Mac had spent most of the time since the morning pacing the interior walls and windows of the building, looking for a break in the infected. Little had changed, though, in terms of numbers; however, their intensity had diminished somewhat. Strewn across the school grounds were the discarded limbs of the dead—torsos, arms, legs, innards, and even heads—and many infected still ate from these. Others wandered about aimlessly looking for some long lost thing or another. But there were gaps now, places where Mac could see right to the fence line. He spent more than an hour measuring the opportunities off in time to gauge if there was any sort of repetitive patterns the small herds of infected where creating.
“Finally,” Mac said, squatting down beside Smitty, who had taken up a perch beside a gap in the coverings over the front window. “Look good?”
Smitty nodded and tapped the golf club on which he was resting his hands. “Timing’s right, mate. It’s clear all the way to the front gate. There’s nothing within ten yards on either side.”
Mac nodded. “Let’s do it then.” He stood and went over to Shelli. She’d spent most of her time keeping the kids distracted, and it seemed to have taken her mind of both Ken’s death and what lay beyond the walls. Mac offered his hand. “It’s time.” She looked at it for a long moment then reached out, and he helped her onto unsteady feet.
“You can do this, Shell. It’s not your time.” Her lower lip quivered. Mac pronounced his words. “It’s not your time.”
“What if Ken is—”
Mac put a hand to his lips. “No more.” He would need to be selfish. “My kids need you, Shell. At the moment, they have no mother.” Shelli nodded. Mac left her with the kids.
“Any change, Smit?” Mac asked.
Smitty stood at the side door leading out into the grounds, peering between two pieces of cardboard. “No change, mate. Still looks good. We need to go now though.”
Mac clapped Smitty on the shoulder and returned to the kids, guiding them away from the corner to Smitty at the door, where he lined them up then squatted so he could talk face-to-face. “We’re going to make a run for it, okay?”
Ashleigh pressed her lips into a thin line. “I don’t want to, Daddy. I’m scared.”
“I know, baby, we’re all scared, but we’re just going to run across the oval to where the cars are parked and then get inside where we’ll be safe. Then we’ll drive away and go and find Mommy.”
“We’re gonna get Mom?” Tyler said, his eyes lighting up.
Mac knew it had been a mistake, but he needed to give them a sliver of hope. “That’s the plan, bud.” Tyler smiled one of his old smiles and Mac felt bittersweet. “I need you both to do what I say, okay? You gotta run as fast as you can, faster even than when you won all those races at school, all right, Ash?” He could carry her, but that would prevent him taking care of any problems. She was a good runner and capable of making it on her own two feet. She gave an accentuated nod. “You too, Ty. Run like the wind.” But Tyler didn’t need to be told. He could leave them all behind. Shelli needed Mac’s help the most.
Jim stood in the corner, watching them. “You sure you won’t come with us?” Mac asked as he collected the machete from a bench.
“Thanks, but no,” Jim said. “I want to make sure the other two are all right, and…”
Mac knew what Jim wanted to say. Maybe it was the place and the memories he couldn’t leave behind. It was his school, after all, and Mac understood the commitment Jim had made to create a safe place for those affected to have safety.
“Well, if you change your mind—assuming we make it to the car—we’re off to Mole Creek.”
Jim nodded and stuck out his hand. Mac shook it firmly, and then Smitty did the same. Jim moved to the door and opened it.
“You take point,” Mac said to Smitty. “Ash and Tyler will follow you, then Shelli, and I’ll bring up the rear.”
Smitty tapped the golf club head against the inside of his foot and nodded. Mac tightened his hand around the machete.
And then they were outside, bright, grey light spiking their eyes, the heavy press of humidity in the nose and lungs. Mostly though, they caught the deathly scent of flesh and decay, like the laneway at the back of a fruit and vegetable shop at the end of the week. Mac caught the scent in the back of his throat and swallowed. The kids moaned and cried out the way they might if one of them let off a stinker.
