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

white tiles now covered with dust. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting before studying the place.

A dessicated fern drooped brown tentacles to the floor, and a long hall stretched out to either side of them. Rows of narrow windows ran along the opposite wall allowing yellow sunlight to stream inside. It was as silent as the grave, the air thick and musty. A bronze plaque on the wall welcomed them while smaller signs indicated that Wards A and C were to the left while Reception, Ward B, and the recreational rooms were to the right. This was the direction Breytenbach chose. In silent formation, they set off.

The hallway, though long, was empty and ended in a t-junction up ahead. They passed a lone wheelchair lounging against the wall as if its occupant just got up and walked away.

At the junction, Mike halted. Two more signs indicated that Ward B was to the right and the rest to the left. Breytenbach edged forward and peered around the corner.

Ward B’s hallway was dark and empty. Very little light penetrated the interior, and he had to squint to discern the rows of doors that ran along its length. These were the former rooms of retirees, he assumed. How many of those are filled with old folks now turned into zombies?

It was an eerie thought, and he turned the other way. A polished wooden counter, complete with dried out flowers, a silver bell, and a bowl of mints, formed the reception. He craned his head but could see nothing behind it, though that meant little. Zombies had a remarkable faculty for hiding.

Beyond it, he spotted movement. This part of the building was better lit and sported more windows than the other side. Several figures shuffled about. The nearest wore slippers and a pink gown.

Breytenbach ducked back and turned to the others. In a low whisper, he filled them in. “Several infected to the left, unknown to the right. Kirstin, you watch our backs while we go in. Don’t make a sound, got it?”

Mike, Lenka, and Ronnie nodded, each holding a knife ready. Breytenbach ducked around the corner and crab-walked to the reception. He peered over the countertop, noting the spilled papers and blood spatter on the walls. Auburn hair topped by a white cap stirred on the floor.

With compressed lips, he slipped around the counter where he saw the receptionist lying prone on the floor, unable to move with no legs or arms. Her limbs had been eaten away to the bone. She opened her mouth, but he silenced her before she could make a sound. A quick look confirmed the cubicle was empty of further life, and he turned back.

Slipper lady stood with her back to him, swaying from side to side. She was the closest. Beyond her, there were two more infected. One appeared to be a matron still dressed in her nursing uniform, though it was now covered in blood. The other was an old man, and his back bent with rheumatism and age. None of them posed much of a threat, and between them, they finished them off in quick succession.

Breytenbach found himself faced with several options. A pair of large double doors led to the cafeteria and kitchens. Two single doors fronted guest bathrooms. Another pointed to the offices, while two more at the end was for the infirmary and a medical supply room.

Both the toilets were closed and latched. He elected to leave them like that. Likewise the offices. They held nothing of interest anyway. The infirmary and cafeteria were a different story. They might contain much-needed food and medical supplies.

With careful movements, he snuck past the double doors of the dining room and headed for the infirmary. Two small windows provided a look inside. It was not pretty.

Bodies lay strewn about. Several more moved around with aimless energy, searching for food. Always searching. Blood had turned the floors into a carpet of sticky black while all the beds and equipment had been tossed around as if by a giant hand. We’re not getting anything out of there.

He removed a cable tie from his pocket and looped it around the two handles, carefully zipping it shut. That should keep them in.

With relief, he turned to the medical storage room. There was no window this time, and he opened it after a quick nod to the other two. The door swung open, and he leaned back with his hammer held ready. Nothing came out. It was empty.

They moved in and removed the backpacks from their shoulders. The refrigerated section was a bust, of course, but the room held much else of value. Soon, their bags were stuffed, and a satisfied Breytenbach exited the storeroom with a grin.

“Now for the kitchen,” he whispered.

Kirstin moved closer and positioned herself as the sentry while he peered into the dining area. Like the infirmary, it was a mess. Unlike it, they couldn’t afford to move on. We need food.

“On three?” he asked. Everyone nodded. “Keep it clean and quiet. We don’t want to disturb those in the rooms and bring them down on us.”

He pushed through the door and launched himself at the nearest infected. It was an old woman, and she caved in like brittle matchsticks. Another reached for him, and he ducked before knocking it over and finishing it off. Mike, Lenka, and Ronnie had likewise thrown themselves into the fray, and together the four made short work of the remaining zombies.

It was all accomplished in under a minute and with remarkable silence. He glanced over his shoulder at Kirsten. “Still good?”

She gave him the thumbs up, and he turned toward the kitchen doors at the far end. “Right, let’s do this. Fast as we can, boys. Let’s clear it then look for something to load the stuff into.”

Breytenbach crossed the floor in a few long strides and reached for the handle of one of the double doors. The shiny aluminum frame opened with a high