Last Another Day (18 page)

Reaching the Mamba, Breytenbach pushed Mannuru and a bunch of women and kids inside. “Johan. Get behind the wheel and get them out,” he ordered.

Johan jumped in and pulled away, followed by a steady stream of other vehicles, all loaded to the brim. Breytenbach watched them go with a heavy heart. Most of the people in the camp were going to die tonight. There weren't enough vehicles to evacuate everyone. Samantha screeched like a banshee and with a start, he realized he still had her in his arms.

“Fuck!”

I should have given her to Mannuru.

More people pressed in around them, screaming for help. Behind them, the infected swarmed like locusts, devouring everything in their path. The panicking crowd pushed forward, savage in their all-consuming fear.

Bellowing to be heard above the screams, Breytenbach shouted, “Fall back. Fall back!” His team pulled together around him, forming an island of calm in the storm and together they backed away from the tide of people and infected.

He aimed his 9mm with calm, taking down infected as they lunged out of the gloom. One appeared from the side and unable to get his gun up in time, he shouldered it hard, bowling it off its feet. It fell with a hiss, clawing for his boots until a bullet from Kirstin finished it off.

Lieutenant Nathan closed the door on the last of the available trucks. It pulled away with seconds to spare as a large group of zombies swarmed him and the rest of the soldiers, engulfing them. The last Breytenbach saw of the lieutenant was a pale hand reaching out.

The realization that all the vehicles were gone hit him then. He knew they'd never make it out on foot. Despair settled over his shoulders like a blanket, killing all hope. He didn't care so much about himself but Samantha. He looked down at her tear-stained face. He wouldn't let them touch her. Slowly, he raised the 9mm, heart hammering at the thought of what he was about to do.

“Captain. Captain!” Breytenbach heard from behind.

He looked around and saw Mike grinning at him. “The chopper. Get to the helicopter.”

The crushing weight lifted off his shoulders and he lowered the gun. “You heard him. Make for the chopper.”

Retreating steadily, his little group made for the Puma. Mike jumped in and began the process of lift-off.

“Kirstin. Get in and cover us.” Breytenbach ordered the Norse sniper. She obliged while the rest of them circled the chopper, keeping the zombies at bay while Mike did his thing.

As for the camp, it was finished. The zombies had done their work and most of the inhabitants were dead. The last survivors ran around, looking for a way out while infected lurched about, tracking their prey.

From the camp, a low hum arose. Breytenbach froze, eyes searching for the source of the noise. At the edge of the light, his keen eyes picked out the first figure, running towards them with savage intent. “The camp's dead. They've turned.”

“We've got runners!” Ronnie cried.

The figure dropped as Kirstin picked it off but more surfaced from behind. Young and old, big and small, they were coming.

The rotors were picking up speed, and the air swirled, damp and cold with the threatening rain. Backing up until he felt the vibrating metal of the chopper against his back, Breytenbach prepared to jump in after the last of his team. A hoarse shout drew his attention. Jonathan emerged from the gloom, clutching a leather bag to his chest. Behind him was a figure in full pursuit.

Vicky.

Her pale face shone in the poor light and her frizzy red hair formed a halo around her head. She was running fast, with all the concentration of a predator on her face. Jonathan would never make it.

Kirstin sighted on Vicky's face. Her trigger finger moved imperceptibly, and a neat little hole punched into Vicky's forehead. Her body jerked backward, halting her headlong rush. She plowed into the mud. Jonathan gained a small lead but more took her place behind him.

“Run!” Breytenbach screamed. He jumped into the chopper and took a knee, snapping off shots to clear a path for the hapless doctor. Jonathan reached the chopper with seconds to spare and dived in.

“Go, Mike!”

The Puma rose into the air, higher and higher until they were safe from the grasping hands of the infected. Thrusting Samantha into the arms of the red-faced Jonathan, Breytenbach leaned out to survey the camp as they gained altitude. Blood red streaked the sky to the East, bleeding into yellow and orange as it heralded the arrival of the sun.

Below him, thousands of fresh infected overran the camp, flushing out and killing anything that still lived. He spotted a group of people running for the gates, seeking to escape. Like the bloodhounds they were, the infected followed and a mass exodus from the camp ensued.

“God, I hope they make it,” Ronnie said.

“Me too.”

“What about the convoy?” Ronnie asked.

“They should be well on their way by now,” Breytenbach replied. “We'll follow, find a safe place to hole up.”

