Invasion of the Dead (Book 5): Resolve

by Baillie, Owen

  When she reached the last person, she lined up behind them and gave Darren a thumbs up. He did the same then stepped out from behind the edge of the building and disappeared.

  They started off like a painfully slow line of traffic from a set of lights. Shane disappeared; then one, two more, but the obese man couldn’t seem to get out of the blocks. Others faltered and hesitated. The coil of anxiety in Tammy’s gut unfurled.

  “Quickly,” she said, trying not to sound panicked.

  “I can’t,” someone yelled. “This asshole’s—”

  The obese man went down with a heavy slap against the concrete. The woman behind tumbled over the top of him and disappeared. Then the yelling and screaming started, panicked shrieks from the men and women. Others began sidestepping the pileup.

  Tammy scampered up in the queue until she reached the obese man. She was poised to offer him help, when movement ahead caught her attention. Darren had reached the bus but hadn’t yet gotten the door open. Something was wrong with it. Horrified, she saw Shane and one if his mates yank Darren out of the way and clamber to the narrow opening. Darren stumbled back into the arms of an infected.

  “Run!” a voice shouted.

  “Not yet!” Tammy screamed. The infected were spreading, scrambling for the humans. In the middle of the crowd, someone else had gone down—one of the ladies—and three infected were closing in on her. There were three choices: Darren, the obese man, and the woman—Barb. Tammy felt the indecision immobilize her actions.

  The obese man was closest, so she bent down and grabbed underneath his arms. “Come on!” She knew she wouldn’t be able to lift his body but had expected some support from him. Instead, he floundered like a baby foal, unable to gain any sort of balance.

  Tammy squatted down beside his face. “I need you to move now, mister, for both our sakes.”

  “I can’t…” he managed. Spittle came from his lips and his face was reddening.

  A tall man sailed in on long strides. “I’ve got him. You go for the bus.”

  Tammy hesitated; her choices were to help Darren or the lady who had fallen.

  She left them and hurried towards the woman, who now had an attacker clamped on her. There was no avoiding infected now, and as young girl with stringy blonde hair came for her, Tammy simply kept going, crashing into the thing’s chest with a thump. Tammy bounced off, staggered, and stopped. Others came from all directions—a young boy, an old man, and a big, burly trucker who wore a cap and had half his face missing. She had never been this close to them before. Their slobbery cries talked of a desperation Tammy would never know, and their smell plugged her nostrils and made her want to gag.

  With the woman on the ground close, Tammy took hold of the infected attacker’s shoulders and wrenched it aside. It fell back with a moan, its toothy grin full of dried blood and grizzly innards.

  “Up,” she said.

  The lady on the ground rolled onto her knees and elbows and crawled away. Tammy followed her until she was on her feet, and they ran towards the bus. Others clamoured for the door, but even Shane and his crew hadn’t managed to open it. A narrow gap teased them, promising safety beyond. People were fending themselves from the infected with whatever they could scrape up—a dirty black boot, a dented silver hubcap, and someone had found a golf club.

  Darren fought his way back to the bus door and managed to get front position. Shane swore through gritted teeth, but stepped away, as though accepting he could not achieve the outcome they needed.

  Then the door opened, and Darren dropped off the step to allow people through. Tammy saw with some shock that Darren was blocking Shane from getting to the door. The ladies went on first, followed by an older man who struggled to walk. Shane yelled and cursed, but Darren kept his broad shoulders in the way.

  Remembering the obese man, Tammy turned and found both him and the taller man on the ground, with numerous infected clawing at them from all sides. The obese man had given up and lay there unmoving, hands covering his head. A raggedy thing with long orange hair that had once been a young girl leant forward and bit into his calf. The man didn’t even cry out.

  Two infected had the taller man pinned. He fought back, slamming his mango-like fists into their backs and heads.

  “Tammy!” Darren called out.

  Everyone else was inside the bus. People peered at her through the window, their faces stricken with frowns of worry. Darren stood on the step, swinging a steel pole at any infected that came too close.

