Surviving the Evacuation

by Frank Tayell

  “That’s true, but I just caught a ride. I sell carpet for a living.”

  “You might want to start looking for a new career,” Liu said.

  Chapter 14 - The Higsons

  Gaffney Street, Broken Hill

  Liu led them down a quiet street of low walls and corrugated fences, of tall palm trees and taller telegraph poles, of new paint and faded bricks. An occasional well-watered garden or leaf-covered tree stuck out as an oasis among the baked soil, but rarer still were people. A few blinds twitched, but it was only when they reached an umber-painted one-storey that he saw people. The front door of the house opposite opened, and a woman stepped halfway outside.

  “Bobby okay?” Liu asked.

  “Good enough,” the woman called back. “Visitors?”

  “Guests,” Liu said. “I’ll pop over in a half hour.”

  The neighbour nodded, and closed the door.

  “This is us,” Liu said, leading them up the path and around the side of the house. “The bungalow is around the back. My daughter claimed it when we moved in. She’s away at uni.”

  The bungalow was a small-windowed oblong, about five metres by seven, once painted a bright blue, though that was fading.

  Liu opened the door, releasing a fug of heat. “Might need to let some of this air out. There’s an air-con unit, but I haven’t turned it on since Clemmie was home for Christmas.”

  “Clemmie’s your daughter?” Corrie asked.

  “Clementine, named after Scott’s mother. And he’s somewhere in Europe, and Clemmie’s in Vancouver. It’s only me and Bobby here. Speaking of which, I better go and explain things to Jan. Jan Henderson, my neighbour,” she added. “Bobby’s over there playing with her son. No school, you see. Have you eaten?”

  “Not really,” Corrie said.

  “I’ll rustle something up, but I’ll find you a bandage and some clothes first.”

  Pete sat on the purple-lined two-seater. Corrie sat on the bed, opposite.

  “Throbbing pain in my head aside,” Pete said, “I think we’re safe.”

  “Safety is relative,” Corrie said.

  “We’re not in quarantine,” Pete said. “You’ve been offered a job. No one is asking questions. I mean, they are, but only out of polite curiosity.”

  “Inspector Qwong was more than just curious,” Corrie said.

  “But it could be worse,” Pete said. “All that stuff with Kempton, with the cartel, the politicians, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Almost,” Corrie said. “The pilots are still in town. I’ll feel happier when they’ve gone. But I suppose you’re right. We’ve just got the small matter of an impossible apocalypse tearing up the U.S. Otherwise, yes.”

  “But you’re going to take their offer of a job?” Pete asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Corrie said. “If we stay here, we keep our options open. But if we leave, we have a better chance of hiding in a crowd of tourists. We have options, so that’s something. Oh, that’s clever. The mirror there, it’s positioned so someone lying here can see the back door of the house. Liu’s coming back.”

  “I doubt the clothes will fit,” Liu said. “But that’s what belts are for. They’re all clean. Found you a couple of toothbrushes, too. And a few bandages.”

  “Thanks, you’re being very kind,” Corrie said.

  “You’d do the same. I’ll fix some food. Come up to the house when you’re changed.”

  A tepid shower, a brittle bandage, and a set of ill-fitting but clean clothes later, Pete felt refreshed if not entirely a new man.

  “Pants are too big,” he said, cinching the belt tighter as he looked at himself in the mirror. “That’s good, makes me think I’ve been on a diet. Though I do think I’ve sweated off a few pounds.”

  “I knew there’d be a bright side to the end of the world,” Corrie said, lacing a pair of trainers she’d found in the over-stuffed wardrobe. “Shall we?”

  They headed up to the house.

  Folding partitions, pushed back against the wall, turned the living room and kitchen into one large, open space. A half-won board game was on the small coffee table facing the TV, while photographs dotted the walls and most of the book-filled shelves. The kitchen was cosy, an L-shaped alcove with a table that spilled into what was almost a hallway leading to the front door. More photographs covered the walls, though the counters were crammed with the usual appliances. The pieces slotted into place, though the photographs were the real clue. There were a couple of birthday snaps with Inspector Qwong in them, another with Doctor Dodson and his daughter, but most of the rest, and all in the den, were of a family of four. It was a small home for a small family who never had a guest to stay over. No aunts, no uncles, no grandparents, no extended family, nor long-established friends.

