Invasion of the Dead (Book 5): Resolve

by Baillie, Owen

  “Do you know them?” Leroy asked.

  Skoota shook his head. “Nope.”

  Skoota climbed off the bike and opened the gates. Leroy did the same and walked across the cracked concrete sidewalk and onto the driveway. Skoota returned to the bike and drove it onto the property. By the time Leroy had shut the gates, Skoota had turned off the bike and was already on his way to the infected with a long-handled knife he had taken from the hunting store. He launched at the closest one and used the knife like a tomahawk, jamming the silver blade into its head. The thing collapsed into the long grass at the base of the stairs. This stirred the interest of the other infected, a man, wearing a denim jacket and blue jeans. He reached out for Skoota, who simply stepped aside and, using his powerful arms, cut the infected man’s throat.

  “Load up,” Skoota said. “There’s more of that coming. We’ll take the pistols.”

  “You don’t think there’s anybody alive inside?”

  “I’m not saying that. But we should be prepared.”

  Skoota handed him one of the Ruger pistols and, again, he was surprised by the weight. Leroy hadn’t shot any sort of gun yet, and the concept still made him feel uneasy.

  “This is the safety,” Skoota said, indicating a small switch on the side of the gun.

  “How many shots?”

  “Ten.”

  Jesus, Leroy thought. He’d be surprised if he fired one.

  They walked down the driveway along the side of the house towards the rear of the property. They passed several bedroom windows, which Skoota peered into but couldn’t see beyond the drawn blinds. At the rear of the house, just in front of the driveway, a small gate beckoned. Beyond, was a circular grass area cut short, with plastic seating stacked at the edges and a huge rectangle barbecue with a rotisserie on it.

  “This lawn’s been cut recently. Jace can’t be far away.”

  Beyond the grassed area, perhaps thirty yards away at the bottom end of the block, was the biggest shed Leroy had ever seen on a residential property. It must have been thirty metres wide.

  Skoota carefully opened the gate and held it until Leroy passed through. He closed it with a click and led Leroy across the paved area containing a wide chrome bar fridge, a round barbecue grill, and a wooden outdoor furniture setting. A set of wide double-glass doors greeted them. Now they could see inside. A long room with a green felt billiard table sat centre, flanked by two long couches at the left corner edge of the table. In the right corner, a tall wooden bar with a Harley Davidson placard at the top towered above the room. Leroy imagined many a wild party had taken place in there.

  The glass doors were locked. Skoota walked to a giant ceramic pot plant in the corner beside a window. “Gimme a hand, will ya?”

  Skoota bent his knees, took hold of the edge with thick fingers and leaned the big pot backwards. A gap appeared under one side. Leroy spotted a silver key. He squatted, scooped it up and handed it to Leroy after he eased the pot back down.

  It was muggy inside the house, as though someone had left the heating on for too long. Worse, though, was the stink. It was either rotting food or something worse, Leroy thought. Something that might upset Skoota.

  They walked single file through the billiard room with their pistols ready. Leroy felt like a cop from a movie. They passed into a modest family room, where a small, dark wood kitchen table sat surrounded by six seats. Stacked against the walls were old records—piles of them. Leroy glimpsed the top of a few stacks and saw Led Zeppelin II, Nevermind and something by The Police.

  Skoota stopped and surveyed the scene. Leroy followed his gaze. Beyond the family room was the kitchen. A long countertop ran parallel to the table. All surfaces looked free of papers or trinkets, crumbs and leftover cutlery. The apples and mandarins in the bowl at the centre of the table appeared flat and discoloured.

  “How many people were you expecting to find?”

  “I don’t know. At least two.” It had seemed to Leroy as though Skoota had expected more.

  “Could they be somewhere else?”

  “Maybe. But there’s usually people at Jace’s house. I would have thought more of the club members might be here.” Skoota took another look and then said, “Let’s keep moving.”

  They passed through the kitchen and a small powder room until they reached two bedrooms—one on either side of the hallway. Skoota paused and unclicked the safety on his pistol. Leroy’s heart rate was well over a hundred. He couldn’t imagine what Skoota was feeling. These people were his friends.

