Last Another Day (19 page)

“No offense, Captain but I don't know you and I've learned not everybody can be trusted. Out.”

“Fair enough. Will let you know when we reach the rendezvous. Out.” Breytenbach replied. His respect for Max had increased by this point. At least, he knew better than to let just anybody into his camp.

“All right, everybody. You heard him. Get in the chopper. Let's go.”

“Do you think we can trust them, Captain?” Kirstin asked.

“I don't know but with two kids and a baby, we need to find someplace safe. Fast. We don't have a choice.”

“All right, Captain.” She turned and hustled the two kids into the chopper, strapping them in. Breytenbach scooped up the sleeping Samantha and held her close during lift-off. Thanks to the medicine she slept throughout, not waking once.

After a while, he leaned back and closed his eyes. He was exhausted. Hell, they all were. His muscles relaxed, his mind eased and just like that, he nodded off. Mere minutes later, the sound of a grinding noise followed by a blaring alarm woke him with a start.

“What the...” Black smoke billowed in and out of the chopper causing him to cough from the fumes of burning oil.

We're crashing.

“Everybody hold on! We're going down!” Mike cried. He fought with the controls, trying to land them safely. Somehow, he gained control for a moment and took them further down.

If anybody can do this, Mike can. He could fly a sardine can if he had to
.

A second grinding shriek reverberated through the air. They hung, suspended as if by a puppeteer's strings and then plummeted. Breytenbach's stomach clenched and he clutched Samantha to his chest, trying to shield her from the worst as the force of the crash slammed him forward. The kids screamed, and he heard Kirstin cry out through the sound of shattering glass.

The seatbelt slammed into his sternum and a deep rumble vibrated up and down his spine. Pain shot through his skull and his vision darkened. The chopper was still moving, sliding across the ground before coming to an abrupt stop.

Smoke and dust obscured his vision and in the distance, he heard Mike scream at everyone. “Get out. Get out now.”

Breytenbach fumbled with his seatbelt, unclipping it with numb fingers. Crawling through the wreckage with Sam clutched to his chest, he made it out. Hands lifted him to his feet and Lenka's soot stained face peered down at him.

Shaking his head to clear the ringing, he looked down at Sam. She was awake, screaming and unharmed. A miracle. He looked around. Jonathan was unconscious, blood trickling down his face. Ronnie dragged him further from the crash while Kirstin and Mike each carried a child.

“We need to get away, Captain. It might catch fire, explode.” The urgency in Mike's tone brought Breytenbach back to his senses. He thrust Samantha into Lenka's arms.

“Go,” he ordered, stumbling back to the crash.

“Captain, no!”

The smell of burning oil hung heavy in the air, burning his eyes and lungs. He ignored it, searching the wreckage until he found his backpack. Slinging it onto his shoulder, he stumbled back. A muffled thump sounded, and he was flung forward, ears ringing as he plowed into the ground.

“Captain.” Ronnie and Lenka hoisted him up, dragging him further away for the raging inferno the Puma had now become.

“The veldt is catching fire. We need to get out of here,” Ronnie said.

Breytenbach looked around. Crimson flames, fueled by the crash, licked at the dry Acacia thorn trees, brush and grass that surrounded them.
This place hasn't seen rain in a while,
he realized. Fear coiled in his gut. He'd seen enough bush fires in his day to know the dangers.

“This way,” Mike cried. “There's a dry riverbed. We might find water.”

“Right. Everybody, follow Mike.” Breytenbach ordered. “Mike, are you armed?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Lead the way and watch for infected. They'll be drawn for miles to the crash.”

“Will do, Captain.”

“Lenka. Can you carry Jonathan?”

Lenka hoisted the unconscious doctor to his left shoulder, holding his knife with his right hand. “Ready, Captain.”

“Kirstin, you take the girl. Ronnie, the boy. I'll take Samantha.” During this brief time, the flames had spread, burning higher and hotter with each second. “Let's go.”

The group stumbled off, following Mike while Breytenbach took up the rear. Warm blood trickled from his left ear and more ran down his right arm, dripping from his fingers.

Burst eardrum and who knows what else
, he surmised. There was no time to stop, though. The infected would come, drawn to the crash.