  “It’s an odd breakfast, I know, but it won’t keep forever,” Liu said as she placed two bowls of mixed green salad on the table. “Jan brought it back from her store after they closed it yesterday. Did you find everything you needed?”

  “We did, thank you,” Corrie said. “And I found some sneakers of your daughter’s. I hope that’s okay.”

  “No worries. First thing she did when she got to Vancouver was to go on a shopping spree. Second thing was to return everything for which she had a receipt and hand them a job application while she was at it. She works at an eco-friendly clothing store now. Not sure she’d wear those trainers again. Too much plastic.”

  “She’s studying in Vancouver?”

  “Marine management with a focus on habitat recovery,” Liu said. “I just wish I knew she was okay.”

  “There’s been no news?” Corrie asked.

  “I can’t get through on the phone,” Liu said. “I think the email was sent, but I don’t know if she received it. I can’t get onto social media at all now. But does that mean the problem’s at my end or at hers?”

  “Do you have a laptop?” Corrie asked. “I can go online, see if I can find out.”

  “The internet isn’t working that well,” Liu said.

  “I used to be a hacker,” Corrie said. “A programmer. I worked for Lisa Kempton a long time ago. That’s part of the reason I ran away. Did your daughter go through a rebellious phase?”

  “Of course, though I’m not sure it’s a phase. She became a vegan. At night, she’d sneak down and throw all our meat into the wheelie bin. That’s when we moved here. Our house, our rules, but the bungalow was her house, so she could write whatever rules she wanted.”

  “My act of rebellion was to hack into NORAD,” Corrie said.

  “The aerospace defence agency?”

  “I was that good,” Corrie said. “I’ve barely touched a computer in years, but the architecture hasn’t changed that much. I can’t promise I can get a message through to her, but I can try.”

  “Hang on.” Brushing her hands dry, Liu walked across the hallway to a closed door. She was only gone a moment, returning with a laptop. “Power cable is in the living room, behind the sofa,” she said.

  “Thanks,” Corrie said, and retreated to the couch.

  “Are you a computer genius, too?” Liu asked Pete.

  “Nope. Give me two tries, and I can tell you the difference between the power cord and the headphone socket. Honestly, I sold carpets. Can I help with anything?”

  “Only in eating the greens before they turn brown,” Liu said, sitting at the kitchen table.

  Pete sat opposite. “Um… I don’t mean to be rude. Salad’s great, and I promise I’ll eat it, but could I have some of that cereal first?”

  Liu turned around, and picked up the box that had caught Pete’s eye. “This stuff? You know it’s mostly sugar and chocolate. There’s virtually no nutritional value to it.”

  “It’s what I usually have. I guess I’m feeling a little homesick.”

  “Sure,” Liu said, fetching a bowl, the box, and some milk. “Bobby won’t thank you, but I will. We have a deal that when his dad is away for more than a couple of nights, h
e gets to pick his own cereal. Of course, he goes for the least healthy option possible. When we agreed to that, we didn’t think Scott would be away for so long, but a deal is a deal. How’s your head?”

  “Sore, but I think that means it’s healing.”

  “Morsten’s a piece of work, all right,” Liu said. “Most people out here are dependable, honest, decent, but there’s always a few rotten apples lurking at the bottom of the drawer. You saw the plane crash, didn’t you?”

  “In the outback, yep. That’s how I got the cut. We were driving away from it. Hit my head when we wrecked the car.”

  “Oh, I see. I think I misunderstood. There were no survivors, though?”

  “Of the plane crash? Wait, you don’t know, then? The plane was full of…” he hesitated. “Zombies. It was full of zombies.”

  “No!”

  “Didn’t they tell you?” Pete asked.

