They hurried along the pavement until they reached the corner, pausing outside the convenience store. She thought about all the times she had come here to grab a drink or bite to eat on the way to university. The times they had run out of milk or toilet paper and she had to rush downstairs, and Mrs Yin, the owner would chuckle at her. She thought about the Yins—Mr and Mrs, who owned the shop—a late middle-aged couple whose sons were grown up. They were lovely, and looked after Lauren and Claire like their own. Mrs Yin was a mad Collingwood supporter, and during football season would deck the shop in black and white colors. Lauren smiled at the memory, despite the sadness of it.
She pulled the flashlight from her pocket in preparation. The door was partially open, enough for them to slip through, but still Lauren hesitated. These might be her last few moments. What if they met their death and she never saw Harvey again? Stop it. She closed her eyes and imagined an easy passage through the store, where they discovered a source of edible food, and left without issue. The strong, sensible part of her mind kicked back. She cleared away the negative thoughts and tried to focus. She activated the flashlight and stepped through the doorway with the knife in one hand and the flashlight in the other.
The stink of spoiled milk hit her first. She screwed up her nose, placing the back of her hand to it. She almost tripped over something, but caught her feet. “Shit.” She stood, casting the light over the floor, Steve at her side. All the shelving had been tossed, scattering wasted food and broken containers in a thick layer. A glass cabinet lay in shattered pieces. Lauren poked the beam around, revealing more mess near the counter and the fridges, but there were no signs of zombies. A narrower section of the shop ran further back along Franklin Street where they kept wine and beer in fridges. No doubt, Todd and Lenny had filched their stash from them.
They picked their way through the rubble, kicking over rotten food stained with blood. She went directly to her stash of baby formula and was relieved to find the two tins. Beyond that though, there were plenty of empty packets and cardboard boxes with nothing but fresh air. Lauren took a large step to miss a bloody mess, when the heel of her boot slid across the floor.
Steve caught her by the elbow. “Steady on.”
“Thanks.” Her heart pounded. She kept expecting something to happen. And what if it did? She had seen plenty of zombies, but hadn’t actually had to kill one. Could she do it? Lauren flexed the knife in her hand, imagining driving the blade into a person’s flesh. She shivered. But these weren’t people, she reminded herself. And they would tear her face off in a moment. Will tear her face off, if she let them. A noise sounded from somewhere inside the shop. Lauren froze. Steve bumped into her. “What is it?” he whispered.
“You didn’t hear that?”
“I’m deaf in one ear.”
“There’s something in here.” Lauren held the knife out further. Her mouth was dry. Suddenly she didn’t want to be there. She wanted Todd and Lenny back. This was something they should be doing.
Another noise broke the silence at her feet. Lauren shrieked. Something flashed past, leapt up at them. A cat appeared, arching its back. It rubbed its flank against one of the big water cooler bottles that had fallen on the floor. Lauren turned to Steve, who was smiling. The cat drifted over to them, purring. It was a chocolate color, still plump. Lauren squatted and scratched behind its ears. “Someone’s still eating enough. You scared me, Mister.” She didn’t know if it was male or female, but it sounded like a good name. The cat stuck its neck out, still purring. How nice it would be to take you home, she thought.
They pushed on towards the back of the shop, checking every conceivable hiding spot where a forgotten box of crackers or biscuits might be hiding. They found plenty of empty wrappers and some evidence of food that had been squashed to pulp, but nothing they could return with to the apartment.
Following the third sweep, Steve suggested they try another shop—maybe the 7-Eleven Lauren had mentioned, or one of the other smaller marts deeper into the city. She felt deflated, knowing they had failed the first step and wasted their time. Now they would either starve, or she and Steve would have to risk their lives on a greater scale by going elsewhere.
