Dark Days (Apocalypse Z) Read Free

some peace and respite in that underground existence, hoping to find a way back to the outside world.
    But another surprise forced them to leave their cozy den and revive their plan to fly to the Canary Islands. A powerful summer thunderstorm started a fire a few miles from the hospital. With no one to fight the blaze, it burned out of control, across that deserted landscape of flammable debris and dry brush, right up to the hospital doors. The four survivors escaped that firestorm with barely enough time to grab their gear.
    Two days later, they topped off the helicopter’s fuel tanks, stored drums of fuel in a cargo net hung from the chopper’s belly, and headed for the Canary Islands, where they thought they’d find vestiges of humanity. They had just one goal. To survive.

1
    “Prit! Prit! Can you hear me?” I asked. “You crazy Ukrainian,” I cursed under my breath. The damn intercom had cut out for the third time since we took off from Vigo. I grabbed a bracket on the wall as the heavy helicopter hit another pocket of hot air and lurched. Unfazed, Prit steered through it at top speed. Though Prit couldn’t hear me through the intercom, I could hear him happily humming his dreadful rendition of James Brown’s “I Feel Good.”
    I set Lucullus in his carrier. I envied the way that orange ball of fur could fall asleep, oblivious to the roar of the engines. How the hell could he stand it? Even muffled by our helmets, the noise was driving me crazy after five days straight. Cats can adapt to anything, I guess.
    I peered behind me into the passenger cabin. Sister Cecilia was belted in tight, praying in a monotone voice as she slowly fingered her rosary. In her spotless habit and huge red helmet, the little nun was quite a sight, marred only by her slightly green face and her worried look every time the helicopter hit some turbulence. Flying didn’t sit well with the nun, but she’d been stoic, not complaining once.
    Lucia was sound asleep, stretched out in the front seat, a vision even in frayed shorts and a tight, oil-stained T-shirt (she’d gotten dirty helping Prit at our last stop). I brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes, trying not to wake her.
    I sighed. My feelings for that girl created a big problem and I didn’t know how to resolve it. Over the last five days, Lucia and I had beenstuck together like glue. I couldn’t deny that I was deeply attracted to her olive skin, long legs, her curves, and cat eyes, but I was trying to keep my cool. For starters, it wasn’t the time or place for an affair. And then there was the age difference. She was a seventeen-year-old kid and I was a thirty-year-old man. A thirteen-year difference was no small thing.
    Lucia moved in her sleep and muttered something I couldn’t make out. The look of pleasure on her face made me swallow. I needed some air.
    I inched down the narrow corridor connecting the cargo bay with the cockpit and dropped into the seat beside Pritchenko. The Ukrainian turned, flashed a big smile, and handed me his thermos. I took the thermos and knocked back a long drink. Tears filled my eyes and I coughed, trying to catch my breath. That coffee was about fifty percent vodka.
    “Coffee with a kick.” The Ukrainian snatched the thermos out of my hands and chugged half its contents. He didn’t even blink. Then he pounded on his chest and belched loudly. “Much better for flying.” He passed the thermos back to me. “Yes sir. Much better.” He smacked his lips, satisfied. A big smile spread across his face. “In Chechnya, my squadron drank our vodka straight… but it was colder there,” he said with a laugh.
    I shook my head. Prit was a lost cause. Inside the hot cockpit, the Ukrainian was shirtless, drenched with sweat. He was wearing worn fatigues, a huge black cowboy hat he’d found in a bar, and green mirrored sunglasses. His imposing mustache was the only part of his face I could actually see. He reminded me of a character in
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