Smitty led them away from the edge of the building crouched over, the same way he might have led them going through the mountains of Helmand Province in Afghanistan, but this time instead of an M4, he had a five-iron. Ashleigh scurried after him, her little legs and feet hurrying over the grassy slope, Mac hoping she didn’t fall. But she was steady, arms balanced and pumping, running the way her mother, who managed a five-kilometre run several times most weeks, had taught her. Mac was pleased to see Tyler stayed in her shadow, watching his sister’s every move. He could easily have run ahead, but he had taken on the responsibility without Mac having to ask, and he found himself filled with pride as his young son was forced to confront things no child should. Shelli was the problem though. After ten yards, she was already falling behind Tyler. It had probably been years since she had run. Her aging legs were weak and unsteady. Mac stayed close, offering a hand before they arrived at the bottom edge of the oval.
It was here, where Mac thought Shelli had reached the safety of flatter ground, that the older woman fell. She went down on her side with a cry, the soft-soled shoe of her left foot twisting as she leant too far one way. Suddenly, Shelli was spread out on the grass like the other bodies he had seen over the last few days.
Mac was on her in a moment. She moaned softly, eyes pressed shut, mouth in a grimace. “Go,” she said. “I’m done.”
“Come on, Shell,” Mac said, pulling her arm. She snatched it free and it flopped to the ground.
Mac glanced around. As he suspected, a dozen or so infected had caught wind of their escape and were shuffling towards them. Ahead, Smitty and the kids had stopped. Mac made a fist and shook it up and down in a hammer motion at chest height. Smitty understood they had to keep going.
“I’m not leaving, Shell, so if you value my life, you’ll get up and save me being killed by those things and leaving Ashleigh and Tyler without a father.”
“Oh, all right.” Shelli stirred, crawling onto her knees. The guilt trick had worked again.
Mac dropped the machete, and with two hands under her arms, lifted Shelli. She took a moment to steady her faltering legs. “Come on,” he said, ushering her along as he scooped up the weapon.
But Shelli could barely walk. Her legs were confused, unable to make the simple movement of steps, let alone run, as they needed to do. Mac glanced back. The things were making up ground. A gruesome-faced man with hollow eyes, thin cheekbones, and wispy hair led the charge, arms out in a classic pose of the walking dead.
Mac urged Shelli on. “Keep going.”
Mac turned to face the infected man. He pulled the machete around in fluid motion and struck it sideways into the upper curve of the attacker’s neck. The thing’s right leg buckled and it fell to the grass. The next two in line tripped over the hollow-eyed man, but a third somehow missed the collision and lunged at Mac from a wider angle. Mac sidestepped deftly, grabbed a clump of its thick black hair, and swung the machete the way he might cut into a watermelon. It dug deep into the thing’s neck with a savage spurt of blood and almost separated its head. Mac released the hair, and the infected collapsed. Time to go.
Relief filled Shelli’s face when she glanced back and saw Mac following ten yards behind. Still, Mac thought she had aged overnight, her once bright-blue eyes laden with dark bags, her cheeks pallid and saggy.
Beyond Shelli, Smitty and the kids were more than halfway across the oval, and if they made it past a handful of infected, they had a clear stretch of grass all the way to the entrance gates. They just had to keep their speed up. Smitty despatched one with a mighty swing of the five-iron an
d guided the kids around the others. When Mac checked his pursuers, he found only one following, the rest having stopped to feed on the two he had downed. We’ll make this, Mac thought.
Shelli had reached some sort of consistency with her pace, but the pain in her expression made Mac wonder how much longer she could maintain it.
“Come on, Shell, we’re almost there.” Grimacing, she bit down on her lip and tried desperately to hold on.
When Smitty and the kids reached the entrance, Mac checked behind again. There was nothing for thirty yards now. A lone infected woman still chased, while the others had either stopped at the fallen bodies or turned back towards the school. Many more infected had gathered at the door to the admin building through which they had fled. Jim was gone, and Mac wondered now how he, Dan, and Kumiko would ever get out of there.