We'd better not be here when they arrive.

Max handed the receiver back to Sean, excitement coiling in the pit of his stomach. Success! He gazed at Sean with gratitude. If it wasn't for him, they'd never have managed to set up a working radio system out of the junk they scavenged.

“You did it, Sean. We found our first survivors on air and it's all thanks to you.” Max beamed at the shy, young man. He remembered the day, just over a week ago, that they'd found Sean and his pregnant wife, Erica, hiding in a spaza shop, starving to death.

Sean was the perfect example of a classic gamer and nerd. Pale and thin, he rarely saw the sun and had the strong, supple hands of someone who spent his entire life holding a controller. With his curly hair and freckles, he was unassuming and pleasant.

A computer programmer in his previous life, he also knew a lot about radios and volunteered to set up a radio room. He was embarrassingly grateful to have a safe place to stay, with the worry over Erica and the coming baby.

“I'm just glad I could help, Max,” Sean answered. He fiddled with the various knobs and dials on the radio, blinking every few seconds, a nervous tick Max had come to recognize.

“I'll be back soon, Sean. Call me if anything happens. I need to make arrangements for the rendezvous.”

Max left the cramped little office and walked the short corridor to the common room. On the way, he strode past another small office and couldn't help but smile at the sight of Meghan and Anna, doing sums on exam pads with laborious intent.

Since setting up base here, they had come a long way, and it was decided the two girls needed to continue their schooling. Rosa had volunteered to teach them and the extra office was turned into a quasi school-room.

It was lunch time and Max expected to find Logan in the dining room but to his immense surprise, Logan was nowhere to be found. He did spot Ben. “Hey, Ben. We've raised a group of survivors on the radio. If they check out, we're bringing them in. Are you up for it?”

Raising a graying eyebrow, Ben asked, “Are you sure we can trust them, Max?” Doubt underlined every word and Max knew it was because of what had happened to Jacques.

“I don't know yet, Ben. That's why I need you by my side.” Max hoped to mollify Ben who'd become paranoid of all outsiders. He'd spoken out against the radio too at first, not wanting strangers inside the camp.

Several seconds passed. “Fine, let's see what these people are like.”

“Thanks. Meet me at the Nyalas in twenty minutes.” Max heaved an inner sigh of relief. In the weeks since Jacques and Armand died, Ben had changed. He'd sunk into despair and the only one able to cheer him was Angie.

Max knew Ben looked upon Susan, Angie, Jacques, and Armand as his foster children in a way. Losing three of them in such a short time had hit him hard. Max hoped that by drawing Ben into rescue missions, the man might regain a sense of trust and responsibility once more.

Max left the building and headed for the walls. Perhaps Logan was on guard duty. A thick, stone wall about ten feet high encircled their living area. Initially, there'd only been a low, partial wall they had built onto over the weeks.

There were plans in place to make it even higher, with a walkway and guard towers at strategic points. Max knew it was essential to both their survival and their sense of security so was pushing for the project to be finished within the next two to three months. Luckily, Joseph knew a lot about construction and had taken over the reins.

That was why Max decided not to take Joseph on this trip with him. That and the fact that his wife Tumi was expecting again. The once shy, tearful woman had blossomed overnight with the news and she and Erica spent a lot of time together now, as new moms-to-be.

A quick jog around the walls proved fruitless, so he decided to go to the bungalows instead. A thick carpet of rich, green grass adorned the lawns between the cottages. The drought had finally broken two weeks ago, and the rains had come, providing welcome relief from the heat and dust. Max dodged a landmine courtesy of Buzz and made a mental note to get Peter and Thembiso on clean-up duty.

“They wanted to keep the dog,” he grumbled.

The drone of a quad bike interrupted his thoughts. As it came into view, he was relieved to see Logan driving with Morgan perched behind him. The bike dragged a small trailer with a Springbok carcass on it. Drops of blood beaded on its fur, congealing around a neat bullet hole behind the shoulder.

“What's up, Max?” Logan pulled to a stop and switched off the ignition.

“I need you, Morgan, and Angie to get kitted up and meet me at the gate. We've located a group of survivors.”

