The Tasmania Trilogy (Book 1): Breakdown

by Owen Baillie

  Mac’s parents lived in East Devonport, on the eastern side of the Mersey River. The trip usually took about thirty-five minutes, but the roads were empty. The curfews were working. Heading back towards the more populated area, Mac felt as though they should have been going in the other direction. From what he had witnessed, all the activity was occurring in the city. They were still unaware of what had caused the explosions they had witnessed at Dave-O’s house. Mac hadn’t been able to find a decent news channel on the radio yet.

  Jessica leant against the door with eyes closed. “Hang in there, it won’t be long,” Mac said. “What have you heard about this flu thing?”

  “You’ve missed it on the news then?”

  Mac nodded. “I’ve been so bloody busy trying to get this roofing done, I haven’t seen the news for a week.”

  “They said more people were calling in sick every day. Most places had to close. Last time I heard, the only supermarket open in the area was the IGA in Deloraine.”

  “What about Elle and Glen? Did they get away on their holiday?”

  “No. The US government cancelled all flights in and out of the country.” She frowned. “You didn’t hear about that?”

  “No.” Mac realized how isolated and out of touch he’d been stuck out on his own, working on the roofing job for the past week. It was incredible how a potential breach of contract made him so focused he couldn’t even catch the news.

  “They said it was way worse than the Spanish Influenza of 1918. But I don’t think that’s the worst part, Mac. The things you said about Dave-O’s neighbor make me really uneasy.”

  Mac thought back to Neville, Dave-O’s neighbor. That had been one of the strangest things he had ever witnessed. He wasn’t able to get his head around the idea that influenza alone had caused it. The world was an ever-evolving place and viruses mutated—he remembered that much from eleventh grade biology—but this was an extreme leap. Something didn’t sit right. There was more to it; or so his gut said. He’d heard rumors of insidious biological weapons being developed in secret government facilities in China, Russia, and even the US. And Smitty had said he’d heard they were doing similar stuff in the Middle East.

  They drove on, eventually reaching the outskirts of Devonport. As they came down over the hill leading into the city, Mac noticed plumes of smoke in the distance and wondered whether they related to the large explosions they’d heard the previous night. The landscape changed from one of long, open roads and wide, grassy plains, to streets with corners and traffic lights, small, empty shopping centers and the endless variety of houses that had become Devonport.

  Tyler noticed a body in the gutter as they pulled into his parents’ street. Mac slowed the car to get a better look, then continued on the hundred yards to the house and parked in the driveway. He helped Jess and the kids to the front door, and then jogged back to the body in the gutter.

  It was a male, perhaps fifty years old, in shorts, a T-shirt, and white Nike runners. He was holding a dog lead, but there was no sign of a dog. The end of the lead was ripped, as though something had either the strength to break it or had chewed it off. Mac rolled the man onto his side, noting the jelly-like feeling in his arms and torso that ruled out death from a heart-attack. His pale face was blotchy with red sores, the skin around his nose inflamed and crusty, glassy eyes forever staring.

  Mac dialed the 000 emergency number and waited as it rang. After twenty seconds, a recorded message came on, advising that all operators were busy, and that the caller should hold the line. Mac hung up.

  The street was eerily quiet. There were no dogs barking, no people opening or closing doors, and most of the houses had their curtains closed. Only two driveways had cars parked in them, which seemed odd.

  There was no choice but to leave the man and ask his mother to cover the man and call the emergency services. He had to get Jessica to the hospital.

  Mac jogged back to his parents’ home, a long, narrow block of an acre, with a wire fence at the front, one of the original properties sub-divided from farmland that hadn’t been further sub-divided into residential blocks. He hurried up the stone driveway, onto the verandah, and walked through the open front door. The cool air felt refreshing on his skin; at least his parents still had power. Jess lay on the couch. “Hey, Mom,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.