She glanced around again, searching for that missing place that everybody else had forgotten. Her eyes rested on the refrigeration units. There wasn’t much left in them now. Most of the beer and wine had been taken—only the cheapest stuff remained, and without power, it had long ago warmed. Lauren crossed to them. She’d been there several times already, but only offered passing interest. Now she stood before the wide glass doors and stared. Lacking their regular contents, the racks were exposed. Lauren saw they angled up towards the back of the units. These were common in supermarkets. Items were stacked from the rear, sliding down towards the front, so that as patrons took a product, another would replace it. She shone the torch up towards the back and the light fell on several cardboard boxes stacked near the edge of the racking.
They propped the doors open with a broken piece of shelving. There were four large boxes in all, and Steve reached inside to draw them out. Lauren was ecstatic. They were placed too carefully for them not to be important. Somebody probably couldn’t carry all the stuff and had stashed it with the intent to return later.
Inside each box was a backpack containing several large bags of rice, packets of flour, cartons of eggs, and almost two dozen cans of tinned food. Tears of relief threatened. All the doubt fled. They would be able to eat for a while longer yet, and she hadn’t failed the others. There was enough in the stash to last them a week, if not longer. A thought struck her as she handed the first pack to Steve. Did they need it all? The question seemed absurd, but the goods had clearly been hidden from view. What if the people who had done it were like them, hungry and desperate? What if they’d scrapped and fought to find it?
“We should leave some of it behind,” Lauren said, and explained to Steve. He gave her a long, thoughtful look. She thought he might argue the point, but in the end, he just nodded and placed two of the packs into the racking.
Finally, armed with two stashes of gold, they started back for the doorway. Lauren felt light of burden for the first time in days. They didn’t need Todd and Lenny. She would rally the troops and find a way to get it done without them.
It was tough with the heavy pack on her back, but she was able to maintain the torch beam ahead and grip the knife in her other hand. They cleared the rear section with its broken bottles of wine and beer fridges, but as Lauren stepped into the main section, another noise sounded from near the doorway. The cat.
“Here, kitty kitty,” she called in a soft voice. She waited for a response, perhaps a meow, or its idling purr, but the silence stretched out.
“Maybe it wasn’t the cat,” Steve said.
“What else could it—”
The crash of glass sounded from the front of the store. Lauren screamed. The torch beam wavered and her grip on the knife loosened. Steve shouted something, but she couldn’t hear it over the remnants of the noise and her sideways movement. He stepped around her and placed himself in front, waiting for the attack.
It came at them from their right, out of the depths of the counter and the remaining empty racks once filled with magazines and baseball caps. The shadows rolled, mixing and merging as one, before Lauren swung the flashlight around. By the time she had it pointed in its direction, the thing was on them, grunting and slobbering and calling for their flesh. She poked the beam into its eyes. Steve tried to knock it out of the way, but he fell aside, losing his footing on the cluttered floor. Lauren slashed at its throat with the knife and missed. It lunged for her; she couldn’t make out if it was a woman or man. It knocked the knife away with a meaty hand and then all she had left was the torch. They were going to die, she thought in a flash. She had battled through it all over the last few weeks; keeping the group fed, dealing with Todd and Harvey, the loss of her parents and Dylan, only for it to end like this.
A silhoue
tte appeared in the doorway. It might have been another one of them, come to join the feast. But the shape moved quickly, skating over the rubble towards the zombie. A blade flashed, and blood sprayed outwards from the zombie’s neck. It slumped to the floor. The man—she saw him, now, cloaked in a hooded jacket, his baby face and pale eyes staring back at her from above average height. He tossed the body aside, then put out a hand for Steve and lifted the older man to his feet.
“We have to leave,” the stranger said. “Now.”
He led them out of the store and stopped on the pavement, glancing in the opposite direction from the way they had come, as though he was expecting to find somebody.
“This way,” Lauren said, not waiting for him to follow. She was grateful for his rescue, but they had to get back to the apartment.
She pushed on the glass entrance and stepped inside, holding it open for Steve, and it appeared, the stranger. After he passed her, she swung the heavy door shut with a thud and locked it, unable to believe they were safe.
