by Owen Baillie
Meg reached the store first, huddled over, her face a tight mask of terror. The door slid open. Jessica and Bill followed moments later as the first infected had reached the curb just beyond the black Mercedes. Juliet went to a switch on the wall and turned the automatic sliding doors to MANUAL mode. She closed the doors, bringing together two metal plates through which a padlock would normally be hooked. She needed something to secure them.
“I need a padlock to keep this closed,” Juliet said. “Try over there.” She pointed towards a section with shiny labeled bottles of motor oil.
Meg and Jessica moved quickly. “Got one,” Jessica said. She grabbed a handful of products off the shelf and hurried to Juliet. There were three different sizes. Juliet pointed to the one she thought was most suitable. Jessica ripped it out of the package and handed it over.
Juliet hooked it through the holes and snapped it shut. “Just in case.” A number of infected had almost reached the store, while others were hovering around the Mercedes. “Stay down.”
Crouching low, they all moved away from the door until they were huddled behind the counter, which they considered the safest part of the store. If they stretched their necks, they might see through packaging against the window and out onto the street with minimal risk of being uncovered.
“You think they can smell us?” Meg asked.
“I’m not sure,” Juliet said, lifting her head to look over the fuel device. More of the infected had left the roadway and filled the space under the fuel station’s broad awning. No question now that the infected sensed their presence.
Grimacing, Bill slid down the wall as he stretched out his leg. “I need to look at that,” Juliet said. Bill gave a nod. “You need to keep it still for now. I need to find a cold compression and get it elevated.”
“I ain’t going anywhere.”
The supplies she’d brought from the hospital were still in the car. “Let me check what this store has got.”
Service stations generally had basic medical supplies—antiseptic ointment, band aids, pain relief tablets. Hunched over, Juliet made her way through the short aisles to the medicinal section. There wasn’t much on the shelf, but she did take a bandage and some Nurofen pain tablets. From a small frozen section of the refrigeration area, Juliet found a tub of ice cream and took this too, even if it would only be useful for a short time.
As she turned to go back to Bill and the others, Juliet caught movement at the front door. She froze when she spotted one of the infected standing on the other side of the glass.
Juliet hurried on, but it was too late. The thing had spotted her. It thumped on the door as a second joined it, hammering their fists and demanding to be let in.
28
It was getting late. The heat was still baking, despite the sun dipping slowly towards the horizon in the west. Mac yearned for an end to the sticky, relentless warmth. While the brief spurt of rain the day before was welcomed, they needed much more.
It would take them ten minutes to reach Latrobe. They took empty backstreets as they drove away from Devonport. Mac felt like they were finally going in the right direction. Out the rear window, Smitty spotted plumes of smoke rising in the distance. Buildings were starting to burn. Countless cars were parked against the curbs and forgotten in the streets, more broken glass scattered across the roads. Long lines of cars caused traffic delays as citizens had tried to leave the area. There were no signs of healthy people, but the dead roamed like lost souls, picking about the rubble and rubbish, walking in groups to some destination or another. It was easy to avoid them. Mostly they stayed on the footpaths and in front gardens, and when they wandered onto the street, Mac slowed and nudged them out the way. They did not attack the vehicles. Many were sitting in huddles, eating the dead. It was horrible, but their sensitivity had begun to diminish.
“Maybe the authorities made it in.”
Mac felt validation a few minutes later when a police car rolled in from the other direction. They pulled over as the policeman waved a hand out the window. One of them, with a boyish face and a thick head of dark hair, poked his head out the window. “What are you folks doing in this area?”
“Heading towards Mersey Community,” Mac said.
The man shook his head and wiped a finger over his sweaty brow. “No, sir. It’s out of bounds. Too dangerous.”
Mac felt his gut tighten. “I need to get back there. My wife’s getting treatment.”
The policeman glanced at his partner. An older, mustached man in the passenger seat spoke with a slow, almost colloquial accent. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Mersey Community Hospital is no more. The army went earlier today to evacuate the remaining sick, but the effort failed. We don’t know exactly what went on, but they ended up firebombing the place. There’s … not much left.”
