Invasion of the Dead (Book 5): Resolve

by Baillie, Owen

  “Get out!” he called to his daughter.

  Jim drew the shotgun into sight as the thing leapt forward at him, ensuring Cindy was still within the blast range. Jim couldn’t get a shot off, and the monster struck him with a powerful hit to the chest. He crashed back against a cupboard then fell forward onto his stomach, the gun clattering onto the floorboards. Cindy scrambled over the bed towards the door. Jim clawed for the shotgun. Strong hands grabbed the back of his shirt, lifted him off the floor, and then slammed him down. He grunted as the wind was knocked from his lungs, but the fall pushed him closer to the shotgun. He reached out but was still half an arm short.

  A foot struck his ribs, and Jim winced as pain speared through his torso. He waited for his breath to return, but it seemed to take forever. Above him, a loud thwack! sounded, and he saw the infected thing stagger backwards and fall to one knee. Cindy stood just inside the door, holding a small black fold-up chair. Jim crawled forward and seized the shotgun.

  Growling, the thing rose to its feet, fingers curled into claws. Jim swung the weapon around, pointed it at the infected and pulled the trigger. At the final moment, the thing twisted sideways and took the shell high on the left side of the chest. Its collarbone exploded, and it fell backwards and landed beside the bed with a heavy thud. Jim wriggled forward on his knees. The thing’s coal eyes burned into him. Its cheeks puffed like a toadfish as it sucked in air. Hands shaking, Jim raised the shotgun, pressed the barrel up to its head and fired.

  “Go!” he screamed, scrambling to his feet quicker than he would have thought possible.

  He ran so hard for the door, he stumbled and almost crashed into the wall. Cindy was already out at the top of the stairs. “Wait there.”

  He took the lead after jamming two more shells into the shotgun. A couple of infected had almost reached the landing. He kicked them hard with the heel of his boot, and they tumbled backwards, knocking a third down. More climbed over the fallen. Jim danced down three steps and shot the closest at point-blank range. Another took its place, and Jim did the same thing again. He had about ten seconds before the numbers were overwhelming. Snapping the shotgun open, he fished out the last two shells and loaded them. Half a dozen infected were all trying to climb the stairs at once, causing a bottleneck that prevented them getting to Jim and Cindy. There were too many in the way for them to get back down the stairs.

  As if reading his mind, Cindy called out. “That other door leads to the backyard.”

  Jim halted. “Quick, over the side.”

  He climbed onto the stairway banister and dropped to the floor below. Daggers of pain shot through both feet, but he didn’t have time to wait for it to subside. He turned around and put an arm up for Cindy. She climbed over the railing as Jim had done, but did it more gracefully, lowering herself over the edge just as the first infected reached them. Jim batted away several grisly souls with his left elbow as Cindy led them across the foyer to the door.

  They entered the dining area, which opened out into a long room with a lavish table and a dozen fabric chairs. Two infected stood at the windows, looking out, as if waiting for somebody to return. Cindy guided Jim around them and through another door on the right at the end of the room and into the kitchen, a small area with a sink beneath a window that showed the backyard.

  Behind them, Jim heard the thump of footsteps through the dining room as the infected closed in on them. The way forward was clear. Cindy tried the wooden door that led out into the backyard, but it was locked. She turned the small clip in the centre of the round door handle then opened it to reveal a wire security door. Several infected thumped into the door arch leading into the kitchen, followed by more that pushed through into the small space. Jim turned the shotgun around and smacked the closest in the face. It fell back onto the others. Cindy fiddled with the lock a moment then it sprang open, and they lunged for the backyard, stumbling down a single step, onto dry grass.

  “Over the fence,” Jim yelled.

  The infected followed, spilling out into the yard, tripping over each other. Jim ran towards the wooden paling fence, dancing between an old wine barrel and several piles of chopped wood. He reached the screen and leapt up onto the first rung, peering over to see what lay beyond. A strip of grass ran alongside the tarred road. It led to the main street, where he hoped Dan and Lana waited. Jim dropped off the fence as Cindy climbed up onto the rung and swung a leg over the top. She balanced herself momentarily then dropped down the other side, landing like a gymnast.

