The Tasmania Trilogy (Book 1): Breakdown

by Owen Baillie

  On the right flank, the men caught a break and pushed closer to the hospital. A man with a pack on his back released a long, broad sweep of flame. Fire leapt onto the infected, turning them into human candles. They turned in confusion, knocking into their comrades who lit up too. Soon there were pockets of fire where multiple infected had caught alight.

  But it didn’t halt their progress. There were still hundreds attacking on several flanks. One of the flaming bodies approached the first truck and reached it, touching a hand to the canvas backing. The flame took off up the side and onto the roof, creating a long firebox. An army man leapt from the back, brandishing a rifle. He shot the flaming thing in the head. More infected crawled from out of parked vehicles nearby. Others came from the bushes around the lot, as though they’d been waiting for their moment. The front entrance to the hospital exploded outward after being shattered by the automatic gunfire and the infected began to pour out of the jagged glass opening.

  “Leave,” Meg said. “Please.”

  Juliet glanced at Jessica. She was absorbed in the battle. Despite the soldiers’ best efforts, there were too many infected. One man standing outside the entrance firing into the mass was dragged down from behind. Juliet heard the distant shouts of warning to each other. But for some, it was too late. Another got so obsessed with shooting one of the infected in the head that he slipped over and was jumped on by numerous infected. What did they do?

  Still, the soldiers fought on. They made an even fight, but one recognized from a distance that the gunfire was drawing more walkers from inside and outside the hospital perimeter.

  There was a disturbance from the ER side, and the infected nearby stopped moving. Something hustled through the crowd and the others were getting out of its way.

  “Do you see that?” Jessica asked. Juliet and Meg said they did. “It’s the other one—the one that chased us. That soldier can’t see it,” Jessica said. “The man with the big machine gun. He’s not—”

  “Hit the horn,” Meg said.

  Juliet placed her hand on the car horn. “It’ll draw them over here.”

  “They’ll get wiped out if we don’t warn them.”

  Juliet pressed the round button and the horn played out in a long trumpet. Some of the men turned, but the one firing the big machine gun did not. The thing that had chased them out of the ER glided through bedlam, in and out of the infected, towards him. One moment he was twenty-five yards away, the next he was at the soldier’s side.

  “It’s got him,” Meg said.

  And then the bald thing took hold of the man’s head and twisted sharply. The soldier’s body went limp and he crumpled to the ground. It stepped back, uninterested in feeding, and the other infected swarmed over the dead solider. The bald one disappeared into the crowd.

  “Where’d it go?” Meg asked.

  Like ants over a bench top covered in sugar, the entire lot was swathed with infected. Amongst it all were two army trucks and small pockets of soldiers firing into the masses. It was like a terrible scene out of a movie.

  One of the trucks began to move forward into a cluster of infected. It struck them with a bang that echoed across the parking lot. Men and women fell underneath and then the wheels jammed up and the truck slowed. The red brake lights went on and the vehicle stopped. Others shambled for it like a swarm of bees. The bald one appeared and leapt up onto the cab door. It reached in through the window and leapt back, dragging the driver out onto the concrete. After he struck the ground, the infected leant down over the man as more of them swarmed in around them.

  Drawn by the sound of the car horn, others had started walking towards the women in the black Mercedes. Several at the edge of the group were close.

  “We have to go,” Meg said. “That thing will end up killing us if the others don’t.”

  A loud, roaring noise sounded in the distance.

  Juliet peered into the mirror. “It’s coming from behind us.”

  The noise grew louder, the deep rumbling of an engine.

  “That’s a Harley,” Jessica said.

  Meg frowned. “A Harley?”

  “Davidson. My father had one. I’d know that sound anywhere.”

  The sound was close now. In the rearview mirror, a man sped around the corner on a motorbike. He wore a black jacket and his grey-black beard rippled in the wind.