Mac’s dry throat clicked as he tried to swallow. He glanced back at the kids and saw them discussing a book. Neither had heard or interpreted the policeman’s words. He cleared his throat. “I’d still like to go in and have a look.”
“I’d strongly suggest you refrain from doing that,” the older cop said.
“What about the military?” Smitty asked.
The younger policeman said, “Most available units are being sent into the major cities. Word is the military is fighting the bulk of the infected population in Hobart and Launceston. Devonport isn’t considered as bad.”
“You wanna get to Mole Creek,” the older policeman said. “Word is the military has a safe zone set up. Most people in the area are going there. I heard they got fences around the place.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “I reckon if anybody survived this mess, that’s where they’d be headed.”
“Thanks,” Mac said. “We’ll check it out.”
The policeman bid them farewell and reminded them of the danger closer to the city. Despite the warnings, Mac had to check the hospital. If the place was destroyed and Jess was dead, Mac needed proof with his own eyes. Otherwise, he’d always be drawn back to the place and wouldn’t be able to move on.
As they approached the site, fresh smoke plumes rose lazily towards the blue sky. Mac knew what that meant. He had witnessed the scars of fire and bombs in the Middle East, the residue of a burnt world, the aftermath of heavy firepower. The hospital building was like something out of a foreign war. Half the structure had been reduced to smoldering rubble, including the emergency section on the west side. Orange flames were everywhere, and at the core of the emergency ward, a towering blaze continued to burn, like a giant’s bonfire. Scattered about the parking lot were bodies—mostly the infected, but also various camouflage-clad limbs. All about were the black wounds of destruction. Mac read the scene—the overturned trucks, the bodies, and the smoke. There had been too many of them and fire-bombing had been the only way to end the carnage.
“Doesn’t mean she ended up in that,” Smitty said.
“I know.” Mac didn’t believe Jessica was dead. He had no evidence to support that, but his intuition assured him it was so.
Mac let the car idle as he thought. His head was filled with conflicting thoughts, analysis of what might or might not have been. According to the policeman, Mole Creek was the place to go. If there had been any survivors, they’d be headed that way. But what if Jess had been able to somehow find a way home? What if they had been evacuated, and she was taken there? It was a long shot, but one Mac wasn’t prepared to ignore.
“Where to?” Smitty asked.
“Home first,” Mac said. “And then we check out this Mole Creek.”
As they pushed southeast on the Bass Highway away from the hospital, the number of infected dramatically reduced. They turned left onto Oppenheims Road, which turned into Frankford Road. The smell of bush and eucalyptus replaced the thick scent of death, carnage, and destruction. They saw the first eastern-grey kangaroo as they hit the Franklin Rivulet Forest Reserve, rolling hills of thick, green bushland that would follow them all the way to Frankford. Soon after, Tyler spo
tted a wombat burrowing into the scrub at the side of the bitumen. For Mac, it was a small sign that not everything in the world had gone to hell.
Twenty-five minutes later, he pulled into the driveway with the kids showing a moment of excitement at being home. Mac was disappointed to find the driveway empty, though someone may have already dropped Jessica off, perhaps even Juliet or Seth.
The kids leapt out of the car the moment it stopped, yelling for their dog, Holly, who usually sat on the back porch waiting for them to get home from school. She was a German Shepherd—fast and fearsome whenever someone unknown entered the property, but loveable and beautiful with the children.
While Mac searched the house to see if Jessica was inside, Smitty searched the perimeter—M4 in hand—including the woodshed and the garage. There was no sign of Jess or the dog. Instead, they found Dutch sitting on the back step.
“I had nowhere else to go,” Dutch said, when Mac quizzed his appearance.
“Any word from Tammi and the kids?” Mac asked. Dutch shook his head. “Jesus, man, I’m sorry.”
Dutch wouldn’t look at Mac. Between thick fingers, he pulled a stick apart as he spoke, a slow resignation in his movements. “Hobart is totally fucked, mate. I searched all the news reports and all I could find was that the area where her parents live has been overrun.” He kept peeling the stick but eventually looked up at Mac with a pleading, helpless expression.
