Last Another Day (14 page)

“But I want you to.”

“I'm sorry but I can't.”

She heaved a huge sigh, “You're not making this easy, are you?” She pulled a face and rolled away. “Fine, be the gentleman.”

“I'm sorry, love,” he said, planting a kiss on her brow. “See you in the morning.”

He got up to leave, but she grabbed his hand. “Wait. At least stay the night.”

Logan hesitated.

“Just hold me, okay? I can't blame you tomorrow for having a cuddle, now can I?”

“I suppose not,” he conceded.

He shuffled into bed next to her. Morgan curled her body into his, pulling his arms tight around her. Her breathing slowed as she drifted off. Logan tried to relax, tried to think of anything except the warm body pressed to his and the pulsing need.

“You've got no idea what you're doing to me,” he whispered, closing his eyes and resigning himself to a long, sleepless night.

The next morning came far too soon. Morgan wanted to say goodbye to her brother and the others before they left. Everyone else had the same idea and the common room was packed. Delicious smells wafted through the air as Elise prepared a proper send off for the heroes. Logan's stomach growled.

It was clear to everyone in the room that things between Morgan and Logan had changed. Whenever Logan looked at her, Morgan blushed a deep, beetroot red which caused much amusement among the observers and after many not-so-subtle jokes, Logan shrugged and kissed her in full view.

“Guess the cat's out of the bag,” Morgan said with a sheepish smile.

“Not like it was ever a state secret,” Julianne teased.

The only tense moment occurred when Joanna arrived. Morgan stiffened and Logan removed his arm from around her shoulders.

Joanna forestalled Morgan's stuttered explanation with a raised hand. “Morgan dear, don't apologize. I know you loved my son, but he's gone and you would be a fool not to find what happiness you can in this awful world.” She turned and made a dignified exit, leaving Morgan red-faced and guilty-looking.

“That went well,” Logan said.

Morgan swallowed, chewing her lips.

“It must be hard for her. Losing her son and then seeing you with someone else.” He studied her stricken face. “How do you feel about it?”

“I feel bad. How can I not?”

“Are you sorry?”

“No, I'm not. I could die tomorrow and then what? Besides, this doesn't change the fact that I loved him. I still do.”

“I understand,” Logan said.

“Thanks.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll go help Elise wash up. See you later.”

Slinging his rifle to its customary spot, he walked out into the chilly pre-dawn air. He nodded to Armand and Angie. They stood off to the side before walking over to the wall. Max and the others were preparing to leave, and he wanted to see them off but not before he noticed the hostile look Armand shot him. Angie whispered to him but the boy ignored her, glaring at Logan instead.

Shrugging, Logan turned and walked away. He didn't have time for childishness. Whatever Armand’s problem was, Logan didn't care. What he didn't notice, however, was the hurt and desperation on Angie's face as she spoke to Armand, tugging futilely on his arm.

It’s quite nippy this morning
, Ben thought, squinting at the road ahead. It was well before dawn and everything was dark and quiet, the only signs of life being the odd startled meerkat or guinea fowl caught in the headlights. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, tired from all the peering into the dark.

His eyesight wasn't quite what it used to be anymore, and a trip to the optometrist was out of the question now.

I'm getting too old for this
. He shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable.
Strange how life takes the most unexpected turns.

When he was young, he was a well-known kickboxer, traveling the world over to championships and contests. But the injuries took their toll, and he retired early, opening his own studio.

He met and married a good woman and hoped for a family but it wasn’t meant to be. Mariana was diagnosed with cervical cancer a year after their marriage and all dreams of children died with that discovery. Thankfully, Mariana recovered from the cancer after treatment and they spent many happy years together.

Now he was glad they'd never had children. Losing his wife was bad enough. He still had nightmares of those first few days of the apocalypse. He went to the studio at ten that morning. After class, he was perplexed to notice several missed calls from Mariana, which was unusual since she didn't like to bother him at work. He called back, but she didn’t answer.

Dismissing the next class, he jumped into his car and raced home, a feeling of foreboding gnawing at his gut. When he found the streets in chaos and traffic jammed to a suffocating degree, the feeling of wrongness intensified.

When he reached home, his worst fears were confirmed. Someone had broken into the house. The dining-room windows were smashed and there was blood everywhere.

He followed the blood trail to the bedroom, finding the door open. More blood than he had ever seen before in his life obscured the room. It was splashed onto the walls, the ceiling, the bed, and soaked into the carpet.

He found his wife on the floor on the other side of the bed. He could barely identify her there was so little left. Only the blond hair and wedding ring confirmed his fears. Luckily or unluckily, depending on the point of view, her skull had been cracked open and her brain eaten, preventing her from turning and coming back as a monster.

Shocked and confused, it took some time to figure out what was happening and make a run for it. He picked up Angie and Susan along the way. They barely made it out of Bloemfontein alive.

On the road, they met up with the others and were chased from one place to the next as their group was whittled down. During that time, he grew fond of the girls, along with Armand and Jacques, coming to see them as his adopted children.