  “That’s Bill.” Juliet spun around, holding onto the back of the driver’s seat to watch. Bill was heading directly at them without appearing to slow down as he approached the entrance to the main hospital car park.

  “He’s going to hit them,” Jessica said. She was referring to several infected that had wandered out of the parking lot after the black Mercedes.

  Juliet saw it unfold in her mind’s eye. There wasn’t time for Bill to stop. As the infected stepped out onto the road, Bill swerved at the last moment but struck an overweight man wearing a green hospital uniform.

  The bike revved and spun. Bill flew up into the air. He was lucky, Juliet thought, because he did an almost perfect vertical lift instead of tumbling forward. For a long moment, she thought he might crash into one of the cars parked along the street. He hit the road and somersaulted forward, then fell onto his side.

  “We have to help him,” Jessica said.

  But the remaining infected had other ideas. They were closest to Bill and headed his way.

  25

  Jim heard the infected dragging their feet over the concrete outside the garage as he hauled the old generator out from beneath the workbench against the side wall. They didn’t worry him too much at present; there was only the one preoccupied in the front garden and the other coming towards him from the house across the road as he closed the garage door. When the time came, he would open it and drive right through however many were there, just as he had done on the way to the house.

  The generator had a green sticker over the front, signifying its recent service. It was an older model, full of steel and bound to work forever, if given occasional love, but you couldn’t carry it around with ease like the modern ones. He supposed the newer ones had more functionality, and they should have upgraded a while back, but he didn’t see the point in throwing something out that essentially still worked.

  It was normally a two-man job putting it in the car, but he thought he would manage. He reached down and stuck both hands underneath it then bent his knees and lowered himself into a squat. Heaving and straining, he lifted, feeling the veins in his neck bulge with effort. The vehicle bounced as he dropped it onto the edge of the trunk, and then Jim rested, taking quicker breaths, content to be able to finish it. A noise sounded from outside, as if somebody had dropped a heavy object. Jim listened, waiting, until nothing more happened.

  He slid the generator further into the back of the SUV, but it became caught on the lip of the trunk and wouldn’t slide in the final six inches. He tried lifting, but at that height, he couldn’t get his hands underneath the base.

  Another bump sounded from outside, louder this time, followed by a crash of metal. The noises continued and it sounded like there was more than one or two of them out there now.

  He lifted the back end of the generator and pushed, trying to slide it in. It started to move, twisting the carpet mat, but allowed him to close the door.

  Breathing heavily, Jim strode to the window and climbed up onto the workbench. The angle wasn’t ideal, but he saw a few of them wandering around the backyard near the open doorway leading into the house. The driveway was hidden though. If there were more of them out there now, he wouldn’t know until he opened the door. And by then it might be too late. There was a second window on the other wall of the garage. Jim went to it and tried to peer around the front. He caught sight of the street and watched a number of them walking down the middle of the road towards his house. He pushed his head further out the window until he could observe the driveway. What he saw sent a jolt of shock through his body—there was a dozen or more in the driveway.

&nb
sp; “Shit.”

  He climbed down and stood in the center of the room, thinking. Jim figured he had two choices: open the garage and try to drive away, or wait and hope they leave. He was worried opening the door would let them all into the garage before he made it back to the car, or they’d block his way and he wouldn’t be able to get out. You’re over thinking it. But he didn’t like risk. He always made a point of avoiding it until absolutely necessary.

  He decided to wait a little while and began picking through the rest of the stuff he had gathered and stored over the last twenty years. Some years ago, Jim had purchased orange pallet racking off a mate who had worked for the company that manufactured the stuff. In it, Jim stored a couple of pallets filled with things Alesia hadn’t wanted in the house anymore. He discovered several items he thought might come in use at the school. A kit of vegetable seeds he intended planting in the backyard several seasons ago. Replacement wire for a clothesline with which he meant to fix the current, sagging one. A bar fridge, now sitting unused in the corner of the garage. It was lighter than the generator and he was able to slot it into the back seat without much difficulty.

