Last Another Day (2 page)

The passage promised terror with sticky patches of smeared blood leading past Meghan's bedroom. Posters of ponies and the familiar butterfly bedding made her heart flutter.

“Please, God. Let her be okay,” Morgan pleaded.

After that came the spare bedroom and the hallway bathroom. Both were closed, and she crept past. The main bedroom awaited, the open door beckoning—a yawning gateway to a mysterious horror.

With a growing sense of dread, she moved past the opening. On the bed lay her father, stretched out on his back with his arms flung across his chest. He was torn up and judging by the wounds, she guessed an infected had attacked him. Blood pooled beneath his body, staining the new duvet her mother bought only a month ago. She stared, stunned.

First her husband and now her father. How many more people would she lose today? Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and her knees threatened to buckle.

Why? Why did this happen?

She shook her head and dragged a hand across her eyes. No more tears. She needed to find Mom and Meghan. Before it was too late.

The smallest of sounds echoed from behind. The hair on the back of her neck rose. She whirled around, swinging up the tire iron.

It started out as an ordinary day. At forty-eight, she should have had a quiet and restful Sunday to look forward to, along with the possibility of sleeping in. But since she had welcomed a late little lamb into the family fold that was a foregone luxury.

Meghan wasted no time jumping up onto the bed at the ungodly hour of five, to awaken them for the coming day. “Morning, Mommy.”

Julianne waited until Meghan got close then jumped up and grabbed her. “Watch out for the Tickle Monster!”

Meghan giggled as pandemonium broke out. They rolled around, joined soon after by Meghan's little dog, Princess. John groaned, crushing the pillow over his head, and Julianne laughed when Princess tried to dig him out.

Sleep was out of the question, so Julianne got up to shower and dress. She brushed her hair back into a ponytail and frowned at the fine lines adorning her eyes, smoothing anti-wrinkle cream onto them.

“You're still as lovely as ever, sweetheart. Stop frowning; you're just making it worse,” John said. He smacked her on the bum, laughing when she shrieked.

An hour later, after a solid breakfast of eggs, bacon and coffee, John headed outside to the garage to tinker with his latest project. With Meghan ensconced in front of the TV to watch her favorite shows, Julianne tidied up the house and fed the dog.

She watched in amusement as the little Jack Russel wolfed down its food then ran back to Meghan, licking her face. The little girl collapsed in a fit of laughter, and for the next few minutes, the two went at it.

What a ridiculous name for a dog. That's what you get when you leave it to an eight-year-old to name your pet.

Julianne supposed she shouldn't be so hard on Princess. She was only a puppy, six months old and a wonderful playmate for Meghan, even though she was as naughty as hell.

Julianne debated whether to go for a walk as it always helped clear her head but decided against it. She wasn’t in the mood. Instead, she’d finish up some ironing.

She was on her way to the laundry room when she heard John scream. The agony in his voice kept her still for a second, frozen before instinct thawed out her muscles. She darted for the door.

Julianne stopped short as she saw John struggling on the lawn with their maid, Sarah. The woman had the day off but stayed in a flat at the back of the property.

“Sarah?” she cried. “What are you doing?”

She stared in disbelief as Sarah snapped at him with her teeth like a rabid dog, making odd clicking sounds. Blood stained John's front, dripping from his arms and Julianne realized this was no joke. He tried to fend Sarah off, but the woman kept attacking with insane fury.

“John!” she cried as Sarah bit down again and tore a huge chunk of flesh from his forearm.

What am I supposed to do?

A childish scream scared her out of her wits, and she looked down to see Meghan standing next to her, staring at the scene in shock.

“Daddy, Daddy!” Meghan screamed.

Next to Meghan, Princess Sophia barked, her small body quivering with excitement.

Sarah’s ears pricked as she surveyed the garden, the noise attracting her.

Her head snapped towards them.

Baring bloodied incisors, she growled.

Sarah sprinted across the lawn, closing the gap—a terrifying caricature of a human being.

Julianne shoved Meghan behind her, prepared to fight for her daughter. Before she could act, John tackled Sarah from behind, pinning her to the ground.

“Run, Julianne. Phone the police!”

Julianne paused, torn between her child and husband. She snatched Meghan into her arms before she could think about it and ran for the house, driven by the sounds behind her. Princess Sophia followed, claws skittering on the concrete. Julianne slammed the door shut then raced for the bathroom.

Inside, she put Meghan down and shoved Princess into her arms. “Stay here and keep quiet. I'll be right back, but first, I have to help Daddy. Okay? Do you understand me?”