“Okay, but let me deliver this to Elise first.” Logan gestured to the buck.

“You went hunting?”

“Yeah, Elise says we're running low on meat and she wants to do something special tonight.” Logan shrugged. “Don't ask me why.”

“Nice shot.”

“Thanks,” Logan replied. “Wind was in my favor.”

Max mentally filed away the issue of the game reserve for the next meeting. Their small land was protected by a strong fence but he felt they needed to do more to safeguard the wildlife.

We also have to raise animals and plant crops.

Elise, Joanna, and Julianne were in charge of the kitchens. They had a vegetable garden and chicken coop at the back besides the stored supplies, but that wouldn't be enough. The surrounding farms and houses and half of town had been stripped of goods already. Soon they'd have to brave the dangers of larger towns and Max gave little for their chances then.

Morgan slid off the bike and flashed Max a cheeky grin.

“Well, you know me. I'm in.” She leaned down and planted a kiss on Logan's cheek. “Meet me at the trucks, babe. I'll get our gear together.”

“See if you can find Angie too,” Max asked.

“Will do.” She jogged off with a wave, ponytail swaying behind her.

Shaking his head, Max headed back. He had to admit he'd never seen his sister so happy in all his life. Even Logan was more relaxed. Less broody. All of which made Max happy for them but also a touch jealous.

Entering the common room, he cleared his throat. In the expectant hush that followed, Max said, “We've found a group of survivors thanks to Sean and his radio. They're in need of help.”

An excited buzz filled the room.

“Survivors? Are they friendly?” someone asked.

“We don't know for sure yet but we'll find out soon enough.”

“Are you sure we should allow them in?” Dave's face was grave, and the buzz quieted down.

“They've got kids with them and a baby.”

“A baby? Oh, dear. Get them to safety before something happens, Max,” Julianne cried.

“We're on our way to meet them now,” Max replied.

“We'll make sure everything's ready for their arrival,” Julianne assured him.

“Thanks, Mom. That would be great.”

He gave Julianne a hug and readied to leave when Sean appeared, pulling him aside. “We've got a problem. The chopper crashed.”

“What? Where? Are they still alive?” Max's heart sunk at the news.

Great. Just great.

“The pilot radioed in an approximate location as they went down and then nothing. I don't know if anyone's still alive.”

“Right. That changes things. Hannah, can you come with us, please? Bring a first aid kit. They might need medical attention and you're the closest we've got to a doctor. Sean, you're with me.”

Hannah jumped up to get her stuff, whilst Max and Sean hurried outside. Logan, Angie, Ben, and Morgan were already there, waiting for them. Hannah joined them soon after that and they split into two groups, with Max taking the lead vehicle.

It wasn't hard to find the crash site. A column of black smoke rose amidst a haze of charcoal gray. The veldt was on fire, orange flames licking the horizon. Max canvassed the tar road until he found a dirt track leading closer.

“We must hoof it from here. We can't risk the Nyalas,” Max ordered.

Everybody disembarked, forming into a tight, little group and they set off across the blackened ground. The fire had swept through, radiating out from the crash site. With its dry underbrush and thorn trees, the veldt provided an excellent feast for the inferno and it burned hot and fast, leaving behind an ever-growing circle of blasted vegetation. The smoke irritated his eyes and Max found himself grateful that with the brush gone, visibility had improved.

“At least, we'll be able to see the zombies coming.”

“True,” Logan replied. “Think any of them survived?”

“I hope so.”

A few minutes later, they were faced with the crashed chopper. Max was surprised to see it was a military helicopter. A Puma to be exact—or a burnt-out shell of one. What was even more surprising, was that it was empty.

“No bodies,” Logan said.

“They survived the crash.” Max found himself filled with a good dose of awe. Either they were bloody lucky, or they had one hell of a helicopter pilot.

“Where do you think they've gone?” Morgan asked. “How do we find them?”

Max was stumped. He turned around in all directions. “They probably had to get away from the fire and any infected drawn here but which way they went is more than I can tell you.”

“Speak of the devil,” Logan said, pointing to their left. A group of infected were making slow, laborious progress towards the crash site, hampered by the terrain. In a comical move, one of them face-planted onto the ground as it tripped over a bush. “Get rid of them.”

