Surviving the Evacuation

by Frank Tayell

  “Never,” Liu said.

  “Maybe,” Pete said.

  “When?” Qwong asked.

  “I don’t know if it was him,” Pete said, “but I saw someone wearing that sort of suit and that kind of hat, yesterday, hanging around near the Sunrise Inn.”

  “A tourist then,” Qwong said. “Because he sure isn’t a local. You only saw him yesterday? Not before?”

  “Never,” Pete said.

  “We had a lot of looting last night,” Qwong said as she walked around the corpse of the dead thug. She paused by his feet, examining the soles of his shoes. “You can tell a lot about someone by their shoes, and these weren’t designed for the outback. City shoes. New. Barely worn. Same with the suit.” She knelt down, and began going through the man’s pockets. “Yep, a lot of looting overnight. A lot of locals left yesterday. Seems like a lot of the visitors decided to wait until nightfall, steal what they needed, before heading off to wherever they thought they’d find safety. So far, as far as I know, they hit the cafes and restaurants, the stores and shops. No homes, thankfully. And so there’s been no violence. Until now. We’ve got a passport. No, there’s two. This is Matias Rodrigo from Chile, or Mathew Rogers from Canada. He wasn’t very imaginative with the names. Ah, and a driving licence in the wallet. One of ours. Says he’s Roger Mathews. A few thousand dollars. And a few thousand dollars, U.S. Clasp knife. And, I wonder…” She bent forward, reaching around his waist, then undid the belt. “Here. On his belt. Do you see?” She extracted three gold coins and placed them, and the belt, on the table, then returned to the man’s pockets. “His mobile phone, and that’s it. Did you say he tried to make a call?”

  “No,” Liu said. “He took it out and looked at it, but he said he didn’t need a signal.”

  “Interesting,” Qwong said. “But the phone’s locked.” She pressed the button against the man’s finger. “Damn. No fingerprint lock, just a code. Makes the phone next to useless.” She placed the phone on the table, then pulled out a chair and sat down. “So this bloke comes in, takes out his phone, looks at it, says he doesn’t need a signal, then he attacks?”

  “He hit me,” Liu said. “Then he went for Pete. I grabbed the vase and hit him, but he hit his head on the table as he fell.”

  “Um…” Pete began. “I went for him. After he hit Liu, he reached for his gun. I’d seen the strap. I tried to stop him. That’s when he grabbed my throat.”

  “Did he say anything else first?” Qwong asked.

  “That he wanted a glass of water,” Liu said. “He was just stalling, though.”

  “Probably making sure there was no one in the back,” Qwong said. “He’s got money, and U.S. dollars, and gold. And a gun. What he doesn’t have are car keys. I’d say that was what he was after. Food and a car. Mr Thurlow walked here?”

  “I’ve still got his car keys after last month,” Liu said.

  “So if Roger Mathews is a looter, looking for food and a car, he came in here because he saw the lock was forced.”

  “Why did he look at his phone?” Pete asked.

  “That’s the puzzle, isn’t it?” Qwong said.

  “How did you know to look for the gold coins?” Liu asked.

  “Because of the suppressor,” Qwong said. “The fake I.D. is a giveaway, too. Someone’s been flooding the mines here and up in Queensland with a lot of very cheap cocaine. They traced it back to this new gang that’s been muscling their way into Melbourne. Back in November, they pulled in a bloke for speeding, found three gold coins hidden in his belt. Let him go, and about an hour later, found out he was on a watch-list.”

  “Why did they have the coins?” Pete asked.

  “Beats me,” Qwong said. “These days, I’d say it’s because digital currency doesn’t work and banknotes aren’t much better, but we were told to keep an eye out for the gold coins back in November. From the suppressor, the fake passports, he’s clearly a professional. I’d say he was sent up here to kill someone. A rival, I’d guess. The outbreak hits, and he ends up here. The rest of his crew must have left, and so he was looking for a car.”

  “You think there were more of them?” Pete asked.

  “Not anymore,” Qwong said. “Otherwise, after Liu went looking for me, the others would have come in here looking for him.”

