They passed through another station, and on the horizon, the hazy outline of city skyscrapers appeared above the rough inner-city rooftops. A rain belt swept in through dark, bubbling clouds, sucking the light from the sky, and in short work, mid-afternoon grew dim and ominous. The wipers scraped and moaned across the windscreen, doing little to prevent the deluge. Callan slowed the vehicle as the rugged track began to fill with water. He didn’t want to drive on such a poor trail in the rain. When he got the chance, he would pull over and stop. At one point, the tire footprints became overgrown, and Callan steered them with difficulty through the tall weeds and soggy earth. They hit a deep pothole that tossed them up and down in their seats. Lightning flashed nearby, and the crack of thunder made Bec and Kristy jump.
They drew close to another station—Coburg, according to the signage on the buildings backing onto the railway line—and soon the familiar fence and platforms appeared. It was an older style red brick structure with enclosed rooms, a veranda, and a toilet block. It appeared clean and unattended, but as they pushed closer to the station, it appeared their track along the edge of the line had finished. Ahead, snarling overgrown scrub, heavy with trees, barred their way. Callan pulled the four-wheel drive out of the weeds and up onto the rocky tracks. He stopped at the edge of the platform, the engine idling. “Looks a good place to pull in for now.”
“We’re not going any further on this line, anyway,” Jacob said.
At the end of the platform sat a train barring their way.
THIRTY-TWO
The shadowy church was cool and inviting. An old man in black plants and a white shirt led them through a series of back rooms and a long, twisting passageway away from the beating hands of the dead on the weighty wooden door. “Oh, don’t worry about them. They can’t get in.”
They followed him until they reached the gap between the chancel and the nave where rows of seats were split by a pathway down the center leading towards the front doors. A dozen candles sat around the walls and upon several tables on the chancel. The place had a warm, gentle feeling despite the battering rain and wailing winds outside.
“Come, come,” the man said, motioning with his hand. “I’m the minister of this church and everybody is welcome here.” Other people sat in the pews. They all glanced up as the group entered.
“Thank you, Reverend,” Gallagher said respectfully.
“Harlan. Call me Harlan. I’m far too old for all that ‘reverend’ or ‘minister’ business. And I’ve never really subscribed to it. I was baptised Harlan. I like that.”
He put out a hand indicating they should sit in the front row, which they did, and he stood before them as he probably had so many times before, leading mass.
“Just a few rules, if you don’t mind. Not too much noise. Be respectful of others. You’re welcome to stay here the night, or two, or three, or whatever suits you. We have a little food—we were scheduled to have a celebration the week this all happened, so we were stocked up—but it will run out eventually. Still, you’re welcome to it if you need it.”
Dylan took the lead. He was frustrated they had gotten so much closer to where his sister might be, but thankful for the hospitality. “Thank you, Harlan. We won’t stay long. Just until the storm passes and the… attackers move away.”
Harlan’s eyes widened and he chuckled. “Move away? You might be waiting a long time. They’ve been banging on my doors for weeks. A team of men spent two days cleaning up the area around the church for me. The creatures came back though. Just be glad it wasn’t the clever ones. They come and go and when they’re around, the others aren’t.”
“Regardless, we’ll need to move on as soon as possible. My sister is in the city. I need to find out if she’s still alive.”
Harlan nodded. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll just be poking about if you need me. We’ll serve some dinner soon, and if you need to sleep in here, find a place and get comfortable.”
When they were alone, Julie organized the group with a quiet, methodical influence, setting them up into areas and getting Sarah started on the treatment of Gallagher’s latest injury. She disappeared briefly to talk to Harlan about meals and blankets. In the beginning, she had voiced her resentment at being part of the group, and Dylan had dismissed her standing, but slowly she was proving him wrong. Whilst at times, her grief was visible, Dylan thought she was managing the loss of her life partner incredibly well. She kept busy, organizing them, contributing to discussions about their destination, and doting after the children. They had warmed to her, sensing her maternal instinct, and she to them. Losing Kristy, he took strength from Julie, knowing if she was able to get by, then he must too.
