Jacob held his breath, willing the pain away, grinding his jaw until it ran up into the side of his head. He imagined taking the knowledge of his wife’s death and wrapping it up in a bundle, shoving it inside a box, and closing the lid. It worked, as it always did, and the thought drifted. During his brief Army days, they said he was the most competent at compartmentalization. Monica had sometimes called him cold-hearted. That made him chuckle. He thought of Arty, and his insistence that there were facilities and people in Melbourne who could help fight the virus. After Campbelltown, Jacob had to make a decision about where to go. North was out—they had witnessed the destruction firsthand, although some of the others from the group had gone that way. South was their only option, and although he suspected Melbourne was going to be in a similar state to Sydney, they would stick to the outskirts and find their destination. Beyond that, Melbourne was springboard to Tasmania, and he had heard from a man in Yass that people were gathering there to make the crossing. Bass Strait was a treacherous body of water though, and whoever made the trip would require a competent person to skipper the boat. Jacob held little hope of finding someone, but that didn’t deter him from the notion.
He looked into the side mirror for the tenth time just to make sure the battered four-wheel drive was still following. It was there, some distance behind, dusty red, cracked windscreen, two men peering at them through the glass. Four of them. Four out of twenty-two. They’d lost some of the finest people Jacob had ever known. Monica, Arty, Gary Edney, and of course, his good mate Samuel. The thought of the way he went out sent a shiver up Jacob’s neck. Sure, some of them had to have survived, but who knew where they had gone. John and Sandy; their children, Greg and Amelia. Stuart, the butcher. He could go on, but knew it did no good. It just happened that the two that made it weren’t what Jacob considered friends. They’d joined the group just south of Sydney. His policy was always to let anybody who contributed tag along, and he hadn’t turned folks away so far. But these men mostly kept to themselves, almost as if they were planning something. Samuel didn’t trust them. It didn’t seem fair. Wasn’t. He wished he could change it, but what would he have done differently? Probably not stopped so close to the road. The service center had been enticing with its large awning and the shop, but the sentries had failed and it had cost them in the end. They all knew the risks though. Knew what this new life was like. Each day they ran the gauntlet of death by just staying alive. Sometimes he wondered how they would ever make a life for themselves again.
“How much further?” Rebecca asked, shifting into a more comfortable position. She was tinier than Jacob had expected given his large frame, although her mother had been petite. Rebecca had her curly blonde hair and narrow features, too, along with those blue, seductive eyes. What had she gotten from him? He would find out. You need to spend time with a person to discover such things.
“A while yet.”
“We got anything else to eat?”
“Crackers. Staple diet of the new world.”
She didn’t smile. “Where we going?”
“Seymour.”
“Never been there. You?”
“Long time ago. With your mother, actually.” That silenced her.
She slumped, peering out the front window in thought. “Tell me about her. What you remember.”
Despite all the time that had passed, he still remembered her vividly. Jennifer Jabowski was a beautiful woman—in Jacob’s eyes, anyway, and that’s all that mattered—attentive and obsequious. She was fearsome too, when unappreciated. Jacob had spent too much time trying to build his business and not enough being a husband. That pushed Jennifer to look elsewhere for the love and attention that a woman required. Jacob put up little resistance, and that still burned away at him. But it wasn’t Jennifer’s fault. None at all. Still, he didn’t feel like talking about it today.
“Maybe another time, okay?”
She settled back into the ripped leather seat in silence. Jacob thought about the potential towns they had passed in favor of Seymour. Wagga, Albury, Wangaratta. But there were reasons why he had foregone them all. They were more than lucky at Tarcutta, just south of the Wagga Wagga turnoff. The others wanted to stop at Wagga, and Jacob had almost taken the exit, but in the final moments, his foot gunned the accelerator past the intersection. It had almost cost them their lives. A blockade greeted them just beyond. What sort of people tried to take advantage of others in a situation like this? Men had lined the road with vehicles in an attempt to stop traffic and hijack people for whatever items of value they carried. They caught a gap in the corner of the blockade though; Rebecca had spied it. Jacob made for it and smashed through, metal screeching on metal, sparks flying. Following closely behind, the others penetrated a different section and drove with part of the front end missing. Remembering what the fellows from the other group said about Albury, Jacob kept driving. They added fuel at a service center and filled plastic bags from behind the counter with the last of the savory foods.