The Puma turned in a graceful arc, picking up speed as they flew over the snarling heads of the infected and the small group racing to safety on foot.

“Wait! Wait for us!” one young woman screamed, tears streaming down her face as she stumbled on, supported by a young boy. The infected caught up, and they fell to the tearing hands and teeth, the small group disappearing beneath a mass of bodies.

Minutes later, the infected moved on, following the convoy. Behind them, droplets of blood clung to the grass, glittering like rubies in the sun as silence fell.

Breytenbach gripped the metal sides of the chopper with numb fingers and leaned out into the cold wind. Strands of hair whipped across his eyes as he searched for the convoy, although such a motley assortment of vehicles could hardly qualify for the word.

Not that it mattered now. The only thing that mattered were the lives on board—the last remaining souls to escape the massacre. Mike dipped the chopper's nose and flew over the vehicles, heading for the front with Breytenbach squinting into the wind.

A dark mass on the horizon alerted him to trouble. “Mike!” Breytenbach pointed at it and Mike flew towards it. As they neared the shapeless mass, individual forms became clear.

Next to him, Kirstin sucked in a breath. “Captain,” she shouted over the rotors. “Infected.”

“Oh, fuck,” Breytenbach swore as the truth sunk in. A horde was headed towards the convoy. Thousands and thousands strong. “We have to warn them. They've got to turn back.”

“It's too late, Captain.” Kirstin leaned out and pointed to the lead car.

It bounced and rattled on the rough dirt track, sliding around a corner as the wheels struggled to find grip in the slippery mud. The driver, seeing the mass of zombies ahead, slammed on the brakes.

The car slid across the road, seemed to hesitate for a moment before the balance tipped and it flipped through the air, rolling to a stop near the lead zombies. The windows had smashed in the crash, allowing them easy access and they plucked the hapless victims from the wreck like sardines from a can. Breytenbach shut his eyes and turned away from the sight.

The second car was close behind the first. It too tried to stop, ending up in a ditch on the side of the road. The third followed, making a frantic turn only to plow into the fourth, showering the road with glass and twisted metal.

Breytenbach swallowed on the bile that rose in his mouth. “Mike. Find Johan. Now.”

Mike complied, swinging the chopper low across the convoy. Towards the back, Breytenbach spotted the Mamba. “Radio Johan. Tell him to turn back.”

Mike didn't bother with niceties or protocols. “Turn back. There's a horde up ahead. Turn back!”

“Roger,” came the calm reply. The Mamba slowed to a crawl, performed a u-turn, then wound its way through the other cars to the back.

Breytenbach let out a nervous chuckle. “Johan. Always cool under fire.”

Then Mike screamed again, “Captain. Up ahead. The infected from camp.”

Breytenbach scrambled over, eyes widening as the first, fresh runners from camp appeared. Johan and the rest would be caught between the two opposing forces, trapped in the middle and Breytenbach doubted even the Mamba could resist the infected for long. Mike was on the radio. “More infected, coming your way!”

“Tell him to break to the left,” Breytenbach ordered. The veldt was more open there and maybe, just maybe, Johan could make it through. He didn't hold out any hope for the rest of the convoy. They were doomed.

The Mamba turned, ramping over termite mounds and swerving to avoid trees. Hope rose in his chest. “Come on, come on.”

Even Kirstin chewed on her lip, watching Johan navigate with hope and uncertainty warring on her face.

Johan slammed on the brakes, coming to a stop.

“What's he doing?” Kirstin cried.

Breytenbach lifted his eyes, and all hope left him. The zombie horde was too vast. They had encircled the area to the front and sides while the camp's infected cut off escape to the back. They streamed through the trees, stumbling over ditches and logs. Johan didn't stand a chance.

Hovering above the Mamba, Breytenbach tried to think of something when the hatch in the roof popped open. Johan climbed out, followed by Mannuru. She clutched a child in her arms which she handed to Johan. He lifted the little boy up into the air as high as possible. Breytenbach caught on.

“Mike. Drop. Low as you can.”

The Puma lowered, swaying above Johan's head. Reaching down, with Ronnie holding him by the belt, Breytenbach grabbed the boy and pulled him inside.

Mannuru reached down into the hatch and came up with a little girl. The infected, seeing fresh meat so close at hand, sped up their efforts and closed in on the Mamba. Kirstin took up position with her rifle, the shots mixing with the growls rising from the throats of thousands of infected and the whap, whap of the Puma's rotors.

