Invasion of the Dead (Book 3): Escape

by Baillie, Owen

  “Who… are you?” the man asked, his face twisted into a look of terror.

  “Shhh,” Gallagher said, dropping onto the tiles. He approached, keeping the gun trained on the man. “Help us find what we’re looking for, and you won’t get hurt.”

  His voice quivered. “Are you part of the men out front?”

  “No. We’ve come a long way. We’re looking for some medicine.” Gallagher closed the door. “Who are you?”

  The man explained that he was a lab assistant who had worked for CSL, and had initially been tasked with compiling information about the virus from sources around the world. He lived near the facility, but as the pandemic progressed he did not bother going home, sleeping in the first aid room and eating from the cafeteria. He’d kept to himself, working at night mostly, following social media and using electronic communications to gather information. Slowly, people stopped coming to the facility, until eventually, he was the last. He’d begun tampering with influenza vaccines in hope of creating an inoculation, but he didn’t have the training or expertise, and mostly just wasted samples. When he finished speaking, Klaus explained the results of his research, and the man became animated.

  “We have supplies of interferons here. They’re used in the treatment of MS, leukaemia, hepatitis, and autoimmune disorder.”

  “You have stock?” Klaus asked. Dylan read the eagerness in his face. No, it was more than eagerness. It was desperation. A sudden, shocking thought entered Dylan’s mind. He didn’t know whether he had guessed or if his instinct was somehow more receptive. He backtracked, reflecting on Klaus’ behavior of the last few days. It all made sense.

  “You haven’t been taking the serum,” Dylan cut in.

  Klaus’ face went blank. He searched for a response. In the end, his shoulders sagged. “So what?”

  Gallagher said, “Holy shit, Klaus, have you lost your senses?”

  “Yes. I certainly have.”

  “How long since you took any?” Dylan asked.

  Klaus closed his eyes, exhaling a long breath, as if gathering control of his aggravations. Then he shifted his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  “I stopped taking it when I started administering it to you.”

  “He’s bitten, too?” Gallagher asked.

  “At the defense facility,” Dylan said. He supposed it no longer mattered who knew about his infection. He would tell Kristy when they returned.

  “There wouldn’t have been enough. I’ve had to reduce both of your dosages. In fact I doubt whether it’s doing much good at all.”

  Dylan and Gallagher passed a look. That made sense, Dylan thought. He had begun to feel better yesterday, but the feeling had diminished overnight. His paranoia and angst had returned.

  “That’s noble, Klaus, but a little short-sighted,” Gallagher said. “If you die, we’ll never produce any more of the serum.”

  “I thought I’d be capable enough to make more before that happened.”

  Dylan understood. The virus clouded your judgment and created delusions. Despite knowing this, though, Dylan was powerless to stop his own destructive reactions.

  “We have inventory,” the lab assistant said.

  “There is a particular type I need. Not the standard variants used to treat the illnesses you mentioned. These are special. I’ll need to see the stock.”

  “I can take you there.”

  “What about the militia?” Gallagher asked. “I’m surprised they’ve kept you alive.”

  “Thankfully, they leave me alone. Probably because there’s nobody else to provide them basic medicines when they need it. And…” He gave a false smile. “I told them I was close to making a vaccine. I think they believe they can sell it off to the highest bidder.”

  Gallagher circled the room, picking through various items atop the benches. “What about zombies? Any inside the facility?”

  “No. The militia killed them all off. We never had many to begin with. The facility held well.”

  Klaus said, “Take me to the stock.”

  The man, whose name was Mitchell, led them quietly along the corridors, pausing at corners, opening doors that seemed to appear from nowhere. It reminded Dylan of the defense facility, only without the zombies. They covered long hallways with darkened rooms full of benches, cupboards, and unused apparatus. Several sets of stairs at the end of hallways went both up and down. Dylan recalled the detail of the base in Canberra. He was glad Greg wasn’t there; otherwise, his paranoia would have been through the roof. Mitchell explained that this section of the building housed the laboratory and testing areas, and further back, towards the rear of the facility, were the manufacturing and blending services.