  But she couldn’t leave the tall man. Tammy turned her back on Darren’s calls and hurried forth. He had knocked one of the infected away, but sat on his knees, head down, throwing weak punches. A gruesome thing with sores over his face reached for the tall man. Beyond, she spotted the obese man with a chunk the size of an apple taken from his large calf muscle, where the pink flesh beneath a layer of bloody white fat was visible.

  Tammy knocked the sore-faced man away by shoving him in the side, surprised how little he weighed. He went sprawling and struck his head on the concrete. The tall man looked up, wonder in his expression.

  “Quickly!” Tammy shouted.

  Climbing to his feet with those tall legs was a challenge. Tammy provided a hand and after he took it, they were running, knocking aside other infected who sought to prevent their escape. A large woman with biceps like legs of lamb and a bosom that could crush a small child came at them with open arms. Tammy, leading the way, hesitated. The tall man was in no shape to fight her off, barely staying on his big duck-like feet. If the lady got hold of her, that would be it. As the woman closed in, Tammy froze.

  At the last moment, Darren came through, using the steel pole to reshape the infected woman’s face. She let out an awful, gurgling noise and fell to her knees.

  Darren pulled Tammy by one arm, and the tall man clambered after her. Then they were at the minibus, climbing the three steps to the aisleway. Most of the people cheered. Tammy swung back to make sure Darren had made it. He yanked on the manual lever and pulled the doors tight, kicking aside the toolbox that had caused the original problem getting the door open.

  Outside, the infected piled against the sides of the bus, slapping their hands and fists. Tammy fell into one of the seats, wondering how they hadn’t all gotten killed.

  13

  January 11, 2104

  5:08 pm

  Latrobe, Tasmania

  Leroy Waters stood looking at a stack of Arnott’s biscuits in the sweets aisle of the Woolworths Supermarket just outside Latrobe. Biscuits were a serious business. A long time ago, when he’d been a first-class cricketer for Tasmania and had briefly made Australian representation, he hadn’t been allowed to eat biscuits. And whilst Leroy knew he had vanity in bucket loads, things had changed of late. He no longer had a wife. He no longer had any cricket commitments. And he’d just about given up giving a fuck about anything. And so, Leroy supposed he could eat all the biscuits he wanted.

  He reached out and took six packets of raspberry shortcakes and fitted them into the trolley, right on top of two cartons of eggs he hoped hadn’t gone off yet. The crinkle of the polypropylene packaging sounded too loud. One of the trade-offs of having so many sick and dead was the peace and quiet, but when a noise sounded, it really sounded. On the other side, now he had the zombies to deal with. And as fine and peaceful as it was, he’d take the old days back in a heartbeat if someone had offered him.

  Leroy rolled the trolley with its rattling wheel over the linoleum floor and down the aisle. Like the packet of biscuits, it had sounded loud at first, and he’d been conscious of the noise it made and worried it might draw attention. But he’d been up and down most aisles in the store, and there didn’t appear to be any threats. So far, things had gone according to plan. There had been no zombies, and nobody else to stop him taking all the biscuits he wanted.

  As he reached the checkout counter and started to arc the trolley into the final aisle, he spotted one of the dead wandering along the street ju
st outside the entrance doors. He paused momentarily, curious and disgusted. It had once been an old man, but now, with a bare upper body and not a strand of hair visible. It was almost fleshless, sunken pockets in its face, bones stark and long in its arms. Dark, depthless eyes watched some unseen thing from which it couldn’t take its gaze. Leroy considered ever turning into one of those things, and it was all, he felt, that truly scared him. There was no light left in their eyes, and the concept of eating human flesh made him feel sick. If he ever got bitten, he thought he’d have no choice but to kill himself.

  Leroy turned away and pushed the trolley towards the back of the store. He would find a few extra items and wait a little longer and hope the zombie had disappeared. Then he would take his new stock of supplies with his junk food and head back to his house. The three trolley loads would last him a week or two. He wished his wife and best mate could see him now. In fact, he wished the entire world could see him. An apparently washed-out cricketer was surviving when most others had kicked the bucket.

