There was little more of use, so Callan and Greg entered the house, clearing each room before calling Evelyn and Jake inside. In the kitchen cupboards they found some tinned food—spaghetti, baked beans, tuna—a giant bag of dog food—and some packets of pasta that would last a few more weeks, but beyond that, everything had spoiled.
Outside, they strolled down to a lazy creek behind the house where Callan asked Jake to help him fill plastic containers they had discovered in the pantry. Evelyn stood back with Greg, watching them. Callan assisted Jake down to the edge of the creek, holding his elbow. Callan unscrewed the container, handed it to Jake, and instructed him on the best way to fill it. Jake laughed. Callan laughed. Blue barked. A flash of delight rushed through Evelyn. Jake filled the can, and when he was done, Callan held up his hand and they made a high five. He was a good man, Callan; fiery and opinionated, but he was passionate and caring.
“What was Callan’s girlfriend like? The one that died?”
Greg only paused for a second, watching the boys. “Horrible, mostly. Why do you ask?”
“I just wondered. He seems like a nice man.”
Greg considered his response. Evelyn thought he might not answer. “He is. He has his faults of course, but he’s got a good heart. He’ll pretty much always do the right thing. Sherry never appreciated what she had. Maybe she understood in the end, but she never got the best out of Callan.”
With the weighty containers of clean spring water, Callan and Jake climbed the stepped bank from the edge of the waterway. Jake reached the top first, but tottered and overbalanced. Evelyn saw in her mind’s eye that he was going to fall backwards into the water. She cried out, but Callan, still holding the container, shot a hand forward and steadied the boy.
“Oh my God,” Evelyn said. Greg laughed.
“Trust me. There’s nobody better to look out for your kid than him.”
Callan gave Jake a gentle nudge, allowing him to gain traction on the treacherous edge, and then he was up, smiling, laughing, offering a hand to help Callan with the water. Blue Boy yapped. Evelyn smiled. They walked back towards them laughing aloud. There had been a number of suitors after Cameron’s death, but she hadn’t quite been ready to consider them, and she’d used Jake as an excuse, sizing up each of the men as a suitable proxy for his father. None had given her the feeling Callan had just now, and she knew that if anything did ever develop between them, Callan would have ticked the first and most important box.
“What’s funny?” she asked as they returned. Jake was almost hysterical.
“Men’s talk,” Callan said, winking. Evelyn nodded and tousled Jake’s hair. She couldn’t recall such laughter from him. He hadn’t looked so happy since before the plague.
As they walked back up the slope to the house under a growing darkness, Evelyn thought of what she and Jake had gone through to be there now; so many close calls, standing at the door of death, almost giving up back in Wagga as the zombies chased them along the street. The thought made her feel ill. She was grateful she hadn’t surrendered; grateful Jake had urged her on, and Alex had picked them up on the street, even for what they had gone through at the barracks. These people—Callan, Kristy, Dylan, Greg, Sarah, Julie—even the new men from the Army base—they were good people, and they were lucky to have found them. But as she drew closer, she realized her exposure to pain and loss—Eric, for example—increased. It reminded her of losing her father all over again, biting deep into her heart, stirring emotions she thought were long buried.
Callan wanted to drive the Toyota back to the campervan. They found some usable diesel fuel in Gerry cans underneath the porch and stacked it in the rear of the four-wheel drive with the water and food.
They reached the camper to find the others setting up for a basic evening meal. The sun had dropped low in the west, casting the sky in an orange hue. The meal would be simple, but none of them would starve. For now, they were free of zombies and the immorality of those humans who would seek to thwart their struggle for survival.
“Can you do me a favor?” Kristy asked. Evelyn nodded. “Speak to Julie. Find out if she’s okay. I know she won’t be, but she needs to know we haven’t forgotten about her. That we care.”
“Have you—”
“No. I thought you could do it. You’ve got the …”
“Experience.” Kristy nodded, eyes downcast. Evelyn touched a hand to her arm. “It’s okay.”
Evelyn approached the rear bedroom and pulled the drape aside, her heartbeat growing more rapid. Why was she worried? Because she understood that people touched by recent profound loss are unpredictable. Some feel they have nothing left to lose. Julie had been with Eric for many years. Evelyn lost Cameron after eleven, and she knew the devastation it caused. It was the first time in her life she had considered the idea of not being around.
She sat on the end of the bed, considering her words. Julie’s earlier outburst had been full of anger, blaming them for Eric’s death, as though they had been the ones to push him out the door towards the carnage. It wasn’t fair, but she knew to look beneath the facade to the underlying emotion; Julie needed someone to blame.
How did she begin? Would Julie scream her out of the room? It might even get physical. Evelyn had struck her mother across the face after a particularly raw comment. She couldn’t recall what it was now, but it had burned deeply.
Evelyn sat on the bed. The other woman didn’t move. The blanket had curled back. Evelyn folded it forward, covering Julie’s back. She watched her breathing, wondering what she might say that would offer comfort and hope. There was nothing. Perhaps it had been a silly idea to try. Julie needed time; that was the only thing that had ever helped Evelyn. Minutes. Hours. Nights. Days. Weeks. One after the other, until every tenth day was bearable.