  “There are a couple of other small ingredients I’ll need to blend with the interferons,” Klaus said as they passed through another door. “They’re not unique, but they increase the longevity of the interferons when the mix is dosed correctly.”

  They reached a set of stairs. Mitchell stopped at the bottom. “Actually, I don’t think it’s a good idea you come with me to the stores.”

  Klaus adjusted his glasses. “Why?”

  “Because if the men catch us they’ll shoot us all dead on the spot. They don’t get down here much, but up there…” He let the thought sink in. “Me, alone? They won’t say much. They’ll let me go about my business. They know I’m working for them—I mean, working on something for them. They won’t interfere.”

  Klaus ground his jaw in thought. He studied the man’s face. I’m working for them. Had that been a slip of the tongue? Either way, a nagging suspicion surfaced. He couldn’t pinpoint it—all Mitchell’s actions so far had been positive, but it was too easy. They found the one man in the whole facility that could take them directly to the drugs they required. Dylan didn’t like it.

  “It makes sense,” Gallagher said. “How far is it from here?”

  “Not far,” Mitchell said. “I—”

  “But how will you know what to bring back?” Klaus asked.

  “Write them down.” Gallagher turned to Mitchell. “You got a pen and a piece of paper?”

  “Great idea.” He slipped a ballpoint and a small spiral notepad from his top pocket and handed them to Klaus.

  “Hold on,” the scientist said. “Can I talk to you two for a moment?” The three of them huddled off to the side.

  “Don’t take too long,” Mitchell said. “I detest being out in the open like this. I like to keep moving. I normally just get my stuff and hurry back to the lab.”

  “You’re agreeing with everything he’s saying,” Klaus said to Gallagher. “Why?”

  “Because he’s bullshitting. But how else are we going to get the ingredients?”

  Klaus’ brow twisted in thought. Dylan saw the cogs in his mind working at rapid speed. Sweat still beaded on his scalp. He removed his glasses and wiped his face with the back of his forearm. “We leave him now, or disengage him from the current course, and we don’t get the interferons. We let him go, he comes back with it. They need the serum blended and produced as much as we do.”

  Gallagher nodded. “He tries any funny stuff and we’ll deal with that.”

  Dylan supposed it made sense. He was almost certain Mitchell wasn’t telling them the truth. Just how that played out was yet to be seen.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Crazy shit began to happen, and Callan had no idea what was going on or how they were going to survive this time. The man who had run down the street after them was infected—early stages, he said, like the passenger shot at the gate; they had come to the facility looking for help. He fled the black sedan and ran for his life, whilst the other man, who drove the car away from the gate, shot one of the militia and wrestled the car back into possession before fleeing. The gunmen had come hunting though, and now it appeared Callan and the group were caught in the crossfire.

  One of the BMW men fired at the fence line. The tall driver ran to the back of the sedan and popped the trunk. Callan didn’t wait ar
ound to find out what was next. He ran towards the campervan and saw Kristy disappear around the back of it on the street side. Greg fired at the bushes. The dark shapes of the gunmen were everywhere, darting out from behind trees and running towards them across the grass clearing beyond. Some were even squatting at the fence, firing at them. Gunshots filled the air. Windows shattered in nearby houses. One of the militia fell down as the side of his head exploded.

  “Don’t fucking shoot,” Callan yelled at Greg. “They’ll think we’re with the others.” But his voice was lost amongst the crack and pop of discharging weapons. A man standing at the fence lifted his gun and took aim. Callan decided against his own advice. It was too late for diplomatic talks. He snapped his rifle into line and fired twice, hitting the man in the throat.

  It was like a fireworks show. Evelyn banged on the driver’s window, chasing his attention. The van lurched forwards off the curb. She was leaving. Great move, Callan thought. But as she tried to steer it back onto the road, the van clipped the rear of the red sedan parked in front. The crunching, screeching sound of metal on metal filled the air. The camper halted, then moved backwards in fitful starts.