NINETEEN
They began their trek as the morning sun cast its orange light from the eastern horizon, pulling out onto the wide rolling flats of the Hume Highway. The morning was clear, bright, and promised another long day of scorching heat that would further desiccate the thirsty ground of the northeast region of the state.
Dylan had suffered through the night beside Kristy. Their contact had been minimal, and despite the heat, he had worn a t-shirt with a collar, afraid that if he was naked, she might see the patch with which Klaus had dressed the bite. Twice she had put an arm over him, a potential precursor to more, but he ignored it. She rolled over in a huff, and Dylan cursed himself, sure tomorrow would be the day that he died—or worse, something happened to her; he would rue himself forever for wasting precious moments.
The serum had calmed his agitation, but not his paranoia about the bite and its consequences. He was still reluctant for her to know, despite understanding somewhere, deep in his increasingly paranoid mind, that it hurt her. He was changing too, serum, or not. It was as though the virus dulled certain feelings and intensified others.
They were cordial in the morning, hugging briefly, but the hurt on her face—the soft shadow of her dark eyes that told him she had barely slept—broke his heart. She probably thought his feelings had changed. A deep part of him knew he should say something, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“Are we good?” she asked in a hopeful voice.
He nodded. “Yeah.” But they went no further. It was as though a wall had suddenly gone up between them, and they had nothing left to discuss. Others stirred from sleep. Kristy left the camper and Dylan despised himself for not chasing.
The group prepared to leave quickly, packing and eating without much word. Klaus signaled Dylan and he made for the scrub, away from the rest. Klaus checked Dylan’s bite and administered more serum.
“Is this stuff working?” Dylan asked.
“You tell me,” Klaus said. “I can’t be sure without blood work. Your symptoms don’t seem to be getting any worse. How do you feel?”
“Different, I suppose. I bit calmer, but I still feel like I might lose it at any time.”
Klaus wiped a sleeve across his nose. His voice sounded odd, as if he was congested. “That’s probably normal. I’d like to be able to give you more, but we don’t have much left, and besides, there may still be some side effects. Each of you will process the virus and the serum differently. Just keep me abreast of any significant changes.” Klaus broke into a coughing fit, his face turning a fierce red, spittle flying from his lips.
“Geez, mate, that doesn’t sound too good.” Klaus waved him away. “You sure you’re getting enough of that serum?”
“Forget about that,” Klaus snapped. “Let me worry about the medicine.”
Dylan bit down on a response as Klaus walked away. It was most unlike the scientist to respond in such an aggressive manner, and he wondered whether the pressure of it all was beginning to take its toll.
Blue Boy sat near his feet as they took their places in the van. Greg and Gallagher agreed to drive in the Toyota. The admiral was a good influence on Greg. Dylan hadn’t seen either of them take a drink in days. He was laughing more, and clearer of mind.
Dylan tried to be optimistic as they drove out from underneath the low hanging gum trees. Two kangaroos bounded past and he hoped it was a positive omen. They had still not observed one sick animal.
Two things sat at the horizon of the day—the extra serum they needed, and his sister. Whatever happened after their first stop, Dylan was going to the city, even if he went alone. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Lauren was still alive.
The Hume Highway continued in long, straight runs through lightly scrubbed bushland. As they approached the northern towns of Beveridge and Broadford just beyond Melbourne’s outskirts, the chatter died down. They were closing in on a broader urban area comprising four million people, and nobody knew what to expect.
Craigieburn arrived, the tip of Melbourne’s north, and on their right side, they watched silent houses spreading away from the highway against the backdrop of a low hill. When they hit Somerton, an industrial suburb full of caravan manufacturers, transport companies, and a multitude of large warehouses, more vehicles began to appear on the opposite road going north. Most were abandoned. Occasionally, they saw a lifeless corpse sitting behind the wheel.
