

  “Let's look for the keys,” Max said.

  Inside the house, an eeriness dwelt. A half-eaten, dried-out sandwich stood on the counter next to a cold cup of coffee. The Disney channel played on the TV and a box of cookies lay discarded on the carpet, crawling with ants.

  Logan's heart sank. More children. There were no signs of a struggle, no blood, but he knew better than to take that as a good sign. They searched room after room.

  All empty.

  Finally, they reached the main bedroom. It was closed and Logan wondered what waited on the other side. The hair on the back of his neck rose in anticipation.

  “Ladies first,” Max whispered.

  Logan rolled his eyes, but the joke soothed his nerves as he cracked open the door. Stale air wafted out. He waited. If there were infected in there, they'd attack. Nothing happened. He eased the door open a little more. It was dark inside. The curtains must have been drawn.

  “Hello?” Surely that would lure the suckers out.

  Seconds ticked by as he waited.

  He glanced back at Max.

  Max nodded and lifted his hammer. “Go on.”

  Logan pushed the door in. It swung open without a sound. He looked around th
e room, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom.

  There!

  A shadowy figure flitted across the room to the bed, barely visible in the gloom.

  “There's something there,” he whispered to Max.

  “Infected?”

  “Don't know. It's not attacking.”

  “Maybe it's a person. A living one.”

  Logan paused as that possibility sunk in. Could it be?

  “Hello. Anyone in here? We mean no harm,” he called.

  A hesitant face popped up by the bed. It was a woman.

  “Who are you?” she asked, blond hair flopping over her eyes.

  “I'm Logan. This is Max. We're survivors, looking for supplies. We're not here to hurt you.”

  “Well, I sure hope not or I'd have to shoot you.” She showed him a pistol as proof.

  Logan blinked, taken aback. “Uh, well I can assure you we won't.”

  She studied him. “All right. I believe you. For now.” She rose to her feet. “Come children. Greet our guests.”

  Two faces appeared next to her, a boy of about fifteen and a girl of ten or so. “Hello,” they chorused.

  “I'm Elise. This is Peter and Anne. Have you seen my husband? In the garage?” she asked.

  Logan remembered the infected man he had killed earlier and stuttered, not knowing what to say.

  Elise eyed him. “I locked him in there for our safety. Is he...gone now?”

  “Yes, ma'am. He's gone,” Max said, stepping forward.

  For a moment, her shoulders slumped, grief written all over her face. Then she saw her kids staring up at her and straightened, blinking away tears. “Are you here to rescue us?” she asked Max. “You're with the army, aren't you?”

  Max glanced down at his uniform then back at her. “Well, ma'am. I'm not with the army at the moment. And this is not a rescue mission. We're just survivors, like yourself.”

  Her face dropped, disappointment setting in. “What do we do now?”

  “Well, you can come with us. We're setting up base in the riot police quarters up the street,” Max offered.

  “Is it safe?”

  “I can't guarantee your safety, ma'am. But it's better than staying here. We'll do our best to protect you,” Max said.

  “Well, I suppose that's all I can ask for right now.”

  She took charge of the children and packed up their stuff while Logan disposed of the dead husband's body. After loading the two vehicles with as much as they could salvage, they headed back to base. It was just after three. After unloading everything, they collapsed into chairs.

  “I'm beat,” Logan said, rubbing his face. “And hungry.”

  “Me too.” Max’s shoulders drooped.

  “Well, why don't you boys relax? I'll make something to eat and sort out all this stuff.”

  “Thank you, ma'am,” Max said.

  “Call me Elise.”

  What followed the rescue of Elise and her children turned out to be a strangely peaceful period, one that passed in a blur of hard work interspersed with sporadic raids.

  Elise took over the cooking and under her enterprising hand, the dining and sitting rooms expanded to become a common area where everyone gathered to have their meals. She cataloged and stored the incoming supplies while the offices became bedrooms, the kitchen expanded with added fridges and a laundry room.

  The children appeared to be adjusting. Anna was a sweet child and often helped her mother with the chores while the two boys became close. They tried hard to act like adults and took it upon themselves to patrol the fence and keep watch in between their other work.

  As for Logan and Max, they worked hard, raiding the shops and houses in the area and eradicating any infected in the vicinity.

  After a week had passed, they convened in the dining room to discuss their progress. Elise was putting the final touches on supper and Logan's stomach rumbled as the delicious smells drifted through.

  “God, I'm starving.”

  “You're always hungry, Logan. What's new?”

  “Do you blame me with Elise's cooking?”

  “Nope. Can't say I do.”

  “Right. So where are we sitting at?” Logan began.

  “Well, we've cleared the houses in the vicinity. We've erected roadblocks to discourage wandering infected, strung barbed wire all around the fence and built up a small stockpile of guns and ammunition. What am I missing here?”

