Invasion of the Dead (Book 5): Resolve

by Baillie, Owen

  42

  January 12

  11:46 am

  Latrobe, Tasmania

  The idea of getting into the lot sounded easier than actually doing it. A number of infected still lingered around the cut in the fence, blocking the path as they sought to get access to the smorgasbord inside. Clearing the way by fire was the only way Leroy and Skoota were going to gain entry.

  “Here’s your test of fate,” Skoota said, edging Leroy forward.

  This was it, his moment to finally pull the trigger. His hands were shaking again, and he wondered if he could muster the courage. Leroy reminded himself these things were no longer people, that he despised their existence, and the only way he’d ever ensure he didn’t turn into one was to be ruthless and kill them all.

  He locked his hands around the shotgun and took aim at the back of the closest zombie. His finger feathered the trigger momentarily, and with the scared voice inside his head edging him on, he squeezed it. The gun exploded, jerking violently in his grasp and shocking him, even though Leroy had been expecting it. The zombie took the shot in the lower part of the back and fell forward onto a shirtless man with skin the colour of old paper. Leroy let out a few jagged breaths.

  “In the head,” Skoota said. Other infected turned around, and Skoota shot one in the face. It fell back, knocking the one Leroy had hit to the ground. “Let’s move. Only shoot what you have to.”

  Skoota hobbled forward and, using the butt of the gun, whacked a grisly-faced man across the jaw. He sidestepped the man then rammed a female standing in his way. She fell onto her rump and Skoota skipped around her with Leroy in tow. As they groped for Leroy, he used the gun the way he had used the cricket bat all those years ago, swinging it left like a pull shot, right like a cut shot, and straight like a cover drive. And though they didn’t fall to the ground, he cleared the way. Leroy looked over his shoulder saw the zombies were following, closing off the path backwards. Now, there was only one way. Leroy felt panic creep over him.

  But Skoota had created a thin trail into the lot. He still hadn’t shot another zombie and continued using the shotgun as a baseball bat, fending them off or striking them down where needed. Leroy found himself leaping over the fallen bodies, careful not to trip on their floundering hands as he went.

  They stepped through the gap in the fence and into the killing zone. The entirety of the scene caught Leroy’s breath. It was bedlam. Two dozen or more infected filled the area immediately inside the opening, fighting the humans, feeding on the deceased, or attacking each other. Leroy spotted countless dead, while those still breathing fought for their lives.

  Skoota fired his gun. Leroy didn’t know where to begin. His eyes skirted around again, and a scattering of bloody entrails caught his eye, the infected cradling them in their gory hands as they feasted. Leroy felt his stomach contents rise. Thinking he wasn’t able to hold it down, Skoota smacked his arm with the butt of his shotgun and shocked him out of his trance.

  “For fuck’s sake, help that woman over there.”

  A blonde woman had both hands pressed to a zombie’s rancid face as it leant in for a mouthful of her arm. With gritted teeth, Leroy ran to them and put the hard sole of his boot into its ribs. There was no weight to it. The bones-in-clothes fell away slobbering, and the woman twisted free, crying for her freedom. With a new interest, the thing climbed to its feet and came at Leroy.

  “Move back,” he said to the woman, and she scampered behind him, mumbling her thanks.

  Tensing, Leroy fired the shotgun and struck the zombie in the pale, bony flesh just above the collarbone. Its flesh disintegrated, and it collapsed to the ground, sending up a puff of dust.

  He spun, looking for others he could help, and spotted a young fair-haired girl beneath two zombies. Leroy hurried to her, reloading the chamber as he went, and put the barrel to the closest zombie’s skull then pulled the trigger. The thing’s head exploded, sending blood and gore into the air and covering his shoes in a splatter. He kicked the other infected in the guts, and it rolled away screeching. But it was too late for the girl. Her wide eyes stared at the sky as blood pasted down her throat. Leroy pumped the chamber and shot the thing in the forehead.

  The eyes of the first blonde woman he’d saved were full of tears. Leroy placed a hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”

  The woman nodded. She turned away, and he followed her gaze to Skoota, who had his hands full trying to save the second blonde woman, shooting and reloading as a queue of infected came at them.

