Surviving the Evacuation

by Frank Tayell

  “We were trapped there,” Corrie said. “It’s not like we had much choice.”

  “And before that,” Qwong asked, “when the plane came down, you drove into the flames to see if you could find survivors?”

  “We didn’t have much choice in that, either,” Corrie said.

  “You could have driven the other way,” Qwong said. “How long have you been employed by the state?”

  “A bit over four years,” Corrie said.

  “Up by the fence?”

  “I like that it’s remote.”

  “Doctor Dodson vouched for you, but I don’t know you,” Qwong said. “I grew up here, and I’ve been back here for the last five years. I thought I knew everyone.”

  “I keep to myself,” Corrie said. “I don’t leave the fence that often, and spend most of my week travelling up and down my section, making sure it’s in good repair. Town, for me, is Tibooburra. I go to the big city sometimes, just to remind myself what it’s like, but I can’t cope with all the people. All the noise. All the buildings. Coming here, well, the only reason would be so I could catch a plane to take me somewhere else, but after a long time looking, I found the place I wanted to be. Except now, I can’t go back, can I?”

  “No more than your brother can return to America,” Qwong said. “Where in the States are you from?”

  “South Bend,” Pete said.

  “Never heard of it.”

  “It’s in Indiana. Might not be the biggest city in America, might not be the oldest, but it’s the best.”

  “Huh.” Qwong put away her notebook. “We’ve all got a past,” she said. “And that’s where it belongs. You ran into danger to help others. That’s more than most would do, and more than good enough for me. I take it you two want to stick together? Then you’ve a choice, join the tourists and go to the city, or sign up. My advice, join me now. In the end, even if you go to the city, you’ll end up working for the state. There’s no going back to America. Forgive me some brutal honesty, but I don’t think the America you left will ever return. But I don’t want you to decide now. You’ve been through a lot in the last few days. Take another day to think it over. I’ll take you to town. There’s an op-shop down the street from the chalets. You can pick up some clothes there.”

  “We’ve no money,” Pete said.

  “It’s a charity,” Qwong said. “They’ll be happy to make a donation.”

  “Do you know what happened to Matilda?” Pete asked.

  “Who’s she?”

  “A kangaroo,” Corrie said. “I used to give her water. She was a friend, I suppose. The zombies chased her off.”

  “I got no word they’d found any dead ’roos,” Qwong said. “So take that to mean she escaped. If you have other questions, you can ask them as we walk.”

  She led them along the corridor, through a pristine reception area that was empty of people, but filled with plastic crates. Before Pete could spy a label, the inspector ushered them outside.

  The heat had been growing since they’d left the quarantine room, and he’d braced himself for that, but not for the sunshine.

  “Urgh,” he grunted. “No way the sun is usually that bright.”

  “What time is it?” Corrie asked.

  “A little after eight in the morning,” Qwong said. “Worst of the heat’s broken, apparently. The weather report was a little scanty. I think the bloke stuck his head out the window and took a guess. But there was some rain last night up near the fence where the plane crashed. Hope there’ll be some more. They reckon they can get the fires out before the wind picks up. Last thing we need is a firestorm. Though is that worse than a flood?”

  “Firestorms, floods, spiders, droughts,” Pete muttered. “And zombies.”

  “Welcome to Australia,” Qwong said. “We’re a country that wants for nothing.”

  “There’s a lot of parked cars,” Corrie said.

  “The flying doctors are being used as an aerial taxi firm,” Qwong said. “We’re picking up anyone who hasn’t got at least three months of fuel, food, and water. No one’s being forced to fall back, but this is their only chance to get a ride. Asked your mates if they’d help out, fly a few flights for us. We’re short of pilots, you see. Plenty of flyers in the cities, plenty more in quarantine, so in a few days, we’ll have more than we need. That’s my point, you see. Your pilots should volunteer to help now, otherwise they’ll end up farming rather than flying. But they said they want to head down to Melbourne. I thought you might have a word with them. See if they want to lend a hand. Sooner or later, everyone will have to. No room for spectators now.”