  The banging on the door started soon after. Jim ran to the window again and saw a much larger number of the infected in the street, as if they were congregating outside the house. It suddenly felt much hotter in the garage.

  Maybe he should take the gamble and leave before more arrived. He’d done the drive through on the roadway. He had been worried about that, but he’d gone for it and succeeded. If he packed the car full, pulled the door up, and ran hard for the driver’s seat, he should be able to get the car out in time.

  He finished putting the last of the supplies he had gathered into the trunk, then stuffed some down behind the seat and around the bar fridge so it wouldn’t roll around. Then he climbed in and put the keys in the ignition.

  They were thumping against the garage now, hands and feet punching and kicking the door. Jim imagined them all standing out there, waiting to be let in. It sounded like there were dozens. An uneasy feeling filled him.

  He slammed the steering wheel, frustrated by his fears. The cold sweat of panic started crawling over his skin and into his belly.

  “You can do this.” He could do it. It was simply a matter of starting the car, opening the door, and getting back in as fast as he could, then driving backwards out of the garage.

  Now. Do it. Jim placed his fingers on the key and turned it. The car rumbled and then fell into idle.

  He opened the door and leapt out, hurrying to the roller door. Jim reached down and lifted, opening a gap with the concrete floor. The corrugated surface banged and buckled as the infected struck it, fighting to get inside. One of them fell onto the ground and began to crawl underneath. Panic gripped Jim. He imagined them pouring into the small room and overwhelming him, taking turns at ripping flesh from his bones. He leant on the handle and tried to push the door back down. When that didn’t work, he kicked with his left leg at the thing trying to climb underneath. It didn’t seem to bother the thing though. It slithered further inside as more bodies tried to force their way in. Jim slammed the bottom of the door and kicked once, twice, three times with end of his hard boot. Several retreated. He was able to lower it a few inches, but the thing crawling into the garage blocked the way. He slammed the door up and down onto its head but it kept wriggling forward until it was inside. Jim gave a final shove and the door struck the concrete hard, vibrating up his arm. He spun the latch and locked the mechanism with a click.

  Exhaust fumes filled the garage. Jim coughed, trying to clear his lungs, but the venomous carbon monoxide scratched his throat. The infected man, wearing a checkered shirt and white, blood-stained T-shirt, stood. Jim moved away as it groped for him, catching his shoulder. He cried out and staggered backwards, the thing close behind. He had to turn the car off. He slid past the bench and caught sight of a row of screwdrivers. Jim dove for one and got his hand around the green handle with a long shaft. He yanked it from its hook, but it caught on its holder and wouldn’t come free. The infected man was grunting and slurping right behind him. Stiff fingers fell on his shoulder. Jim fumbled for the screwdriver again and, this time, wrenched it free just as his attacker grabbed the back of his shirt.

  Jim swung around, slicing the long tip at the monster’s face and opening up a gash on its cheek, then shoved it away, but it recovered and lurched for him again. They wrestled, Jim fending it off with both hands, its bulging eyes and salivating mouth begging for his life. Jim managed to flip the screwdriver around with the shaft pointing down and drove it at the thing’s head. The screwdriver went wide, skimming its lacerated ear. Cramped, Jim snatched it back but missed. The man fell against him. Jim bounced off the wall and a space opened up between them. Jim stepped forward and drove the weapon into the side of the infected man’s face. Its eyes grew large and its body relaxed. Jim let go of the handle, and the thing slumped beside the car.

  He fell forward, coughing and gasping. The air was thick with exhaust fumes, and if he didn’t get ventilation quickly, he might die from carbon monoxide poisoning. Jim stepped over the body then staggered to the driver’s side, where he fell into the seat and twisted the key, shutting off the engine. The car grumbled and stopped. He tried to slide out, but another coughing fit racked him. It eventually passed, and somehow, he backed out of the driver’s seat and lurched to the window. He fumbled for the latch, shoved it open, then stuck his head out through the gap, gasping for fresh air.