  Pete shivered. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “No, I’d say he was looking for a way out of town. He came in here looking for food and a car. And he’d have killed you both to get it.”

  “That still doesn’t explain the phone,” Liu said.

  “Nor the fake passports, or how often he’s used this gun before,” Qwong said. “But it’s as much of an investigation as this crime’s going to get. All bodies have to be disposed of immediately. Those are our orders. So I’m going to take him down to the crematorium. And Mr Thurlow, too. They might have space in the freezers, but I don’t think it’d be fair on his family. We’ll bury Mr Thurlow next to his wife. His family can have the remains moved when this settles down. That’s the kindest thing.”

  “And Roger Mathews?” Liu asked.

  “I’ll take fingerprints and photos, and I’ll keep the gun, the gold, the phone and passports, and when I find some time, I’ll write up a report. I’m down to two constables at the hospital, and I’ve stuck two admin clerks into uniform and have them at the train station. The rest of the department disappeared overnight. I’ve given the remaining police cars to the army to make it look like the civil power is still in charge, while I’m driving around in the divvy-van, making sure people see me. But last night, we had the biggest crime spree in the town’s history and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. No, as far as I’m concerned, this case is closed. I’ve a trolley in the back of the van. We’ll take care of Mr Thurlow, first.”

  With as much dignity as could be mustered, Mr Thurlow was placed in a body bag, then wheeled to the van. With less ceremony and no concern, the same was done with the many-named gangster.

  “Will you give me a hand inside, Liu? Pete, can you watch the van?”

  “Sure, of course,” he said. He wasn’t sure there was any need. He walked over to the junction and looked the length of Bromide Street, then back along Thomas. There was no one about. A blind moved in the side-window of a two-storey fifty metres down the road, and a few other shadows suggesting other people in other windows. No one came out to inquire about the two bodies they’d just loaded into the van. That worried him almost as much as the thug with the gun.

  He rubbed his throat. It was sore, but the pain was fading. His forehead was throbbing again, but that helped him focus. He moved into the van’s shadow. Within twenty-four hours he’d been punched in the head and then nearly strangled to death, and that was aside from the nightmare of the crashed plane. Wishing that he’d never come to Australia was all well and good, but that would have left him stranded in America where surely things were far worse. The only other option to Broken Hill was going with the pilots to Melbourne, but wasn’t that where Inspector Qwong had said the gangster had come from?

  Qwong and Liu came outside. “I’ll see you at home later,” Liu said, and headed off down the street while the inspector fetched some police tape from the van.

  “Can you give me a hand?” Qwong asked. “Thanks. I’ve sent Liu to get her car and your sister. There’s a ute-load of meat left in the freezer. No point letting it go to waste. You don’t mind helping me with the van?”

  “Of course not. To do what?”

  “To go to the crematorium,” she said. “Unless you want to go to the hospital?”

  “No, I’m fine. Just bruised. This isn’t how my week usually goes.”

  “You and me both,” she said. She stepped back from the door. “That tape won’t stop anyone, but what more can I do? The soldiers got an odd message this morning. More a rumour than anything. You know that people who get bitten don’t always turn immediately? Sometimes it can take hours. Because of that, a rumour has started that some p
eople are immune. Over in Perth, they crammed people, visitors and tourists, into hotels overnight. Locked them in and put guards on the door, but the guards were watching the street, not the stairs. In at least one hotel, they ended up with the virus inside. With the doors locked, there was no escape. When the guards finally opened the doors, the zombies spilled out.”

  “That was last night?”

  “The night before,” Qwong said. “It took a while for the story to reach us. Doctor Dodson called Anna, and she confirmed some of it. Thousands of people are dead, thousands more were infected. She said it’s been contained, that it’s under control.”

  “How did it start? How did the virus get there? Where is Perth?”

  “Don’t know, don’t know, and it’s the capital of Western Australia. Probably by plane. Possibly from India.”

  “The virus is in India?” he asked.

