by Owen Baillie
Wendy McNamara fell back against the wall with a thump and collapsed to the carpeted floor, arms and legs bending awkwardly. Mac halted, feeling his stomach turn, his muscles and torso tighten up. He hadn’t expected that.
The bullet had punched a hole in the side of her head. Sightless eyes stared into nothing. He did a double-take to ensure she was infected. There was bruising around her neck and parts of her face. Blood oozed from her nose. Her eyes were sunken and red. Mac knelt beside her and closed them, pausing momentarily to bury his grief, for now. She had been a wonderful mother, though it was not the time to reflect on it. Mac had to find the kids. He stood and Smitty clamped a hand on his shoulder.
“Sorry, bro.” He knew Wendy; had visited the house a number of times for Sunday afternoon barbecues. She had cared for Smitty, sensing the darkness in his life, and they had connected.
Mac gave a curt nod and started down the hallway, weapon raised. He turned into the kitchen, but it was empty. The bench was clear and the table had been set for the next meal. Everything appeared normal. A small bottle of pills sat on a placemat. Mac picked them up and turned the bottle over in his hands. The label said pain relief. He wondered if his mother had taken them before the sickness had overcome her.
From the rear of the house came a high-pitched scream. Mac raced out of the kitchen towards the back room where the children usually stayed.
“Tyler! Ashleigh! Where are you?”
The muffled cry of “here” came back to him. He knew where. Mac followed the hallway to the last bedroom and halted in the doorway.
His father stood in the center of the room over Tyler, one hand locked around the boy’s arm. Ashleigh was hiding under a table in the corner behind her brother. Tyler had fallen onto one knee and was swinging a plastic green Star Wars lightsaber at his grandfather, whacking the old man on the arm in an attempt to break his grip.
“Dad,” Mac snapped in a strong, urgent voice.
Still holding Tyler, his father turned to Mac, his red eyes swollen into slits. Mac wondered how the man saw through them. He sniffed the air, then turned back to Tyler and lifted the boy towards his open mouth.
Mac pulled the trigger. The noise was sharp, deafening. A bloody red hole opened up in the back of his father’s head. He fell, dropping Tyler to the floor, and then struck a small plastic table and rolled into the wall.
Tyler squirmed to his feet and ran to his father. Ashleigh screamed as she climbed out from beneath the table. Mac dropped to one knee and lowered his gun to the carpet. Tyler crashed into him and tightened his arms around Mac’s bulky body. The kid was trembling. Mac squeezed him gently and tousled his hair.
“It’s all right, buddy. I’ve got you.” Ashleigh did the same and he found a place for her under his left arm. She was sobbing. Mac kissed the top of her head. His insides twisted at what the kids must have gone through.
When they were done, he stood and lifted Ashleigh into his arms. She laid her head on his shoulder. Smitty’s expression reflected Mac’s pain.
Mac’s father lay sprawled between two Lego boxes. After thirty-eight years, Mac was parentless, just like that. They weren’t monsters, despite what they had just encountered. For the most part—all of it, if he was honest—they had been exceptional role models and outstanding parents. They left the room and convened in the kitchen.
“You all right, Mac?“ Smitty asked. Mac sighed and nodded. “What’s the plan?”
Mac put the kids on a seat and gave them some water. He tried to focus, tried to expunge the images of his mother falling back against the wall and his father trying to kill Tyler. It was going to take all his mental strength. “Bury the bodies, then head home.”
23
They were halfway to the office building when the infected people from the childcare center across the road reached the gate. Kumiko turned and walked backwards. Even from that distance, she read the desperation to get inside the perimeter on their infected faces.
A man in jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of grubby white runners gripped the wire between palsied fingers. His bulging, blank eyes stared at them, his tongue lolling from his mouth in a gross display of affection. He stood beside the middle-aged woman from the bushes who had knotted her fingers around the links. There were others further along the fence—probably the ones they had witnessed along the roadside the previous night. They began to make their way down towards the gate to join their friends, as though they were calling each other. Deep down, she knew they had all once been people with families, but that didn’t deter her feelings towards them. She wanted them gone so they could get on with life and rebuild what had been taken.
“I hate them,” Kumiko said. “Not who they were, but what they’ve become.”
“Yeah. I hear you.”
Two more infected reached the gate—a younger male, perhaps fifteen, with a dark mop of hair falling down over his eyes, and an older man with a shaved head and puffy red eyes, visible even from thirty yards.
They turned and walked back up the long driveway to the covered decking area outside the staff room. Kumiko climbed the stairs and then turned towards the entrance. There were about a dozen clinging to the wire on the gate, nudging each other for prime position. She wondered how Jim would get it open when he returned.
Back inside, Kumiko locked the door and began to boil a pot of tea. On table in the corner, the radio crackled, then a woman’s voice spoke from it, strong and clear. Dan rushed over and turned up the volume.
“… many people are listening out there. We maintain hope there’s a large portion of the population still alive. We are a small group that has taken over the broadcasting center in Melbourne. We’re—” The person halted to cough. Dan glanced at Kumiko. “We’re doing this to keep people updated with what’s happening. This is an emergency band. We have power from a generator that enables us to keep broadcasting for now.”
