“Nice hardware you’ve got there, mate,” the young man said. “You wouldn’t want to trade for that, would you?”
Trade a fully automatic weapon capable of shooting eight hundred rounds per minute with a young goon like you? Mac thought. Sure. Why not. But Mac said nothing.
The other young men chuckled, a tall gangly kid with a pimply face laughed particularly hard. Mac suspected this group hadn’t won any friends helping people since the world had gone upside down. They also didn’t appear to be packing any kind of weapons and had probably come to the hunting store to acquire some.
The young man who had asked the question wore a false expression of hurt. “You sure? I could make it worth your while.”
“Plenty of weapons in the store” Mac said.
“None like that,” the young man said.
“Let me be very clear,” Mac said, adjusting the M4 in his grip, just enough to show them he knew how to handle it. “You can’t have this one.”
The young man laughed and glanced around his friends.
Ashleigh poked her head out the window. “Dad, how long to get to Port Arthur?”
Mac saw the young man’s eyes narrow. “Sit back down and put your belt on, Ash, I won’t be long.”
The group had grown since several more had arrived from the second and third cars. A few had gathered just behind the young man, as if in show of force, while others leant against one of the vehicles and smoked cigarettes or chewed gum.
“But you don’t understand.” His voice was condescending. Mac’s caution turned into mild irritation. “I really want it. And,” he looked back at his friends, and added, “there’s a few of us.”
“There's a few of us, too,” said a voice from behind Mac.
He turned to see David lift a rifle up into view. Meryl, standing by his side, did the same. Mac’s car door opened and Shelli climbed out and shuffled to the rear of the vehicle.
“Hand me the Stevens, will you Mac?” Shelli took the shotgun and snapped the barrel open like an old pro, then closed it back up and wrapped her fingers in a comfortable hold. She might have been in her seventies, but Shelli had grown up on a farm outside of Burnie and knew how to handle a weapon as well as anyone, probably more so than the clowns wanting Mac’s M4. Mac gave her a wink and turned to the young men.
“It’s okay, Shell, we won’t have to shoot anyone today. Will we, boys?”
The young man at the front wore a stiff expression, his nose twisted slightly. “No. No shooting. Today.”
“Good,” Mac said. He started for the gate. “We’re going to get into our vehicles now and drive away and never see you guys again, okay?”
With his mouth twisted, the young man gave a curt nod. Mac unlatched the gate and swung one side open, just enough for the vehicles to slip through. He walked back to the Nissan, part of him expecting one of them to have made a break for the opening, or worse.
Only when Mac opened his door, did Shelli, David, and Meryl all climb back in, each still holding their weapons. Mac started the 4x4 and waved David out first, accelerating through the gate in tow, taking a last look over his shoulder at the crew. The young man he’d argued with took several steps following the car and then stretched out his arm and pointed his right index finger at them. There was an expression of annoyance on the kid’s face that Mac didn’t like, as though he might not let it go.
#
They made the Blackwood Creek military facility in about an hour. Several blockages on the roads forced Mac to make detours, but he was able to limit the extra driving with luck and logic. Still, they couldn’t get within a mile of the facility. The army had blocked access leading off Boons Road, and Mac couldn’t get any further than a wide metal gate parked in the middle of the blacktop. They had two army trucks set on either side to reinforce it, and the metal mesh rolled off into the scrub. He’d never been to this facility, but he imagined the government had secured a lot of the surrounding land.
Standing outside the gate was a kid who couldn’t have been more than nineteen. Mac edged the car up to him and, when he saw the kid’s condition, only rolled the window down a fraction. The kid took off a pair of sunglasses, blinking against the light. His eyes were crusty and dark, his face pale and patchy with red blotches. He looked at Mac for a moment, and in the kid’s eyes Mac knew he knew he was a dead man walking. Mac thought about Jessica and wondered if he would ever have to look into her infected eyes. The idea struck him with such terror he didn’t immediately respond. When he’d gathered himself by burying the thought, he looked at the kid and spoke.
“Sargent Shane McNamara, Second Commando Regiment. What’s the status of this facility, Private?”
The kid stepped forward. “Ah, I’m not sure, sir. I’ve been here for two days, waiting for my next orders. I was told not to leave until then.”
Shit, Mac thought. Poor kid is on death watch. “Can we get into the facility?” The kid shook his head. “What are your standing orders in that regard?”
“No entry. Shoot to kill.”
Mac nodded. “Can you call anyone?”
Again, the kid shook his head. “Nobody answering, sir.”
There was a good chance, Mac thought, that the facility was compromised. He couldn’t be sure—they may have gone underground to preserve whatever they were working on—but to leave a young soldier at this post like this was not a good sign. He had hoped to get information, but there was nothing here for Mac and the others.
“All right. Best of luck.”
“Sorry, sir.” He saluted Mac, who returned the action.
They turned around and drove back out to the C514, Blackwood Creek Road, before hitting the B51, Poatina Road in a southerly direction. This would take them past the Great Lake and across the Central Highlands to a town called Hamilton, and from there, to Port Arthur. Mac estimated it would be around a four-hour trip all the way.