  “It’s everywhere,” Qwong said. “They’re saying Paris is gone. Tokyo is looking bad. Whether you can believe what they are saying is another matter. New Zealand is doing better than us, and Papua New Guinea is doing a bit worse. Of course, I don’t know whether that can be believed, either. You’ve been through a lot. How are you coping with it?”

  “I dunno. Trying not to think about it, I guess.”

  “Probably for the best. Civilisation is on the ropes. We had twenty soldiers arrive last night. Five are retirees, turned up at the barracks the moment they heard about Manhattan. Five are Kiwis, a couple are Poms. It’s just the start. Everyone’s about to be conscripted. We’ll all be soldiers and farmers. There’s no safety in the coast.”

  “You mean Melbourne, where the pilots are going?”

  “I do. Last week, if a criminal like that turned up dead, we’d have a task force here within hours, and half the country’s press a couple of hours after that. Now, it’s not even worth an autopsy. You and your sister seem handy, competent. We could use you around here. We could use everyone we can get.” She looked up and down the empty street. “But most of them have already left.”

  Chapter 17 - Highway to Hell

  The Silver City Highway

  When they reached the cemetery, he finally saw the traffic that had been missing since they’d left the airfield’s quarantine. Two coroner’s vans were in the driveway leading to the crematorium, while a trio of hearses, their windows covered in blue plastic, were waiting for the other vehicles to move so they could enter.

  “What’s going on?” Pete asked. “Is it a funeral?”

  “Not exactly,” Qwong said. “Yesterday, a church group went down to the creek and killed themselves.”

  “Oh.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. “How many died?”

  “Ten men, fifteen women, eight children,” she said.

  “I’m sorry.” He now better understood why she’d only shown a cursory interest in the hitman.

  She pulled the van in behind the hearse. “We couldn’t leave the bodies by the creek. It’s dry now, but come the Wet, it won’t be. Assuming the rains come.” She leaned forward, eyeing the sky. She leaned back. “Thirty-three dead, plus Mr Thurlow. I won’t count the gangster, but it’s only the beginning.”

  The line of traffic inched forward, and Qwong followed them into the cemetery’s grounds. She stopped the van next to a hearse.

  “If you wait here, I’ll see what’s what,” Qwong said. She got out and walked over to the entrance where the group of drivers were gathered in quiet conversation. Pete got out, leaned against the van, and scanned the sky for clouds; it was better than thinking of all the death surrounding him.

  “Pete Guinn, meet Charlie Green,” Qwong said. The inspector had returned with a balding man wearing a suit and tie despite the day’s growing heat. “Charlie runs the funeral home.”

  The funeral director gave Pete a practiced nod, and what was clearly just as practiced a greeting. “I wish we were meeting under other circumstances. It’s Johann Thurlow?”

  Qwong opened the rear doors of the van. “The other is the criminal.”

  “Of course,” Charlie Green said. “Poor old Joey. Always ran the sausage sizzle during elections. Said that was why he’d never run for office, would have been a conflict of interest. A good soul. A good man. He’ll be missed. Liam! Sean!” he added, calling over his shoulder. “Bring the stretcher. And take off your hats, show some respect.”

  Mr Thurlow was carefully lifted out of the van. As carelessly as he’d been dumped into it, so was the assassin.

  “Be a stranger,” Charlie said to the inspector.

  “If I can,” she said.

  Charlie Green gave Pete a nod, and headed inside.

  “And that’s it, isn’t it?” Pete said. “An attempted murder, and a heart attack, and we’re done.”

  “For now, yes,” Qwong said. “Sorry, you weren’t needed here. I didn’t think they’d be back so soon from the creek. If you head back up this road, you’ll be in the centre of town, probably in time to meet Liu and your sister at the cafe.”

  “You’re not coming?”

  “Not directly. They flew the helicopter over the creek. On its way out, it saw a dirt bike abandoned on the highway a couple of miles away. There’s no people,” she added. “No bodies, but we don’t want to leave it there. I’m going to collect it, then check in on a few of the outlying properties.”

  “I can give you a hand. If you want,” Pete said. “I’d like to be useful.”

