by Owen Baillie
She reached the wall and pressed her back against it then shuffled towards the first corridor. The time for checking what happened had passed; it was now time to take Jessica and get the hell out of there. But before she could reach the corridor, the person walked slowly out of the passageway and into view. Her instinct had been right; it was most certainly infected.
Juliet’s entire body stiffened with fear. There were only two long sofas and a pile of bodies between them. It was a male, bald headed, its upper body shirtless, with the muscular features of a bodybuilder. It had black eyes, and blood covered its face and neck in careless splashes. It had an arm in its hand, chewing on it like an oversized drumstick. It stood there a moment watching her, thinking, calculating, strategizing about how it might reach her. It tossed the arm aside, let out a deep growl, then started around the sofa towards her.
As she took off for the hallway, Juliet’s foot slipped on bloody muck. She slid, regained her balance, and ran on. Glancing up, she saw the infected man leap over several bodies with the grace of a running back. The door was only five yards away, but it may have been five miles. Still, she made a direct line for it, bounding over Bianca’s lifeless form. The moment before landing, she thought, I’m going to slip again, but the rubber-soled sneakers held their grip, and she hit the open doorway with a thud. She stepped through and drew the door closed, turning to face the monster. It raced towards her, muscles rippling, black eyes full of rage. She swung the door with every ounce of strength she had and slammed it shut. She fumbled for the sliding bar to lock it, but the thing jammed short and wouldn’t slide all the way across. She snatched it back and tried again. With great relief, it fell into place. The monster on the other side struck the barrier with a shattering blow that reverberated through the door and into Juliet’s shoulders. She jumped back with a cry, watching the door shake as it smashed its fists on the other side.
Juliet turned and hurried along the corridor. The carnage made more sense now; this wasn’t some slow, distracted thing they had encountered the day before. It was a beast, with the strength and smarts to kill them all. If he had gotten his hands on her, she’d be dead, just like the rest of them.
She reached the examination room and pushed the door open. Jessica was sitting on the bed. Her head snapped around when Juliet entered.
“We have to leave,” Juliet said. “There’s something in this building that will kill us all if we don’t leave right now.”
Jessica’s eyes widened as she stood. “I heard a voice. I think there’s someone in the room on the other side of the corridor.”
Across the hallway was another locked door. Juliet plugged the key into the lock and turned it. The door swung open, and a woman ran for the entrance.
If she had been infected, Juliet would have been in trouble. “Oh Jesus, thank God. Let me out of here,” the woman said, attempting to barge past Juliet. She was thin, with small eyes, bucked teeth, and brown shoulder-length hair.
“We’re just leaving.”
“Oh, I’m ready.” She pushed past Juliet out into the hallway.
Juliet followed her. The thing was still beating its fists against the door. “Wait here,” she said to both women.
She headed back towards the main waiting area but made an early right and found a small room with two half-sized refrigerators and several medicine cabinets. She took a small Styrofoam box about the size of a car fridge from one of the shelves and began filling it with relevant medicine—pain killers, antibiotic pills, liquid, and creams. In a second bag, she added bandages, ointments, and anything else that might treat any kind of common injury or illness.
She returned and led the two women to the fire stairs, where they started the climb down. Juliet realized the banging had stopped. At least when the thing was hammering the door, she knew where it was. She had a sudden terrible thought that maybe it had broken through the door. It made her move faster.
The other woman’s name was Meg, and she kept up, but Jessica struggled, holding onto the railing for support.
“Shit,” Juliet said, halting on the stairs. She’d given Mac her car keys. An image of Frank’s black Mercedes flashed through her mind. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Frank’s office was in the main hospital, but he kept a desk in the emergency area when he was on shift there. Juliet hurried towards it, expecting to find the bald monster every time she turned a corner.
The desk was a mess, papers and unopened letters scattered across it. The top revealed no keys, so she opened the first draw and found them attached to a white Mercedes tag. Bingo. She slipped them into her pocket and left.
Juliet wondered if the monster had given up on the emergency room door and was searching for another way to reach her. She opened the fire stairs door with such haste it smashed into the wall with a loud clang. Both waiting women jumped. Juliet removed the key ring from her pocket and dangled them out.
They reached the level LG1, where all the staff parked, and opened the door to the underground parking lot. They headed out of the stairwell and straight for the parked black Mercedes. At last Frank was able to do one nice thing for her.
“This is your car?” the woman asked.
“No, but—”
“Isn’t that stealing?”
Jessica laughed. “You’ve got to be joking. Whoever owns this car is dead.”
“She’s right,” Juliet added. “He is dead. And he’d want me to use it.” That wasn’t strictly true, but she wasn’t going to stand there arguing with this woman about it.
They tossed their baggage into the boot and climbed in. Jessica rode shotgun with Juliet behind the wheel. She pressed a button on the key ring and the car purred into life. She backed it out and took off towards the ramp that would take them up to the street.