As Wangaratta approached, he had another bad feeling. Still, he left the Hume Highway and drove northwest along the Great Alpine Road towards the center of town. A long line of zombies trailed all the way back along the roadway and around a bend, beyond sight. They were a mix of fresh and old bodies, the withered skin and dark sunken eyes of the long undead, and the pale, unbroken flesh of the recently turned. Jacob presumed they were migrating out of the town looking for fresh food.
“Please turn around,” Rebecca said. Jacob thought that was a sensible idea. He braked, checking the rearview mirror to ensure that the others were doing the same, and pulled to the side. The red four-wheel drive did the same further back.
The closest zombie detected the vehicle and lurched at them. Jacob thrust the gear into reverse and drew back on the clutch, pressing the accelerator down simultaneously.
“Go,” Rebecca said, eyes locked on the feeders. Two of them had closed in, and would be at the car in seconds. “Go!”
Braking again, Jacob guided the stick into drive and swung the wheel tight to the right. A clunk on the rear sounded their arrival. Body twisted, Rebecca leaned on the back of the seat, watching. Jacob caught them in the rearview mirror.
He slammed the pedal down, but the engine gurgled, and the car didn’t respond. Terrified, he lifted his foot and repeated. This time the vehicle thrust forward, throwing them back. The two feeders fell forward where their support had been.
They scooted away and linked back onto the Hume Highway, vowing to keep to the main road for now.
On they drove as the afternoon sun drew towards the western horizon, their fuel diminishing, their stomachs calling for more than potato crisps and sweets. But Jacob dared not leave the main road again, despite protests from Phil and Tommy, the other two trailing in the vehicle behind. The choices were slim now—they needed to stop before Melbourne. That left Seymour, one of the bigger townships in the region, the last of decent size before hitting the outskirts of Melbourne. He wanted to ensure they had sufficient supplies and a belly full of food and drink. Who knew what they might face in the big city, even trying to remain on the outskirts. He decided then as they whirred along the blacktop, the tussock grass peering out from rock embankments at the base of gum trees, that they would stay the night in Seymour. He felt better having made the decision. They couldn’t all be overrun, could they?
After Wangaratta, they zipped through Benalla and Violet Town. Rebecca piped up as they passed a hotel on their left and a string of dark shops on the right, separated from the main road by a line of trees. Smoke drifted in lazy columns from most of the buildings. Rotting bodies lay on the pavement. Another town gone to ruin. There didn’t appear to be any zombies, but Jacob knew they were probably hiding nearby.
“Killing Heidi,” she said, almost matter of fact.
“Huh? Killing who?” He drew himself away from the macabre thoughts.
“Killing Heidi. This is where Killing Heidi came from.” Jacob’s expression said
he had no idea what she was talking about. “The rock band. Well, they’ve broken up now, but they had some killer songs. Killer songs.”
“Oh.” She liked music. Rock music. She had to get that from him. Not her mother. It was he who insisted on having the radio playing in the car, or belting out at home whenever they were plodding about. In truth, he loved all forms of music, had gathered an appreciation of it over the years—from his father, no doubt, but it was rock ‘n’ roll, that mesh of instruments and seething vocals that made his pulse pound more than anything else. Surely when God was up for a great time, he had the legends playing in Heaven. There was something about a catchy riff, thumping drums, a bass guitar, and a screeching voice—male or female—that got him going. And if Rebecca enjoyed it as much, if she’d acquired a love of music through his genes, then he was grateful for that, if nothing else.
“You like music?”