Mac and Shelli had twenty yards to go when Smitty opened the entrance gates and struck an infected in the head with the golf club, sending it sprawling into the weedy gutter. The kids ran through and stopped in the middle of the road, where Smitty joined them. Mac and Shelli left the oval and ambled through the gravel entrance as they reached Smitty and the kids. Mac peered down the road and spotted Dave-O’s black Commodore and Ken’s Nissan Navara with the trailer hooked on. Both appeared to be intact, though several infected hovered around the trailer.
“Might get a stroke of luck,” Smitty said.
Puffing, Shelli said between breaths, “Can we just get out of here? This place has bad memories for me.”
As Mac jogged to the car, he considered his next dilemma. Jim and the others were still inside. He wasn’t keen on leaving anybody behind. Jim had been clear with his choice, but he wasn’t sure Jim understood how compromised the location had become. The longer he waited, though, the more he put the kids and Shelli at risk.
Mac reached the Commodore and dispatched three infected with help from the machete. The thing was proving to be an effective weapon. He was pleased to see that both the Commodore and Nissan appeared to be undamaged. He thought it might be time to leave Dave-O’s Commodore behind in favour of Ken’s hardier vehicle that could tow the trailer full of supplies. He popped the Commodore’s trunk and removed half a dozen shotgun shells. He closed up and started jogging back towards the others. Mac decided he’d give Jim a little longer and a chance to change his mind, but if it wasn’t soon, he’d have no other choice but to leave.
Returning, he took the shotgun from Smitty and loaded it with shells. It felt good to have a weapon in his hands again; suddenly, he felt a whole lot more confident protecting his family.
It was Ashleigh, with her pure eyesight, who spotted them. “Who’s that?” she asked, pointing towards the school.
Mac turned and found two small figures climbing over the roof towards the edge. It was Kumiko and Dan. Behind them, an infected appeared to be in pursuit. They were headed towards the edge of the roofing from where Mac and the others had escaped, but the horde of infected had assembled underneath. Mac realised that was part of the reason their run to the car had been so easy. The kids had two choices: stand and fight the thing or escape the roof and try their luck in the sea of infected.
7
Late afternoon sun had turned the school building’s roof into a frying pan. Thankfully, where the gutters had filled with leaves, a towering gum shaded a small section. Kumiko and Dan had sat in its shade for most of the day, trying to work out an escape plan. At first, Dan had suggested they use the skinny tree growing near the opposite corner of the roof to slide their way down to ground. In theory, the idea was good, but the infected had stayed within the vicinity, as if refusing to leave. They had scouted the rest of the roof, but all possible avenues to the ground were covered, and they were unable to go back into the roof space the way they had come. So they sat, waiting for circumstances to change.
Some time later, Kumiko looked at her watch and realized they had been sitting on the corrugated iron roof of the school building for almost seven hours. Talk had covered just about every conceivable thing to pass the time, ever the while remaining vigilant around the movements of the infected as they went about their business below. If she was honest, she should admit that her feelings for Dan had started to grow. At first glance, he wasn’t her type, but she had grown to appreciate his consideration for her and his irrepressible laughter amongst the most dire of circumstances. She could see he had fallen for her quickly and, unlike others before, she noticed his genuine interest in all things about her.
As Kumiko stood to stretch her legs, a noise sounded from inside the roof space. Dan was on his feet quickly, walking back along the peak of the roof towards the place where the infected woman had lifted back the iron sheeting, creating a jagged hole.
“Don’t get too close,” Kumiko said. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck had risen as the banging from inside continued. “It must be trying to climb up again.” It had been peaceful and her worry had shifted to the things on the ground rather than an attack coming from inside the roof.
Dan got down onto his knees beside the twisted metal and stuck his head down into the hole. Kumiko held her breath. A deep, sweeping fear overwhelmed her. She imagined something pulling him down into the abyss and hearing his screams as the infected tore him apart.