  Jim glanced over his shoulder as the bumbling infected, all slobber and sucking sounds, closed in. He handed the shotgun over to Cindy, then grabbed the thin palings at the top of the fence and heaved himself up on his right leg, feeling the creak and resistance of age. He drew his left leg up and rested it on the middle rung, then pushed off the ground so he was standing halfway up the fence. Did he throw himself over the top, or lower himself down the way Cindy had done?

  Something grabbed the back of his ankle. He tried to shake it off but then another had his leg in a stiff hug. Cindy screamed. Jim felt the pull of multiple hands drawing him backwards. He swung his left hand back with a fist and connected with a rubbery face, followed by a set of teeth that broke like icy pole sticks. That got rid of one, but two more took its place. Cindy had found something to stand on and placed it against the fence, then climbed up onto it until she was almost at his height. Then she raised the shotgun and pointed it past Jim.

  “Dad, get down!”

  Jim grabbed the top of the fence and pressed one side of his head against it, ignoring the broken ends of wood scratching his hands and the fingers clawing at his lower body. He turned away and pressed a hand over his exposed ear as a deafening boom sounded. Pain flashed in his ear. Some of the pressure on his back disappeared. But Cindy had fallen off whatever she was standing on. He peered over the paling and saw her climbing back to her feet. She leapt up onto the plastic block and took aim again. Jim cowered away as a second gunshot rocked the space.

  “Quick,” Cindy screamed.

  She had turned the shotgun around and began to smack the infected over the head. Jim turned back to see one ghoul still clutching at his left ankle. He kicked backwards with his right leg and smashed the face of a woman with bulging eyes and no nose. Blood spread across her features, and she released her grip then fell back into the horde. It gave Jim the foot of space he needed. He didn’t bother climbing—he simply launched himself over the fence, clipped the top paling, and landed in the long grass on his shoulder.

  “Up, Dad!”

  Cindy grabbed him by the arm and Jim scrambled to his feet, his shoulder screaming with pain. The roadway was clear of infected, but there was no time to savour the moment.

  He ran with Cindy at his side helping him gather his balance. They reached the nature strip, a tangle of weeds and longish grass, and then they were on the road, where they ran along the blacktop under the blaring sun. On any other day, it would have been a magnificent summer’s day—it was still magnificent, but only because they had survived.

  The infected began to move from the gardens of the houses. They left their spots at the front doors. Jim and Cindy ran on, Jim feeling like his chest might explode. Wouldn’t it be ironic if he had survived this only to die of a heart attack on the way to the car? Cindy had him, though, one hand on his elbow almost dragging him along. There was a certain satisfaction having his daughter at his side now.

  They reached the main road and turned left. There it was like a fountain in the middle of the desert; Dan and Lana and the other guy, Andrew, waited in Jim’s idling Ford Territory with the windows down, their elbows resting on the edge.

  Jim almost couldn’t manage another breath. Jesus, I am unfit.

  Dan edged the vehicle out from underneath the shade of a gum on the roadside, and then it was at their side. Dan got out and helped Cindy into the Territory, then gave Jim a hand. Jim fell into the back seat with his eyes closed, the pain making him squint. He he
ard Dan shut the door, followed moments later by hands slapping the outside of the car. Finally, the sound of squealing tires told Jim they were safe.

  A hand rested on his shoulder as he breathed heavily with his head on the seat. When his breathing had improved a little, Jim opened his eyes and found Lana staring at him. He squeezed her hand then looked towards Cindy and gave her his other hand. She had tears in her eyes. He couldn’t believe they were there. He may have lost the school, but at least he had the girls. There were a million moments in which he hadn’t ever expected to see them again. Jim smiled. Whatever lay ahead of them, they would do it together.