  “The fence. It's not strong enough. If a group of those things comes through, they'll plow right over it. They don't feel anything.”

  “That's true. And what happens if a breach occurs? We should reinforce the doors and windows,” Max suggested.

  “Don't forget the electricity. It's bound to go out any day now. We need a generator and a lot of fuel.”

  Max blew a breath through his nose and slumped down. His uniform wasn't quite so pristine anymore, sporting stains and tears in several places. His face boasted the beginnings of a wiry beard and his hands were cut and blistered from stringing the barbed wire.

  At first, Logan had thought little of the clean-cut soldier boy Max represented but after a week of brutal labor and constant death, his respect for the man had grown. It was one reason he hadn’t left yet. That, and the fact that with Elise and the kids there, Max needed him, needed his expertise with a gun.

  “Okay, first things first, where can we get a generator and lots of fuel?” Logan asked.

  “The industrial area,” Max said. “It's not far from here.”

  “Can we risk it?”

  “I think we can. The virus hit this town on a weekend while the industrial area was deserted. It should be safe enough.”

  “We might find other supplies too,” Logan mused.

  “Such as?”

  “A truck would be nice, some tools, building material…”

  “Sounds like we've got a plan. First thing tomorrow?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Do you think we...”

  “That's enough talk, boys,” Elise interrupted. “Time for dinner.”

  A plate heaped high with mashed potatoes, gravy, fried mushrooms, and steak, was placed in front of each.

  “Have you washed your hands?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma'am,” they answered in concert.

  “Good. I don't want zombie blood at the dinner table.”

  “Where're the kids?” Logan asked.

  “I sent them off to bed with an early supper. I wanted to talk to you two in private.” She placed a large salad in the middle of the table before seating herself down.

  “About what?” Logan crammed a huge forkful of potatoes into his mouth.

  “I want to know what the situation is.”

  “Max, that's your department,” Logan said. “You're the leader here.”

  Max raised an eyebrow at that but didn't protest, turning instead to Elise. “What do you want to know, exactly?”

  “First, how is it looking out there?”

  “We haven't gone out far enough to really know. We're sticking close to home, for now, clearing the area, gathering supplies.”

  “Speaking of which, we're running out of fresh vegetables.” She indicated the salad. “That's the last of the lettuce. I'm preserving and freezing as much as I can but I need more Consol bottles, vinegar, and salt.”

  “All right,” Max nodded. “Think we could hit a store soon, Logan?”

  “Maybe. If we're real careful.” Logan jammed another forkful into his mouth. His plate was emptying at a rapid pace so he scooped up a double helping of salad.

  “You could look for some seeds too. Then I can start a garden out back,” Elise added.

  “All right, but tomorrow we're hitting the industrial area. We need generators and fuel. The electricity's not gonna last,” Max said.

  “What about water? Once the power goes out, the water will stop too,” Elise said.

  “Oh, man. I didn't even think of that.” Max thumped his forehead.

 
“It's a problem,” Logan agreed. “A big one.”

  “It's something we'll have to think about. Elise, get the boys to fill up every available container we've got with water tomorrow. Meantime, Logan and I will get a generator and fuel and some building material for the fence,” Max instructed.

  “The fence? What's wrong with the fence?”

  “It's not strong enough. But I don't know how we're going to build it up if it's just the two of us,” Max leaned back in his chair. “There's too much to do.”

  “Why don't you use cars?” Elise asked.

  Max and Logan stared at her, unsure what she meant.

  “You know, take abandoned cars and park them on the inside of the fence.”

  “That might actually work,” Max said.

  “It could. It would fortify the fence and obstruct the view of the inside of the grounds,” Logan added.

  They spent another hour hashing over the challenges they faced before seeking their beds. The next morning, fortified with a solid breakfast, Logan and Max left for the industrial area.

  They drove in one of the Nyalas—not taking any chances. With its armored plating and bulletproof windows, there wasn't much that could stop a Nyala. Nothing undead anyway.

  They pulled to a stop in front of an auto repair shop.

  “Want to try it?” Logan asked.

  “Sure, why not,” Max answered as he got out.

  It was a chilly morning with a stiff breeze that cut through the skin. Lifting his head, Logan sniffed the wind. “It's going to rain.”

  “You can smell rain?” Max asked.

  “No. But I can see the storm clouds on the horizon over there,” Logan pointed.

  Max grinned at this rare joke from Logan.

  They moved fast, without a sound. After a week of working together, they had built up a rapport and were quite efficient. They'd move forward in stages, clearing room after room. At times, they'd pause and make a noise, a knock or a shout and see if any infected responded. It lessened the chances of being surprised and gave them a fighting chance. One they sorely needed.

  The auto repair shop proved to have a lot of useful tools, car spares, and oil but no fuel or generator.

  Logan pointed at an engineering shop. “Let's try over there.”