Part of him wondered whether Kristy might be still alive. It was different than Eric—he had walked out into a horde of zombies. Nobody had seen Kristy die. Evelyn said she had been near the explosion, but what if she had somehow made it safely clear? Perhaps that was why he hadn’t fully grieved yet. Maybe he didn’t believe. He couldn’t process the loss until he knew for sure.
But why had he left then? If he wasn’t convinced Kristy was dead, he should have stayed with Callan, at least to look after him. They had forged a tight bond over the last few weeks. Dylan’s actions were not in the spirit of the friendship though.
His head ached. Too much thought. Reasoning his actions had been difficult lately. He knew the virus had messed him up. Most of what had happened after the Army base in Canberra was a blur. His behavior towards Kristy now seemed strange, and he couldn’t believe he still hadn’t told her. It was as though his head was finally clearing and he was observing the world with a more logical perspective.
“Are you all right?” Evelyn asked, sitting beside him.
“I don’t know, to be honest. I’ve had so many crazy thoughts lately. I don’t know what to believe.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. We’ll get to your sister’s apartment. Tomorrow maybe, after we get some rest. I think we all need it.”
Sarah did a good job on Gallagher’s arm, cleaning the wound and patching it with a roll of gauze. Kristy would have been proud. Dylan worried about her illness though; he knew nothing of it and wasn’t sure anyone else did, either. What if she took a turn, or needed real medical attention? He supposed there were always going to be medical complications. He and Gallagher were fighting their own battle. Without Klaus, they were flying blind, and even Kristy would have been able to provide some guidance, or check if the symptoms had progressed. Klaus said Gallagher’s blood work had shown signs the virus was getting worse. Dylan tried to clear his mind and not consider the long-term implications of the illness, or the general survival of the group. It would all take care of itself.
They ate from the church stores while seated in the front pews, promising Harlan they would replenish his food from their own they had collected from the IGA store in Yass. Biscuits—almost their staple food now—topped with dried fruit, and apple juice. It was hardly out of a cookbook, but it sufficed. Harlan explained how he had been preparing for a celebration of the church’s anniversary and had stocked up on “party food” for the group. Nobody had ever showed up.
“Have you heard anything about the government or military from people passing through?” Gallagher asked.
“A guy who stopped by here a few days ago had a radio—Army band—but he said not much was happening. The airwaves have been mostly silent since the third week of January`.”
“You were part of the military,” Dylan said to Gallagher. “What happened?”
The admiral shook his head. “I can’t say much beyond the initial stages when things started to go bad. I was… a little incoherent.”
“I was following it closely,” Harlan said. “As soon as I heard the first reports of a global virus, I began to prepare. They called me a little crazy. “The old bugger has finally lost it,” some said. But we’ve been on the edge of a pandemic for some years. The bird flu in 2009 was the first stage. It’s talked about in the Bible. I
won’t preach, but I can tell you that for us, it’s not a surprise.”
“How do you explain the dead people coming back to life?” Gallagher asked. “I don’t recall such discussion in the Bible.”
The minister considered this. Dylan watched his face closely, the wrinkles and sunspots, the fuzzy eyebrows, the wispy grey hair retreating from his forehead. “Men.”
“Men?”
“This reanimation was an act of men; of that I have no doubt. I can’t provide you undeniable evidence, but I feel it in my bones. I know I’m right.”
Gallagher said nothing. The other people were all walk-ins: a father and his son, similar in age to Jake, a woman in her thirties, a man in his fifties, and a couple of teenage boys who had been there for a week. They all smiled politely, but kept to themselves.