When the little girl nodded, she rushed out, closing the door behind her.

Julianne staggered to the bedroom and scrambled for the keys to the safe. Every second counted. She struggled with the lock until the safe opened with a click. Julianne pulled out her gun, a small .38 Rossi John bought her years ago. After flicking the safety off, she ran outside, her breath thin and ragged.

John and Sarah were rolling on the ground, grappling for dominance. John was weakening as blood streamed from his many wounds. At the sight of Julianne, hope kindled in his eyes and he lost concentration. Taking full advantage of John's distraction, Sarah clamped down on his exposed throat and tore, shaking her head like a Rottweiler.

John screamed, blood spurting from the wound. Julianne aimed for Sarah's head. The pistol kicked as the shot rang out.

Sarah slumped back, drained of life. She looked like a rag doll, flung down by a giant's hand as she lay broken on the concrete.

John moaned in pain, hands clamped around his neck as red liquid oozed from between the web of his fingers. There was more blood than she'd ever seen before in her life.

“Oh, my God.”

Julianne grabbed John by the arm and lifted him up off the ground. Staggering beneath his weight, she helped him to the bedroom and tried to staunch the bleeding with towels.

“Just hold on, John. Don't give up. I'm calling an ambulance.”

She snatched her cell and with trembling fingers dialed emergency services only to be met by busy tones.

The networks must be down.

“What's going on?”

Trading her cell for the house phone, she punched in the numbers, hands shaking. This time, she got a dialing tone but calling for help proved pointless.

“Ma'am, we will send an ambulance as soon as we can, but we currently have no units available to respond."

“What? That's crazy. My husband is dying!”

“Ma'am, I'm sorry but...” The line crackled with static.

“Damn it.” She rushed back to the bedroom, determined to take John to the emergency room herself. All such thoughts drained away when she returned to him. John lay still, eyes closed. For a moment, she stood there, fighting against the knowledge welling up inside her.

She checked for a pulse. Nothing. He was gone. Julianne couldn’t recall a time without him, the faint memories of her childhood obscured by the life he gave her. Now snatched away by a crazy person. Anger blossomed in her chest, only to be replaced by sorrow.

“Oh, John. What did she do to you? Why?”

For a moment, she wanted to collapse, to wail in grief and despair, but the thought of Meghan sustained her. She closed his eyes and kissed him on the forehead as she fought back tears.

With what felt like an unnatural calm, she walked toward the bathroom, but sounds from outside drew her attention. She opened the front door and stared out into the street.

Two people ran past, terror glued to their faces as several more who looked like Sarah gave chase. One, an elderly gentleman, was far slower than the other and ran with a pronounced limp.

It didn't take long for them to overtake the straggler. He went down with a helpless cry, and she looked on, sickened, as he disappeared beneath the heaving mass of bodies.

She had no illusions about trying to help. There were far more of them than she had bullets for and anyway, she had herself and her daughter to think of. She closed the front door and locked it before closing all the curtains and switching off the TV.

Without a sound, she went to the bathroom and slipped inside, closing the door behind her. At the sight of Meghan's frightened face, her calm deserted her, and tears welled up unbidden.

Meghan looked from her mother's wan and tearful face to the stains on Julianne’s clothes. Her face crumpled. She cried, blubbering something about her Daddy.

Julianne gathered her daughter into her arms. “Come here, baby. It's okay. It'll be okay.”

She whispered meaningless words into Meghan's ear and sang old lullabies, rocking back and forth. Princess crawled onto her lap, whining, and they sat like that, seeking comfort from each other.

***

The sound of an intruder roused Julianne from her cocoon. She whispered to Meghan to be quiet. Getting up, she pulled the gun from the back of her jeans. She opened the door and saw Morgan, holding a tire iron in the air as if she was about to bash her mother’s skull in.

“Morgan!”

They stared at each other in utter shock. A mixture of relief and joy flooded Julianne’s mind. With concern, she noted that Morgan's pajamas had a large blood stain on the front.

Alarmed, she gasped. “Are you hurt?”

Somewhat confused, Morgan stared down at her clothes. “Huh? Oh. No, it's not mine.”

Julianne lowered her gun and started towards Morgan but a specter of bloody death rose from behind.

John's corpse lifted from the bed, eyes fixed on Morgan. His lips drew back from his teeth and he charged.

Before she could process what was happening, Julianne raised the gun and aimed it at his head. At the outer edge of her consciousness, she was shocked by her actions, but she steadied her aim and squeezed the trigger.