Johan held up the little girl and Breytenbach snatched her, swinging her into the chopper to join the boy. The infected were swarming faster than Kirstin could shoot, even with Lenka's help. They surged around, reaching up to the roof with eager hands. The dead bodies of their fellows created a platform to climb on.

The first infected climbed onto the roof, followed by more while Johan and Mannuru coaxed another child out of the hatch. Kirstin shot down the encroaching infected with cool precision, but it was no use.

“Too many,” she cried.

Breytenbach pulled his gun and added his shots to the fray, opening his mouth to shout a warning to Johan as the first infected reached him.

“Johan!”

The infected latched onto Johan's shoulder, sinking its teeth deep into the muscle while another grabbed his left arm. Johan didn't go down. He roared in anger and bludgeoned them with his fists, trying to protect those still inside the Mamba. He pushed Mannuru back down inside, reaching out to close the hatch.

Three more infected tackled him and he fell, right hand scrabbling for the lid. Grinning grotesquely through ragged flaps of flesh, a zombie slithered down the hatch. Even with all the noise, Breytenbach could hear the women and children inside screaming as the monster fell into their midst. A pale hand thrust through the opening but disappeared as more zombies pushed their way inside.

On top of the roof, Johan fought. Great rips appeared in his flesh but he never gave an inch, roaring like one of the great Viking Berserkers of old. Whatever else he was, he was a fighter to the last.

“Go,” Johan shouted.

“No,” Breytenbach screamed in frustrated rage, preparing to jump out. Ronnie latched onto him, holding him back as he struggled.

Johan went down, brought to his knees by sheer weight in numbers. They tore into him and his blood coated the roof of the Mamba. Kirstin sighted down the barrel of her gun, the scope bringing Johan's face into sharp relief.

She steadied her aim and squeezed the trigger with the whispered words, “Hvil i fred.”

Johan slumped down, face relaxing into the welcome arms of death.

“Rest in peace, my friend,” Lenka echoed.

Breytenbach would dream about that day for years to come. He would wake in a cold sweat as he relived his best friend's last moments and listened to those innocent kids cry as they died in agony and torment. Hell had nothing on Earth at this point.

“Get us out of here, Mike,” Ronnie said, still holding onto Breytenbach.

“No,” Breytenbach screamed even though he knew it was futile. The chopper rose, the infected and the Mamba growing smaller until nothing could be seen anymore. He stopped fighting and slumped down to the floor, angry tears burning his eyes.

It was Samantha who roused him from his grief, her voice hoarse and shrill, stretched to its absolute breaking point. The strident cries penetrated his consciousness, and he took her from Jonathan.

“Hush, Sam. Hush now,” he crooned.

Soothing her eased some of his own pain and he leaned back, holding her close. The familiar smell of his jacket seemed to get through to Sam and she calmed down, falling asleep from sheer exhaustion.

The little boy and girl were terrified and shivering, but at least they weren't crying. Kirstin got them settled into their seats and buckled up while Ronnie spoke to them softly. Breytenbach could imagine how they felt. He felt it too.

“It will be okay,” he said to no one in particular.

Some time later, they found temporary shelter on the roof of an office block in a small town called Kroonstad. How they ended up there, he wasn't sure. Mike had headed for the least populated area on the map and they were now somewhere in the Free State, a province he knew nothing about.

Mike landed the chopper on the roof. Breytenbach searched it with Ronnie and Lenka. Once they were sure the roof was clear, they ventured into the building itself. It proved empty of infected which Breytenbach was grateful for but it also had nothing in the way of useful supplies.

Realizing that the children needed food and water, he looked at a shop across the road. It was small and manageable. Taking Ronnie and Lenka with him, he left Mike and Jonathan in charge of the kids. He was concerned about the doctor, though, who seemed catatonic.

“Jonathan,” he said. “Doc.” He snapped his fingers in front of Jonathan's face but got no response.

“He's in shock,” Ronnie said.

“Just watch him, Mike. Make sure he doesn't do something stupid,” Breytenbach ordered.

They crossed the road, eyes peeled for trouble. Breytenbach pushed open the grimy, glass door and eased inside. A waft of warm air, filled with the smell of death and decay hit his nostrils, carrying the warning of infected. They each brandished a knife, preferring that for close-quarter combat.