  Lynette McNamara was a thin, pleasant-looking woman with glasses and a thick head of grey hair. She was small, but Mac had a deep respect for her mental toughness. When a crisis hit the family, she always stood tall. He’d watched her drag the brashest of men into line, never witnessed her back down from any physical or mental challenge, and she always did it with an air of grace and dignity.

  She put her arms around Mac and kissed him on the cheek. “Hello Shane. He’s in the back room.”

  “Listen, a man has passed away on the street. He’s lying in the gutter outside number seventeen.”

  “Oh, Jesus, another one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Yesterday. Same thing further up the street.”

  “Can you call 000 and let them know? I tried, but it’s busy.”

  She nodded and led him down the hallway towards the spare room at the back of the house. Guests normally slept there, but his mother had segregated his father to limit her risk of getting sick. Mac wondered what sort of state he might find his father in. What if he’d begun to take on the characteristics of Dave-O’s neighbor?

  But he was asleep when Mac reached the room. A burly, generous man with a streak of thinning white hair and a rosy complexion that had all but disappeared, save the inflammation of skin around his eyes and nose. It was a similar appearance to the man in the street.

  “Don’t get too close,” his mother said from the doorway.

  “He looks a lot worse than Jess. How long’s he been like this?”

  “Only two days.”

  “What did the doctor say?”

  She shrugged and spoke in a mocking tone. “‘Did he get the flu shot? It’s a virus, probably H1N1 or something like that. Said we just had to ride it out.”

  “I’m taking Jessica to Mersey Valley Community Hospital. Come with us if you like.”

  She considered this, narrowing her eyes in thought. “I think I might leave him a bit longer. He’s taken some time to get to sleep; I don’t want to wake him.”

  “You’ll take him in if he gets any worse?”

  “Of course.”

  Mac crossed to the bed and took his father’s hand. He gave it a light squeeze—not enough to wake him—then laid it carefully on the bed. “See you soon, mate.” He stood and walked out of the room, his mother putting a hand on his shoulder as he passed.

  In the living room, the kids were already playing on the floor with the toys they had brought. Mac squatted between them. “You’re going to stay with Grandma and Grandpa for a little bit.”

  “You’re leaving again?” Tyler said, frowning. Mac tousled his hair. “Will you be gone long?” Tyler added. He was poking his toy car about, not really having much interest in it after the PS4.

  “Only a few hours. I’ll be back later on.” Tyler nodded. “Be good, okay?” Mac touched his chin. Tyler forced a smile.

  He kissed them both on the head and helped Jess off the couch, unable to shake the feeling that leaving the kids again was pushing his luck.

  At the door, his mother kissed two of her fingers and placed them on Jessica’s lips. She smiled. “Take care, honey.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Let us know how Dad goes.”

  Back in the car, Jess lay with her eyes closed. Mac held her hand as he took off down the street. He thought about calling Smitty again to find out how Leigh Ann and Dave-O were, but he didn’t want to scare Jess. She had similar symptoms, and it was a real possibility she might end up like Neville. Mac buried the thought of her attacking him or one of the kids as Neville had done.

  He took the Bass Highway out of Devonport, and where he’d normally turn left to
wards Frankford Road, he followed the four-lane highway around a long, sweeping bend with low-lying trees on one side and a red, dusty slope on the other. From there, the straight, slightly declining blacktop continued. They passed a green roadside sign that said LATROBE 5 and soon saw a trucking yard on the left, where a dozen or more silent, brooding semi-trailers sat without drivers. The gumtrees peeled away from both edges of the road until they were standing side by side, a hundred yards away on either side like a wall of marshalled troops ready for war.

  As Mac drew closer, yellow paddocks turned quickly to housing estates. There were several plumes of smoke rising from somewhere within. At the first street turn, a grey Mazda four-wheel-drive sat in the middle of the road with its warning lights flashing. There was no sign of the driver, but Mac looked beyond the car and saw several people fighting in the middle of the street.

  “Shit.” A bad feeling crept over him.

