Plague War: Pandemic

by Alister Hodge

  ‘How are you holding up?’ he asked, resting one hand on his leg in concern. Jai’s gaze shifted to the hand, looking at the little finger’s stump.

  ‘I’ve been better,’ he said with a half-smile. His eyes slowly moved up from Mark’s amputation to lock a feverish gaze on his Lieutenant. ‘I wish I had your guts, Mark. If I’d been brave enough, I could have chopped the arm off straight away. Maybe that would have stopped the infection?’

  Mark’s gut twisted at his friend’s words, carving yet another unseen wound upon his heart and mind. ‘Nah, that’s not the case, mate. We both knew from the moment it happened – that wound couldn’t be fixed, the vessels affected were just too big.’ Mark swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat that wouldn’t budge. There was only one job left to do, but he’d wait until the kid passed on.

  Mark felt a hand lightly grip his, the skin burning with fever. ‘I’m not letting you do that,’ said Jai. ‘You’re a good mate, Mark, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let any of you carry this on your conscience. Get me a gun and I’ll finish it myself.’

  Mark stared at him, lost for words. Slowly, he unclipped the holster at his waist and removed the weapon. Jai reached out with his uninjured hand and took the pistol from his friend’s grip.

  ‘Tell Erin I love her, yeah?’

  Jai reversed the gun, placing the end of the short barrel in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.

  Epilogue

  A damp breeze tugged at a strand of hair that had broken free of her ponytail. Erin reached up absently and tucked it behind her ear. She glanced at the clouds above, dark and pregnant with a promise of rain. Winter had come early this year, bringing grey days that reflected her mood. She felt like she should probably be crying, and yet her eyes remained dry. Her grief at her brother’s death had run long and hard until the tears finally stopped coming, but the pain at his absence had never changed; like a wound that refused to heal, it bled unseen to the present day.

  A rumbling noise pulled her from her thoughts, making her glance behind. With a few quick steps, she jumped off the road, safe to the sidewalk and out of the path of the approaching vehicles. Erin stopped and watched as they passed, the products created within the Geelong car factories that would help win the ongoing war against the plague. Each of the armoured vehicles was a moving fortress, purpose built to protect soldiers as they culled the Infected. Slits within the steel plate armoured sides allowed the warriors inside to shoot from safety, further evolving the design that had proved effective the previous summer. Erin’s eyes narrowed - there were no shoddy welds on these vehicles to place crews at risk.

  The stream of vehicles continued for a good ten minutes until it finally came to an end. Shivering, she drew her coat tightly about her, and took off again at a brisk pace, a plastic bag hanging from one hand. Before long, the military cemetery came into view, and she entered the complex that had grown exponentially throughout the course of the summer campaign. Beautifully manicured lawns studded with plaques to commemorate the buried soldiers were intersected by simple paved walkways. Erin walked along one of these, her eyes reading the names of soldiers killed in action to either side. So many of them were teenagers. As the population existing to feed the ranks dwindled, the army had been forced to open its arms to ever younger recruits. It had been many decades since Australian soldiers had died in such numbers, and yet they were making consistent gains, pushing back the enemy and claiming towns where people could live in relative safety again. But the price had been costly, paid in blood and lives.

  She had arrived at his grave.

  Private Jai Richards

  KIA

  ‘Hi Erin, we would have waited to walk with you, but I saw your note asking us to meet you here,’ Steph said.

  Erin smiled sadly at her friends. Mark, Harry and Steph were all there, waiting patiently for her. ‘I just wanted to get this for him,’ she said, gently lifting a small package from the bag. She opened the top of the little box and extracted a single cupcake. In frosting had been written, ‘Happy B’day big brother’. Erin placed it at the base of the plaque. ‘It’s silly I know, but...’ she shrugged and stood up.

  ‘He would have been eighteen today,’ Erin said softly. The group stood quietly for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts as a soft pattering of rain commenced.

  ‘Do you want to say anything, or for one of us to speak a few words about him?’ asked Harry gently.

  ‘Thanks, but I don’t think there’s any point if he can’t hear them,’ she said. After a few minutes, Erin turned and started to walk away. The rest of the group took her lead and followed, each of them quiet until they were back on the main street again.

  The drizzle let up and sun poked through the clouds, causing the newly fallen rain to sparkle in the grass. Erin allowed her jacket to fall open, exposing a combat uniform underneath.

  ‘What time do we drive out tomorrow morning, Mark?’

  Mark looked at her and scowled for the first time since she’d arrived. ‘You know I’m still not happy about this? It’s just not bloody right, I mean how old are you now?’

  ‘Fourteen. We’ve been through this a hundred times, do we really need to argue about it today of all days?’ Erin said, her voice weary. Mark looked away, jaw clenched.

  ‘There’s so few left to fight. Why else do you think the army lowered the age of recruitment to thirteen? Besides, I’ve been bloody well fighting to survive since the plague broke. This only formally recognises the fact!’

  ‘But your brother wanted me to keep you safe,’ said Mark, grasping at straws.

  ‘And you are. I hardly think it was a fluke that I got posted to your platoon after basic training.’