The Mercedes was eager to unleash its power as they climbed the slope. Juliet forced herself to maintain control. Cars were sparse on the ground level, so she cut diagonally across the lot until she reached the lane that led them to the open boom gate. We’re going to make it, Juliet thought. She glanced into the surrounding shadows as they approached the exit, still expecting the thing to appear. A bulky speed hump forced her to use the brakes. She slowed; the car did a small hop, and then they passed through the entrance. She made a left turn onto the street that ran alongside the hospital building. It was bright and the heat had returned, no more signs of the rain that had battered the area late the previous day. And there, directly ahead, standing in the shadow of the building, stood the monster from inside the emergency room.
“What the fuck is that?” Jessica asked.
Meg whimpered. Juliet slowed but did not stop. God knew how it had gotten outside and found them.
In the bright daylight, its bald head gleamed. Dark eyes the color of obsidian glared back at them. Its chest heaved, cheeks puffing, reminding Juliet of a bull ready to charge. There was nowhere to go but forward. On the right, a chain fence ran parallel to the street for another hundred yards, well beyond the monster, and going backwards meant returning to the hospital parking lot. She was sick of this fucker tormenting them. It had probably killed Deidre, Tara, and Seth. Juliet gripped the wheel, stamped on the accelerator, and took off.
21
Jim drove slowly up the hill towards the intersection of Yan Yean and Ironbark Road, watching the assembly of sick now spread out along the fence line. It was worse today, no question, and it would probably be worse tomorrow. In his mind, there was no doubt it was related to people dying from the flu.
He turned away, guiding the car over the top of the slope and down the other side, where knotted blue gums lined the edges of the road. Jim followed the curve to the left in a gentle bend, and then right, before it straightened and a sprawling group of infected appeared a hundred yards ahead moving slowly towards him in a long, broken pack. He brought the car to a halt, the brakes squealing.
He would have turned back for the school, but they needed the generator to save the frozen food
. He had to admit he was scared of their bulging eyes and sunken, washed-out faces. The thought of driving through them was terrifying. No fences here, he thought, just a car. He might be able to work his way around Ironbark Road, drive all the way to Black Gully Road and then come in from the other direction. What if he ran into another group of them? Same problem, more lost time. He could smash his way through, but that carried a certain risk.
They had noticed him, and a group at the front spread out from the others in their eagerness to catch him. That was his chance. He thought he might be able to weave his way between them if he was careful.
Jim gripped the steering wheel and rolled down the slope as they marched on, bodies and legs moving in an awkward fashion. He picked his gap, feathering the brake as he closed in.
“You can do this. Easy as pie.”
A shaggy woman with stringy black hair and a dirty white summer dress stepped in front of the car. Stay calm. Jim readied himself for the impact, but at the last moment, she jerked aside and he missed her. He let out a relieved breath and edged the vehicle through the narrow course. Then he was amongst them, seeing their ogling faces and dark, salivating lips through every window. Something banged on the back end of the SUV. Jim stiffened. “Don’t go silly, now.” But his heart was pounding and his hands were slick on the steering wheel. Others ambled towards him, closing the gap ahead. He felt the threads of panic begin to take hold. He braked, waiting for another gap to open up. Part of him wanted to slam his foot on the accelerator and take off and just drive through them, but that might create other problems. “Stay calm, mate, stay calm.”
The infected ahead diverged, a handful going either side of the SUV. It gave Jim the space needed and he edged the car through the channel, touching the accelerator gently. At the last moment though, several turned around and stepped into his path. “Shit,” he spat, yanking the wheel both ways. He struck the one on the front right corner and it fell aside.
Others were moving now, turning back towards the SUV. Jim allowed the vehicle to glide forward. He slid alongside several, their bodies gliding over the side panels. There was another thump, this time on the roof. Jim turned the vehicle away from it, and then he was through the last of the stragglers on the edges of the road. He slammed the gas and peered into the side mirror. The woman he had struck was lying on the gravel shoulder, half her body in the weedy edges. Three or four infected fell onto her and began eating.
Jim thumped the wheel twice with the palm of his hand. “Yes! Yes!”
He had been challenged, and won. How many people would have even tried driving through a mob of infected people? Perhaps the culmination of all that had been going on of late—losing his wife, the girls being far away and in danger, and now this pandemic that had devastated the world. Jim felt a certain resolve that these things wouldn’t always win if he dug deep and took them on.
He glanced up into the rearview mirror as he pulled further away. Half the group was still walking towards the school, while the other half were following him. They were a strange lot, turning their attention to whatever caught their fancy at the time, it seemed.
Jim turned right at the next road and found it clear all the way to the turn. As he passed a string of large properties, all of them—with their one-acre blocks and their normally manicured rolling lawns—appeared lifeless. Shades were drawn and driveways were empty. No sign of any healthy people in sight. The flu pandemic had only hit the news a few weeks ago, but it had taken its toll in recent days.
Pulling into his own street, Jim saw there were people—infected people—milling around a number of houses. There was one on its knees in his front yard, trying to get at something in the bushes. He pulled into his own driveway with a sinking heart and stopped outside the garage, glancing over at the thing in the garden to make sure it wasn’t coming for him. As Jim opened the door and climbed out, he heard a crashing sound from inside the house. He went to the front window and peered in through the broken pane of glass. They were inside, pottering around the kitchen and dining room. He saw shapes moving in the cool shadows, heard their grunting and slobbering. Jim ground his jaw and cursed. Good thing he had left.