She was about to leave when Julie stirred. A leg at first, then her left arm, and finally she lifted her head and their eyes met. Julie’s were puffy and red. Evelyn hadn’t seen anyone cry with such profound despair since… since she had done so with Cameron.
“Thank you.” Julie’s voice hitched, full of tears.
Then she lay back down. Evelyn waited for her to say more, but she buried her head in the pillow. What did she say? Evelyn took herself back to when Cameron died, and the days afterwards. Although his death hadn’t been unexpected, it had been until that point in her life the most challenging thing. As she thought about it though, it dawned on her that comparing experiences wasn’t going to work now. It wasn’t what Julie needed or wanted from her.
“We’re all so sorry for your loss, Julie. We loved Eric. He was a caring, wonderful man.” She started to cry. “You’re still here though, and we need you, the way you need us. The way the world is now… we’re here for you, when you’re ready. We’re your family now. I know Eric would want that. Take your time. We’ll be waiting.”
She found the others eating outside on a plastic foldout table and chairs that someone had discovered in a storage compartment of the camper. The sun had finished its final descent, a picturesque view, reminding Evelyn of another time and place. Callan and Jake were joking around again, and this time Evelyn watched the older man without restriction on her feelings.
Kristy set aside a plate for Julie, doubtful she would eat. When someone suggested they turn on the outside light on the camper, Gallagher insisted they move inside, which they did, reluctantly. For just a moment, life had been normal again.
Shortly after, the curtains to the back section moved, and Julie appeared. The conversation ceased. She had dry, puffy eyes, and a red nose. She was still hitching, but had stopped crying. “I’m sorry.”
Callan put the map down, rose, and put up a hand. “Nothing to be sorry for.”
Julie pressed her lips together and nodded, fighting back tears again. An overwhelming sadness filled Evelyn. She fought the urge to go to Julie and throw her arms around the older woman. How she must be feeling. Thoughts of Eric returned. Pressure filled Evelyn’s eyes. He’d been such
a decent man. The pain reflected in Julie told them more; how she had loved him, and it reminded her of what she’d had with Cameron.
Evelyn ignored her doubt, stood, and opened her arms to Julie, who fell into them, sobbing.
“I’m okay,” Julie said, almost wailing. “I’ll be okay.”
Nobody spoke for a long time. Finally, Julie pulled away. Gallagher handed her tissues and she dabbed at her inflamed eyes.
“Thank you. And I’m sorry for my outburst before. It was… uncalled for. I know it’s nobody’s fault. Except them.”
Callan stood near the door with a soft, understanding expression. “Really, it’s fine.”
“No, it’s not.” She squeezed into the seat on the end of the table. “My mother died when I was seven, and my father was incapable of looking after me—I mean, it wasn’t that he didn’t care, but he was in his early fifties and that generation was far less capable than it is today. I was the youngest child, and both my sisters were teenagers. I got shipped off to live with an aunt and uncle. First in Hawthorn, then Diamond Creek, but nobody wanted me.” Evelyn leaned across the table and put a hand over Julie’s. She gave an appreciative simile. “It wasn’t until I met Eric that I found someone that wanted me.” She gathered herself, before continuing. “And I’ve had him ever since. To lose that now… it feels like I’m seven years old again and nobody wants me.”
“No,” Evelyn said. “That’s not true. We want you. You’re part of our family now.” There was a chorus of agreement.
“That’s right,” Kristy said. “Don’t forget that. Ever.”
Julie accepted their support with more tears. She picked at the food as the children crawled into their beds and the others each found a sleeping place. But it took Evelyn a time to fall asleep; the image of Callan stealing glances at her stuck in her mind’s eye well into her dreams.
EIGHT
Kristy woke to strips of grey light beneath the blinds, bumping into Dylan as she rolled over with pins and needles in one arm. She slipped out of bed, added clothes, and went outside, stepping over bodies lying on the floor of the camper.
Hard morning sunlight greeted her, promising another hot day. A light wind tickled threads of her hair, and on it, she smelled the slow decay of the town below. They would go there soon, and that thought filled her with dread. On the road and the outskirts of townships, they were mostly safe. Heading into the more populated areas, they faced great risk. Necessary risk. They were far from their destination and wouldn’t make it there without guns and more supplies.
She wandered about the camp, looking over the four-wheel drive and thinking about Dylan. She put an arm around him last night, chasing a little comfort, but he rolled over, disinterested. What was happening? Had he lost interest after sleeping with her? It had happened to her before, early in her relationship career, but with Dylan, a man she had known for so long, and with honesty she had never encountered, it seemed implausible.
The others rose soon after, stretching, sluggish, slipping through the camper door so as not to wake those still asleep. Kristy went back inside to check if Dylan was awake, and found Julie standing at the kitchen sink, clearing away clutter and assembling the remaining food in a pile.