  From an early age, Leroy had been successful at almost any sport he tried. But cricket was his game. He had progressed through the early years in the Tasmanian schoolboy’s team, flying over to the mainland to play the other states. He had eventually played for the Tasmanian state team and even Australia briefly. And although he had retired several years ago due to injury, he was still recognised often, especially by middle-aged men and, sometimes, the ladies. Still, he was a man who liked his privacy. This new scenario, though, was pushing his limits. As much as people often annoyed him, he missed the chatter of the grocery store.

  Reaching the back corner of the store, there came the faint clink of metal from the front, where he’d just been. Leroy stopped, listening, unsure whether his mind was playing tricks. Perhaps given there were so few noises now, he had simply made it up. But then a clatter came again, and he knew it was real. He reached out and gripped the handle of a baseball bat lying on the food he’d stacked in the trolley. He probably should have used a cricket bat, but baseball bats were denser and had less chance of breaking on impact.

  He had to see what was making the noise. Leroy turned the trolley and rolled it up the closest aisle, cursing the loose wheel and its chatter. It seemed to be twice as loud as before. In hindsight, he should have taken a quieter trolley. He put more weight on the handle, hoping it would suppress the noise.

  At the end of the bread aisle, he drew the cart to a stop, poked his head around the corner and peered at the cash registers. No sign of the zombies. He took the baseball bat off the side of the trolley and walked quietly along the end of the aisles, twisting the weapon as he went, just to make sure the space was clear before he headed towards the exit doors. Leroy decided he’d finished his shopping for the day. If there was something inside the store, it must have already been in there because he’d locked the entrance when he arrived.

  Satisfied the section was clear, Leroy returned to his trolley and pushed it to the front of the store, where he had three other trolleys waiting. He unlocked the double entrance doors and pulled them both apart. Then he pushed the first trolley out into the heat and up to the rear of his Toyota Rav4, squinting against the sun. He peered left along the street. In the distance, half a dozen infected dawdled along the bitumen in his direction.

  To the right, something else was happening. It looked like a stocky, grey-haired man was fighting several infected. Leroy didn’t want to get involved in anything at this point. He had his own problems to worry about.

  He stacked the groceries by putting the heaviest on the bottom and placing the rest in the gaps. Leroy went in and out of the store several times, keeping an eye on the infected. By the third trolley, he was running out of space in the trunk and had to push the back seat down to fit it all.

  As he unpacked the third trolley, Leroy wondered again where his wife and best mate might be and if they were faring as well. Had they managed the breakdown of the world as well as him? Leroy no longer gave a shit about them. He was happy with his situation. Having secured another four cartloads of groceries, he should see out a few more weeks and, with any luck, this thing would be over by then. And if he ever saw some of his so-called friends again, they’d be wearing his fist in their face.

  Reaching the final trolley, Leroy adjusted a twelve-pack of toilet tissue then turned and started towards the exit. He cried out in shock and snapped the trolley to a stop as he spotted a zombie that had positioned itself between him and the doors. Its big, bulging eyes sunk deep into his sockets. Leroy compared his own body type to the thing. They were both around the same six-foot height, but where Leroy was a little overweight at one hundred and ninety pounds, this man couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and thirty. A thick head of black hair and the scrappy beginnings of a beard defined his appearance. The flesh had dissolved from his cheeks, leaving prominent cheekbones. His teeth were large, almost oversized without the flesh around his face. It disgusted Leroy. He had been naïve to think it was going to be easy to get more supplies.

  “Couldn’t you have waited until I’d loaded my car?”

  The infected man shifted his feet. Leroy reached around for the baseball bat. The thing took a step to its left, as if to mirror Leroy.

  “What the fuck?”

  Leroy’s hand froze on the handle. The thing stopped too. For a second, Leroy didn’t know what to do. He’d never seen any of them behave like that. Admittedly, he’d tried to keep clear of them. He snatched the baseball bat up and took two steps away from the trolley. The thing followed again. It wasn’t going to let him pass without a fight.