  36

  January 12, 2014

  10:45 am

  Hamilton, Tasmania

  As she drove the minivan in first gear along the park road towards the entrance, Tammy spotted a woman standing by one of the vans, watching her. She raised her hand, and Tammy raised hers and gave a smile. She knew there would be pockets of people like this all over Tasmania—probably all over the world, waiting for their governments to solve the problem and set things back to the way they were. Whether in the short or long term, Tammy wasn’t confident it would happen.

  A thick northerly heat blew in through the windows as she drove on down the highway in a south-easterly direction towards Port Arthur. On any other day, the journey would take about two hours, but now, she had to decide whether to head south towards Hobart and then cut east, towards Sorrell, or to travel east early, to Buckland, which would add another hour. Who knew what mechanical condition the vehicle was in, and an hour might make the difference. With the world in its current state, getting stuck out on the highway wouldn’t be advisable. It wasn’t like she could call the RACT, and they’d send a mechanic out to help.

  The red light on the dash began to flash by the time Tammy reached the outskirts of Bothwell, reminding her of the conversation she’d had with Darren the previous night about the low fuel level. Pushing the disheartening thoughts of Darren aside, she focused on the dilemma at hand. Fuel. As she drove deeper into the township of Bothwell, she spotted the ever-familiar green-and-yellow signature of a BP service station. On approach, she slowed the van to a crawl and peered cautiously out, waiting to see if the place was inhabited by the infected.

  A shiny blue Holden Monaro, all chrome wheels and trim, had parked at one of the bowsers and was pumping fuel. Two young guys stood by it—one at the opening to the car’s fuel tank, the other in the middle of the concrete section where the bowsers sat, peering down into a cavity in the concrete. He had a long stick in his hand, poking it into the hole.

  Did she pull in? The place appeared to have fuel. If she drove on any further, she risked running empty and being stranded on the side of the road. She decided she had no choice.

  As she guided the van up the steep driveway and onto the concrete slab, the undercarriage struck the ground with a clunk. Both guys turned with surprised looks on their faces. The one holding the fuel pump nozzle let it go and walked towards her. Tammy steered the minibus to a bowser furthest away from the other car.

  She sat there a moment and watched one of the young men approach in the side mirror, turning his hat backwards to reveal a look of concern. He had tattoos all over his arms and an eyebrow ring. Prejudice leapt into her mind, but Tammy pushed it away. She decided to get out and be ready for anything after what she’d gone through over the last week.

  “Hey,” the young man said with a broad accent. The word sounded like the letter “A.” “There isn’t much fuel left in the big tank. We’re almost done, though.”

  “Oh, all right,” Tammy said. “Is there enough fuel left for me to fill my van?”

  “How much left, Luke?” he called out over the minibus.

  A shout came back. “Not much. Finish filling it up, and we’ll find out.”

  “Won’t be a minute,” the young man said, smiling.

  He walked back around to the Monaro and Tammy followed. He took the fuel nozzle and started pumping again. He looked up at Tammy and smiled.

  “Where have I seen you before?”

  The other man came over. “Yeah, right. You’ve been on television.” He looked at his mate. “She’s in the government. My mom liked you. Said she wanted you to be State Premier.”

  Tammy smiled. “Thank you. That’s nice of you to say. I was a politician.”

  “You’re not anymore?”

  Tammy shrugged. “I don’t know, to be honest. We’ll see once all of this mess is sorted out.”

  The young man with the hat said, “How long before that happens, you think?”

  “I wish I could say. At this stage, I don’t know a lot.”

  Luke said, “Where you headed?”

  “I’m going down to Port Arthur. I’ve—”

  “We heard that too from a guy in Hobart. But we have to go back to Hamilton where my Nan lives and see if she’s okay.”

  “What did the man say?”

  “Said they’ve built a wall down there to keep the things out.”

  “I’m not sure about Port Arthur,” the guy with the hat said. “There’s no way out once you get down there. You’re trapped.”