He cleared his throat. “No.” She raised her eyebrows in mock. “I goddamn love it.” Rebecca smiled—the first since Campbelltown—maybe the first for him in weeks, and that lit him up inside.
They chatted about it as Jacob drove the last winding leg towards Seymour; her love of nineties rock—Nirvana and Pearl Jam, Soundgarden and Rage Against the Machine. A little heavier than his favorite stuff, but he wasn’t too old that he couldn’t appreciate it. He asked if she knew of the Beatles—of course she did, but she hadn’t heard a great deal of their music. He promised to track down a CD somewhere along the way for her to listen. The White Album, he suggested, which was his favorite, and he found himself describing the mix of styles and influences. She listened with wide eyes and rapt enthusiasm for his enthusiasm, and he realized they had found a similar passion.
And then they were there, pulling off the Hume Freeway and onto the Goulburn Valley Freeway, heading south towards the Seymour Township. In the distance on their right rested the faint lines of the train tracks, cutting their way between a cluster of trees and a sea of golden pasture where animals had once roamed. The road swung around and they crossed two thin tributaries off the Goulburn River and turned into Emily Street. The backyards of houses smirked at them in silence. No cars or people in sight. That was more worrying. Were they all herded up somewhere waiting for visitors?
Jacob saw the hospital in the distance and wondered whether they should go there, but recalled Callan’s story about the one in Albury and decided to pass.
As they approached the first section of shops, worry stirred in his gut. The buildings on either side of the road had their windows smashed. Glass lay in a spattering on the pavement outside, and a wispy trail of smoke swirled from one. He spied movement inside what looked like some sort of hotel and slowed the car.
Rebecca sat up. “What are you doing?”
“I just wanna—”
And there they were, scratching about the rubble inside the building, pushing past each other in pursuit of some unseen food. Tables and chairs had been smashed up and overturned. Bodies lay at irregular angles. Something caught Jacob’s attention on the left, and he saw a similar scene in another building. And then another and another. It was as though someone had pushed a button and let them all out of their cage. He gave up after that.
“Can we turn around?”
What would they find beyond here, though? Every other town was going to be in a similar state. Supplies and weapons were what they needed. But Seymour contained everything they needed amongst its zombie population. If they left now, there would be nothing between here and Melbourne. They had no choice.
“A bit further. There’ll be a safe place here. We just have to find it.”
Jacob guided the car to avoid the same old abandoned stuff on the road—vehicles, rubbish, even bodies. In the mirror, he saw that feeders had wandered onto the street beyond the other car, drawn by the sound of automotive engines. More appeared from shop fronts.
They approached the intersection of Emily Street and the Goulburn Valley Highway. On the right lay a smoking pile of rubble, a blue sign poking up through the bricks like the arm of a zombie. POLICE. Jacob followed the road around the corner, peering into the debris, looking for signs of life. He knew there would be none.
Jacob moved slowly. Behind them, the four-wheel beeped its horn. Phil stuck a finger up from behind the front window. Jacob supressed a curse. They were idiots, he decided.
They followed the street around the corner to the left. On their right, the shady umbrellas of a dozen oak trees spread across the scruffy lawn of a sizeable park.
They took the corner and almost slammed into a vehicle stuck in the middle of the road. Zombies surrounded it, attempting to get at something through the passenger door. Jacob braked and swivelled around, looking behind, looking for a way back. But the red four-wheel drive had pulled in close behind them and there was no way out.
FIVE
Dylan sat at the kitchen table watching them talking about him. Listening to their whispers and accusations. Maybe they already knew. Maybe they were plotting against him. Why didn’t they come and talk to him? They were staying away. Greg refused to look at him. He knew what he’d done. He’d left Dylan to die, turning his back on him.
The bite on his neck. The wound throbbed. He needed to have it washed and cleaned. More importantly, he was infected with the zombie virus and needed treatment. Dylan knew the outcome of no treatment as well as anyone else. At that moment, the virus worked its way through his blood, changing his cells, changing him. His skin was hot and itchy. He wanted to scratch it away, but didn’t dare look too obvious to the others.