  “Sorry, I meant they’re all civilian cars,” Corrie said. “Where are the tanks and other military vehicles?”

  “Where they’ll do most good,” Qwong said. “Don’t ask me where that is, but I take comfort that it’s not here. Captain Hawker arrived by helicopter with twelve soldiers, eight ground crew, and the pilots. From what I gather, they’re from a mixture of units but were closest to those helicopters when news about that flight of planes came in.”

  Pete mulled that over, but Corrie reached the obvious conclusion first.

  “That means there’s trouble elsewhere,” she said. “Something more dangerous than a plane full of zombies.”

  “Welcome to my world,” Qwong said. “We’re walking. It’s not far, and I don’t want to waste fuel.”

  Two pick-up trucks were parked across Airport Road. Private Bramley sat in the open-doored cab of one, her hands on her rifle.

  “Hi,” Pete said. “Did I say thank you for rescuing us? Thank you.”

  “No worries,” Bramley said. “Welcome back to the living.” She leaned back in the seat, her eyes half closed, and he couldn’t tell if she was watching or sleeping.

  Qwong led them towards the town and beneath the increasingly familiar sign that he’d first seen in the photograph of Doctor Dodson and his daughter.

  “Broken Hill, where the outback begins,” he read. “I’m getting used to that sign.”

  “What did you do back in South Bend?” Qwong asked.

  “Sold carpets,” Pete said automatically.

  “Ever worked in a hospital? Served in the armed forces?”

  “You mean did I do anything useful? Not really. I almost joined the army once. After high school.”

  “You never told me that,” Corrie said.

  “The recruiting sergeant told me to come back in a year. Make sure I was really ready for the commitment. I didn’t go back.” He said no more. It probably wasn’t wise to admit to a police officer that the reason the sergeant had said that was because Pete had only just been discharged from court.

  “Hard to know what skills are going to be useful in the coming months,” Qwong said.

  “Yeah, but I seriously doubt it’ll be carpet fitting,” Pete said.

  Airport Road became Bonanza Street. The patchy grazing land was replaced by walled-in single-storey homes. And all, as far as Pete could tell, were deserted.

  “Where is everyone? It’s like a ghost town,” he said.

  “It’s not that yet,” Qwong said. “First thing we did, we shut the diesel stops and petrol stations. Told people that what they had was all they’d get. Only exception is if they’re heading to the city. They’ve got to come to me, prove they’ve got a vehicle that can make the journey, and a destination better than this. The last thing we want is to have to rescue people stranded by the roadside. But that didn’t stop people leaving. Others are hoarding what they’ve got, debating whether they should leave now or later. But there are some for whom this town is where they’ll lay their bones.”

  As if to prove her point, they overtook an old man and young child walking hand-in-hand. The old man carried a heavy stick he certainly didn’t need as an aid to walking, evidenced when he raised it in greeting to Tess Qwong.

  The further they walked, the more people they saw. A couple here, a trio there, but they never saw anyone walking alone. All hurried by, t
hough usually with a nod, wave, or muttered g’day to Qwong.

  Behind and above, the sounds of life were still there. Muted, subdued, hidden behind the stoutly closed doors. Some music played, but mostly Pete heard talking, mixed with some crying. Perhaps Broken Hill wasn’t a ghost town, not yet, but nor did it feel truly alive.

  Chapter 13 - Unwelcome at the End of the World

  Eyre Street, Broken Hill

  “You’re down here,” Qwong said when they reached Eyre Street. “Kate Morsten has a string of cabins built in some waste ground behind the houses. They’re for students really. Backpackers. I’ve put the orchestra here because I figured there’d be fewer people for them to disturb as they practice. It’s not much, but if you decide to stay, I’ll find you something better. If you decide to leave, then it doesn’t matter.”