  It was an incredible feeling. Jim sucked air deep into his lungs, savoring the freshness. He stood there for several minutes until his head began to clear. His throat burned, but he was alive. Several of the infected spied him and started towards the open window. Jim remained, breathing deeply as they kicked and clawed against the wall below. Then he went back in and staggered over to the window on the opposite side of the garage. By the time his lungs were clear again, he had a mob of infected at both windows, begging him to come out.

  With air now flowing through the garage from both sides, the room began to clear, but he was trapped with the body of the infected man. The banging on the door and walls seemed to get louder. Jim pulled out an old deck chair and slumped into it, ruing himself for not doing better in his planned escape.

  For now, he was stuck there.

  26

  Mac stepped onto the porch with Tyler and Ashleigh and guided them to the old wooden seat that his father built back when Mac had struggled to climb up on it. Tyler had his PSP game device and Ashleigh, a Roald Dahl book. He had left Smitty to drag the bodies out the back. Mac didn’t want the kids seeing their grandparents like that. The plan was to bury his parents before heading back to the hospital to collect Jessica.

  As a kid, Mac and his two brothers, Jason and David, had sat on the porch most summer evenings as the last shadows of darkness fell, eating icy poles after playing cricket. Often, they had begged their mother for more time to play, even if it meant risking a hit in the crown jewels down below because the ball had become a shadow. The battles were fierce and the winner would get bragging rights until the next evening.

  Dave had eventually played cricket for the Tasmanian under 19’s. Jason had become a zoologist at Tasmania University. He wondered where they were now. None of the boys kept in regular contact, but they’d catch up at Christmas or on their parents’ birthdays. They enjoyed each other’s company when it happened. Jason loved a joke and would always try to get one up on his two older brothers. Mac wondered how he would ever explain the present situation should he get the opportunity.

  He caught movement on a neighbor’s lawn several houses along the street. There was a man sitting on his knees in the yard, bent over something. After a moment, Mac realized it was eating a dead body. He had the inclination to go inside and get the M4, but the noise would draw others.

  Further along, another infected dragged a bad leg down the middle of the road. Mac wondered what was going on inside their heads. He sus
pected the virus had messed up most of their mental sensibility. He certainly hoped that was the case. God help the poor souls if they had any perception of what was happening. Mac wondered about the other inhabitants of the neighborhood. He suspected most had ended up like his parents. Penny and John Culverhouse, a middle-aged couple who had been neighbors for twenty-five years. The Florentines across the road; the Barkers in the next house down. In all likelihood, if these families had been around in the last two weeks, they were now infected, or dead.

  Mac turned away from the street and sat on the wooden seat. Tyler couldn’t look at him. He knew what had happened. The kid was intuitive—you couldn’t get much past the little man. When he was five, he’d lost a tooth playing football. Jess had left some money in a glass beside his bed. Tyler had taken the money the next morning with a smile, but when his mother had asked what was so funny, he thanked her. She had argued the point, but he’d said in a soft voice that it was physically impossible for a “fairy” to deliver money to all the kids in the world in one night. Mac had been impressed by that kind of thinking from a kid who couldn’t even loop his shoelaces in a bow.

  The door creaked open and Smitty joined them. “Done. Up near the woodshed.” Mac nodded. “I got a blanket from the cupboard and placed it over them both. We digging just the one hole?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” Mac nodded down the street.

  “You want the M4?”

  Mac shook his head. “Maybe as we leave. Don’t want to draw any more with the gunshots.”

  “Let’s get this done then.”

  They put the kids into Dave-O’s Commodore and drove around the back of the house and up the grass slope towards the woodshed. Mac parked in the shade, facing the kids away from the scene. He supposed Tyler would see them if he turned around.