  There was an incident at the next roundabout. A car was stuck on one of the barriers in the center of the intersection. Mac spotted a man with a bloody face leaning against the front wheel. The bad feeling got worse. Mac didn’t want to stop. He had Jessica to think about.

  As he turned left into the roundabout, he glanced ahead and saw cars parked oddly, as though they were stopped suddenly without thought to their position. Clusters of people milled out onto the road.

  Mac didn’t know these streets and was hopeful the general direction would get him back to the main road leading to the hospital. He followed the road past neat, suburban houses with their slate-grey roof tiles and earthy-colored render. Normally tidy gardens were beginning to look messy and overgrown. Jessica had her eyes closed again. Mac wanted to ask how she was feeling but thought she might be asleep.

  The road bent around to the right, and ahead, another intersection loomed. They weren’t going to make it to the hospital taking this route. Three cars, smashed up and smoldering, had met front-on from three different directions. Mac braked. A black Lexus sedan had more than steam coming from under the bonnet. Mac thought it might be smoke. At first, there was no movement. Then a man in grubby clothes and with cuts over his face appeared, circling the cars from the other side of the accident. Mac’s skin crawled. The man leapt in close to a green Toyota Camry, and leant in through the window, trying to pull one of the occupants out. Was he saving them or—Mac heard screams. The man staggered backwards, holding a woman. Jess woke.

  “What’s going on?” she said in a dry, sleepy drawl.

  Mac pulled the gearstick back to the R symbol. “I don’t know.”

  The man dragged the woman onto the road, and then dived onto her chest with his head down, burrowing like a dog with a bone. A second man appeared, and Mac recognized the facial expression, the red eyes and the salivating mouth.

  “Oh my God,” Jessica said. “Mac—”

  But Mac wasn’t hanging around. That inner voice told him to get as far away as possible.

  5

  Juliet Silverstein leant against the examination table, clutched her belly, and moaned as the door clicked shut. She’d been holding the pain in, waiting for the patient to leave the room. Get a grip, she told herself. Just hang in there a little bit longer. She considered that it might be the flu—every time she felt a twinge or sniffle over the last week she thought it was that—but aside from the upset stomach, she had none of the symptoms everybody else in the world seemed to have.

  The door opened and a familiar face appeared. “You all right?” Deidre asked, removing her disposable gloves as she slipped into the room. Juliet had worked with her for eight years and they were as close as any two colleagues. They had both helped each other through difficult personal circumstances, especially over the last few months.

  “Yeah. Just the heat.” Juliet wiped her forehead with the back of her arm. If three trips to the bathroom already and twenty-four hours without sleep was anything to go by, she wasn’t all right. She slipped off her disposable gloves and placed them into the rubbish bag.

  “And the upset tummy. And lack of sleep,” Deidre scoffed.

  “And the craziness.”

  Deidre took a fresh set of vials from the cupboard. “You think they’ll sort it out soon?”

  “Who?”

  “The government. The police. Whoever is in control?”

  “I don’t think anyone is in control anymore.”

  “Then why are we still here? Shouldn’t we be getting the hell out of Devonport?” Juliet widened her expression, unsure if Deidre was serious or not. “My parents have a little place along the coast near Bicheno. It’s quiet, out of the way. Mark and I were thinking of heading down. Come with us.”

  Juliet steadied herself and retied her short blonde ponytail. “Thanks hon. I’m grateful for the offer, I really am, but I can’t leave this place. What about all these people?”

  Deidre turned her nose up. “I know. I say it, but I’m not sure I could either. Hold the thought though. Back in a moment.” Deidre slipped out the door with a swish of her auburn hair.

  Juliet leant against the table again, fighting the urge to curl up on the chair and sleep. Her mother’s words rang in her mind: Don’t become a nurse, Juliet, there’s no money, little thanks, and you have to clean up after the sick. Her mother had been right, but she hadn’t captured the essence of helping others. Money or thanks didn’t compare with it. Sometimes she thought she was a fool for thinking that, but she kept coming back every shift, kept taking home a small paycheck and wiping up the messes of others. Even now, as the world crumbled around them, here she was amongst her own messes, helping to treat the sick and clean up after them.