  The sign to the chalets was as unprepossessing as the dirt road above which it hung. On either side were two houses, probably one-storey, though it was impossible to tell since both had recently built walls that towered high above their roofs, the unpaved road, and the sign. That sign was battered, dented, punctuated by a hand-painted sun whose crooked smile looked more like a feral grin and matched the expression on both of the men standing beneath it. The younger of the two wore a t-shirt tight enough to display his over-developed biceps. The older man towered over him, and wore a loose-fitting shirt that didn’t disguise his beer-gut. His shaved head was uncovered despite the rising heat. His grey-sprinkled beard reached down his neck, nearly covering the faded tattoo on his throat.

  Behind them was a flatbed utility vehicle, covered in enough mud and dust that the ute’s colour was impossible to discern. Between it and the wall on one side was barbed wire. On the other was an upturned table.

  “What’s going on, Stevie?” Qwong asked.

  The older of the two men stepped forward.

  “I’ll take it from here, Stevie.” The table was pushed aside, and a woman made her way around it to stand in front of the men. Angular, losing a battle with her waist, her recently dyed blonde hair erupted from beneath her broad hat.

  “Hello, Kate,” Qwong said. “What’s all this?”

  “Citizen defence, Tessa,” Morsten said. “We’re protecting what’s ours.”

  “I see,” Qwong said. She tilted her hat back. “And where are your guests? Where’s the orchestra?”

  “They left,” Stevie growled.

  “You chased them off?” Qwong asked.

  “They left on their own terms,” Morsten said.

  “They were here for the duration,” Qwong said. “I told you that yesterday.”

  “I’m not a jailor, am I, Tessa?” Morsten said.

  “You know half of that orchestra are exchange students. They don’t speak English, but they all understand they can never go home, and you kicked them out. Thanks a lot, Kate. One more thing for you to be proud of.”

  “Who are these two?” Stevie growled. “You doctors?”

  Pete looked down. He and Corrie were still wearing the scrubs Doctor Dodson had given them after their rescue. “No, sorry,” he said. “We’re just people wanting somewhere to sleep.”

  “You’re Americans?” Morsten asked, her anger rising. “From the plane, right? Look at his head! That bandage. He’s infected! And you brought them here? What the hell were you thinking, Tessa?”

  “She works up on the dingo fence,” Qwong said. “He’s her brother.”

  “You expect me to believe that?” Morsten said. “We heard about the planes from America crashing in the desert. You brought two of them here? You always were a selfish cow, Tessa, but I didn’t think you’d try to kill us all!”

  Stevie picked up an axe-handle leaning against the ute and took a menacing step towards them. “You’re not welcome,” he said.

  “Easy on, Stevie,” Qwong said. “We’re just talking here.”

  “Talking’s over,” Stevie said, taking another step forward.

  “Now, Stevie, back off a step,” Qwong said. “You don’t want the trouble, and I don’t want the paperwork. Kate?”

  “No, he’s right, Tessa,” Morsten said. “We’ve got to protect what’s ours since you clearly won’t. You never have, have you? You always hated me, ever since school. Always jealous, weren’t you? And when you came back here, when you ran home, you wouldn’t leave my family alone.”

  “Back off, Stevie,” Qwong said. “And stop living in the past, Kate. This—”

  Stevie swung the axe-handle. Qwong ducked. Pete didn’t. The tip of the metre-long wooden pole slammed into the side of his head. He fell. Qwong reached up, grabbed Stevie’s arm, using his own momentum to turn and twist him around. She kicked at his knee while shoving his back, pushing him down to the dirt. A second later, she had both of his hands cuffed behind his back.

  She put a hand on her holstered gun. “How much worse do you want this to get, Kate?” Qwong asked. “You want me to search the cabins, your home? Emergency powers mean I can take it all away, as little as it is. Make your choice, Kate.”

  “Nothing happened, it was just a misunderstanding,” Morsten said, but through gritted teeth.

  Corrie helped Pete up off the ground. “You okay?” she asked.

  Qwong glanced towards him. “You’re bleeding beneath that bandage. On your feet, you.” She dragged the hulking Stevie upright.

  “What are you doing?” Morsten asked.

  “I’m charging him with assault,” Qwong said. “Then I’m coming back here to check those musicians have actually left. And then I’m going to charge you with their murder until it’s been proven they’re still alive.”