  More shouts came from the other side of the fence. A man slowed near the barrier, holding some sort of large-barrelled gun. Callan took a moment to focus on the weapon and realized it was a grenade launcher. “MOVE!” he screamed at Greg. “GRENADES!”

  He didn’t know if Evelyn had observed it too, but the campervan burst off the curb and onto the road with a jarring crunch. Callan ran after it, grabbing a fistful of Greg’s collar as he passed. “Run for fuck’s sake!”

  More gunfire cracked from the street side of the fence. Callan wished the BMW men good luck. He sprinted after the campervan alongside Greg. They could make it. Evelyn would slow down once they escaped the immediate gunfire. They reached the side of the camper when an explosion ripped the air apart and shook the ground. “Keep running!”

  But he couldn’t resist a look over his shoulder. The fence line was full of militia from the facility. They peppered the last two men standing from the black sedan; the tall man who had been driving the car lay on the ground in a bloody mess. The red sedan behind which the campervan had been parked was aflame, orange licks rising from the hood and the trunk. What shocked Callan though was that it had moved five or six yards along the side of the road. They had just made it.

  Seventy yards from the scene, Callan banged on the side of the camper, and it slowed. Julie swung the side door open and they leapt up into it on the run. She yanked it shut with a crunch.

  Evelyn took off. Callan lost his balance and reached for the sink, sick, dizzy, and breathless. He needed to sit. He stumbled to one of the seats at the table and hung his head between his knees. When he looked up, he was surprised Greg was doing the same. Jake and Sarah were strapped into the passenger seats near the front. Julie lurched forward and dropped in beside Evelyn. A sudden spear of terror struck Callan. He stood, whirling, searching the van, choking on the question.

  “Where’s Kristy?”

  His eyes met Evelyn’s in the mirror. The van stopped, throwing Callan forward. He threw out a hand and latched onto a cupboard, feeling nausea take over.

  Evelyn swung around. “What? I thought she was with you.”

  Callan bolted through the main bedroom to the rear window. All three men from the black sedan lay on the road. Orange flames covered the red vehicle. Men dressed in rugged clothing wandered around the area with their guns pointed. Cold fear spread through him. Where was his sister?

  Evelyn reached the back, Greg following. “Where did you last see her?”

  Callan tried to think. He resisted rushing out to look, knowing he’d draw the militia immediately. Where had she gone? “She ran towards the front of the van, while you were still parked. You didn’t see her?”

  “Yes,” Evelyn said, dropping her gaze. “But I was… too busy trying to get the van away. She was huddled by the red sedan. I thought she was waiting for you.”

  The thought struck Callan like a slap across the face. He peered out at the burning car. If that was the case, then she was dead. He tried to swallow, but a lump stuck in his throat. Greg and Evelyn were staring. He was their leader, but he couldn’t think of anything to say.

  Gunfire sounded. Several men with machine guns walked down the road towards them. Evelyn scurried away toward the front. Callan watched them, unmoving. They had to go. But his sister… they could circle, and come back looking for her. If there’s anything left. The thought made him sick. If he lost Kristy too, he’d never forgive himself. She was the last link to his old life, to his family, to his dead parents.

  “We’ll have to come back,” Greg said, his blank expression telling Callan he feared the worst too.

  The van lurched away. “Zombies,” Evelyn said. But there were only a few, and they watched the van pass with almost disinterest.

  Callan sat and tried to think it through, his mind clouded by uncertainty. What if Kristy was lying exposed in the street and the militia had found her? He imagined what all those men would do to a pretty girl like her. Callan closed his eyes and shuddered at the thought. They needed to get back to the area and search.

  He headed for the front of the van to join Greg and Evelyn. Sarah lay on the bed, sobbing, Julie at her side stroking her hair. The older woman gave Callan a grim expression.

  “Where am I going?” Evelyn asked.

  “Left, just here. We’ll pull over up ahead and wait a bit. Make those guys think we’ve left. Then head back around and look for Kristy.”