  “Follow me,” Leroy said to her.

  He ran towards his friend, reloading a fifth shot into the chamber and reminding himself he still had another half dozen in his pocket. Leroy turned the shotgun into a cricket bat again, and it felt good. He whacked several heads backwards as the infected went down. By the time he reached the final obstacle, his anger had peaked, and he smacked the thing in the teeth, knocking it flat. He drew the shotgun up into position the way he’d seen a thousand gunmen do in movies. It felt right, and he was surprised that his confidence in firing a weapon had happened so quickly.

  Two infected homed in on Skoota. Leroy took aim at the closest one and stepped forward to narrow the distance, still unsure if he could make a longer shot. He fired and the gun rocked in his hands. The zombie took the shell in the side of the head and crumpled to the dust. With only one remaining, Skoota laid out the thing by blasting a shell into its neck. The four of them stood in a shabby circle at the centre of the mayhem.

  “Well done, mate,” Skoota gasped, his barrel chest heaving. “How much ammo you got left?”

  “Six in my pocket. You?”

  “I’m out. Now let’s get—”

  “Where’s Sam?” the woman with cropped blonde hair said as she surveyed the turmoil. “I can’t see him.”

  “He’s gone,” the other woman said.

  The shorter-haired woman pointed out something on the fringes of the fight, beyond another dozen or so infected that had still not been killed. Her gaze locked on a man lying on the gravel road. She started for him. Skoota threw a strong arm around her waist and she halted.

  “Leave it, Juliet,” he said. “He’s gone.”

  “No,” she sobbed. “We’ve got to try.”

  Zombies looking to feed started for them from all directions. Leroy fumbled the first shell from his pocket and began to reload the shotgun the way Skoota had showed him back at the hunting store. But even with six more in the chamber, it wouldn’t kill them all.

  “We have to go,” the blonde woman with longer hair said.

  “Righto,” Skoota said. He guided Juliet by the elbow as she reluctantly turned away from Sam. “Lead the way,” he said to Leroy.

  The fence lay twenty yards from them, with countless infected in their path. Leroy jogged ahead with the shotgun raised, choosing to preserve his ammunition by using it as a cricket bat again. They passed between countless massacred bodies, and Juliet staggered to a stop at a dark-haired woman lying twisted and beaten. Skoota reached out for her, but she pulled away. One of the infected fed from the woman’s chest. Juliet began to scream and punched at its back with an awkward fist. The other blonde lady grabbed hold around her waist and dragged her away.

  Revulsion rose up in Leroy’s throat. He stood watching the scene, frozen in time momentarily. The starkness of what had happened hit him; even amongst the butchery, this was another level altogether. He leant over and shot the thing through the back of the head. Blood and matter splattered over the dead woman’s face.

  The others stumbled on and Leroy followed. Juliet still fought the hands of her friends to return to the dark-haired woman.

  “We can’t leave her,” Juliet screamed. “And what about Sam, and Lory?”

  “We go back, we die,” Skoota said. “Keep movin’.”

  They had about ten yards to go. Leroy was relieved to see most of the zombies had walked into the middle of the lot, leaving the entrance clear. Beyond, a handful wandered about the str
eet. For the first time, Leroy saw a glimmer of hope.

  A guttural cry sounded from behind them. The blonde woman turned, and Leroy followed her stare to the man with the ponytail running for them, knocking the infected aside as he sprinted across the bloodied battleground. Gashes covered his face, and he had a chest wound that would surely be fatal. Leroy glanced at Skoota, who had pushed the woman behind him.

  “I’m empty,” Skoota said.

  Leroy lifted the shotgun. As the man approached at a run, he took cover behind the infected, darting from one to the other in a zigzag pattern.

  “Retreat,” Skoota said.

  Leroy stepped backwards, his eyes never leaving the ponytail man. Terror washed over Leroy like a cold breeze. His guts tightened and his muscles tensed. If he didn’t get this right, the man looked like he would tear him apart.

  “Hold tight,” Skoota shouted.