The initial driving was windy and undulating. The kids fell asleep; Shelli stared out the window, thinking the multitude of things she had to deal with. At one point she started crying. Mac reached out, took her hand, and asked her if she wanted to talk about it, but she shook her head and went on staring out the window.
They drove through Poatina, where just outside, they tackled a hillside and the windiest roads Mac had ever driven in his life. They had three seconds to glimpse Cramps Bay, a small establishment on the eastern edges of the Great Lake, and continued south through the Great Lake conservation area, a wild, tangle of countryside as green and hearty as any in Tasmania. They swung past Flintstone, on the southwest corner of Arthurs Lake, a huge body of water, though not quite as big as Great Lake. They passed the C527 that would take them east and then southeast to Oatlands—another way of getting to Port Arthur. But Mac decided to keep going directly south down through Bothwell.
This was it then, Mac thought. They would drive to the southern point of Tasmania and hope to God his wife was there. If not, Mac didn’t know what he’d do. Had they come this far only to fail again? Akin to war, he realised there were no rules in a world like this, no clear reasons for things happening.
Citing safety first, they drove along a narrow expanse of road at a lazy fifty miles an hour, lush green scrub on both sides all shadows and coolness. All it took was a wallaby or an infected to sneak out and things could go pear-shaped. The heat was marginally less than the day before, but still unusually hot for Tasmania. Mac glanced into the rear-view mirror, an unconscious habit he did to keep check on David and the others. A fleck of colour caught his eye on the road behind. Another vehicle in the distance. It appeared to be white, and it was coming fast.
A sudden uneasy feeling washed over Mac. He looked harder to see if the car had blue stripes on the hood, but it was too far away. He unconsciously slowed and in a few moments, he could make out the stripes. Shit. The little assholes had not let it go. It looked like they were going to have a fight on their hands. No point trying to outrun them. Mac began to scrutinize the terrain
on either side of the road for a place to pull in. Last thing he wanted with the kids in the car was a shoot-out.
32
January 12, 2014
10:26 am
Latrobe, Tasmania
It had been an incredibly long night of anticipation that hadn’t so far amounted to anything for Juliet and the others held hostage in the big, rusty, old fuel tank. There had been the odd gunshot, even a small explosion, along with plenty of footsteps on the gravel path outside their cell, but nothing that had directly impacted them. Juliet wished something would happen to create an opportunity.
There had been no choice but to pee in the corner of the tank where, thankfully, a rusted section had carried their urine into the earth, the modesty of going to the toilet around others forgotten under such dire circumstances. They had slept again in fits and starts. Several of them had woken with nightmares; Jess for the first time, shouting something about Mac not letting anything happen to the kids. The woman had apologised for her outburst. Juliet worried if Jess, the most emotionally strong of them all, was coming closer to breaking point, where did that leave the rest of them?
The watch on Juliet’s hand read just before ten thirty when the door finally squealed open.
“Be ready to move,” she said, knees popping as she stood. She had tried to keep mobile in the confined space, but for the last few hours she’d spent sitting.
“I’m scared,” Lory said.
“It’s okay. We’ll be fine, just stick close.”
Sam appeared, wide-eyed and full of energy, hanging off the doorway of the holding tank. “We have to go.” Nobody moved. “Now.”
“What’s the plan, Sam?”
“Red’s crew is getting beaten. Ponytail’s got the numbers now. It might go their way, and then you’ll be in danger. He’ll come for you. Red told me to let you out.”
“Where is he?” Juliet asked. “He said he’d send someone back last night.”
“He’s been shot,” Sam said.
A cold tingle rushed up Juliet’s spine. The thought of Ponytail getting hold of them suddenly became more real. “Is he dead?”
“No. Shoulder wound.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“We go around the perimeter towards the front of the lot. Sneak in behind Ponytail’s crew and out the front gates.”
“That’s a stupid idea,” Jess said, standing behind Juliet.
“It’s all we’ve got right now.” Sam looked disappointed.
Juliet said, “We’ve got a plan.”
“A plan?”
Meg rushed forward. “What about over the back fence like Bill did?”
“No good,” Sam said, shaking his head. “Ponytail thought of that—let a heap of infected in down that side and then closed it off so they couldn’t get up here. You can’t climb over the fence there anymore.”
“We’ve got a good plan,” Juliet continued. “And the tools to help with it.”
“Forget that,” Sam said, growing more frustrated at their resistance to his request. He stepped back out of the doorway. “We have to go. Come on out of there.”
The women buried their arguments and focused on freedom. They filed through the holding tank door close together, unable to get out quickly enough. Juliet sucked in the fresh air, a big improvement on what they’d had.
“I don’t believe your story,” Meg said, stopping on the gravel path outside. “Sounds like a set-up.”
“Meg,” Juliet began. “We’re out. We stick to the plan.”
“Your plan, his plan. I don’t like either of them.” Meg’s eyes grew wild. “I just want out of this place. I’m sick of it.”
“Seriously?” Sam asked, looking bewildered.
“What would you prefer?” Jess said to Meg.