  Skoota caught Leroy’s eyes, waved the pistol right, then stepped into the first bedroom on the left. Leroy went right with the gun raised. His hands shook. He tightened them around the pistol and held his breath, expecting at any moment to find an infected. The modest bedroom was undisturbed though. A large single bed made neatly. A desk with a lamp on it, bookshelves across the wall. Skoota called out. Leroy backed out of the room and crossed the hallway to find the other man standing in a similar sized room, but this one was the opposite in terms of cleanliness.

  The bed had been slept in, the covers thrown back. Two glasses, one empty, the other half full of water sat on the nightstand. Clothes were scattered about. Tissues littered the floor. Some had blood on them. Skoota looked at Leroy. There seemed to be more lines of worry across his forehead and around his eyes now. Where had the sick person gone? Skoota left the bedroom and turned along the final section of hallway. Leroy followed.

  The master bedroom was large, bright, and showed no signs that anybody had used it lately. Skoota shook his head in dismay. “Where are they?”

  “Maybe they went to the hospital.”

  “It’d take a lot to get Jace to the hospital.”

  “This probably constitutes a lot.” Leroy couldn’t imagine things getting worse. “Maybe his wife was sick and he took her?”

  They did one more sweep of the house, looking for signs of recent inhabitancy. The kitchen bin had the typical waste, though some of the dried food looked quite old. They left through the back sliding doors. While Leroy was relieved, Skoota was confused and disappointed.

  The clunk! of metal sounded. Both men turned and peered towards the back of the property. The shed.

  Skoota started for it. Leroy wanted to tell him to stop, that whatever was in there wasn’t good. They’d done their checks; nobody was inside the house. But nothing, Leroy knew, would stop the older man from entering that shed.

  They hurried to the end of the yard, the hot sun scorching on their faces when they stepped out from underneath shade. Every tree, bush, or object was the potential for ambush. Both men had their guns pointed and ready.

  At the shed entrance, Skoota turned the silver metal handle and the door came open with a squeal. The last thing Leroy wanted to do was follow Skoota in, but he did so, certain what awaited them was infected.

  It was cooler inside, but only by a degree or two. Part of the front windows had been covered, which made the place darker. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust. Skoota’s did first, and he sucked in a sharp breath. Sitting in the corner of the shed in a fold-out chair was a burly man with a long moustache, blue jeans, and a motorcycle jacket. They had their answer, or half of it at least.

  “Jace?”

  The big man gave a pained, sickly smile. His eyes were already narrow, but now they looked closed. He tried to open them wider. “S… Sk… Skoot?”

  He coughed savagely and sneezed twice. His knees shook and one unsteady hand wiped sweat from his forehead. Skoota hurried forward, then stopped suddenly at the last moment.

  “Jesus, mate.”

  “I know. I don’t look so good.”

  “You get bitten?”

  “Yeah. Fucker. Had the eyes of the devil, too. It got Karen the night before yesterday.” He coughed again, racking his body. He leant forward, and Leroy thought he might fall out of the chair. He finally got it under control and fell back into it. “Haven’t seen her since.”

  “Sorry, m
ate.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What about the rest of the crew? You heard from them?”

  Jace shook his head solemnly. “Nobody made it, mate.”

  “None of ’em?”

  “Nup. One by one, they got sick and died. We’re the last.”

  Skoota hung his head in thought.

  Jace looked at Leroy. “What’s your name, son?” Leroy told him. “Listen mate, this man,” he indicated Skoota, “is the best. He’s helped so many people. Always puts others first, never himself.” He coughed once and continued in a raspy voice. “Don’t take him for granted. If he’s let you stay with him, he’s got your back, and you can’t underestimate that in this world, hear me?”

  Skoota looked down, embarrassed. “Jace, mate, don’t talk, it’s—”

  Jace went on. “I’ve learned a shitload from him. He’d never know it, but I based my leadership on his values and actions. In that sense it was as much Skoota’s club as mine. That’s why it’s gone so well.”

