Live Another Day by Baileigh Higgins (reading in the dark .txt) 📗

pitched screech as it caught on the tiles. He froze, and a curse hovered on his lips.

A bony hand reached through the entrance, and he found himself grappling with a hefty woman. She was much younger than the rest and dressed in uniform. Staff!

Another one, this a burly man, muscled through from behind her. Lenka jumped in and slammed his knife into the man’s eyeball with a swift thrust. Breytenbach kicked back the woman and caved in her head with the hammer.

No other infected appeared from the kitchen, and Breytenbach whirled to Kirstin, praying that the noise hadn’t awoken the home’s inhabitants. She shot him a faint smile, and he slumped. Thank God.

“Right. Let’s move it, guys,” he said.

They poured inside the kitchen. The smell was enough to make their eyes water, so they avoided the fridges and headed straight for the storage area. Mike found a trolley that moved well and didn’t squeak, and they began to load.

Breytenbach sent up a silent prayer of thanks for the bounty that awaited them. Pallets of canned food, soup packets, spices, water, juice, coffee, tea, sugar, and condensed milk lined the walls while bags of flour, rice, and beans lay on the floor.

After filling the trolley, they prepared to leave, but Breytenbach planned on coming back for a second load, and maybe a third. Space was cramped, and he squeezed past the gas oven, bumping his hip on the knobs.

They made their way outside the same way they came in and offloaded their booty. Then they returned for more. It was a simple operation, and it went as well the second time around as it had the first. On the third trip, Breytenbach began to wonder how long their luck would hold. Maybe we shouldn’t push it.

But the need for food prevailed, and he signaled the group inside for the last time. As he stepped into the dining room, he thought he detected a strange scent in the air. “Ronnie, do you smell something?”

Ronnie quirked his eyebrows. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. It’s almost like…” As Breytenbach tried to find the words to describe what he smelled, Mike pushed past him to the aluminum doors of the kitchen. As the Irishman pushed them open, sudden recognition flooded Breytenbach’s mind. Gas.

He remembered in that instant the moment he’d bumped into the oven knobs. Realization set in as he figured that the gas had been leaking ever since, filling the enclosed kitchen. Oh, fuck!

The door hitched on the tiled floor as Mike pushed. The usual screech preceded a bright spark that struck up from the friction. A bright flash was followed by a loud thump as the gas caught alight.

Breytenbach threw up his hands to shield his face as a thunderous roar filled his ears. A big ball of flame blasted through the open door and flung Mike backward like a rag doll.

Tables and chairs toppled over in a clatter of debris while the windows rattled in their frames. Heat singed Breytenbach’s face, and he dropped into a defensive crouch as the explosion washed over him.

As quickly as it began the wave of destruction receded leaving Breytenbach stunned. He blinked as his shell-shocked senses came back to life. His eyes traveled over the room and took in the smoking mess left behind. Then his gaze settled on the unmoving form of Mike.

“Mike?” The words came out in a croak. No answer. He looked around. “Ronnie? Lenka? Kirstin!”

“Here,” Ronnie said, pushing himself to his feet from behind a pile of chairs.

Lenka mumbled something as he rose from a heap of debris.

The doors leading to the hallway burst open, and Kirstin ran inside. “Get up now. We have company.”

Without waiting for an answer, she slammed the doors shut before hunting on the floor for a broken chair leg. This she thrust through the handles seconds before a body crashed into it. It was followed by another, and another.

Breytenbach jumped up and stumbled over to the crumpled shape of Mike. Ronnie was there already, shaking his friend by the shoulders. “Mike! Wake up!”

“Is he all right?” Breytenbach asked, but his next words dried up at the sight of the Irishman’s face. Half his hair was burned away, the skin red and raw. Blisters had already formed, popping up like water filled balloons.

“Mike,” Ronnie cried. “Wake up, you stupid Leprechaun.”

There was no response. Breytenbach stared at the younger man’s unconscious features and couldn’t help but wonder. Has his luck finally run out?

Chapter 13 - Logan

Logan followed Martin’s vehicle through the exit in the massive wall that surrounded St. Francis. Once more, he admired the feat of engineering it presented, though Martin had explained that a nearby new construction site had provided most of the material.

Still, it was a testament to the leader’s strength of will that he’d been able to round up so many survivors and get them to work together to safeguard the town. He’s every bit the man Max said he was.

As the gates clanged shut behind them, they moved in slow convoy past the minefields toward the turnoff that led to the R330. From there, it was an easy drive to the small town of Humansdorp.

A small and picturesque town, the streets were lined with trees, and it used to serve as a central hub for the local farms and light industry. Josh knew the place well, having raided it often alongside his other teammates. He now directed Martin through the town via the most accessible route by radio.

“How long have you been a raider?” Logan asked, keen to learn more about the young man.

“From the very beginning,” Josh replied. “Martin knew my father through the service. He contacted us when the outbreak hit and organized resistance. We moved everyone we could to St. Francis as it was more isolated and easier to defend.”

Logan had heard much of this during his stay in the coastal town but still listened with interest. “Martin had a lot of foresight.”

Josh nodded, and his