“Good morning,” Kristy whispered with a smile. Julie returned the greeting, and Kristy admired the woman’s spirit to keep moving on. Kristy tried to wrangle breakfast duties off her, but she insisted on it. Kristy supposed it took her mind off other things. She even managed a smile as Sarah and Jake sat at the table waiting for boiled eggs.
Kristy kept thinking about the change in Dylan. He had gone outside, so she decided to confront him, draw it out in the open, and ask questions from which he couldn’t hide. She found him conversing with Callan and Greg by the farm vehicle.
“Can I talk to you for a moment?” He followed her to the edge of the clearing with an expression of annoyed expectance. “What’s wrong?” But as she waited for an answer, it came to her with a pang of worry. “Are you sick?”
His face twisted into an expression of disbelief. “What?”
“Your eyes are red. Your nose, too.” She put a hand up to his forehead, but he stepped away.
“What are you doing?”
“Dylan, you look—”
“I’m fine.” He circled and headed back towards the others. “Stop doting over me. You’re not my mother.”
She was incapable of a response. Greg wandered over, his soft smile holding her feet still. “He’s not himself at the moment. It was pretty bad down there yesterday. Just give him a day or two, he’ll come around.”
“I hope you’re right. He looks sick.” She wondered whether he had somehow contracted the virus. What if he’d taken in a splash of blood or a scratch had gotten dirty? The possibilities were endless. Was irritability a symptom? Part of her wanted to chase after him, thrash out the issue, but mostly she was scared it would become worse.
“Could just be something he picked up along the way. We’re all running on empty at the moment.”
Greg had a point. Kristy lacked energy. She could do with a day or two of sleep.
Back in the van, Julie had prepared a basic breakfast of eggs and fruit. Sarah, Jake, and Evelyn all sat at the table eating in silence. Julie held up the frying pan and offered Kristy one of the soft fried yolks. She took one and snavelled it down, her stomach grateful. Evelyn began making a list of things they would need. Kristy contributed a couple of items, but her mind was elsewhere.
She tried to find Dylan before they left, but he had disappeared. She fought a battle of leaving him be, as Greg had suggested, or insisting upon a discussion about whatever was bothering him. The thought of him somehow being infected preyed on her mind. And if he didn’t want to be with her anymore, she wanted to know that, too. But after sweeping the clearing, she still couldn’t find him...
Callan insisted on using the grimy blue Toyota four-wheel drive they had found at the farmhouse. It wouldn’t break any land-speed records, but it had a bull bar on the front, reinforced sides, and heavy-duty tires. Their range of weapons was limited to two tire irons, the biggest knives from Julie’s kitchen, and a hammer Greg had found under the sink.
Kristy waited as the others climbed aboard the van, and Callan and Greg into the Toyota. They were set to drive away when Dylan finally returned. Kristy watched as he went directly for the four-wheel drive, feeling her hopes sink. She jogged across the clearing to him.
“You’re not coming with us?”
“I wanna discuss strategy with Callan and Greg.” He kissed her softly on the lips, but Kristy felt anything but romantic as he climbed into the car. She walked back to the van and slumped in the front, peering out the window, feeling her loose grip on their relationship slipping away. She considered asking Evelyn for advice, but raising it with another person in any sort of depth would only make it more real. For now, she had to sit tight.
Evelyn led them in slow, cautious progress through the outskirts of Yass, the smell growing worse as the farmland and scrub became a sketchy line in the rearview mirror. As they entered the fringes of the township, the first abandoned cars greeted them. The van drove on over broken glass and bloodstains on the roads, even up on the curb where the occasional traffic accident blocked the way. There were no packs of feeders, but they saw more than two dozen wandering about before they hit Main Street. Several approached the van as it drove past, one close enough to thump on the side, but after what they had witnessed in the last week nobody flinched, and the energy they had once possessed to kill every zombie they saw was now sensibly conserved.
Evelyn circled the streets looking for the hunting store, passing another selection of shops where the supermarket sat silent. Kristy watched Evelyn navigate the van, wondering how she had ended up in the driver’s seat again. She supposed it was fitting; Kristy felt safe with her behind the wheel. Her concentration was impeccable, and she handled the camper as though she had been driving one for years. Kristy had no doubt that Evelyn�
��s work at the Army facility had saved lives.
“I drove my grandfather’s tractor when I was a girl, and all through my teenage years,” she said when Kristy queried it. “Used to ride up and down the paddocks slashing grass. Even though he could have done it himself, I think he wanted to make a farmer out of me.”
“I know you think you got the better deal of this,” Kristy waved a hand around, indicating the van and the people, “but we did pretty well too.”
Evelyn laughed. “Trust me, I still owe you guys.”
Kristy felt comfortable talking to Evelyn, as though the two had been friends for years. She listened well and had a wise head on her shoulders for such a young age. It was her chance to get Evelyn’s take on Dylan’s behavior, and asking a question was easy. “Have you noticed anything strange about Dylan since yesterday?”
“Since the Army base?” Kristy nodded. “Nothing stranger than anybody else has been.” She looked away in thought. “He’s been a little quiet, but … why?”
“Something’s not right. I can just sense it.”
“What did he say?”
Invasion of the Dead (Book 3): Escape Page 5