After dark, Greg and Dylan poked their heads out the rear door through which they had entered. The campervan was still there and appeared to still have inflated tires and an intact body. The rocky ground was saturated; rain continued whipping against the bluestone walls and the doors. The boys copped a faceful, but, armed with guns, they swept the parking area in cautious silence, expecting a gruesome figure to lurch from the shadows at any moment. It was clear. The van had dents on the front and sides, a broken indicator light, and the remaining windscreen wiper was bent beyond repair. They took blankets, cushions, and pillows, deciding it was still too risky to sleep out in the camper. Dylan wondered whether it was the right time to move. If the feeders were elsewhere, they might get a clear run into the city.
“We can’t leave tonight,” Greg said, armed with a box of food. “I know what you’re thinking. I want to get to your sister, too, but driving through the city in the dark is too risky.” He knew Greg was right, but still, it was difficult to accept.
Julie arranged their bedding as Harlan doused some of the candles. It was warm and cozy though, and as they lay in their beds and listened to the renewed rain whip against the high windows, Dylan remembered something he had said to Kristy so long ago. I’ll marry you some day. Had she been there, they might have done so. They were in a church, with a minister. He sobbed as he lay awake in the faint light thinking of his failed promise, wishing she were there beside him.
THIRTY-THREE
Callan awoke in the middle of the night from a dream about Klaus. They were back in the defense facility in Canberra, and the scientist was trying to tell him something, but Callan couldn’t make out the words. He kept moving down a long tunnel. Klaus wouldn’t follow, despite Callan calling out for him. Afterwards, he lay there for a long time, searching for sleep again. He called Blue Boy close and found comfort in the dog’s warmth.
After a time, he sat up. They were in the largest room of the station, with a high ceiling and strong, concrete walls. The main door leading out on the street had been bolted shut. Candles sat in all corners and on benches once utilized by people waiting for trains to transport them about their daily lives. Callan stood, stepped over the others on the floor, and went outside into the darkness, Blue at his heel. Rain still fell in heavy sheets, pounding on the tin awning. Callan strolled along the platform and tried to distinguish the outline of the vehicle. It was still there. He peered along the tracks in both directions, looking for signs of movement, but there were none. Should they post a sentry? After what had happened at Campbelltown, it might be an idea, but Blue was there, and he tended to sense things early. Besides, what could the four of them do against an Army like that? He wondered when their time would be up. How long would they survive by the skin of their teeth? They needed a place to go where they could barricade themselves in, like a prison.
It would do for tonight, but tomorrow they would need to move again. He had a rough idea where Dylan and the others were going and beyond that, they had agreed to meet at Station Pier. Whilst their latest rest had been recuperating, he felt guilty for not pushing on. What were the others doing? Were they in trouble, or worse, dead? There was a high chance, he supposed, and that left him with a feeling of underlying dread. Every day was another in risk to all their lives. Callan wondered if Dylan could handle any more loss. At the moment, he thought Kristy was dead. If his sister had passed, too, it might tip him over the edge.
He had thought Kristy was gone. If it hadn’t been for Blue Boy, he might never have found her. Callan reached out and scratched Blue’s neck. He squinted with pleasure, his pink tongue hanging out. He’d disappeared for a little bit earlier, probably off scavenging. All the dog food they’d collected at Yass was in the camper. Callan hadn’t thought of that, but he hadn’t thought he’d find Blue, either. He had to admit they were in a better position now, if they were able to regroup. Blue hadn’t shown any symptoms, and even if Klaus was right and the dog was immune, Callan would feel better if he had a shot.
Callan thought of Klaus, the plucky little scientist. What a man to have come up with medicine to halt the destructive virus. One day, if any of them survived this, he would ensure Klaus’ name was known in recognition for all he had done. Klaus had saved Dylan’s life. He might have ended up like Johnny. He thought of Ahmed, the Muslim man who had essentially saved Kristy. He owed the man a life debt. Ahmed was the first Muslim he had ever met—Christianity was the major religion in Albury, although religion on the whole was dying. Callan had been baptized as a child at his mother’s insistence, but beyond that, he had never attended church outside a wedding or funeral. Had leaving Ahmed behind been the best option? He couldn’t have forced him to come. Grief was powerful, and not to be challenged. Callan didn’t hold much hope for Ahmed, though. He was stuck in the middle of an area full of zombies and men who wanted to kill everyone they found.