  “We didn’t hurt them,” Morsten said. “We just turfed them out, that’s all.”

  “Then I’d suggest you find them before I come back,” Qwong said. “Like I said, Kate, emergency powers. You don’t want to find out how far that means I can go.”

  She pushed Stevie towards the road. With a glance at the glaring Kate Morsten, Corrie helped Pete after the police officer.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Corrie asked.

  “I’ve had worse,” Pete said. “Though not before this week.”

  “I’ll find you somewhere else to rest,” Qwong said. “Maybe the station. Or the hospital. You’ll need more stitches.”

  “We can help you find the musicians,” Corrie said.

  “Not while he’s bleeding,” Qwong said. “We’ll get him patched up first, there’ll be plenty of work in the days to come. Hang on.” She raised a hand, waving at a woman walking along the other side of the street. “Liu?”

  “Tess, g’day,” the other woman said. She was tall and thin, wearing loose-fitting linen, a bag over her shoulder, and a hat with a brim wide enough to cast a shadow.

  “What are you doing over here?” Qwong asked.

  “Checking old Mr Thurlow’s taken his pills,” Liu said. “You?”

  “Morsten wouldn’t let these two bunk in the chalets. Stevie took a swing at me, hit him. Now Stevie’s under arrest.”

  “Not,” Stevie muttered. “You didn’t read me my rights.”

  “And I don’t need to,” Qwong said. “Emergency powers, remember.”

  “You’ve got your hands full,” Liu said. “These two need somewhere to stay?”

  “To rest for a day. Mick vouches for them.”

  “He does? They can use Clemmie’s bungalow.”

  “You sure?”

  “Are they trouble?” Liu asked.

  “Nah, they’re good folks,” Qwong said.

  “Then it’s settled.”

  “If you’re sure,” Qwong said. “Good on ya. I’ll swing by later. Move it, you,” she added, prodding Stevie along.

  “Liu Higson,” Liu said. “Call me Liu.”

  “I’m Corrie, he’s Pete. I worked up at the dog-fence.”

  “You were in the cabin near Tibooburra? You’re the American Mick Dodson visits.”

  “I guess I am. He talked about me?”

  “Only ever
to say good things,” Liu said. “We’ll go this way. It’s a short cut that’ll keep us clear of Kate Morsten’s place. Stevie took a swing at you?”

  “He was aiming for the inspector,” Pete said. “I didn’t duck in time. It was because we’re Americans.”

  “It’s because Kate’s hated Tess since they were kids,” Liu said. “Her whole brood is nothing but trouble. Not a month goes by without one of them ending up in handcuffs. Tess has become the external locus for Kate’s self-loathing, that’s why Stevie took a swing at her.”

  “You’re a psychiatrist?” Pete asked, adding that comment to the earlier one about pills and reaching five.

  “I’m an accountant. Used to own an airfield, though, me and my husband, just after we were married. That’s how I know the doc. We like to talk about planes.”

  “Your husband is stationed here?”

  “Scott flies airfreight. Mining equipment, for the most part. Between Oz, China, and South Africa. But he’s doing some extended overtime in Europe at the moment. I don’t know where he is. Hopefully he’s on his way home.”

  She led them down Gypsum Street and onto Gaffney. “We’re at the end,” she said. “Where are you guys from?”

  “Indiana,” Pete said.

  “Is that the place with all the cheese?”

  “That’s Wisconsin,” Pete said.

  “The big shopping centre?” Liu asked.

  “The Mall of America? That’s Minnesota.”

  “Corn?”

  “That’s more Iowa,” Corrie said. “Indiana is the other one. Whenever you think of something, Indiana has it, just not as much as anywhere else.”

  “How did you end up working for our government?” Liu asked.

  “I became a citizen,” Corrie said. “I ran away, and this is where I stopped. I wasn’t running from him, though. Just everything else. None of which seems as important as it did a few days ago.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” Liu said. “Then you’re the bloke who came out on that big jet. Rumour on the airfield is it belongs to Lisa Kempton. Is that right?”