  “Jace, please…”

  Jace held up a hand. “Let me finish, Skoot. I might not be able to say much soon.” Skoota frowned. Jace looked back at Leroy. “Look after him, and he’ll look after you. You won’t find a better wingman. I’m proud to call him my mate. And you’re lucky to have him running alongside you.”

  “I know,” Leroy said. “Believe me, I know.”

  Jace coughed again, and flecks of blood shot out onto the floor.

  “No more, Jace. Take it easy, mate.” Skoota stepped in close and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m all right,” Jace said, controlling the coughing.

  “Whatta we do, mate?”

  Jace lay back in the chair. “Nothing to do mate. Just wait.”

  For Leroy, it was clear what should be done. If it were him sitting in that chair, he’d want only one thing. He tried to catch Skoota’s eyes; Leroy wanted to ask him a question. Part of Leroy screamed for him not to speak, to keep his fat mouth that had gotten him into so much trouble, shut. But if all the talk and intent to do the right thing was really something more than the bullshit he had fed himself for so many years, now was his chance to prove it. Prove to himself that he had changed.

  “Can I talk with you a minute?” Leroy asked Skoota.

  They stepped away from Jace to a brighter space just inside the doorway. He tried to say it but the words wouldn’t come out.

  “What?” Skoota said, glancing back at Jace.

  Leroy didn’t realise it was going to be so difficult to say. Finally, he said in a whisper, “I’ll do it, if you want. I’ll do it for him.”

  Skoota grabbed him by the collar of his t-shirt and shoved him against the corrugated wall. The tin buckled and popped. “Don’t you ever fucking say that again,” Skoota hissed. His eyes were large and fiery. His temples pulsed and his face had darkened. “He’s a good man.”

  “I… I know.” Leroy’s stomach had shrunk. The look in Skoota’s eyes told Leroy he was moments away from getting the beating of his life.

  “Don’t ever say—”

  Jace shifted in his chair. “Skoot?” Still holding Leroy by the neck, Skoota turned. “He’s… “ Jace began. “Right… “ His voice was croaky now. “He’s right, Skoot.” He closed his eyes, finding the words. “Let him do it. The kid’s got balls.” His gaze moved to Leroy and he nodded. “Thank you.”

  Leroy felt his body shaking. Could he do this? Killing an infected that wanted to eat him alive was one thing, but a man—even a sick one—was going to be almost impossible. But he latched onto the thought that if it was himself in Jace’s place, he would want someone to finish it.

  He clicked the safety off and held out the gun in the light from the window for Skoota to see. “Is it right to go?”

  Thumbs in pockets, Skoota only sneered at it. Leroy didn’t think he was going to acknowledge the request. Then he nodded, turned his back and went to Jace.

  They took several minutes. Leroy held back, not wanting to intrude on a private moment. He sensed their like and admiration for each other and wished that one day, somebody would feel the same about his sense of worth. Eventually, Skoota stepped away. Leroy joined them.

  “Take the car in the garage,” Jace said.

  Skoota nodded. He reached out and shook Jace’s hand firmly and Leroy imagined the years of friendship in that shake. “Thanks mate. For everything.”

  Jace smiled. “You’re the best, Skoota. Don’t ever forget that.”

  Skoota looked away, then turned and left the shed.

  Leroy approached with the pistol hanging by his side.

  “Give it to me,” Jace said. Leroy’s face widened with surprise. “You’ve never shot a bloody gun, have you?”

  “No.”

  “You won’t be able to do this, mate.”

  “You sure?” Jace nodded. Leroy looked at the gun for a long moment, then handed it to Jace.

  “Look out for him.”

  Leroy nodded. “I’ll do my best, I promise.”

  When Leroy left the shed, he closed the door behind him. Skoota was already at the house. He slipped through the glass doors. Leroy jogged to catch up.

  They met just as Skoota reached the kitchen. Skoota whirled. “You do it?”

  “No,” Leroy said, shaking his head.

  “Good. Better that way. For both of you.”

  Skoota took a set of car keys from a hook attached to a wooden plate on the kitchen wall. Leroy wondered if he should say something, but decided against it.