  Leroy steadied his footing as the thing with the ponytail closed, eyes blazing, hands balled into fists. Leroy couldn’t be sure he was even infected, but the hatred in his eyes was just as powerful. He gave a soaring growl as he drew closer, and Leroy felt his stomach fold.

  “Leroy!” Skoota yelled.

  The ponytail man was on them. Leroy almost forgot to pull the shotgun around. He jumped back, swung the barrel, and the gun boomed. The shot struck Ponytail in the guts. He fell back into the dust with his midsection a bloody mess.

  “Shoot him, he’s infected,” one of the ladies said.

  Leroy loaded another shell and adjusted the shotgun, ready for the man to make another move. Leroy was no longer shaking, his focus laser-sharp for the first time.

  “I’m a… I’m a fucking kill you…” The man with half his guts missing rose to his feet, swaying. “Kill you all.” He looked at the people beyond Leroy.

  “Keep movin’,” Skoota said, and Leroy started backwards again. They were almost at the fence. “Watch him, Leroy.”

  Leroy watched. He’d had never been more ready. Ponytail dropped his hand and with a menacing growl ran at Leroy. The shotgun cracked and struck Ponytail in the chin. The bottom of his face exploded, and he dropped into the dirt at Leroy’s feet.

  “We gotta move,” Skoota said, pulling Juliet away.

  They were almost at the fence now, but sensing their desire to leave, some of the zombies writhed in the weeds and vines around the entrance, begging for them not to leave.

  Skoota and the blonde woman had cleared a narrow path, and Leroy turned backwards through it just to make sure there was nothing else following them. He felt like one of the Expendables, surpassing any expectation he had of himself in such a situation. He was the last in the line, and when Skoota shouted for them to run, Leroy turned and sprinted after them.

  He caught movement on the left from the corner of his eye. Before Leroy could turn to face it, something struck him, and he went down onto his knees, the breath knocked from his lungs, the shotgun spilling loose. Distantly, he heard Skoota shout his name.

  As he climbed onto one knee, he got a look at the thing and saw the ugliest infected he’d ever seen; its face was bones, eyes bloody, and a black tongue slid out of its mouth between teeth broken and missing in places. A hand clawed at his shoulder. Leroy shrugged it off as he stood. The hand fell away, but at the final moment before he was free, the zombie’s hand scratched his forearm. Ice terror struck Leroy, but he had no time to stop. He stumbled on, gathered his balance, and ran.

  As they raced the last twenty yards for Jace’s car, Leroy could only hope he wasn’t scratched. But a sick worry climbed into his guts; he had used his bare skin to fend off the zombies the whole time and he’d been very lucky. It was the last attack, though, he suspected would be his downfall. He shut away the thought for now. He couldn’t deal with it.

  A trickle of infected walked for them, but the goings on inside the lot were still more appealing, and Leroy thought they had finally made it. They had done what they’d set out to do, and they were still alive. Skoota clapped him on the back.

  “Well done, mate. You did better than I thought.”

  Once upon a time, Leroy would have puffed out his chest and said something like, Of course, mate, what did you expect? but now, Leroy felt himself choking up at what he might be facing. He could only manage a thin smile and a whisper of a thank you.

  Skoota helped the blonde woman into the back seat on the opposite side of the vehicle. The other woman, Juliet, stopped at the door on Skoota’s side and turned back towards the lot. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Leroy pulled the door open. “Come on.” He tried to guide her into the back seat, but she kept looking back at the gap in the fence.

  “I’m sorry,” Juliet said. “I’m sorry, Meg and Lory. And Sam. I’m sorry I promised you it would be all right. I was wrong.”

  She looked at Leroy, and he was surprised to see her eyes were lovely, despite them being red and teary. “It’s not your fault.”

  She bowed her head, and with Leroy’s coaxing, she slid into the back seat. “It is. I made the plan. I cut the fence.”

  Leroy clicked Juliet’s door closed, climbed into the front and pulled his own shut. Skoota turned the key, and the vehicle whirred to life. Three infected reached them and slapped playfully against the windows.

  “Where to?” Skoota asked.

  “Anywhere but here,” Juliet answered.

