Invasion of the Dead (Book 5): Resolve

by Baillie, Owen

  The man swung a fist and knocked it down. It tripped and fell onto the road. The man’s face was red; his chest rose and fell rapidly, but he was okay. Leroy didn’t have to intervene. He could go on his merry way and stay out of it. He didn’t want to get involved with anyone. Just helping the man would mean swapping names and information, and he would know all about Leroy. Then the judgement would start, and he just couldn’t be bothered. If Leroy helped him, he’d probably end up getting into trouble himself.

  Leroy found himself moving towards the driver’s door. The familiarity of his father’s voice sounded in his mind, the one that had been guiding him since the outbreak had started. Put yourself first in every situation, it said. Otherwise, they’ll take advantage of you. Leroy reached the vehicle and pulled the door open. He slipped in behind the wheel, tossed the baseball bat onto the passenger’s seat, and shut the door, drowning out another call for help.

  Now, a second voice spoke in his head. This time, it was his mother, ridiculing him for not helping the man. You’re a lazy, coward, she said. Selfish. What if it was you out there? Would you want somebody to help?

  Ahead, the group of infected he had seen walking down the street earlier were almost upon them. Leroy had about ten seconds to decide whether he was going to drive off or help the man.

  14

  January 11, 2014

  4:48 pm

  Outside Queenstown, Tasmania

  Heart thundering, Tammy pressed her face into her hands and groaned. They had made it. Just. She wondered how long before her hands had lost the clean feel of the old world, with its moisturising creams and wash faucets. If you can survive. Momentarily, she wished she could just disappear and not have to face any of it—the dead that wanted her blood, the uncertainty of it all, and the Shanes of this world. But it was the voice of optimism that spoke. You can make a difference. And she could. She dropped her hands and peered around the minibus.

  They had made it, but not without loss. Most people lay slumped in seats; some cried, others were joyous at reaching the haven of the minibus. But they couldn’t enjoy their relief for long. Hands and fists pummelled against the glass and exterior. Perhaps she and the others had only delayed the inevitable. The infected were three or four deep now, milling at most windows, their hideous faces and deep-sunken eyes focused on the survivors. They’d have to move out soon. Whilst the height of the minibus would prevent the infected climbing on the roof, they might do damage elsewhere and stop the vehicle from leaving.

  She caught Darren’s eye, sitting three seats away, and he gave her a nervous smile then raised his eyebrows as if to ask if she was okay. She nodded and held her eyes closed a moment as if to say yes, for now.

  Tammy pushed her way along the aisle to him. “How many did we lose?” she asked.

  “Looks like two. Brendan and Dominic.”

  Tammy pressed her lips together. Minutes ago, they had all been standing behind the brick wall, alive and well.

  “We were still lucky,” Darren said. “I didn’t think that door was gonna open.”

  Tammy could have added that stupid people trying to push their way to the front didn’t help. But ultimately it had been her call when to move, to even make a run for the minibus. She had been anointed leader of the group since people began gathering early on. Like it or not, they were now looking to her for guidance. Losing two people filled Tammy with more indecision and less self-belief. All of that aside, she was certain of one thing.

  “We need to move.”

  “We’ll have to do something about him first,” Darren said, nodding to where others had gathered near the front of the bus. There was a man sitting in the driver’s seat who was surely dead.

  Tammy had not noticed him in the rush to pile on the bus. “Is he infected?”

  “I doubt it. Otherwise they wouldn’t be standing around him.”

  Approaching, Shane said, “You did a good job of botching that, didn't you?”

  Darren was out of his seat and standing behind Shane in a second.

  “It was never going to be easy,” Tammy said. “We all knew that.”

  Shane glanced at Darren. “And you, standing in the way of the door. What’s with that?”

  Darren’s cheeks flushed. Through gritted teeth, he said, “Women first, mate. You’re lucky I let you on at all.”

  Shane’s mouth twisted. He looked Darren up and down and made a grunting sound. “We’ll see how long you last on your own.” He headed back towards the rear of the minibus.

  “Are you okay” Tammy asked. “No scratches?”

  “No.” He turned both arms over, double-checking. “Bloody lucky though. You?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Nothing like doing everything you can to be caught.”

  “I couldn’t leave them.” Darren raised his eyebrows at her, but she shifted his focus, saying, “Everyone else okay that you know of?”

  “Aside from Brendan and Dominic.” Darren looked outside the window. “Not a bad result, all in all.”

  “Not according to Shane.”

  “He’s a fruit loop. Don’t worry about him.”

  “We have to be careful of scratches and cuts. If infected fluid gets into an open wound, there’s every chance the person will contract the virus.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “It’s common biology. We should think about covering up more.”

  “That's a good idea.” Darren unrolled the sleeves of his shirt. “When we get a chance to check out an army supplies store, we’ll make that a priority.”

  Tammy liked Darren more with each interaction. Nothing was insurmountable. He had a positive attitude. Everything seemed to be an opportunity. She felt a growing reliability in him. And he disliked Shane. “There’s a long list, starting with gloves and boots. But we’ll need gas bottles and cookers, lights, maybe even some camping equipment.”