  ‘Give her a break,’ said Steph, putting a hand on Mark’s shoulder. ‘She made a legal choice to enlist, just like the other teenagers swelling our ranks. Erin’s got as much of a right to fight as the next person.’

  Mark sighed. ‘Fine. We leave at dawn, so the roll call’s at 4AM in preparation. Be ready for a long day, we’re heading for the western districts to start town clearances.’

  Erin trailed two steps behind her friends, now also her comrades, as they walked back to the house. It was with a grim satisfaction that she acknowledged she was actually going to fight as a soldier, and that Mark had finally recognised her place in his squad. She looked about her, glad to be viewing the streets of Queenscliff for the last time.

  End of Book 2

  Read on for a free sample of Ghostland: A Zombie Apocalypse Novel

  Chapter One

  He released a long moan and put his head back, staring into the darkness. His daughter had finally fallen asleep, and as soon as Simon Washington could hear the eight-year-old girl snoring gently as she laid her head on his lap, he leaned over and blew the candle out. He had no idea what time it was. Ten? Eleven?

  She wasn’t a big fan of the dark. She was not exactly terrified of it, which was a near-miracle considering what they had been through, but if the candlelight helped her go to sleep then her father was happy to use up some of the wax.

  He ran his fingers from his right hand through his bushy beard whilst stroking his daughter’s head with his left, and closed his eyes. He was sleepy, his eyes were stinging, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins was making sleep a hard task to achieve.

  He was getting that feeling again.

  He hadn’t experienced it in days, but it was happening. He sat up, straightened his back, and tried to ride it out. He stopped stroking his daughter’s head and put the two fingers of his left hand on his neck, feeling for the carotid artery.

  His pulse felt normal, kind of, so where was the surge of adrenaline coming from? And why was he finding it difficult to breathe? Was it all in his mind?

  He tried a few breathing exercises, like he normally did in this situation. He took in a deep breath and held it for eight seconds, then slowly released for another eight. He continued to do this, and after a few minutes the episode had co
me to a close, like it normally did. He had no idea why this was happening. Yes, he and his daughter, Imelda, were in a dire situation, but these panic attacks had only started a couple of months ago.

  Why didn’t it start straight away? Why didn’t it start a year ago when the country, and possibly the world, went into chaos? He didn’t know what it really was. Was it really a panic attack? Did he have high blood pressure? Something else?

  When it first happened he thought he was having a heart attack. Just the thought of dying frightened him, so his panic grew and it seemed to make the situation worse. The fear of leaving his daughter alone was petrifying for Simon. Leaving his daughter to fend for herself was what frightened him the most. He had taught her things. He had shown her how to catch game by setting traps, how to skin rabbits, filtering water, but being eight years old with no parents, walking these barren lands alone, was something that broke his heart just thinking about it.

  He closed his eyes and felt tiredness creep up on him. He nodded off for no longer than ten seconds and suddenly gasped, getting a fright, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention. Was there something outside?

  He unzipped his blue fleece jacket, careful not to wake his daughter, and left the jacket opened; it wasn’t so cold. He was sure that it was around springtime; maybe April or May, he wasn’t exactly sure.

  The winter seemed like a lifetime ago now, and he and his daughter had been on the road for a few months; he guessed three. They had stayed in their house for nearly nine months before they had to leave. When they were at their house and had run out of food, they had to spend their time raiding neighbours’ houses. Most of the houses were empty, because in the beginning, when the Canavars were in their droves and most people fled to a different place, going elsewhere seemed a better option for most folk. Since the bombs had fallen, people, as well as the Canavars, had been depleted. Simon hadn’t seen one in months, and his daughter hadn’t seen any since that day. The day she lost her mummy and her brother; the day Simon lost his wife and his son.

  He had no idea where to go next once morning had arrived, and knew that staying in the wooden hut for another night was not an option.

  For months the pair of them roamed from one house to the next, picking up scraps here and there, and he knew that this couldn’t go on forever. Food was going to dry up eventually. Water was fine, for the time being. He knew how to filter water, although the process wasn’t entirely perfect. They had a few jars with them that also had lids, and a couple of old soda bottles that Simon kept in his rucksack. The soda bottles were cut in half, and had, at the top of the bottle, small pebbles. Underneath the pebbles was sand. A cloth was below the sand, tied with an elastic band.

  Once the water had been filtered Simon would filter it again, boil it for a minute, and then let it cool down. The water had to be filtered to remove waterborne cysts that could harbour and protect bacteria from chemical treatment or even boiling, but he was aware that the cysts were capable of withstanding high temperatures.

  The filtering process would remove some cysts along with pesticides, herbicides, sediment, insects and other debris. It was a lengthy process, and was quite frustrating that it took up a lot of their time.

  In the beginning, the Canavars were the problem, but after the bombs fell, other humans were now a danger. He knew that not every individual was a danger to him and his daughter, but he had to be wary of any stranger, male or female. Times were different, and people were resorting to any methods in order to survive. He had seen it with his own eyes.

  He felt a throbbing in the back of his mouth and placed his fingers in and touched one of his back teeth. He winced when his fingers made contact and knew it had to come out eventually.