“Dan!” Kumiko started forward. “Get out of there!”
Dan scuttled back as the woman’s head appeared out of the hole in the roof. Kumiko froze. Dan turned and hurried towards her. Eyes locked on the infected thing as it climbed out, Kumiko started retracing her steps. Her heel struck a defect in the roof surface, and she tumbled backwards, her hands slapping the hot tin. She landed on her butt and rolled over onto her belly. Kumiko slid down the sharp angle with nothing onto which she could latch herself. I’m done.
Clawing for purchase, the tops of the rivets securing the corrugated iron to the trusses stabbed her legs and belly as she plummeted. She may have been screaming. Somehow, her fingers hooked onto one of the corrugations, and she jerked to a halt. Turning the rubber sole of her sneaker sideways, Kumiko pressed it against the roof to prevent herself dropping further. But she dared not move anymore.
Then a voice in her ear provided reassurance. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Strong hands gripped her wrist and she scrambled up the roof’s incline and onto her feet. Another few moments, and she may have slid right off.
The infected woman, who had worked her way along the roof to them, now stood only half a dozen yards away, bloody yellow teeth bared, black eyes boring into them. With careful tread, the thing worked her way along until it was even with their positon, halfway between the hole and the corner tree.
“We have to get off this roof,” Kumiko said, keeping her eyes on the infected woman.
Dan did the same. “I know. I just haven’t worked out how.”
“I’m going to regret saying this, but I think we have to go over the edge.”
For the first time, Dan glanced behind her to the guttering on the roof. He reviewed it for several seconds, then returned to the infected. “How far down?”
“Close to two storeys.”
Dan looked around again. Other infected began to exit the hole in the roof. “Shit,” Dan said under his breath. “We can’t get to that bloody tree.”
Kumiko turned away towards the edge. “Come on. I’d rather die falling off a building than getting bitten by one of them.” But her hands were trembling, her legs felt like jelly, and her stomach threatened mutiny. Knowing she was more scared than she’d been since the crowd attack early on, Kumiko pushed her fear down and focused.
She crouched this time, sliding down the angled roof on her bottom, using the soles of her sneakers to stop slipping too far. It was more effective than falling, as she had done earlier. She locked her sneakers down and looked back to find Dan doing the same. Behind him, the infected woman started down too, but chanced herself standing up. The other infected had reached the middle of the roof.
“We have t
o take a chance,” Kumiko said. “When we reach the edge, we find the highest point on the ground below and jump, okay?” Dan agreed, but his nod was more of a tremor.
As she approached the guttering, she stuck her shoes into the cradle and peered over the edge, catching her breath as she sought to find the earth. Luckily, it was covered in low-lying shrubs, with spiky leaves and dense branches. It would provide a reasonable landing.
From behind, the infected woman began to make a coughing noise, like a flat bark. Dan and Kumiko glanced at each other. The infected had all started walking towards where they were going to have to jump.
“Oh, Jesus,” Dan said. “It’s calling them.”
“We have to go.”
Kumiko felt a sudden urge to leap. She knew the alternatives—the thing coming from behind, which had stalked them since yesterday and would tear their necks out before they could react, or the things below, against which they would at least have a chance.
She picked the tallest shrub, a large, bushy hibiscus, and pushed herself off, pinwheeling her arms as she dropped. She kicked her legs out as the ground rushed up at her and then felt pain in her hamstrings and buttocks. But she was down. She rolled off the bush and landed in the dust.
Kumiko leapt up and rushed away, adrenaline driving her body to move. She glanced back over her shoulder to make sure Dan had followed; he was busy untangling himself from one of the bushes. She leapt over a tree root and landed in the middle of a stout shrub. Pain shot up her ankle but the adrenaline worked its magic and she was able to leap clear. When she looked back again, Dan was close behind, a trail of dead following, their gleeful faces like those of kids at an Easter egg hunt. The infected woman had also landed in the garden and had begun her pursuit.
Invasion of the Dead (Book 5): Resolve Page 5