  “If we can get out of the town, we’ll be able to find a clearer space and breathe.”

  “Exactly. It’s the—”

  A voice sounded, full of alarm, from the front of the minibus. What now? Tammy wondered.

  People started climbing over the seats to reach the far side windows. Tammy spun around; Darren joined her, and they pushed close enough to feel the heat baking against the glass.

  In the corner of a dark, inconspicuous doorway of a building on the other side of the street stood a young girl. Her long red hair fell forward as she leant out of the crevice and peered along the road.

  “We’ve got to help her,” an older woman called. Several other people agreed. Then some of the infected moved, obscuring the girl. The woman said, “Where did she go?”

  People were in loud discussion. Shane was making bold statements, but Tammy couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying. She caught Darren watching her, as if reading her expression. He rubbed his grey goatee. “We can make it.”

  Tammy raised her eyebrows at him. “What about the infected?”

  He shrugged. “If I can’t find a way through them, I’ll drive right over them.”

  That was one solution. Again, Darren impressed her with his attitude. She felt complete trust that they were aligned for the good of the group.

  Shane was back. “Surely you’re not going to try and rescue her?”

  A smaller chorus of agreement backed him. It was probably fifty-fifty. Beyond Shane, his cronies were there for support, but now several more people Tammy hadn’t seen associated with Shane had joined him. This guy was really beginning to get on her nerves.

  In a voice lower than Tammy thought was possible, Darren said, “You want me to get rid of him? I can throw him out of the van.”

  A smile started to form, and Tammy quickly suppressed it. She gathered herself and turned to the whole bus. “Of course, we’re going to try and rescue her.” Shane opened his mouth to say something, but Tammy rushed on. “Imagine that was your daughter, or niece, or someone you cared for.” She wasn’t sure he was capable of ca
ring for anyone but himself. “Would you want us to drive on and not give her the chance?” More people agreed now.

  Shane was about to speak, when Darren cut him off. “There’s the door, mate.” He pointed to the front of the van. “Feel free to step outside and take your chances.”

  Tammy stood. “We’re going to start this van up and do everything we can to rescue her.” Those who had voiced opposition slunk back. Others clapped.

  Shane looked her up and down. “Typical bloody politician.”

  15

  January 11, 2014

  7:05 pm

  Hamilton, Tasmania

  The dark hue of dusk greeted the Ford mid-sized SUV as it limped down the hill and pulled up outside the Hamilton Caravan Park. Jim felt a massive sense of relief that they had finally made it, mixed with an underlying terror of what they might find inside.

  Cicadas chirped and the mosquitoes were out looking for blood. Without a southerly breeze, the heat of the day lingered, stifling with every breath or movement. The moment Jim turned off the engine and peered in, he knew why his wife would have chosen the place; it was similar to the one they frequented years ago with one of those big colourful jumping pillows for the kids just inside the entrance. There was a long rectangle pool with a little water slide. Four or five BMX bikes lay in a pile near the park office, where people would go and buy cold drinks and ice creams after snatching sausages off one of the coin-operated barbecues for dinner.

  At a little after seven, there should have been screams and cheers and laughter. About nine o’clock the parents should’ve been dragging the kids back to their beds after applying moisturiser to their tanned skin. Now, the pillow was deflated, the pool water mirror-flat, and the office a spooky shell. Jim had never seen a park so empty and lifeless.

  The main gate was closed. It was a big, heavy yellow thing with crossbars thicker than a man’s arm and did a good job of keeping cars out. But the infected could come and go as they pleased, squeezing between the gaps. As Jim and Dan approached the entrance, Jim spotted a small number of them roaming between the caravans. No surprise, but if there were people inside the park, they weren’t yet making their presence known.

  Jim and Dan stood at the yellow gate and watched. Jim was a little fearful of going into the park. Dan said nothing, but they caught each other’s eye a few times, and Jim knew Dan recognised the potential for this situation to go horribly wrong. Jim had not been able to raise the girls on the phone since talking to them at the school. Now, he pulled it out again, only to find the familiar SOS ONLY signal looking back at him.

  They returned to the car, where Jim collected the shotgun and a handful of shells. Dan took the golf club, giving it a few practice swings in anticipation of rolling out the first stage of his revenge plan. Jim shoved a flashlight in his pocket that Dan had found at the fuel station store.

  As they approached the entrance using the last light of the day as a guide, Jim’s adrenaline began to rise, and his heartbeat sounded loud in his ears. This was it. He would soon find out if the girls had survived. For him, nothing else mattered at this point. Dan had a look of hatred in his eyes, his expression dark, clenching and unclenching his hands around the club as he walked.

  Jim knew two things: the last time he’d spoken to the girls they were hiding in the recreation room. They should check that out, but he also knew his ex-wife’s car, so he was hoping she had driven that here and it would provide another marker.

  They took the park’s main road, barely wide enough for two cars, but perfect for half a dozen kids riding their BMX bikes or scooters like a small pack of velociraptors. When they spotted the infected, Jim led them closer to the line of caravans, and they remained out of sight, much to Dan’s disappointment. Jim had promised him revenge, but he would have to wait for the right moment.