“Why? Let's just go. There's nobody here,” Angie said.

“We need to know where the survivors went. I used to be a Game Ranger. I can track them if you keep those things off me.”

“Track them on this?” She pointed at the burnt ground, derision twisting her lips into a sneer.

Logan frowned at her then turned away, scouring the ground for clues. “Just keep them off me,” he ordered Max. “I'll find the survivors.”

Angie pouted, flouncing off to the side in a huff. Max stared at her, perplexed. Filing her behavior away as a problem for another day, he turned to the group. “Right, you heard him. Let's clear the area.”

Killing the zombies was easy enough. They were old and decayed, even stupider than usual. Being exposed to the elements out in the bush had not been kind to them. It was still unpleasant, though. No matter how many times Max killed infected, it still turned his stomach. At night, he lay awake wondering who they used to be in past lives, what their names were, and if they were aware of what they had become. He hoped not.

By the time they were finished, Logan had picked up the trail, and they set off following a dry riverbed. “They can't have gotten far. At least one of them is wounded,” Logan said, pointing to a splash of blood.

After twenty minutes of walking across the cracked mud, the ground became damper with occasional puddles of murky water dotted here and there. This grew to a trickle of water and after slogging through ankle-deep mud, they were forced to leave the riverbed. At least, they had left the fire behind, but this meant thicker undergrowth.

Logan never said a word, forging ahead as he followed the trail. Max kept a wary eye out for infected, ready for anything. More blood spotted the leaves and twice they came upon the bodies of infected, dispatched by what looked like a knife.

“We're getting closer. The trail is fresh,” Logan said.

“God, I hope so. This is awful,” Angie whined, slapping a mosquito on her neck. Her face was flushed, sweat trickling down her neck in the humid atmosphere and she looked anything but happy. Max wished she'd shut up. Of them all, Hannah and Ben were the worst off, being older and not that fit, but neither one of them complained.

They pushed on in silence until a cold feminine voice froze them in their tracks. “Stop. Do not come any closer.”

Nobody moved. The only sound was the buzzing of insects as Max tossed around ideas in his head, trying to assess the situation. He cleared his throat. “We're not looking for trouble.”

“Wouldn't matter if you were,” the smooth voice replied.

“Look, can I come closer? So we can talk?” Max raised his hands, holding them up in the air.

“I would not.”

The voice held a tone that brooked no argument, a clear threat implicit in the timbre. Max had the feeling the owner of the voice would not hesitate to kill him on the spot. An uncomfortable silence ensued as he tried to place the voice. It was coming from somewhere to the left but he couldn't see a damned thing.

Next to him, Morgan bristled. “Hey, lady. You lot asked us for help. If you don't want it anymore, then say so and we'll fuck off.” She turned to Max. “Come on, bro. I've got better things to do than play games in this heat.”

Logan wore a look of mild amusement at Morgan's outburst while the rest were shocked, unsure of what to do.

Max shook his head, “Morgan, please. Calm down.”

“I like her,” the voice said, interrupting his pleas. “Captain.”

A faint crackle of leaves and a rough-looking man in his late forties or early fifties stepped out. His hair was graying at the temples and he hadn't shaved in days. His clothes were torn and dirty, an odd assortment of army issue and khakis. Though exhaustion lined his face, there was nothing wrong with his steely eyes or the way he held a gun.

“You must excuse Kirstin. She's not the friendliest of my crew.”

Max nodded, at a loss for words as a stunning woman stepped into view, carrying a rifle like it was an extension of her body. He swallowed, mouth gone dry, unable to say a single thing.

Morgan flashed him an amused look and stepped forward, saving him from embarrassment. “You must be Captain Breytenbach?”

“That would be me. And you are?”

“I'm Morgan and this is my brother, Max. You spoke on the radio.”

Breytenbach's eyes never wavered. “That's right. So what happens now?”

“That depends on you.” Morgan was not giving an inch, her face remote, eyes cool.

“We need a safe place to stay. At least, for a while.”

“Can we trust you not to murder us in our beds?” she asked.

“You can,” Breytenbach answered. “But how do we know we can trust you?”