  “We heard that a plane had crashed, and that more planes had landed outside Adelaide where they were quarantined, but that’s all. Tess should have said. She was sitting right there, where you are now, not three hours ago, drinking my tea. Zombies? Were there a lot?”

  “Dozens survived the crash,” Pete said. “The army came in and rescued me and Corrie. That’s why we spent yesterday in quarantine. I don’t really want to talk about it, if that’s okay. Not now. It just makes me think of the people back home.”

  “Sure, of course,” she said.

  Then he remembered where her daughter was. “Have you lived out here for long?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

  “In Broken Hill? No. Only since Scott returned to flying. Twenty years ago, we bought an airfield. Scott was a pilot. I can fly too, or I used to. Tess wants me to go to the airfield to play taxi-driver, but I was always more interested in engines than wings. What Scott and I both realised was how air travel was changing. We thought we’d get in early, so we invested all we had in a share in a small airfield. A group of gangsters, drug-dealers, arrived and said we were going to nod in flights for them. We went to the police, but they couldn’t help. They suggested we wear a wire, get evidence, and then enter witness protection. For Scott and me, that wasn’t so great a burden, but the couple we’d bought the airfield from still owned a stake. They had grandkids, and witness protection meant they wouldn’t ever see them again. We bulldozed the runway and walked away.”

  “And the gangsters?”

  “Left us alone,” she said. “We didn’t work anywhere that drug dealers might find useful. We stayed away from airfields and airports. And that meant we lived poor. But we were safe. It was a hard life. A tough life, at times, but we gave our kids an experience that money couldn’t rent let alone buy. Living in the outback is something few people do. It got Clemmie her scholarship. Bobby’s only ten, but he’s already decided he’s going to follow her to the other side of the world. That’s what we wanted, to give them a chance at a better life than we’d had, free of our mistakes. And it’s why Scott returned to flying. He had to start at the bottom, work his way back up. The company he flies for has a budget airline in Europe. They mucked up their leave rotas and were short of pilots. Offered anyone in the freight division triple-pay to fly in Europe for three months. He took it. We thought it was a godsend. Clemmie’s scholarship doesn’t cover everything. It doesn’t even cover flights home. And now they’re both in different continents.”

  “I’m online,” Corrie called out. “Where in Europe and Canada do you want me to look?”

  “Excuse me,” Liu said, rushing from the table.

  Pete finished the cereal, and found he was still famished. He barely noticed the salad going down, but decided against more of the chocolate flakes. The last thing he needed was to make an enemy of Liu’s son. Not if they were going to be staying in the house for a while. There were worse places to be, but were there better ones? A flurry of other questions filled his mind, all illustrated with snapshot memories of the terrifying pandemonium at the plane wreck.

  He took the bowl to the sink, paused when he reached for the washing up liquid. How long before it ran out? How long before the cereal, the milk, and everything else ran out? Would more be made here in Australia? Could it be made? Was the entire supply chain here, not just for the contents, but for the packaging, too? Did Australia produce its own oil? Did it have refineries to turn that into gasoline and diesel for the trucks needed to ship the detergent to this remote town? Things truly had changed with the outbreak, and he was beginning to understand by how much.

  “I’m going to take a walk,” he said, then took a few steps into the lounge, to say it louder. Corrie and Liu were sitting side by side on the sofa, eyes fixed on the screen, while Corrie’s hands danced. “I’m going for a walk.”

  Liu glanced over. “Sure. There’s hats and sunscreen on the stand by the front door. Water bottles are under the sink. Worst of the heat’s broken, but it’ll probably top thirty-five today.”

  “Ninety-five Fahrenheit,” Corrie said. She finally took her eyes from the screen. “Where are you going?”

  He hadn’t thought that far ahead. “To speak to the pilots,” he said. “Inspector Qwong asked me to. Might as well get it done. Although, thinking about it, I don’t know where they are.”

  “The Sunrise Inn,” Liu said. “It’s a small town,” she added. “And it’s not often a billionaire’s jet arrives. That was the sole topic of gossip until Manhattan. Look for the railway station, it’s about a hundred metres east.”

