Last Another Day by Baileigh Higgins Page B

enough force to make her jump and then she was surrounded. Morgan fumbled for the keys in the ignition and froze. Her fingers grasped at air.
    Where are the damn keys?
    With her brain in overdrive, Morgan tried to remember where they were, what could have happened. She’d last gotten out and...her pocket! She patted the small breast pocket on the front of her shirt and came up empty.
    The material flapped loosely and the memory of tearing cloth returned to her. Craning her head, she stared at the spot outside the truck where the zombie had hooked its fingers into her shirt. Sure enough, a glint of silver shone in the sun.
    It was only a few meters away but it might as well have been the breadth of the earth. The swarm was upon her and there was no escaping this time.
    She was trapped.
    In a sudden fit of rage, Morgan smashed her hands against the steering wheel, pouring out her anger in a torrent of abuse. Then she burst into tears. Sobs wracked her body as she stared at the monstrous faces leering at her through the glass.
    I don't want to die.
    At that moment, she realized that no matter how bad things were or how much she missed Brian, she wanted to live.
    All she saw was death.
    The infected beat on the windows and she wondered how long the glass would hold. The seconds ticked by as the tears dried. The beating fists retreated to a distant thrum and a hollow space opened up inside her.
    Some of the infected crawled onto the hood and slammed on the windscreen. A crack appeared in front of her eyes. She watched it run across like a line being drawn with an invisible pen. Little starbursts punctuated it and with trembling hands, she pulled her gun from its holster.
    Morgan pressed the barrel to her temple and squeezed her eyes shut, filling her mind with images of happier days. “I'm sorry, Mom, Meghan,” she whispered, preparing to pull the trigger.
    A distant sound penetrated her thoughts and her finger froze. It sounded like gunshots. Wild hope suffused her body in a tingling rush. For several seconds, nothing happened, then the throng surrounding her thinned out ever so slightly. Their attention was shifting, and a few were peeling off the outer edges and moving in the direction of the gunshots.
    Several more shots rang out and the crowd rippled as some of them fell. They rolled away like a tsunami towards the unknown attackers.
    More infected dropped, black blood puddling around the wounds. As the last one fell, a muted shout reached her ears.
    In the distance, a man waved at her. “Anyone in there?”
    Tentatively, Morgan cracked the door open, checking for lurkers. Then she waved a trembling hand at her rescuer. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and jogged over.
    As he neared, her heart jumped. No. Impossible. That smile, those eyes.
    Can it be?
    She jumped out and screamed, “Max? Is that you?”
    He faltered. “Morgan?”
    “Oh my God. It is you,” she cried, sprinting towards him. How many nights had she tossed and turned, wondering if he was still alive?
    He met her halfway and swept her off the ground. She cried as his familiar scent enveloped her, his voice booming with laughter. A year younger, they'd been close as siblings, always getting into trouble together. He dwarfed her at six foot three and she always felt safe around him, protected.
    “Max, I can't believe it's you. I’ve missed you so much. I thought you were dead,” she said, alternating between crying and laughing.
    He whooped, swinging her in a circle, “I'm here. Takes more than a few zombies to get rid of me.” He set her down and inspected her at arm's-length, “Are you okay? Where's Mom? And Meghan?”
    “I'm fine and they're safe for now. But if you had shown up two seconds later, I'd have been a goner.” She stared at the bodies littering the parking lot in the ugly aftermath of death. “Speaking of which, we'd better get out of here. Those shots are going to draw more of them.”
    Max nodded, “Let's go. You've got a