“This is what we know so far: the world has been hit by a terrible virus. Our sources tell us it was a terrorist attack from the Middle East. A biological weapon. We understand it was dropped at Los Angeles International Airport and from there it spread around the globe. Nobody has taken responsibility for it and—” There was a bubble of static and they lost the transmission for a moment. “… The government is no more. We believe some key ministers have been taken to a safe zone. The army has been seen sporadically around the capital cities. What few police remain are doing their best, but nobody is immune to this disaster—” More coughing. “—virus. So far, there is no vaccine and certainly no cure. Anywhere. We’ve had some contact from the US, but they’re suffering worse than Australia, as the initial impact zone was on their soil. Nothing from the UK or Europe. Again, I repeat, we are citizens trying to bring information to the people, we are not broadcasters or news reporters. We’ll try and—” This time the woman broke off into a horrible coughing fit that lasted thirty seconds. “—keep you updated more frequently. In signing off, I will say this: we cannot let this destroy us. We need to band together and fight. This is not the end of the human race.”
Dan and Kumiko sat there for a long moment, considering what the woman had said. After a time, Dan said, “That’s heavy.”
“You were right,” Kumiko said. “It is the end of the world.” Dan made a face that said in this instance, he didn’t want to be right. “No government. No army. No police.”
“This thing doesn’t discriminate.”
“Then why are we not sick? I was around my mother for days.” Kumiko felt guilty for not doing more to try to reach her parents. She couldn’t help but assume they were both dead. The hospital had been surrounded by the infected. She felt it in the pit of her stomach, and it made her feel sick.
“As soon as it’s dark, I’m going across the road to find out if my grandmother is still alive.”
“You think …”
Dan rubbed his chocolate beard. “I don’t know. She’s eighty-five, but she’s lived through some tough times.” He hung his head
, staring at the ground between his feet. “I shouldn’t have left her, but she wanted that stupid medicine.”
“What about Jim?”
“What about him? If he’s not back in time, you’ll have to hold the fort here.”
24
Juliet aimed the Mercedes directly at the monster as it strode towards them. She felt a deep hatred for all the infected and what they had done to the people in the hospital—particularly her friends. Deep down she understood it wasn’t their fault, that a strange and horrible virus had sickened them, but her only choice was to fight back with steely revulsion.
The pedal touched the floor, and the engine screamed. Juliet held her line on the bald, muscly thing sprinting at them. It reminded her of a Terminator. You can’t win this battle, motherfucker, she thought. The speedometer ticked past seventy-five. Nothing in a human body could survive such a head-on collision.
As they converged, she saw the thing slow, as if it understood the outcome should it continue. At the final moment before impact, the monster deftly stepped out of the way, and the Mercedes sped past. Juliet eased off the pedal. Jessica and Meg peered out the back window. Juliet glanced at her side mirror. The infected walked back into the middle of the road, watching them drive away.
When she turned back to the road ahead, another infected had stepped in front of the car.
“Hold on.”
It struck the center of the hood with a noisy crunch. Meg screamed. The body split in half—its legs disappeared underneath the chassis, the upper section spun across the hood, hit the glass, and bounced away. Blood and gore splattered over the windscreen. Juliet found the water spray, and three jets shot onto the window. Thick gunk gathered at the edges. It took a moment, but a repeat of the process regained a somewhat blurry view.
She continued along the road around the outskirts of the hospital at a slow pace. In the rearview mirror, a wide-eyed Meg peered out the side window, searching for more infected. Jessica caught Juliet’s eye and pressed her mouth into a grim line.
“How are you feeling?”
“Still a bit weak, but much better.”
“I think it’s safe to say you’re not infected. Out of interest, did you ever get the flu shot?”
“I never miss it. Why?”
“Just something one of the doctors said to me. That those who have had the flu shot with any sort of consistency are less prone to contracting the strain that’s killing people.”
They approached hospital’s main entrance, where the bulk of patients went for planned appointments and myriad procedures, rather than for emergencies, where Juliet and the others had come from on the other side. There were two sets of boom gates—the left side to allow people in, the right to let them out, both with rectangle ticket machines. Both gates were up. A shiny bronze-colored car with a busted front windscreen had smashed into the wire fence beside the left entrance lane. As the breadth of the main building came into view, Juliet stopped the car and they all watched with slack faces. Jessica said something under her breath. Even with the windows up, the smell hit them like an old bag of rotted vegetable scraps.
Beyond the boom gates, at the far end of the parking lot outside the main entrance doors, an incredibly large number of infected had congregated, clamoring to get inside the building. They were pressed against every conceivable space along the façade, climbing against the wall of the building, pressed against the entrance doors and numerous windows. Jessica wound down the left-side passenger window, as if to confirm through sound they were really there, and it came to them—a low whisper, countless eager voices all communicating in their slobbery tones. None of them had ever conceived such a scene.
“How many?” Jessica asked.
Juliet’s voice was low, incredulous. “Hundreds; maybe even a thousand.”