  “You’ve made up your mind, then?”

  “I think so,” he said. “I think I’m staying. I mean, yeah, I’m not really qualified for anything. Wherever I go, I’ll be doing some heavy lifting, so why not start now, out here?”

  “Good on ya. Glad to have you aboard.”

  He shook his head.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  “Kind of. We accidentally killed someone an hour ago, and the response has been to deputise me.”

  “Recruited, not deputised,” she said. “Doctor Dodson vouches for your sister. That’s why I didn’t mind you bunking with Liu and Bobby. I trust the doc’s judgement about as much as I trust anyone’s on this planet. Liu didn’t ask me to get rid of you two last night, or this morning, so she trusts you, too. You helped her out back at that cafe, and offered to help me when half my department vanished the moment they heard about the bodies at the creek. Perth is on fire. You’re not a complete basket case after the plane wreck. And you’re holding it together after this morning. Desperate times.”

  “Aren’t they just?”

  Inspector Qwong stopped the van forty metres from the dirt bike abandoned on the Silver City Highway, three kilometres north of Broken Hill. She didn’t get out immediately, but checked the mirrors and windows.

  “I can’t see movement,” Pete said.

  “And I can’t see a body,” Qwong said. “You can wait here if you like.” She unclipped the button on her holster before getting outside. Hand on the hilt of her weapon, eyes alert, she walked towards the fallen bike.

  Pete weighed what she’d said, but it had been a suggestion rather than a command. He climbed out. She glanced over her shoulder, gave a nod, then continued her methodical approach to the abandoned bike.

  “There’s no body,” Qwong said. “But there’s blood on the handlebars. I don’t recognise the bike, but that doesn’t mean much. Do you see the green paint on the road? That’s where it skidded on the underside before coming to rest. No serious damage to the bike.” She followed the flecks of paint along the road until she reached the verge. “There’s tyre marks in the dirt. Looks like someone made it to the road, then fell off.”

  “And walked away?”

  “Not back into town,” Qwong said. “And why leave the bike? Unless they saw someone on the road. Got a lift. But again, why leave the bike? Can’t have been room for it, so we’re looking for a car. Grab some gloves, then pick up the bike, put it in the van. No point leaving it out here.”

  He retrieved the gloves, but paused after he’d picked t
he bike up. There was more blood than he first thought. “You don’t think it’s zombies?”

  Qwong had walked thirty metres up the road. “I think it was a car,” she said. “There’s tyre marks here. And heading north.” She walked back to the police van.

  “The plane didn’t crash that far from here,” Pete said.

  “Captain Hawker thought he got all the passengers,” Liu said. “But even if he didn’t, that’s three hundred kilometres away. No way someone could have walked that far in two days. And on two of the hottest days on record. That would be enough to kill a person. It has to have at least slowed a zombie down.”

  “Unless they can run,” Pete said.

  “Not heard any reports to say they can,” Qwong said. “And things are bad enough without imagining they’re any worse. Someone on a dirt bike skidded, fell, and was injured. Someone in a passing car took them north. Since they didn’t then come to town, I’m going to guess it’s not a serious injury. There’s a few properties up ahead. We’ll pop in, see if anyone’s still there, and if they saw anything. Otherwise, there’s not much I can do.”

  They got back in the van, and drove north.

  “Do you see the kite?” Qwong asked. “Up ahead. To the right?”

  “Oh, I saw that when I was on my way to my sister,” Pete said, glancing at the amber and lime kite floating above them. “Although I think it was a different colour, so I guess it was a different kite.”

  “That’s the Beecham place,” Qwong said. “Kasey was a jillaroo up at a cattle station in Queensland. Took up teaching after she got married. Johno was in the army. PTS. Prefers it out here to the bustle of the big city. That’s what he thinks of Broken Hill. He makes the kites, sells them online.”

  “It’s a big kite.”

  “Nearly a hang-glider,” she said. “Nearly, but not quite. There’s a balloon above it, keeps it afloat.” She stopped on the road. “Gate’s open. So’s the driver-side door to their car. Wait here.”