The night they ended up at Max's place, they were attacked. Susan got bitten. He blamed himself for that. He should have been there for her and protected her just as he should have protected his wife. At least Angie was still alive, and he would make damn sure she stayed that way.

Up ahead, the other vehicle slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road. Max had briefed them all beforehand, and it was decided they would launch a surprise attack at dawn.

Joseph shot Ben a smile, his teeth gleaming pearly white against his ebony skin. Ben had grown to trust him after the many near misses they faced in the past, and the two men were as close as brothers.

“Today, my friend, we might die,” Joseph said.

“Comforting,” Ben replied.

Joseph laughed, “Don't look so sad. We've faced many dangers together and if we die today, we go to meet our ancestors.”

Ben snorted, “At least, you know who yours are.”

Joseph clapped him on the back then walked ahead, joining the rest while Ben stretched out his stiff limbs, hoping to get the blood flowing again. He did not look forward to what awaited them. The idea of killing repulsed him but he realized the necessity. What bothered him was the thought of the remaining girl. He hoped they weren't rescuing a corpse.

They huddled together as Max dispensed last-minute instructions, and then they were off, jogging along the dirt track spaced loosely apart, each keeping a wary eye out for movement.

The sun was rising and Ben was relieved. It enabled him to see better. A light sweat broke out on his forehead but his body moved with ease and he enjoyed the activity. Then the gate appeared, the silver metal gleaming with dewdrops. They fanned out to the sides, hunkering down with their rifles ready.

Max cleared the area as they slipped through the gate in single file. Fanning out again, they approached the tree line, keeping low in the grass and taking up their positions. They each chose a sheltered spot with a good field of fire while Max reconnoitered, making sure there weren't any surprises in store for them, either guards or infected. After a tense few minutes, Max gave the all clear and took up his own position.

Max exchanged a glance with each of them and mouthed, “Ready?”

They all nodded. Max pulled the pin on a grenade, tossing it into the center of the buildings. It detonated with a terrific bang, sending up a shower of dirt and dust, leaving behind a crater.

Doors burst open and figures spilled out, firing off shots at random. The bright morning sun blinded them, and their shots went wild.

“What a bunch of dumb-asses,” Ben muttered. Clearly, intelligence wasn't their strong suit.

He lined up his shot and squeezed the trigger, putting a bullet between the eyes of the nearest—a burly man with a bushy beard worthy of Grizzly Adams. He went down, twitched once then lay still.

Joseph, Max, and Jacques each picked their own targets and two more fell, while the third ducked behind a car, wounded in the shoulder.

That's three down
, Ben thought,
with the fourth wounded
.
That leaves two, of which one is nowhere in sight and the other is minus a knee thanks to Morgan.

Silence fell, overwhelming after the wild gunfire and grenade blast. It was broken only by the hoarse cries of the wounded man.

After a few seconds of stifled noise, Max spoke. “Drop your gun and come out with your hands in the air.” Silence met his demand. “If you don't comply, I'm tossing a grenade in there.”

“No way, man. If I come out, you'll shoot me.”

“He's got that right,” Jacques muttered under his breath.

Joseph snorted.

Max quelled them both with a glance. “We won't shoot you if you come out, but if you don't, I'll blow you to pieces. How's that?”

A moment's silence. “Fine! I'm coming out. Please don't shoot.” He tossed his rifle away then crawled out from behind the vehicle.

Max motioned to the others to stand down.

“Where's the rest of you?” Max demanded.

“The rest?”

“We know there's at least two more of you. Don't play dumb with me unless you want a bullet between the eyes."

“Okay, okay.” He raised his hands in surrender. “Gary's dead. That bitch did him in with that shot to the knee. Cried for hours before he died.”

“Good. The other one?”

The guy swallowed, clearly nervous. “There isn't anyone else.”

“Don't talk shit. Do you want to die?”

“No.” He looked over his shoulder, eyes straying to a cottage not far from him, then shook his head. “I swear I'm the only one that's left.”

“You're lying.”

“Okay, fine, he's over—” A shot rang out and he fell, red blooming on his chest.

Max looked around, his eyes wild as he surveyed the group. “Who shot him?”

Ben shrugged, “Not me.”

The other two shook their heads and Max looked back, scanning the grounds. “Must be his partner. He doesn't want to be found.”

“Smoke him out then,” Ben suggested. “Put those grenades to use.”

“Good idea.” Max tossed a grenade, followed closely by two more. Explosions rocked the ground, the percussive sounds making Ben's ears ring. When the noise faded, Max shouted, “We know you're there. You might as well come out or I'll blow you into so many pieces, there won't be enough left for the ants to carry away.”

Silence.

Max looked at the others. “What now? If I keep throwing in grenades, I risk killing the girl.”

“We hunt him down,” Joseph said, “like the animal he is.”

“It's too dangerous. There's no cover,” Max said, shaking his head.

“We don't have a choi—” Joseph replied before being interrupted.

“Alright. I'm coming out but if you try anything, I'll shoot the girl,” a stranger shouted. They all looked back, trying to pinpoint the location of the voice.

Max narrowed his eyes. “Come on out. We won't shoot.”

