Live Another Day Baileigh Higgins (online e reader TXT) 📖

him. He took it down with a two-handed blow from his clawed hammer, pausing only to pull the weapon free.

“Clear the area,” he ordered as soon as Mike, Lenka, and Ronnie joined him. “Cover us, Kirstin.”

They worked quickly to dispatch the few undead that shambled toward them. The only sound was the thumping of hammers and axes on bone and the cooing of doves in the trees above them. A gentle breeze stirred the autumn leaves clinging to branches, and if it wasn’t for the corpses littering the street, it could have been a pleasant spot.

They slid open the gates and walked inside, peering into the undergrowth bordering the driveway. A rustle announced the arrival of a zombified gardener. His uniform still bore his name embroidered on the pocket. Jensen.

After they’d cleared the entrance, Kirstin drove up in the minibus before bringing in the truck. They shut the gates and looped a chain around it, though Breytenbach didn’t lock it in case they needed a quick getaway.

“Let’s scout the grounds first. Maybe look for an alternate exit in case this one is compromised,” he ordered. With Kirstin on top of the truck’s roof, they fanned out and circled the buildings.

It was a simple job but made less so by the overgrown vegetation. It hid a myriad of evils, not least the decayed hand that reached out and gripped his ankle.

Breytenbach danced backward as the thing bit down on his boot. Its teeth cracked on the hard leather and steel toe. He stabbed it through the crown, mouth twisting at the putrid fluid that sprayed forth. “Yuck.”

With the smell lingering in his nostrils, he completed his circuit. The retirement home wasn’t big, nor were the grounds. A long beige colored building took up most of the space. He surmised it was used to house the majority of the elderly population in the past. Probably still does.

Smaller units encircled the main. These were bachelor-sized apartments for the more independent retirees. These he cleared as he passed, though most were empty. “Guess the old folks all ran inside when the shit hit the fan.”

A garage, closed and shuttered, held the home's vehicles, all parked in perfect unison. That much he could make out through the tiny windows covered in dirt. The only other thing he saw was a clearing within a rose garden. Benches dotted the now overgrown grass while the roses hung wilted heads in response to the coming winter. Only a few flowering buds clung to the branches in mute rebellion to the cold season. He made his way over to where Ronnie and Lenka waited. “Clear?”

“On my side, yeah,” Ronnie said. “Still waiting for Mike.”

Lenka grunted a monosyllabic reply.

A slow minute ticked by, and Breytenbach grew impatient. “See anything, Kirstin?”

“Not a thing,” Captain.” She shifted position and used her scope to search the grounds.

“He’d better not be in trouble,” Breytenbach muttered as he tried to contain his growing worry. “Or drunk.”

Suddenly, a yelp and shaking bushes announced the Irishman’s appearance. Mike danced into view with a zombie latched onto his forearm. It worked its jaws back and forth, and silver strings of saliva gleamed dripped from the tanned skin. Breytenbach’s blood turned to ice at the sight. “No!”

He rushed forward, but Ronnie was there before him. A single blow from the enraged Ronnie’s fist knocked the corpse onto its back, and a few stomps of his boots finished it off. Brain and bone splattered across the pavement.

When the thing was dead, Breytenbach and Ronnie turned to Mike who stood with his arm cradled against his chest. His chest heaved, and his ordinarily bright eyes were wide.

Breytenbach looked at the sky. He didn’t want to see the damage to Mike’s flesh, didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that another one of his team was gone. Just like Johan.

Ronnie reached out a hesitant hand. “Mike...how bad is it?”

Mike shook his head, and his lips trembled.

“Mike, let me see. Let me help,” Ronnie added in a persistent tone. He stepped closer but halted when Mike burst out laughing.

The slender Irishman’s body shook with mirth, intense joy bursting forth from his lips in a flow of merriment that took them all by surprise.

“Mike, stop it,” Breytenbach growled. He was at once confused and angered by the other’s reaction. Just like him. Always goofing off, even when it’s life and death situations.

“He got me all right. He gnawed me like a champ!” Mike extended his arm, whole and unharmed with no bite wounds in sight.

Breytenbach stopped short at the spectacle. “What in hell?”

Mike pointed at the body of the infected that attacked him. “He’s got no teeth. The old codger came after me with a mouth full of gums.”

Breytenbach swung back to the corpse and inspected the caved-in head. It was hard to make out specifics after Ronnie stomped on it, but one thing was clear. The zombie had no teeth.

Perplexed, he shook his head. “Never seen that before.”

“Me neither,” Ronnie said.

Even Lenka looked surprised.

“It’s an old age home,” Kirstin reminded them from her perch up on the roof of the truck. “There’s bound to be people here with no teeth.”

“Maybe he had falsies, and they fell out somewhere,” Mike suggested as he wiped his arm off with a handful of leaves. “Ugh. He slimed me good.”

Breytenbach wrinkled his nose. “You’re sure he didn’t break the skin?”

Mike shook his head. “Nope. I’m good.”

“Is your sector clear?”

“Clean as a whistle.”

“Lucky damn leprechaun,” Ronnie muttered from the side.

“Then I suggest we get going.” Breytenbach waved them forward. “Mike, you take the point. Ronnie and Lenka at the back. Kirstin behind me. Let’s move.”

They formed up and set off for the front entrance of the main building. The doors formed wooden frames around glass panes with ornate brass handles to open.

Mike tested one, and the door swung open on silent hinges. A blast of stale air washed across their faces before the breeze whipped it away. Breytenbach followed Mike into the large foyer, his boots squeaking on the