  From the driveway out front, Skoota pushed the bike around back and set it on the stand under the pergola. In the garage, they found a late-2000s model Ford sedan in immaculate condition. Skoota tossed the pack of guns into the back seat but kept his Ruger handgun with him in the front. Leroy used the manual setting to raise the garage door, then climbed into the passenger seat.

  Skoota backed out and turned right until he could rotate the vehicle to face the street. Then he edged it down the driveway until they reached the perimeter. Leroy climbed out without asking and opened the gates. He got back in and Skoota accelerated, knocking several infected aside as he crossed the sidewalk and hit the road. He took off up the street with the wheels screeching.

  31

  January 12, 2014

  8:52 am

  Near Blackwood Creek, Tasmania

  In the morning, they cleaned up and cleared out quickly, Mac keen to get on the road early. He didn’t know how they would fare getting information at the Blackwood Creek military facility, but he’d use his special operations background to find out as much as he could about what the personnel knew of the circumstances. Failing that, they’d head south to Port Arthur and hope Jess had gone there. He told the kids they might end up at the historic site, and they grew excited, Tyler having missed out on a school excursion a while back. It still felt like Mac was on a wild goose chase and all the effort and loss could potentially amount to nothing.

  Mac had still not thought about Smitty; whenever his face appeared in Mac’s thoughts, he continued to place it in one of the many “I’ll deal with it later” boxes in his mind he had used throughout his military career. He’d been a master of compartmentalisation, but the truth was, Mac still had boxes he hadn’t opened for many years, and he feared one day, if he ever had to open them all up, he wouldn’t be able to deal with their contents.

  Deloraine was the closest major town, although with a population of just under three thousand, it was barely a town. Primarily a farming settlement, it received plenty of tourists and contained a small hunting and fishing store Mac was keen to check out.

  They saw two vehicles pass in the main street. One had a caravan attached to the rear and the driver, a guy with a beard and a baseball cap, raised his hand to Mac as they crossed. A woman with a blonde ponytail sat in the passenger seat, and Mac saw at least two kids in the back. Good on them, he thought. The other was a battered, old, white pickup driven by an elderly man in an Akubra hat, with the
creased, weathered look of a farmer. He also raised his hand to Mac.

  There was inconspicuous parking at the rear of the hunting store, and Mac snuggled the Nissan and the trailer in behind a chain link fence and allowed space for David to follow him. Surprisingly, the back door of the store was open and the contents in good condition.

  “Country folk,” David said. Mac knew what he meant. “Same way we see fruit and vegetable stands on the side of the road all over Tasmania. People take the food and leave their money. Owners probably left the door open, too. People appreciate that. They only take what they need so others can use it too.”

  Mac took only what they needed—another ten boxes of shotgun shells and another thousand rounds of .223 bullets for the M4. He also took two Ruger handguns for good measure. As he packed the guns and ammunition into the back of the Nissan, Mac felt good that they’d been able to secure more weapons and ammo without a confrontation. Feeling the cold steel under his hands, he took the M4 out and would carry it with him jammed between the front seats. The familiarity was soothing, almost cathartic. He’d spent many a day holding one of these babies, saving his own and the lives of his mates.

  The sound of an engine drifted to him—several engines—Mac looked towards the alleyway and watched three tricked-up sedans roll into the rear of the hunting store on the other side of the fence. An uneasy feeling spread into his lower belly. Each vehicle was full of what appeared to be young men, and in many cases, filling the seats to the roof. Twelve to fifteen targets, Mac thought, his military brain kicking into gear.

  Summarising a potentially threatening situation in the first few moments was a habit he would never kick. Mac tightened his grip around the M4 but did not move away from the trunk of the Nissan. He had not yet loaded the magazine after emptying it at Mole Creek.

  The doors of the first vehicle—a blue Ford GT with white racing stripes—swung open, and four young men stepped out. The driver moved swiftly around the front of the car and stood at the fence, the others falling in behind. He wore a white Adidas t-shirt, contrasting his tanned olive skin, black track pants, and had dark, slicked-back hair that glistened in the morning light. He flashed a wide grin, but his eyes never left the M4 in Mac’s hands. They were not carrying, Mac saw.