Deeper inside the shop, a figure lurched towards them from the gloom and Lenka dispatched it with a swift thrust. A hand reached out from behind the small counter and Breytenbach put the creature out of its misery without pause. Once cleared, they loaded up.

It was a tiny shop carrying a little of everything, none of it quality, but he wasn't about to be picky. He filled a shopping bag with diapers, baby wipes, talcum powder, purity, eating utensils and a sippy cup. He added fruit juice, bottled water, and candy bars.

Ronnie grabbed more water and food while Lenka scrounged up a cheap pot, a packet of plastic forks and over-the-counter meds. As an afterthought, Breytenbach looked at the toy section. The selection was miserable, but he found a stuffed rabbit for the girl and a toy car for the boy.

Back on the roof, Sam's hysterical wails greeted his ears.

“What's going on here?”

Mike jiggled her up and down. “I don't know. She won't shut up.”

It would have been comical if the situation wasn't so dire. Sam's scrunched-up face was the color of beetroot and her screams carried across town, calling every infected in earshot. The other two kids were also crying, huddled into little balls on the concrete.

“For the love of God. Must I do everything?” Breytenbach shot a glare at the useless doctor and hapless Mike, grabbing Samantha. “Ronnie, give the kids food and water. Try to calm them down.”

Breytenbach stripped off his jacket and lay Sam down on it. Undressing her, he changed her dirty nappy, smoothing bum cream over the rash that had developed. He cleaned her sticky body with the wipes and finished with a sprinkling of baby powder before picking her up again.

Opening a jar of purity, he coaxed a spoonful into her mouth. Her rosebud lips sucked on the food and her crying subsided to the occasional hiccup. After feeding her, he gave her juice in the sippy cup and a generous spoonful of Panado syrup. “There. That should hold you,” he said.

Perhaps drugging her with pain medicine wasn't the greatest idea, but Breytenbach needed her to keep quiet. It was hot, with no sign of the rain that had plagued them at their previous camp so he didn't bother dressing her again. Instead, he rocked her gently, smiling as she burped. His team, meanwhile, watched him with various looks of amusement and glee.

“What?”

“Never thought I'd see the day the Captain became a babysitter,” Lenka said.

“Yeah, you're a real softy, Captain,” Mike laughed.

Ronnie had a smirk on his face and Kirstin was smiling.

“Oh, shut up, all of you!” He ignored the lot of them as they snickered and grinned but secretly he was pleased. It lightened the grim atmosphere.

He frowned, however, when he spotted Jonathan huddled in the same spot, still clutching his leather bag. The man hadn't moved a muscle since they landed over an hour ago. He opened a can of pears.

“Here, eat this.” He forced the food into Jonathan's hands and pried the leather bag from his fingers. “It's going to be okay, doc. We will be okay."

Jonathan gave a jerky nod and lowered his eyes to the can. Lifting it up, he drank the juice and fished out a piece with his fingers. Breytenbach gave his shoulder a squeeze.

At least, he's doing something.

The kids had eaten and drunk but both looked miserable. Hoping to cheer them up, he handed them each the candy bar and toy he had found earlier. This rewarded him with faint smiles and after a moment the boy pushed his car around, making the appropriate vroom, vroom noises. The girl clutched the rabbit to her chest like it was her last hope.

Squatting down on his haunches, Breytenbach opened up a can of meatballs and ate them one by one, spearing them with his knife. He looked at his hands, weathered and worn from years of rough work. They were shaking.

After finishing his meal, he grabbed a bottle of water and patrolled the rooftop, trying to clear his head. He had no idea what to do or where to go next. He was lost. To think that only yesterday he was responsible for three-thousand souls and now they were down to nine.

Nine out of three-thousand and I lost my best friend.

“Captain. Captain.” Mike called, waving him over.

“What is it?”

“I raised someone on the radio, Sir. Other survivors.”

“Where?” Breytenbach asked, a small flower of hope blooming in his chest.

“About 60 kilometers from here, Sir. Not far at all. Their leader's name is Max, and he wants to speak to you.” Mike handed him the radio.

“This is Captain Breytenbach. Out.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Captain. I'm Max. I hear you are in need of assistance. Out,” a strong, young voice replied.

Breytenbach let out a deep breath. “We are. Our camp was overrun. Can you help us? Out.”

“We can. We have a secure base and if your intentions are good, you're welcome to join us. I've already given your pilot directions to the rendezvous point. Out.”

“We aren't going directly to your camp? We have children and a baby with us. Out.”