  Her stomach twisted with spasms again. She hobbled to the bed and fell against it, then slid onto the mattress and pulled her legs up to her chest. After a minute, the pain subsided.

  Juliet’s words couldn’t describe the mayhem of the hospital—or the world beyond—over the last thirty-six hours. The last twelve had been especially chaotic. The waiting room in emergency was full. People kept coming though. They ended up locking the sliding doors and only letting in more when someone left or died. Their deaths sat heavy in Juliet’s stomach like a lump of lead. She was used to death, had observed plenty in her time as a nurse, especially during her stint in the ER, but this … the mortuary was full of people—men, women, old, young—their faces crusted with snot, their throats swollen, their eyes sunken and bloody. Their deaths were cruel and unforgiving, tormented by screams and agonizing pain. The nursing staff had begun filling some of the consultation and examination rooms with bodies. There was nowhere else to put them. And the air conditioning was broken—the last thing you wanted to happen at such a time.

  The hospital chiefs had told them late the previous day to head home and lock their doors. Some had left—those who had families, anyway—but Juliet had nobody and her desire to help the sick never subsided, even in times of crisis. There weren’t enough available doctors, though. Only a handful had shown up. Half the nurses had called in sick, too. This was when she felt she was needed most. The thoughts prompted her to slide off the bed. The world needed her, no matter how sick she felt.

  She left the room and followed the hallway around to a neat kitchenette with a sink, a small refrigerator, and coffee making facilities. This was where the ER staff went when a five-minute window opened to grab a drink or take a minute to recharge the batteries.

  Deidre appeared, returning from the patient she had examined. Juliet read the concern on her kind face and felt deep gratitude. “Grab a cold drink, or even a coffee if you can stand the warmth,” Deidre said. She signaled to the door, indicating beyond, to the waiting room. “They’ll wait.”

  “Thanks, babe. You want anything?”

  “Nah. Just had one. Maybe that’s why I’m not curled up on a bed in one of the rooms.”

  Juliet needed more than coffee; she needed a long, deep sleep, away from this place. And a good feed. She’d survived on packaged sandwiches and sweet biscuits since star
ting her shift on … when? Was it Tuesday?

  She took a mug from the cupboard and unscrewed the lid to the coffee. The temperature inside the hospital was hot enough to make her sweat, but she needed the caffeine. Still, the other nurses and what little doctors they had were no different to her. They were all plugging away, doing their best amongst whatever it was they were dealing with. Juliet had caught the odd news flash, describing a flu pandemic on the mainland that had likely spread to Tasmania. In the beginning, the state government had been optimistic about keeping it away, but that had not happened. Someone, somewhere had landed in Tasmania, sneezed or coughed on the first person they had met, and that was it. Influenza as a rule was easily transmitted—unless a person remained quarantined, which was difficult to do in the modern, transient world. With next-day access to most countries readily accessible, authorities were unable to isolate outbreaks.

  She took the milk from the refrigerator and filled her cup of brew to the top, then stirred in a sugar. As she leant back against the bench and sipped, one of the doctors, Frank Pinelli, and another nurse, Bianca Morris, walked in giggling and touching each other. This day keeps getting worse. Of all the doctors and nurses who could work in a crisis, those two had to be part of it. Juliet glanced up and forced herself to smile.

  “Hey, Juliet,” Frank said. He had neat brown hair, a solid, square-shaped face, and was clean-shaven. Despite her anger at how things had turned out, she had to admit he was still handsome. Bianca returned the smile, her pretty blue eyes flashing victory. She was pretty, but would forever be labeled a homewrecker in Juliet’s book. Frank was a married man and that was ground Juliet would never break, even though Frank had chased her attention before Bianca.

  She kept stirring; she wasn’t going to leave. As uncomfortable as it was having them there, she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. Frank opened the fridge and swung off the door, looking for something. Bianca hung back, watching him.