  He had no tools to deal with the situation, but was sure he could wait a while. He had only felt the discomfort a few weeks ago, and although it was painful, he was certain he could hold on for another few days or so. It wasn’t exactly keeping him awake at night. Not yet.

  He stroked his daughter’s head once more, leaned over and kissed her. Her hair needed washing. The last time she had washed her hair was a couple of weeks ago when they came across an abandoned house that had no food available, but had bottles of lemonade and bars of soap.

  The days of old seemed like a lifetime ago now. His daughter went to gymnastics on a Friday evening, and back then all she worried about was her technique for her one handed cartwheel and what the new move was going to be. Now, she worried about other things. She worried about where the next meal was going to come from and if they were going to run into any trouble.

  They had been very careful.

  They had remained in the countryside since they had escaped from their house, after her brother and mother were attacked, but Simon had told her that they needed to head to somewhere more residential—a place that was reasonably populated in the old world. He was hoping to come across more houses, shops, maybe even a friendly community that had been created by some locals, but he was aware that a place with numbers could also mean danger for him and his daughter.

  Most of the houses that they had checked recently had nothing left. The food had either been taken when the owners had packed up and left, when the Canavars had exploded on the scene, or other people had raided the house during that period, maybe even after.

  The arrival of the Canavars was bad enough and had depleted the nation severely, but when the country was attacked from the skies, mainly the cities, there didn’t seem to be anyone around. That, of course, wasn’t the case, but that’s what it felt like for Simon Washington and his eight-year-old daughter.

  Simon and Imelda felt like they were the last people left on this earth.

  How wrong they were.

  Chapter Two

  Next Day

  He woke up with a start, and at first was unsure where he was. He was still sitting up and his eyes scanned around the dusky area and immediately placed his hand on his daughter’s head. He smiled. She was still there, still with her head on his lap. He tried to sit up without disturbing his daughter. He had no idea how long they had both slept. Maybe they had had plenty of hours or maybe not enough, he wasn’t sure.

  He could see that it was light outside because there was light shining through the tiny cracks of the shed that they were in.

  He and his daughter had weeks of monotony, walking from one place to the next. To relieve the boredom they talked about how their lives were when things were normal. He openly talked about his wife and son, his daughter’s mother and brother, as he thought it was healthy to do this, rather than forgetting they ever existed.

  He had no idea how long it had been since their passing. A couple of months? Longer? It felt like years. He was sure they had died in January.

  Sometimes it felt like it had always been just him and his little girl, and the flashbacks that consisted of his wife and son were just his imagination. It sounded silly, but that’s how Simon felt sometimes. He had no photographs of his family, no video footage to remind him what life used to be like ... nothing! Everything he could remember about his past was in his head. He couldn’t remember it all, but a lot of the memories would come flooding back if his daughter would say or do something. Sometimes, however, the memories would sneak up on him like an assassin, without warning, and twang his heartstrings, forcing his throat to harden.

  His daughter began to moan and stir and this made him smile. He waited a minute and allowed his little girl to sit up in her own time. Eight-year-old Imelda Washington sat up and stretched her arms. Still sitting, she released a yawn and then looked at the outline of her dad who was sitting next to her.

  “Morning, babe,” said Simon in a soft voice.

  She never responded verbally and looked around, almost as if she was unsure where she was.

  “Sleep well?” He looked at the little scar that was on the right side of her forehead, just below her hairline.

  “Uh-huh.” She nodded and gazed around once more before adding,
“Had a weird dream.”

  “Oh yeah?” Simon smirked and could hardly see his beautiful girl. The dusky shed hid her blonde hair, blue eyes and perfect skin. “What was it about?”

  “Erm...”

  She seemed reluctant to tell him and Simon decided not to push her. The dream could have been too silly to describe, or it could have been one about her mum and older brother.

  “You know what?” Simon gently touched Imelda’s cheek and said, “Why don’t you tell me once we’re on the road.”

  She nodded and groaned, “So we’re moving again?”

  Simon smiled and nodded. “We need to go where the food is.”

  “Nowhere then.”

  Simon decided to ignore her moaning, stood to his feet and stretched his arms. He then put his arms out straight in front of him and stretched his back. He smiled as he remembered that this was the type of stretch, as well as others, he used when he went to the gym.

  The gym, he thought. That seemed like a lifetime ago now.

  ‘You hungry, babe?” he asked her.

  “Not really.”

  Simon cupped his right hand, brought it up to his mouth and breathed into it, immediately sniffing his breath. He twisted his nose. He needed to brush his teeth. He hadn’t brushed them in days and his teeth were beginning to hurt. They had two worn toothbrushes in the bag that he had, but had little toothpaste. They had managed to acquire some toothpaste from the last house they were in, and it had also been days since Imelda had brushed her teeth.

  They had no plan. They simply wandered from one place to the next, from one town to the other. He just wanted the pair of them to survive. That was what his wife would have wanted. If he had lost his whole family on that terrible day he would have killed himself, but he had Imelda. She was the only thing that was keeping him going, keeping him sane. He had responsibilities, and the thought of him dying and leaving his little girl, alone, upset him. He saw what it did to her when she lost her mum and Tyler, her older brother.