Protect Morgan.

Three feet from his daughter's back, John's head snapped back, and he collapsed in a heap on the carpet.

For a second, nobody moved. Nobody so much as breathed. Then Julianne grabbed Morgan and hugged her with fierce intensity.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Morgan nodded, eyes as large as saucers.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m fine.” Morgan turned back to look at the body on the floor. “Dad…”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Julianne cried. “What’s happening?”

Morgan shook her head, unable to reply.

Julianne rushed inside the bathroom, gathering Meghan into her arms and shielded her eyes with her hands.

“Morgan. I hate to ask this but we can’t let her see him. Please…”

Morgan blinked, shifting her eyes from Julianne to her father’s corpse.

“Okay...I’ll...I’ll do it.”

While Morgan wrapped up the body and dragged it outside, Julianne took the time to calm herself and Meghan down. She settled the little girl in her room once she stopped crying, putting on her favorite movie.

Afterward, she headed to the kitchen and made two strong coffees laced with whiskey.

“What happened to Brian?” she asked once Morgan returned.

“He went out last night to buy bread and milk at the shop. When he came back, he said some crazy guy attacked him and bit him on the arm."

Morgan shook her head, tears welling up.

“I did what I could, cleaned the bite, bandaged it...I never expected.” A sob escaped her lips. “I should have taken him to the hospital.”

Julianne pulled her daughter into her arms, smoothing a hand over her hair. “It’s okay, sweetie. You didn’t know. It’s not your fault.”

Once Morgan calmed down, she carried on. “During the night, he became ill, complained of a headache. He developed a fever, began vomiting.”

Morgan paced back and forth, face anguished. “I wanted him to go to the emergency room but he refused.” She laughed brokenly. “Said he didn’t want to ruin my night.”

“My night!”

“And then, the next morning he attacked me. I managed to lock myself in the bathroom at first but he broke in.” Morgan told her mother how she’d escaped, what she’d seen since. “And...here we are.”

“Sarah was attacked by someone at a taxi rank. He bit her. I treated the wounds, but this morning she... changed. I can't explain it.”

Morgan winced. “It's more than that. I've seen people rise from the dead.”

“That's impossible,” Julianne said. “But then, what John did was impossible too. He got up."

“He was dead, mom. They die from their injuries then rise again as monsters.”

“Don't you think we'd have been told if there was a zombie outbreak, Morgan?”

“Would we? Can you imagine the panic? Besides, who'd believe it?”

With trepidation, they switched on the television. Reports from all over the country of extreme violence and cannibalism perpetrated by the infected flooded the channels. Things were worse overseas where the virus had broken out days if not weeks ago.

A desperate effort seemed to be underway in their own home, South Africa, with the army deployed to all major cities. The word “zombie” was bandied about, but at this stage, the official word was “infected”. Nobody could admit that actual corpses were killing people.

How did this happen? Why didn't they warn us?

It felt surreal to sit and watch the world burn. They had already lost loved ones. Millions more were dead or dying. What were the odds of them surviving? Two women and a little girl?

“Well, we can't stay here. The streets are overrun with those things,” Morgan said.

“But where would we go?”

“I don't know. Somewhere outside of town. A guest house or a farm?”

After that, they attempted to call the rest of their family and friends but none of the phones worked.

They even tried to contact Morgan’s younger brother, Max. He was stationed in Upington with the military but they couldn't reach him and they left a note stuck to the fridge, instead.

Morgan's other sister, Lilian, lived in Johannesburg with her husband and two small children. Although Julianne said nothing to Morgan, she feared for them, living as they did in the center of a metropolitan city.

I can only imagine what the cities must look like.

The only other family they had were distant cousins, none of whom were close. They had friends here whom Julianne hoped were safe but couldn't afford to think of right now.

She dressed Meghan in jeans, t-shirt, and tackies, tying her hair back in a ponytail.

She looks just like me.

Small and delicate with blue-gray eyes and blond hair that curls.

Lillian took after me too.

She took a Tinker Bell backpack and stuffed it with Meghan's favorite toys and handed it to Meghan. “Be brave, sweetheart. No more tears.”

“Okay.” The little girl clutched the backpack and sat down on her bed.

After kissing her head, Julianne got up and continued. She packed as many clothes as possible, focusing on the practical and sturdy. Towels and toiletries filled another bag, and she dusted off her old first aid kit, filling it up with all the medicine she had in the house.