It only got a little worse. Cars had stalled going towards the city, and many more heading north in the opposite bearing. As they approached the major intersection with Camp Road, dozens of cars were scattered about the roadway, pointing in every direction. On their left, vehicles littered the parking area outside the K-Mart store. Zombies floated about the lot at their slow, bumbling speed. Bodies lay on the ground, some alone, others being feasted on by their brothers and sisters. And like the large shopping complexes in Albury, a smoke column reached high into the blue morning sky.
Evelyn guided the car into the right turning lane, following the folded map Callan had set before her on the dashboard. Ahead, further down Sydney Road towards the city, the route was a parking lot. When the time came to go further south, he would have to find another pathway to find Lauren.
They crept along Camp Road, crossing a train line, the boom gates ripped from their posts and shattered into countless pieces.
“It’s just up ahead,” Klaus said as the van climbed a slight rise. On their right, a green lake sat nestled between various small warehouses. A sign pointed north suggesting Saturday Night Greyhound Racing.
They drove over the slope and onto a flatter section of road. On the right, a series of wide squat buildings peered out at them from behind a high fence topped with barbed wire. Rolling green lawns in need of mowing surrounded the structure. A cannon, once used in some distant war, sat in the middle of the lawn.
“Maygar Army Barracks,” Gallagher said. “No good.”
Evelyn slowed the van. Gallagher pointed them out in the dark windows, standing behind the glass, stumbling around. It wasn’t a place they might stop and get help.
They left the barracks behind. Three hundred yards ahead, behind another fence and a row of tall conifer trees, they saw the top of a large building with the words CSL in red letters.
“Pull up,” Callan said. Evelyn did, braking hard and pulling in behind a small truck parked up on the curb. Abandoned road works signs lay flat in the curbside grass. Another hundred yards along, a group of five or six people stood at a set of traffic lights outside what appeared to be the entrance, dressed in Army clothing and holding machine guns. He didn’t like it. He had expected they would simply drive up, enter the building, and collect what they needed.
The others joined them in the camper, and Gallagher stood behind the driver with a rifle and scope at his eye. “They’re guarding the facility,” he said. “Waiting for people to approach the gate. But I don’t think they’re military.”
Klaus stood beside him. “Un
der such circumstances where a virus has affected the population, this sort of facility becomes very valuable. In all likelihood, they have taken over the facility.”
“What sort of value?” Evelyn asked.
“Vaccines. Antibiotics. It doesn’t matter. Men always find the tradable currency, and this—a place that manufactured medicine in a world where such no longer exists—has a high currency. I’m surprised the government didn’t try to lock it down.” Klaus turned away and sneezed twice. He groaned. “Summer cold.”
“So does that mean we won’t be able to get in?” Dylan was already thinking ahead.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Klaus said in an unconvincing tone. “It will just be more difficult.”
Evelyn turned off the campervan and they sat watching the men outside the entrance, careful not to show excessive movement, although Gallagher was certain they were hidden behind the abandoned truck.
Shortly, a man appeared out of the bushes behind the fence. He was medium height, with a Middle Eastern complexion. He wore jeans, runners, and plain green t-shirt. He had short black hair, and a scruffy beard. Gallagher pointed the rifle. The man put up his hands.
“Who the hell is that?” Callan asked.
Kristy went to the window. “He looks friendly. Maybe we should talk to him. He might know something about the facility.”
“What if he’s one of them?”
Gallagher said, “I don’t think so.”
Callan led them in a bent-over sprint across the footpath to the fence protected by the road works equipment.
The man greeted them with a friendly tone. He’d been returning home after scouting for supplies, walking through the hedge at the edge of the site. He wasn’t part of the group. He lived on the other side of the facility. All of his friends and relatives had died, except for his wife, who was back at the house. Mobs of people patrolled the area, fighting for control of the facility. Each day he went out alone checking houses, looking for supplies and things that might have been left behind.
Invasion of the Dead (Book 3): Escape Page 12