“Reminds me of the time we had a mice plague when I was a kid at my parents’ farm,” Jessica said. “Dad lit the grass on fire and they scattered away from the heat. Thousands of them were trying to climb up the sides of the barn, but had nowhere to go. It was like a giant mouse carpet.”
“It’s like they sense what’s inside,” Juliet said, “and won’t stop until they get in.”
“Do you think many of the patients got out?”
Juliet shook her head. “Probably not. Most of them would have been too sick to move.”
The rumble of an engine sounded from ahead. A sandy-colored army truck rolled around the corner, its big bull-nose front knocking the shell of a burnt-out car and trailer aside.
“‘Bout bloody time,” Meg said.
The truck turned into the driveway of the hospital and pulled up just inside the parking lot. A second truck followed the first but did not turn, instead parking next to them.
A man dressed in a military uniform, with a helmet, moustache, and aviator glasses leant out the window. “You people need to leave this area immediately.”
“We will,” Juliet said.
He glanced back at the hospital. “It’s about to get very messy around here.”
“What’s going on, Sergeant?” Jessica asked, leaning across Juliet in the front seat. “There’s been no sign of the emergency services or any other military.”
The man craned his neck. Juliet thought he was about to dismiss the question and drive off. Jessica must have sensed it too, because she added, “My husband was in the military. He’s,” she stopped, her eyes still and thoughtful, “around somewhere. Gone back to collect our children.”
“What unit?”
“Second-Commando Regiment out of Holesworthy.”
“Tough bunch of fellas.” The man said something to the other men with him. Several dropped out of the truck. He swung the door open and dropped down from the front. “Listen, you need to get out of here. We’re thin on the ground down this way. The place is overrun by these things. We’re waiting on reinforcements from the mainland, but we don’t know when or even if we’ll get them.”
“What’s the government doing?” Meg asked.
“The government? At this point, there’s nothing left. The Prime Minister died two days ago. His Deputy the day before that.” There were audible reactions from all three women. “Most of the Cabinet is gone. I don’t know who’s making the big decisions, but I’m sure they have a plan.” He adjusted his helmet. “There aren’t many of us about, and the ones that are here are all busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest, but we’ll fight on.” He rubbed his moustache. “You need to leave the area. We’re attacking them.”
“We’re going,” Juliet said. “Believe me.”
But Jessica wasn’t finished. “Where are you guys based?”
“Buckland Military Training Area, about fifty miles out of Hobart. We’re taking people down there from the southern half of the state. But we’ve got a place at Mole Creek. You need to make your way towards there.” He started to walk away to where the other men stood readying their weapons at the rear of the first army truck. Then he turned and asked, “You haven’t been inside the hospital, by any chance?”
“The ER,” Juliet said. “Around the other side.”
“Bad?” She nodded. “Anyone else in there?”
“Not that we know of. But …” She trailed away, unsure about whether to tell him of what they saw. She glanced at Jessica, who nodded. “There was something in there, something much worse than the others.” She pointed at the crowd of infected.
He started back towards them. “What do you mean?”
Looking across the lot to the hospital, Juliet said, “He was infected. But not like those. This one was faster, more aggressive.”
“And smart,” Jessica said.
“When we escaped the ER, it knew we had escaped. It worked out where we were going and was waiting for us out on the road. We were lucky to get away from it.”
The sergeant thought about this. “Thanks for the information.” He started towards the truck where the men were waiting.
“We should leave,” Meg said.
“I’d like to wait a moment, see what happens,” Jessica said.
“But you heard him. They’re going to attack.”
Juliet guided the car past the entrance to the hospital and pulled over to the side where the view of the front entrance and car park of the main hospital was clearer. “I’m nervous about this.”
Meg’s mouth curled down. “I still say we leave.”
The first truck drove past the second and into the lot, then continued towards the hospital building. The men ran alongside it. The engine grumbled as it gathered speed, headed directly for the main entrance.
When they got within fifty yards, the vehicle stopped. The soldiers took cover, and when signaled, began shooting at the heads of the infected. Blood and flesh flew in streamers as they fell. At first, it appeared to be easy work. Then the edges of the infected crowd started moving towards the soldiers. The automatic gunfire cut many of them down, but the others marched on. Some went down with body shots, but climbed back onto their feet. The numbers were overwhelming as they pressed forward in a wave. Eventually, the infected reached the line of soldiers. Battling multiple infected, the closest man misjudged the distance and after shooting two at point-blank range, he couldn’t get his gun around in time. One latched onto his arm. They wrestled and fell to the ground as others dove onto him. Several soldiers ran to help. They shot the infected in the head and dragged the man away to the refuge of the truck, but the line of fire was broken and dozens of infected converged on them.
“Oh Jesus, there’s too many,” Meg said.
The second army truck swept in from the side and halted with a screech of brakes. Another half dozen men swarmed from the shadowy opening at the rear and took up a line against the congregating mass that had now mostly turned their attention from breaking into the hospital to attacking their attackers. The men opened fire on the left side of the main hospital building, carving the infected up in a wall of flanking fire. The noise was terribly loud, worse than the loudest firecracker night. It cut them down like daffodils, body pieces flying, heads exploding. Meg looked away.