Free Dark Days (Apocalypse Z) by Manel Loureiro Page B

with hot sauce.
He slammed his fist on the table, as he racked his brain for a way out.
    They were a strange group. First there was the fucking lawyer with the cat. He hadn’t stopped bellyaching since day one, demanding to speak to the person in charge. When they tried to put down his fucking cat, he raised such hell the doctors gave in. He broke the doctor’s arm in two places! Alicia Pons decided the cat could live, the most unbelievable decision so far. Basilio couldn’t see how that paper-pushing asshole had survived. He just couldn’t picture the guy shooting a gun.
    The Ukrainian guy was another story. That guy was dangerous. He was short, blond, about forty with a huge yellow mustache. He was missing a couple of fingers on his right hand; he must’ve lost them in a fight. The guy was very quiet, calm, but he watched you… oh, damn, the way his pale eyes bore into the back of your neck gave you the creeps, as if he were thinking over how he could hurt you faster. (Basilio had no idea how right he was.)
    The young girl was a fucking hottie. Nice body, with curves that made your head spin and that face… blessed Christ, she’d make a cloistered monk’s blood boil. And there she was, within arm’s reach.
    During the first weeks, Basilio played it safe. He made some raunchy comments as he made his rounds, but he hadn’t touched her. However, that morning, when he took the girl and the nun to their medical exams, he’d let his hand graze the girl’s breasts. He was very drunk and not fully aware of what he was doing. He’d done that with the African girls but they were so cowed they’d let him get away with it. But this girl exploded and slapped his face.
    Basilio knew from experience that alcohol and anger didn’t mix; it was a lethal cocktail he’d never conquered. Before he knew it, a red veil formed over his eyes, and his temples started to throb. No woman laid a hand on him, especially in front of his men. He slammed his fist into the bitch’s temple and she collapsed on the ground like a rag doll. He raised his baton over his head to teach that bitch a lesson. Suddenly the fucking nun stepped in the middle and, incredibly, she slapped him too.
    Then he lost it.
    Basilio beat his head against the wall, thinking how stupid he’d been. When he finally came to his senses, the nun was lying unconscious on the floor, blood streaming from her cracked skull.
    He didn’t know if he’d killed her. To make the fucking situation worse, it took place on the last day of quarantine, just hours before they were to be released. At that very moment, Commander Pons was heading to the
Galicia
to process their papers and bring them on land. The nun was in the infirmary, more dead than alive. The other guards had scattered, looking for a place to hide until the storm passed.
    In forty minutes, Basilio Irisarri was going to be in deep shit unless he came up with something—fast.

14
    Day after day for a month, as I lay on my bunk, I stared up at the shape on the ceiling made by peeling paint. Sighing, I stroked the beard I’d had for weeks; it reminded me how much time had passed. At first they gave me a razor and shaving cream, but, after the day I fought to keep Lucullus, they’d taken away everything sharp or pointed. I must’ve looked like a homeless guy or nut job in those ridiculous green hospital pajamas.
    My big furry cat sprang off the ground and made an elegant landing—right on my crotch. Wincing, I grabbed Lucullus around his fat belly and set him on the bunk next to me. He purred as I scratched behind his ears.
    In the beginning, I yelled my head off, demanding to speak to the person in charge. I threatened, begged, pleaded—all in vain. When my voice gave out, I collapsed against the wall of my six-foot-square cell. There were no windows and not much furniture, just some bunk beds, a small bench bolted to the wall, a sink (but no running water), and a toilet that was missing its lid. The walls were