  Tammy thought that was a clever observation. Port Arthur was at the lower end of a jutting section on the southeast coast of Tasmania. Once you got in there, there was only one way out—back through Eaglehawk Neck. If anything blocked off that road, you weren’t going anywhere. But Tammy thought that if you could block off Eaglehawk Neck and didn’t let anything in, there might be a way to keep the infected out.

  “I’ll head on down and see what it’s about, anyway.”

  The boys finished filling their car and then hung around while Tammy began to fill the minibus. It reached about halfway full when the fuel stopped flowing.

  “Reckon that’s about it,” Luke said, peering down into the underground tank. He pulled the long metal pole out and laid it on the concrete. The bottom was dry. “Mustn’t have had a fuel delivery for a while.”

  “It should get me to Port Arthur, though.”

  The boy in the hat tipped his head from side to side. “Just about. Don’t use the air conditioning, though; it’ll chew up your juice.”

  Tammy smiled. “I won’t.” Neither boy moved, momentarily. “I’m Tammy Carter, anyway. Thank you for helping me.”

  “Yeah, we know. I’m Gerry,” the boy with the hat said. “This is Luke. There’s some food in there.” He motioned towards the tiny fuel station store. “Just chocolate bars and lollies and chips and stuff.”

  “I’ll stock up on few things.” She started towards the store. “Good luck, boys. I hope you find your Nan safe and well. And take care of each other. Nothing better than good friends.”

  They both nodded. Tammy headed into the store and collected some potato chips, several bags of lollies, and the last two bottles of water. She stuffed them into a plastic bag from behind the counter and left, pushing aside the ingrained need to pay for the goods.

  The boys were waiting at the fuel station exit, the Monaro idling like a purring lion. Tammy climbed into the van, pulled away from the pumps, and stopped beside them.

  “We just wanted to make sure you got back on the road okay,” Gerry said.

  Tammy smiled. It felt like a big smile. A glimmer of her faith in people had been restored. “You know what? When things get back to normal, if you’re ever down in Hobart, you look me up and it’s my shout for lunch at a nice restaurant for the both of you.” Both boys smiled and nodded their thanks.

  They went their separate ways, and Tammy settled onto the highway, hoping the fuel she had managed to scrounge would be enough to get her down to Port Arthur.

  37

  January 12, 2014

  11:00 am

  Mac needed to get off the road. He didn’t want these little turds bothering them now. They had the guns, but no good could come of pitching themselves against young hotheads who wanted revenge over a minor dispute. He toyed with the idea that a former commando would s
top and fight, but he had nothing to prove to himself, and he didn’t want to murder a dozen kids under the age of twenty, even if they were dickheads. He didn’t think they were out for blood, either, but the ringleader had a point to prove to his mates, and sometimes accidents happened.

  Using the rear-view mirror to gauge the gap, Mac increased his speed until he was doing almost eighty. He was glad to see David did the same in order to keep up. Mac’s plan was to get off the road and hope the kids drove on without knowing where they’d gone. They still had almost a three-hour run to get to Port Arthur and little hope of outrunning them. Still, they had multiple routes by which to get there, so if they could get clear enough in front, and turn off, they should be fine. In the end though, Mac knew the man had heard Ashleigh mention Port Arthur and so eventually, if the young men were that determined, they would catch up.

  The highway sped on, taking them through hills and countryside and under the heavy cover of scrub. The properties out here were large—nothing under five acres. Mac watched as he rolled past them, waiting for the right opportunity to present itself. The first driveway off the highway was too open; Mac couldn’t see anything behind which they might hide, and the property was too far from the road. They might not make it in time, and by the looks of the dry trail, it would have kicked up a plume of dust. He needed a tight driveway or side road hidden by scrub that wasn’t going to give away their plan to hide.

  They passed two more tracks before a fourth presented some hope. He almost skidded, pulling the car to a slower pace so he could turn down the inconspicuous trail. Medium-sized trees hung over the track on either side. It twisted around a wall of rock and disappeared into the forest. Perfect.