In the doorway of a cottage, the struggling figure of a girl appeared followed by a man.

Ben blinked, surprised at what he saw. “It's just a boy!” he exclaimed, exchanging incredulous looks with the others.

The last remaining survivor of the enemy group who callously shot one of his own was still in his teens, seventeen maybe eighteen. Wide eyes and freckles dominated his features, lending him an innocent air; his red hair gleamed in the sunlight.

“What the fuck?” Max muttered.

The boy pushed the girl along in front of him. Ben focused on her. She wore a long, dirty red dress torn at the neck and her arms were mottled with bruises. Her brown hair was unwashed and limp, shrouding her face, but Ben could see duct tape covering her mouth. She wouldn't stand still, fighting against the bonds binding her arms behind her back and ignoring the gun trained to the back of her head.

“Let the girl go,” Max shouted.

“No,” the boy yelled back, defiant. “I'm taking her and getting out of here. If you shoot me, she dies.”

“No deal. Let the girl go and...” Max hesitated, “and you walk.”

Ben shot Max a look. “Max, we can't let him go. He's a monster.”

“What choice do we have? We have to rescue the girl,” Max protested.

“I can take him,” Jacques said. “He won't know what hit him.”

“It's too risky. She's struggling too much.” Max shook his head and turned back to the boy. “I give you my word. Let her go and you can walk free. No consequences.”

The boy thought about it, emotions flickering across his face. Ben found it hard to read him. The innocent looks threw him off. There was something there, though, something cruel and hard but most of all, devious.

He can't be trusted.

After a tense moment, the boy nodded, “I agree. If you give your word.”

“I give you my word and the word of my men.”

“You'll have to come fetch her,” he smirked. “She might need some...assistance.”

Ben's blood boiled, enraged at the thought of what the poor girl had been through.

Fucker.

Debating briefly, Max stood. “I'm coming.”

Jacques jumped up with the eagerness of youth, “No, let me, Max.” He started down the ridge without waiting for permission and Max had no choice but to let him go.

Ben’s instincts screamed at him. Something was wrong. He looked at the girl again. She was still struggling, refusing to back down. As he focused on her, he noticed something off. The barest hint of a bite mark peeped out from underneath the long hair over her shoulders.

“Fuck. Max, stop him!”

“What's wrong?”

“She's a fucking zombie! Jacques, come back!” Ben shouted, raising his rifle.

Things happened so fast, it all became a blur. Jacques stopped a meter away from the girl and looked back at Ben, confusion written over his face.

The enemy boy reached over the girl's shoulder and ripped off the duct tape, revealing torn and bloody lips pulled back into a snarl. He cut her bonds and shoved her forward onto the unsuspecting Jacques.

She growled and reached for him, hands latching onto his shirt. Jacques' eyes widened in horror, and his hands shot up.

Ben aimed the rifle at her head, squeezed off a shot and missed. She latched onto Jacques' throat and tore out a meaty chunk. The boy screamed as blood spurted from the severed artery. Ben fired off another round but shock and horror seized his muscles and he missed again.

Jacques tumbled onto the ground with the girl. Max and Joseph shot at her. She tore out another chunk and reared up, throwing her head back. Red blood flowed down her milky white skin as she roared in triumph over the choking boy. It was a sight Ben would never forget. Max took aim and her head exploded into a fine spray of red mist.

Joseph was shooting at the enemy boy who had taken refuge behind a low wall.

Fury filled Ben's heart and he sighted on the edge of the wall. “Come on. Show yourself.”

A hint of red shone over the top as the boy shifted, and Ben took his shot. A wordless cry told him the bullet went true before everything ended.

Jacques had rolled over on the grass, choking and gasping on the blood gurgling in his throat.

Ben dropped his gun and ran to him. “Jacques!”

He dropped to his knees and gripped Jacques by the shoulder. The boy's eyes were glassy. His mouth worked, forming a word he couldn't say: Armand.

Tears welled up in Ben's eyes as he worked to stem the flow of blood even though he knew it was pointless. When the light left Jacques' eyes, he grabbed the boy’s shoulders, shaking him back and forth. “Fight damn it. Don't die on me. Fight!”

Joseph gripped his shoulder. “Ben. He's gone.”

Sobbing bitter tears, Ben slumped to the ground. “No. God, please, no,” he cried, tears rolling down his cheeks, mingling with the blood on his hands. “It's my fault.”

“It's not your fault, Ben,” Joseph said, but Ben knew the truth. He missed. He missed his shot. A shot that could have killed her and saved the boy.
His boy.
Ben cried out as agony gripped his heart with vice-like intensity.

The others searched the cottages and cleared the grounds, leaving him to his grief. They piled up the bodies in the center. Ben's eyes fixated on them.

“Burn them,” he said, voice hoarse.

“What?” Max asked.

“Burn them,” Ben repeated. “They don't deserve a burial.”

Max complied without argument, fetching a jerry can of fuel and lighting the bodies with a match. They stood together and watched the bodies burn, acrid smoke stinging their eyes and the smell of burning flesh permeating their clothes.