“I think we should go over the back fence.”
Sam stepped up between them. “Jesus, lady. I told you it’s covered. You go that way, and you’ll find a bunch of hungry monsters waiting for you.”
Meg looked at the others. “What if it’s a set-up? What if he’s been promised all sorts of rewards for bringing us to them? I don’t like it.”
Juliet felt a sudden overwhelming frustration at Meg’s attitude. Jess beat her to the punch, though. She’d been slowly improving since Juliet had joined with her at the hospital. Only the odd sniffle remained from the original virus.
“Meg.” Jessica pushed a long strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “I’ve had enough of your shit. Just shut the fuck up with negativity, won’t you? Everything’s an issue. Everything’s the opposite of what anyone else wants to do. Jesus Christ, your life must be hard to live.”
Juliet let Jess’s words sink in. It had been the perfect summary of what they had all wanted to say. In a quiet, non-threatening voice, she added, “Look, Meg, you’re either with us or you can—”
Footsteps sounded from along the gravel pathway. A grubby-faced man wearing the dirtiest fluorescent green, high-visibility clothing Juliet had ever seen skidded to a halt and scanned the layout. When he spotted them, he shouted something unintelligible and ran at them, waving a long-bladed knife.
33
January 12, 2014
10:43 am
Hamilton, Tasmania
Tammy woke to dappled orange light through the window over the kitchen sink. It was later than usual, well after ten, she expected. She sat up with a start, remembering the ordeal from the previous night. Darren. She made a noise crossed between a sob and a grunt. More pain on pain. Just when she felt they had been getting somewhere, it had ended so badly. She was alone again. Always alone lately. It had gone from a growing horde of people to almost nothing. Still, she had the others in the nearby van.
Eventually, she slid off the thin mattress and went to the front window. Pulling back the blinds, she looked out into the park, peering along the road in both directions, then across the slender black strip to vans on the other side, and beyond, to the trees and shrubs in between sites. It was all silent and empty. The minibus sat parked on the left, under the drooping willow tree.
With a full kettle and some instant coffee, she boiled water on the gas stove, filled a cup and added some long-life milk. She wondered out of interest how long the battery on the caravan would last. How long could a person live in one of these things? She hoped it wouldn’t come to that. After breakfast she wanted to hit the road again, hopeful that by early afternoon they might reach Port Arthur. As she ate plain toast and sipped the hot coffee, Tammy considered what she would do if on reaching Port Arthur, there was nothing there—nothing in the sense of a safe environment.
“Stop being so negative,” she said. “You sound like your goddamn mother.”
She would not whittle away in doubt. Even if she was alone, she’d keep going south, at least until she found out whether the rumours of Port Arthur were a myth. If it turned out to be a false hope, she would turn around and keep going until she found what she needed.
After breakfast, she did another check of the surrounding area from inside the van to be sure there were no immediate threats. Heart racing and with screwdriver in hand, she did two full circles of the van, checking the exterior and surrounding bushes. The road was empty, too, and she felt confident enough to walk a short way along it to check between the next set of caravans. Still nothing. There had to be someone there. She recalled the person who had helped her escape the infected the previous night.
She set off for the van where the others were staying. As she approached, she saw the door was open. She slowed down and moved into defence mode with the screwdriver poised, her caution alert kicking up a notch. She did a full circle, checking for infected. Still clear, but something wasn’t right.
“Charlie?” she said in a loud whisper. “Charlie?”
No response. She thought her heart might pop out of her chest as she approached the open doorway. Using all the courage she could find, Tammy stepped up onto the edge of the van. She poked her head inside and peered along the central wa
lkway. No sign of them. She went in further, half expecting to find another infected feasting on their dead bodies, but the van was empty.
On the table sat a small piece of paper folded in half. Tammy snatched it up and read:
Tammy,
We have decided to head north to Mole Creek. Nothing personal.
Best of luck,
Charlie
She tossed the note back on the table, annoyed. People, she thought. They always knew best. Well, what could she do? If they didn’t want to go south, it was their choice. Now she really was alone.
All Tammy had left where the rations that had been divided up between them the night before and a few bits and pieces they had left in the minibus. At least she still had that.
She left the van and returned to her own. It took only a few minutes to pack her things and, as she loaded up the minibus, a man appeared from the bushes holding a shotgun. A round face that was already sweating in the morning heat greeted her. He was solid, shorter than average, and wore a faded blue baseball cap, a sleeveless t-shirt and long khaki shorts. His boots were thick and dusty, his skin red and brown from too much sun. Tammy pulled the screwdriver out of her pocket and let it dangle at her side.
“Easy,” he said, pressing his palms down in front of himself. “Easy. I won’t hurt you.”
“I’m leaving, anyway.”
“I can see that.”
“Then what can I do for you?”
He smiled, and automatically, Tammy relaxed. “I just wanted to see if there was anything else you might need. I see you’re heading off now, and we saw those other people you came in with last night leave earlier. Friends of yours?”
Tammy shook her head. “No.”
“And, I wanted to offer my condolences about your friend.”
Invasion of the Dead (Book 5): Resolve Page 21