Kristy was already suspicious. He didn’t want her to find out yet; he wasn’t prepared to face the fact she knew he was going to die. He needed to talk to Klaus, the scientist. He’d know what to do. Once it was out though, he worried they would all know. Klaus and the admiral were dealing with the same situation and they had managed to keep functioning. Toughen up, Dylan told himself. The buzz though. The buzz in his blood, the buzz in his head. He could feel it. Johnny all over. It had driven him mad. He killed himself in the end, unable to handle the thought of becoming one of them. Dylan closed his eyes. If he didn’t get a grip, they’d work it out soon. Greg probably suspected and was telling Callan now. Two days. That’s all he had. Two days and he’d end up like Johnny. He should check on the bite and at least make sure it was clean so it didn’t get infected. Infected. You are, fool.
He sat pondering his short future, feeling as though he was gradually going mad. Eventually, the van slowed and pulled over to the roadside at the top of a hill where a corrugated tin shed doubled as a toilet block. They were near Yass, and soon they would be battling their way into another town. They would need him, and he wouldn’t be able to avoid that. The others began leaving the vehicle. Kristy looked his way and signaled with a nod of her head. Get moving. He waited for the kids to go, then slid out from behind the table and followed.
“You okay?” Kristy asked, taking him by the hand.
Maybe she didn’t know. Her concern was heartbreaking. Part of him wanted to tell her, but the words stuck in his throat. It would kill everything they managed to forge over the last weeks. He would rather suffer the knowledge of his imminent death for a day or two longer than have her look at him with pity. “Dylan?”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just a little tired. And I’ve got a headache.”
Kristy rubbed a hand on the back of his neck and he stiffened. She noticed it and pulled it away as though touching a hot stove. “You’re warm. How long have you been feeling like that?”
“Couple of days,” he lied.
“I’ll get some paracetamol.”
“Okay. But I gotta pee first.” He walked quickly towards the toilets.
“Come and see me when you’re done.”
The door opened with a squeal and he slipped inside, feeling safe again. He slipped off his shirt and tried to assess the bite, twisting and turning. It was impossible to examine from any angle, and there were no m
irrors. His fingers touched the wound, and when he pulled them away, sticky blood covered the tips. Dylan shuddered.
He emptied his bladder, left the cubicle, and headed towards the others standing on a gravel mound at the edge of the clearing. Kristy stood beside Greg with her arms folded. Dylan recalled the incident back at the base that would eventually cost his life. Had Greg deliberately left him to die? Had his act caused Dylan to get bitten? They were questions to which answers, at this point, were impossible. Dylan’s gut told him there was something in it, but when he considered all Greg had done for them, saving their lives on multiple occasions, it didn’t make sense. It was difficult, though, to shrug off the image of Greg’s face as he turned for the door, leaving Dylan to die.
But he came back.
He reached the group and stood amongst the long weeds beside Callan. They were looking down at a panoramic view of the Yass Township. The structure of the settlement was spread across several miles, dotted by trees, and flanked by a golf course in the distance. The Yass River cut through like a python, its body thick on the outskirts of town and thinning to a narrow tail beyond the spillway as it wound its way through the center of town. Smoky columns rose from several buildings. The occasional crash or boom floated to them. There was no movement of cars or people. The main street wasn’t visible, but there were plenty of stalled vehicles on the outskirts. The most obvious thing was the smell, the slow decay of the dead and rotting food almost unbearable.
“Seems quiet,” Greg said.
Callan shuffled. “Yeah. But the bastards are down there.” He looked up at the sky. “I still think we can make it in and out before dark.”
“No,” Kristy said. “Not tonight. We have one torch. If we get stuck …”
“I’m with Kristy,” Evelyn said. “I think we stay here and go in the morning. We’ve got enough to get us through the night. Who has the energy to do anymore today?”
Invasion of the Dead (Book 3): Escape Page 3