  Skoota nodded. He pulled on the wheel and circled around until he drove away from the lot. One of the infected didn’t move, and he ran it down, its body thumping against the side of the vehicle.

  “Take me home,” the longer-haired blonde woman said from the backseat. Her face was grimy, her eyes red. She had blood spatters all over her t-shirt. But there was a resolve in her face, and Leroy understood it was no accident she had survived thus far.

  “Where’s home?” Skoota asked.

  “Longford. About fifteen miles from here.”

  He nodded. “First stop, Longford.”

  Leroy lay back against the seat, the faintest tingling in his forearm. He wanted to look, wanted to know if was a scratch, or if his mind was playing tricks on him. Instead, he folded his arms and closed his eyes. Right now, he couldn’t deal with it. That knowledge would be learnt later when he was alone.

  43

  January 12, 2014

  3:30 pm

  Outside Port Arthur Historic Site, Tasmania

  Mac had driven them down the beautiful stretch of the Arthur Highway over the last three hours with the kids and Chloe in his car. Their talk was about kid things, which had helped take his mind off other topics. And while he could push aside thoughts of what might have happened to Jess for a while, he couldn’t prevent himself thinking about Smitty’s demise. In some way, Mac suspected Smitty would have wanted to go down fighting, and his old mate’s death had been a heroic one.

  By the time they reached Arthur Road and turned onto Church Street, the kids had had enough of driving. They’d stopped a couple of times to use the public toilets, but they hadn’t lingered long to stretch their legs. What the kids needed was space to run around and be kids—climb, fall over, wrestle, and spread out. Mac felt a growing desire to provide freedom again.

  Driving down Church Street, Mac checked the rear-view mirror as he had done so a thousand times since they left Blackwood Creek to ensure David, Meryl, and Shelli were still following. Mac felt comfort knowing they were with them.

  “Look,” Tyler said, pressing his face to the window. “Someone’s there.”

  Mac slowed the car and peered sideways out the back window. A flood of hope filled him. A cluster of people gathered beyond the line of scrub beside the road with coils of wire, a stack of thick fence posts, and what looked like sheets of corrugated iron surrounding them.

  Mac slowed the car to a stop and surveyed the scene. They were pulling down a section of smaller fence and replacing it with a stronger version. There must have been eight or nine people lifting and carrying, digging and supporting. One of
the thick posts towered out of the ground, and Mac estimated a height of at least nine feet with a distance between each of maybe eight. With all the lumberyards in the area, there would be no shortage of posts.

  “Bloody brilliant.”

  He caught David’s eye in the rear-view, stuck a hand out the window, and raised his thumb. It was all true. Port Arthur Historic Site was being built into a fortress. The way these people had organized themselves and leapt into action was impressive.

  Buoyed by the finding, Mac drove on and let his mind wander to Jess and his desperation to find her, the thoughts curling around his insides and squeezing his heart. The feeling was both exquisite in its hope and terrifying in its potential. Mac imagined her sweet smile, long blonde hair and those sky-blue eyes. Just to touch her again, just to tell her he was sorry for leaving her alone was too much to imagine. What if she wasn’t inside the gates of this place? Mac knew there was a strong possibility. He had to be prepared for that. If it turned out she wasn’t in there, he had to go on. For his own sake as much as the kids, and Mac vowed to keep searching the entire state if that’s what it took to find her.

  “Look, Dad!” Ashleigh cried. “Look at those gates!”

  Mac buried the feelings and pried a smile for his children.

  “Wow, they’re cool,” Chloe said with a wide-eyed grin.

  And they were. Erected in the middle of the road were two giant steel gates. They were painted black and met in the middle perfectly as though they’d come out of an engineering shop. Each one stood twelve feet high and six feet wide. Trailing off to either side was a similar looking fence also constructed of metal. They both disappeared into the scrub, where Mac presumed they met up with the fence the people had been working on further along the road. It was a solid defense that, unless confronted by an army of infected, would ensure those inside were kept safe. Standing at the edge of the left gate, inside the perimeter, was a fifteen-foot-high turret. One man stood within and Mac saw he was holding a gun.