  He might be able to ram it with the trolley, but that would probably mean he’d lose his supplies. Bugger that, Leroy thought. He wasn’t going to give up his last load of groceries, even if the thought of getting bitten scared the shit out of him. Maybe he could draw the thing away towards the back storeroom, where they kept the extra stock, and hope he could lock the thing out there. But he had left the groceries in the back of the Rav4 with the door up. What if someone came along and stole them? In Leroy’s mind there was only one option.

  With the baseball bat in his left hand, he guided the trolley with his right towards the zombie. For a long moment, he didn't think it was going to react. But as the heavy trolley gathered speed, the thing staggered backwards out of its path at the final moment. Leroy pulled back on the handle, slowing it down, and then let it crash into a stack of trolleys. He leapt around the other side of the trolley and, gripping the smooth wooden handle of the bat with both hands, swung with his shoulders and hips, imagining the thing getting hold of his throat between its rotted black teeth.

  In his day, he had been known as one of the better strikers of a cricket ball in Australia. Even now, well past his prime, he could hit a ball out of most local cricket grounds. The zombie took the meaty section of the bat in the cheek, twisting its head savagely as small tendrils of blood flew from its mouth. It fell onto one knee, and Leroy was on it, using the motivation of his own potential demise. It crumpled to the floor with the side of its head beaten to bloody mush. Leroy’s arms pumped, the bat making the perfect arc of a swing as it came from behind his head, crashing down against the infected thing’s skull.

  Leroy paused, his chest heaving up and down, as he looked at it. One eye had disappeared into its skull, and its mouth continued to open and close while blood pooled around the thing’s head. Leroy’s hands were shaking and tears formed at the corners of his eyes. He hated them with a deep and binding passion—not for who they were—but because what they might do to him and what he would become.

  He wiped the bat clean on the thing’s clothing then placed it in the trolley and pushed it out the exit doors, his heart still thumping. As he hit the sidewalk, Leroy saw the altercation he had seen further up the road had moved closer. A number of zombies were attacking the stocky man, who hobbled around on what looked to be a bad ankle. His arms were heavily tattooed. He had short greyish hair and wore blue jeans and
a black leather vest, reminding Leroy of a bikie. The man had no weapons and was fighting with his hands to fend off the hungry zombies.

  Leroy felt for the man but knew not to get involved. One of the reasons he’d survived so far was by minding his own business and staying out of trouble. He had to get to his vehicle without being noticed.

  He pushed the trolley towards the back of the Rav4, his mother’s voice in his mind reminding him of her philosophy on those who helped others. But she had been the one to leave in the end, not the other way around. That was selfish. And now it was all about survival. He took several glances back at the altercation and noted the man was holding his own as he attempted to ward them off.

  As Leroy reached the passenger side, he crouched down, and with a gentle click, opened the door. Keeping low, Leroy began unloading the supplies, stacking them carefully on the floor first, and then on the seat. When he was done, he nudged the trolley away from the car and it rolled until hitting a rubbish bin. He stood and bent lower as he peered through the car window. The man and the infected were on the other side of the road directly opposite Leroy’s car. Leroy started towards the back of the car, using the vehicle as cover.

  At the rear, he closed the door with a gentle click, but the lock wouldn’t engage without enough force. He tried several times more before resigning to putting more strength into it. He shoved it closed, creating a loud noise. He looked up sharply at the altercation and found the man had spotted him.

  “Hey,” he called, limping away from an infected female. “Gimme a hand, will you?”

  Leroy had expected this might happen. The man hobbled towards Leroy, diverting his concentration from the zombie. A woman closed in, and the man stumbled and fell onto one knee. Leroy left the vehicle and started forward. The man rolled over onto his backside as the thing launched at him. There was a second where Leroy thought it had him, but the man moved surprisingly quick and managed to stand, shuffling away from the zombie.