  Pete took a wrong turn when leaving the house, and soon found himself on the edge of town with nothing but the outback ahead. He meandered back, taking his time, not concerned if he reached the hotel or not. If he found the pilots, he’d pass on the message from Inspector Qwong, but doubted they’d give him a different answer to the one they gave her.

  They were a tenuous link to America, yes, but not with Olivia. They weren’t going to be allowed to fly their jet out of Broken Hill, and even if they did, they weren’t going to fly it to South Bend. Over the last few years, he’d tried to live his life by the dusty mantra of being grateful for what he had. And, after too many years of separation, and just as many years of distance before that, he had his sister back. But an equally worn saying was just as apt. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, and he’d not realised how fond he’d grown of Olivia until he’d travelled so far from her.

  A car growled into life behind him. He jumped aside and onto the road as a high gate was pushed aside.

  “Sorry, mate,” a weather-beaten man said, before hurrying back to the vehicle. A woman was behind the wheel, a pair of children in the back, sandwiched between bags and suitcases. Pete stepped back onto the pavement as the man squeezed himself between the wedged luggage.

  “You mind closing the gate for me? Good on ya,” the man called out as they drove onto the street, and away.

  Pete slid the gate back into place, taking the opportunity to look around. Lost in his thoughts, he’d taken a turning somewhere, but this road and its homes looked no different to any of the others he’d seen. Except, perhaps, that it seemed even more lifeless. Was that family the last on this street to leave? Maybe. Would they ever return? Probably not. Where were they going? He had no way of knowing. A better question was whether, wherever that was, it was safer than Broken Hill? He knew the answer. No. Nowhere was. Not now. That was the lesson he should take from the last few days.

  He continued his aimless stroll, not really looking for the hotel, and only vaguely examining the houses to get a rough count of how many had already been abandoned. About half, he thought. A small truck overtook him, pulling up to the kerb three houses ahead. The truck’s cab was small, the tray behind large, its tottering contents covered in three tarpaulins tightly roped to hide whatever was beneath. Two women got out of the cab, and watched him suspiciously as he approached.

  He gave them a nod, a wave, raising his hand to his hat, and kept his mouth firmly closed. Neither said anything, but simply watched him walk by.
He didn’t turn around, but he didn’t hear the sound of unpacking. When he reached a junction, he stole a glance back towards the women. They stood by their truck, still watching him.

  Were they looters? Store owners? Or was one helping the other move across town? Somehow, the most innocent of explanations no longer seemed the most likely.

  The closer he got to the town’s centre, the more people he saw, and the more suspicious the looks he got. Was it the bandage? It couldn’t be the clothes since he looked little different from everyone else. Perhaps it was that his hands were empty where most people seemed to be carrying bags, and most carried at least a stick. What was in the bags? Were they visitors, stranded here? He didn’t think so, but tried not to stare. He was about to turn back, when he saw the frontage of the Sunrise Inn. He’d still not decided if he wanted to speak to the pilots but there was a small crowd on the road just beyond the hotel, and a solitary man leaning against a lamppost opposite them, wearing a white linen suit, no tie, and a panama hat. The man was watching him, so were a few members of the crowd. Turning on his heels would only attract more attention. Feeling increasingly uncomfortable, he ducked into the hotel.

  Pete had stayed in a few motels over the years. Four, if he was counting. All different and yet alike, and this place was the same. Three clusters of armchairs and tables were scattered about the lobby. Most were occupied. From the languages quietly spoken, he took the speakers to be foreign tourists, though they looked too old to be student-backpackers. And now they were watching him. He quickly crossed to the welcome desk. There was no one behind it. He was about to turn around when, through a pair of fire-doors to the side of the desk, he saw the co-pilot, Rampton. He raised a hand. Rampton frowned, then grinned. He came over to the doors, opened one, and motioned Pete through.

  “You made it,” Rampton whispered. “Good to see you. And your sister?”

  “She’s alive, yes.”

  “Good,” Rampton said. “Say nothing more. We’ll talk in our room. It’s upstairs.”