  Evelyn found a spot in the gutter between several cars. Houses in need of painting and repair lined the street on both sides, their front yards scraggly and overgrown. The smell drifted in through the pores of the van, thicker and stronger than before, as though this section of Broadmeadows contained more dead bodies than elsewhere.

  Callan slammed a fist against the cupboard. What could they do but wait? The others watched him, their faces stiff and uncertain as he stood in the doorway looking out at the silent street. He analyzed his options. If he went back now, he ran the risk of getting killed, and perhaps for nothing if she’d been close to the blast. If she had, it wouldn’t matter how long they took. If she managed to get away, hopefully she was hiding nearby. That was her best chance, but as far as hope went, he couldn’t imagine a less optimistic circumstance.

  “What do you want me to do?” Evelyn asked. She kept looking from the rear window back to Callan.

  “I don’t know.”

  “We can go out there and have a look,” Greg said, holding a rifle.

  “Not yet,” Callan said, shaking his head. “Need to let it settle. They’ll give up soon and go back to the base. It’s too risky.”

  “What about Ahmed and the others?”

  Callan had forgotten about them. Ahmed had said to meet them at the fence line on the road where all the crazy shit had just happened. He hoped the man was smart enough for his own sake not to return there yet. “They’ll just have to wait for us.”

  Callan had another sudden, uneasy feeling. He stood and whirled, searching the floor of the van. Blue Boy… “Where’s Blue?” Jake dropped off the top bunk and looked underneath the table, where he sometimes curled up at people’s feet. “Has anyone seen him?”

  “Not since he followed you out,” Greg said.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Hold on, Klaus told himself. Just a bit longer. He’d never imagined the virus would have affected him so badly. It was like a head cold and fever all rolled into one, his muscles and bones aching with a unified chorus. Worst of all was the itch under his skin that couldn’t be scratched. Through his blood, it coursed, sending him closer to the edge. The others had told of their friend, Johnny, who had suffered the same way. He killed himself. Klaus held slim hope that he could manufacture the serum before he turned, but beyond that, his outlook was grim. The medication couldn’t reverse the affliction. There was no going back.

&n
bsp; Instead of climbing the stairs, Mitchell took them a short distance to another laboratory. It held similarities to the one from the defense facility, including a small compounding chamber off the back they could access through a sliding glass panel and air-lock. Klaus wondered if the structure was based on a national protocol for such facilities. Mitchell left them after estimating he’d be gone for twenty minutes.

  Klaus gathered himself as he took in the machinery. He wanted nothing more than to sit down and rest, but now that he had the equipment he’d been seeking, he could put it to use. He buried his pain, the voice of his mother ringing in his mind, telling him to fight on.

  “I want to take samples of your blood. Test the progression of the virus.” Dylan looked at him sceptically. “Don’t worry just yet. I need to check the markers and it will help estimate the dosage going forward.”

  Klaus found a stash of hypodermic needles and vials. He started one of the analysis machines and sat them down at a bench. After applying a tourniquet to the upper arm of each man, he withdrew three vials of blood from the inside of their elbows. It took all his will to hold the needle still. When he had finished though, the strength had fled his body, leaving him exhausted. He sat for a moment pretending he was inspecting a redundant piece of equipment.

  When he had gathered himself, Klaus left the others in the front room and entered the rear chamber. Getting the machines running and the blood prepared took him longer than he expected. His hands trembled and his vison filled with white spots. Sweat ran down his forehead. He didn’t like it and wanted to quit several times, take some water and rest for a while, but such surrender was beyond him. A deep indefinable knowledge that he must push ahead kept him moving, his feet shuffling across the floor, his shaky hands working the equipment.

  A short time later he returned, avoiding eye contact, unwilling to give away their condition through the disappointment in his expression.

  The virus in Dylan’s blood was the least aggressive of the three. Klaus suspected it had slowed even more following the initial dose, but with the reduction Klaus had administered yesterday afternoon and earlier that morning, activity levels showed signs of increasing again.