A loud crash sounded from across the street. Jim spun around and saw an infected man stumble through the open front door. A sinking feeling struck Jim as he realized it was his neighbor, Richard. Rich fell off the step and crashed onto the lawn, climbed awkwardly to its feet, and trod on towards him.
Jim hurried to the garage, pulled the handle in the center of the door, then got his hands underneath and lifted it. There was no automatic roller system without electricity. He got back into the car and guided it into the garage then jumped out, pulled the door down, and twisted the internal metal knob to lock it. Rich had reached the top of the driveway just as the door closed. He could handle a couple of them when it was time to drive away again.
Jim had a few things to pack so gave himself fifteen minutes. He would soon learn such ambition was misplaced in the new world.
22
Mac and Smitty rolled out of Dave-O’s garage prepared for anything. The infected were there, but they were preoccupied with each other. Smitty had the window down with his M4 pointed at those loitering around Juliet’s Suzuki. Mac was able to slip out through a gap and give the engine some grunt, zipping past before they had the chance to make a move. When the car swung out of the driveway and north along the street, a teenage boy wearing glasses and a Nike T-shirt gave chase. Smitty pulled the trigger once and the back of the kid’s head exploded in a spray across the pavement. It crumpled to the ground. Another infected hurried to it.
Smitty tucked the barrel back inside. “Just had to get the count started.”
The drive to his parents’ house was short. Mac knew the area well and worked his way through the backstreets. As they approached an empty intersection, smoke drifted lazily from the corner house, and one of the infected had its head through a broken window at the front. Mac slowed. Smitty leant out of the car again and called out to the thing.
“Save the ammo,” Mac said.
Smitty sat back. He could have nailed it easily. He’d always been the best shot in the platoon. Range practice had been easy for him, even in the initial stages when they were all wet behind the ears. Whilst the others had taken a little time to get their accuracy, Smitty had been grouping well on his targets since day one. Mac couldn’t recall one of his targets with a round outside the shot zone. That skill had transferred onto the battlefield and countless times Smitty had taken down the most enemies. Mac thought he should have been a sniper, but he liked the thrill of being up close and personal, despite its ongoing effect on him.
“You think we’re down to the last few survivors?” Smitty asked.
“No,” Mac said. “But I suspect the number is dropping each day, and from what we’ve seen, they’ll continue to go down in the short term. These things don’t want to give up.”
“They’re bloody hungry, that’s for sure.”
“Big worry is the number of people that might be sick. There’s a chance they’ll turn into one of the infected, or worse, end up like Neville.”
Smitty tightened his grip around the M4. “There’s two ways to look at this. Either we’re the lucky ones and we survived, or this is punishment and we’ll suffer the ravages of the earth with twenty-three-or-so million dead people chasing after us.”
“Punishment for what?”
“All the fucked-up shit humans have done. Greed. War. Poverty. The way people treat each other.”
“You might be right. But try not to analyze it too much, mate. That’s half your problem. You overthink shit. The way I see it, the whole thing is just bad luck.”
They drove in silence for a time, staring out the windows at the ubiquitous infected and otherwise mostly vacant streets. Occasionally, they appeared to have purpose, when feeding or attacking one another, but mostly, they wandered about as though lost, standing in front gardens, at door steps, or on the road. The
y past a small set of shops and Mac observed them picking at the shelves through the broken front windows. There were clusters of healthy folk, too, loading cars with bags and supplies, nailing boards over windows, even one guy sitting in the window of his second story with a rifle. Mac had known they were still about, but it was comforting to see. Cars had been abandoned in the streets, some with their windows smashed, others with body damage. Occasionally they contained a dead body. Other bodies—and parts thereof—lay on the asphalt and in the gutters, eaten or shot or discarded. Neither man said a word as they passed it all.
At a quarter past eight, Mac turned Dave-O’s car into the street on which his parents’ house was located. On one hand, he was relieved to find it empty, though they exchanged a glance that said looks too good to be true.
Mac pulled the V8 up to the garage and yanked on the handbrake. He was looking forward to seeing the kids, and with any luck, they might get back to the hospital shortly after midday. “Stay focused. Too bloody quiet for me.”
Smitty handed Mac the M4 and followed him out of the car and onto the porch. He tapped the metal knocker three times and did what he’d done for the last thirty or so years—turned the handle and pushed the door open. Most houses in Tasmania outside the major cities didn’t bother to lock their doors. The McNamara house was no different. Mac swung the door in and stepped through, holding it open for Smitty. The first thing he noticed was the smell. It was rotten, sickly. And then the shadows moved and with it came that familiar wheezy sound, and Mac knew.
He’d been trained by the best, had worked with the best, and was considered by many to be amongst the best. The shadows cleared and even with its ashen skin and the reddish, crusted eyes, Mac recognized the face he had known all his life. In that split second, the decision was made. He swung the gun onto his target and made a well-aimed shot into her head from two feet away. Anything less and she would have gotten him.