The shadows moved, and he recognized the pale color of his sister’s hair in the darkness. She sat beside him. “Can’t sleep?”
“Nah. You too?”
“I didn’t really thank you for coming after me.” She squeezed his shoulder.
“To be honest, I thought you’d been killed. Blue though, he knew. He ran off and led me to you. He’s a smart dog.” Kristy put her face to his nose and rubbed his neck, making soft cooing noises. “Imagine where we’d be without him? He’s saved us all at least once.”
“I wonder where he came from? I don’t recall ever seeing him in town.”
“Doesn’t matter. He’s one of us now. He’s our dog.”
“He’s your dog, Callan. He lives for you. He does what you ask.”
Callan laughed. “Unless you’re missing. Then he won’t obey me.”
Kristy was right though. He’d loved his other dogs, but in only a week or so, this dog had wriggled its way into his heart like no other. From his courage, to his charm, it was impossible not to love him. It made Callan vulnerable though. Such vulnerability was a worry in a world like this. What if Blue didn’t make it? The thought struck ice into Callan’s heart. He wouldn’t let that happen.
The rain eased, and they returned to the station room soon after. This time Callan found sleep easier, and there were no more dreams.
THIRTY-FOUR
Lauren woke on top of her bed in the clothes she had worn outside the previous night. Bright light bled in around the edges of the curtains, but most of the room was still in shadow. She guessed it must have been around nine. Harvey was gone, but her panic fled when she heard his cry from the kitchen. Claire. She couldn’t recall waking once in the night to tend him. Had her friend taken care of her son while she slept? She had been tired. It was as though weeks of sleep deprivation from all the anxiety about Todd and Lenny and about not having sufficient food to feed the group had caught up to her. Now they had enough to last a little longer. She and Steve and… the mystery man who had saved them, had done what Todd and Lenny could not.
She slid off the bed and passed water, then went out into the kitchen where the others were standing at the bench and gazing out the window. Her corner apartment had never been more important, providing multiple views out onto the street.
“M
orning,” she said, putting her arms out to Harvey, whose tiny face peered back at her. Claire smiled, passing him over. “You’re a darl. Thank you. Did he wake in the night?”
“Yeah. You were snoring.”
Lauren made an apologetic face. “What are we looking at?”
“There’s a group of men wandering about down there,” Steve said, holding a mug of steaming coffee. “Want a brew?” She said she did. Thank God for the generator, Lauren thought. Finding diesel fuel to power it had been a stroke of luck. “Alexander says they’ve been following him around the city for two days.”
Alexander. The tall, underfed man—barely—that had saved her and Steve the previous night. Now, minus the hoodie, his long blonde fringe fell over his face, and she recognized the misfortune in the sharp angles of his features. He hadn’t spoken much since arriving—not that Lauren had heard, anyway. But she might just owe him her life, so she wasn’t going to rush into judgment or make it difficult for him just yet.
“Sorry. If I hadn’t shacked up with you lot last night, I reckon they might have found me.”
“Who are they?”
Alexander shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably just a bunch of assholes that get their kicks out of killing people—and zombies—and taking whatever they can for themselves.” Lauren followed his gaze out onto the street. On the opposite side, a man with a ponytail and a sleeveless shirt poked a pile of refuse with the tip of his gun. Dark tattoos snaked down both arms. He had a beard and wore dark sunglasses. “I tracked them a week ago. They generally stay closer to Punt Road and pick about Richmond and Collingwood. I reckon they’re only this far west because of me.”
Lauren shifted Harvey to her other arm. Steve handed her a coffee and she sipped, savoring the smell. “What do they want with you?”
“I sort of found a stash of food. Apparently, they considered it theirs. It might have been, but I didn’t know.” He brushed the fringe from his face, revealing eyes as blue as the Caribbean. “I thought they’d leave me alone if I came over this way.”
Invasion of the Dead (Book 3): Escape Page 20