  At a newish caravan with a white aluminium canopy and annexe, they found a car similar to the one Alesia had driven. Jim’s heart rate went up a notch as they stood outside the door and gave a polite tap. He tried twice more before accepting nobody was going to answer, then opened it and stepped up the single metal step into the main room.

  “Wait there,” he said back to Dan.

  It was gloomy inside; all the blinds had been pulled down. Jim stood beyond the doorway and scanned the shadows, looking for signs of his wife. The benches, sink, and tabletop were clean, giving nothing away. He took an easy step along the narrow walkway, the small van shifting under his weight, past the sink and tall cupboard towards the back bedroom where the curtains had been drawn. Jim wondered whether Dan could hear his thundering heartbeat.

  He stopped at the curtain and held out his hand, poised to draw it aside. His fingers and hand shook. He didn’t want to do it, finding out if Alesia was dead… or worse, but he had to know. He grasped at the edge, missed it, then grabbed the fabric and snatched the curtain aside. The bed space was empty. Jim blew out a sudden, deep breath.

  “Bloody hell.” He left the van on shaky legs.

  “Anything?” Dan asked, resting on the golf club.

  Jim shook his head. “No. But I don’t know how I’m going to handle it if there is.”

  From behind a shrub at the rear of the van came movement. Jim jumped back a step and cried out. Dan had the golf club raised in a second. A dark-haired, bearded man wearing blue shorts and a blue collared shirt with the park logo on his breast stumbled towards them. He had both hands outstretched, and he made a slobbery sound. But Dan was having none of it. He swung the club hard and struck the infected man in the jaw. A crack sounded and a spray of blood marked the white paint of the van. The man bent over at the waist and Dan struck him again. This time the infected went down on one knee, grunting. The golf club went up and down as though on a hydraulic pump. Jim turned away, making sure there were no others lurking. When the killing had stopped, he turned back to find Dan leaning on the club, chest heaving, his slick hair covering his face. He looked up at Jim with a slight look of satisfaction, but neither said anything.

  They crept on, more carefully now, using physical objects as cover. The caravans were sited close together—most had annexes or awnings. There was plenty of foliage—garden beds, small shrubs, and the occasional gum tree. Every second van had a car parked at its door. The risk was that sticking close to these things would give them very little time to react to any surprises. The first infected that had attacked came from a shrub nestled between two vans.

  It was more than the promise of knowing for Jim. He felt the dread of anticipation. The next four-wheel-drive or shrub they stepped around, the next caravan door they opened, he might find one of his daughters frothing and scratching and ravenous for their flesh. After all that had happened with his wife, the school, and this whole damn plague, Jim knew it would be the end for him if the girls were sick or dead; it would be his time to check out. He had never considered it, but now, as he sought them out, it was every bit believable.

  As they worked their way along the line of caravans to the deepest section of the park, the number of infected began to grow. Across the road, at an older style van with dirty brown painted stripes on its sides and junk piled under the awning, three infected hovered. Two vans ahead, Jim spotted three more coming along the road towards them. They had to crouch down beside a car until they were gone, and Jim held Dan by the arm, suppressing the kid’s urge to kill.

  After reaching the end of the road, they cut along the rear perimeter fence and started back down a parallel road towards the front of the park. A second similar car sat parked beside one van, and Jim forced himself to go inside, certain his girls would be withering away on their beds waiting to die. But it was empty.

  The recreation room sat halfway along the length of the road, shrouded by stout shrubs and bony, black-trunked trees. This was the place from which his daughter had called to say they were hiding and under attack. Jim wondered if they might still be hiding in there now. Dan had to break the lock off the door to get inside. Jim followed him in, th
e skin on the back of his neck prickling. The place was empty until they found two bodies—a man and a woman, their hands entwined, lying dead on the floor.

  Beyond the recreation room, more infected dawdled about. Jim and Dan crossed to the next line of caravans and headed back towards the entrance. There was nowhere else to go. As they reached the last van, Jim spotted a vehicle shrouded underneath a plastic cover, only one silver rim and tire in view. He knew instantly that it was his wife’s because she had selected a fancy set of rims after purchasing the vehicle directly from a dealership.

  A tingling sensation swarmed over his skin. This was it. He could feel it. They were in there waiting for him. He thought about calling out but worried it would alert more infected to their location. He lifted the polyester car cover to confirm it was his ex-wife’s car. When Jim spotted a little tree air freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror, he knew it was Alesia’s. He looked over at Dan standing near the gas bottle setup at the front of the van and nodded. It was time. If Cindy and Lana were inside, he didn’t know what he’d do. He hesitated and Dan waved him over.

  “I’ll come in with you.”

  “No. I… appreciate that, but I have to do this alone.”

  Jim stuck the flashlight under his left arm, held the shotgun tight in his right hand, and twisted the door handle. For the first time, it opened. He pulled the door ajar a little way and peered in, but it was gloomy, almost impossible to see beyond just inside the door. The smell struck him. Sickness. He was almost assured that somebody or something was inside. He turned his head away, grimacing. Dan smelled it too, his nose twisted in repulsion.