Mac squatted and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. They had trudged the barren wastelands of Afghanistan, clearing out villages and digging their way through mountain ranges searching for the Taliban. They had saved each other’s lives with their actions, but when it came to comforting words, Mac was struggling to provide anything of substance. “Don’t give up yet, mate.”
Dutch tossed the stick away.
Mac led them all inside, skirting the house before letting the kids free. He told them to find the dog, and they ran off looking for her. Mac was amazed at their adaptability. Both grandparents had just died and they’d almost been killed, but they were able to move on. Dutch disappeared into the bathroom.
“That’s why I never got hitched and had a family,” Smitty said, standing in the kitchen as Mac took the keys to his gun safe from a hook beneath the kitchen sink.
“Oh yeah?”
“You’re too exposed; too bloody open to the world of suffering. You love ‘em so much, but if anything happens to them, it kills you. I couldn’t handle it if I had a wife or kids and then something happened to them. Like Dutch now. He’ll never recover from that.”
“They might not be gone yet.”
Smitty shrugged. “Good chance they are, and Dutch knows it.”
Mac leant against the sink and folded his muscly arms. “You’re right, you’re not as exposed. But I can tell you, my man, it’s worth the risk. You’ll never get the same joy from anything else in your entire life that you will from being married and having kids. Especially kids. Nothing comes close.”
“I’ll take your word for it, Mac. My time has run out.”
“It’s never too late, buddy.”
The kids ran in from the hallway. Tyler said, “Dad, we can’t find Holly.”
“Not in her kennel?” Ashleigh shook her head. “You check out the back?”
“Yes. She’s not there.”
“She has to be somewhere.” Mac scooped his gun off the bench and led the kids out onto the back porch. They ran down the stairs, calling Holly’s name. It was still warm and humid, but a single ominous cloud now sat in the western sky.
Mac considered where the dog might be hiding. They had a large property and during the hotter months, she was sometimes found beneath the cool of the willow trees near the back fences.
“We can’t leave her, Dad. She’s part of our family, too.”
“We won’t,” Mac said.
He followed the kids as they scoured the property. She wasn’t under the willow trees near the back fence. She wasn’t hiding near the shed, and she certainly wasn’t in her kennel. Mac stopped the search soon after, resigned to the fact that she wasn’t on the property. On occasion, she’d gotten through the side fence into his neighbor’s yard, but she always returned. He hoped that was the case now.
“Let’s go back inside,” Mac said. “We can wait a while.” Hands dragging at his sides, Tyler looked solemn as he trudged towards the back porch. Mac put a hand on his shoulder. “She’ll turn up, mate.”
Back inside, Mac filled glasses from the cupboard with water and they all swallowed them down without stopping, eagerly accepting refills. Tyler and Ashleigh disappeared, Dutch and Smitty sat on stools at the bench, while Mac pulled out a kitchen chair, thinking about Jessica and what might have happened. The only plausible option—the only one he would dare think about at present, was that she’d been transported from the hospital to the Mole Creek army site. It made sense—surely they wouldn’t have left people in there while they were fire-bombing the place.
Tyler tossed an old photo album onto the table top then pulled out a chair and climbed up. Ashleigh did the same. When Tyler opened it, Mac spotted a faded photograph of his father dressed in uniform during his time in Vietnam. Mac tousled Tyler’s hair, knowing he’d dug out the album to remember his grandfather. The kid was hurting again but doing his best not to show it. Mac stood, kissed them both on the top of the head, and walked into the lounge room.
“What now?” Smitty asked.
Mac sat back and folded his hands behind his head. “Mole Creek, I guess. See whether Jess was taken there.”
Smitty nodded. “How long from here?”
“An hour, depending on … you know.”
“When?”
“We can’t leave without Holly, Dad.” Tyler stared at him from the table, brow furrowed, eyes hard. Nothing gets past that kid, Mac thought.
Mac knew Tyler wouldn’t let them leave without her. Besides, after losing both grandparents, losing the dog might mess him up even more. “I know, buddy, we’re not giving up on her yet.” Tyler’s face washed over with relief. Mac hoped it wasn’t the wrong decision.
There was an urgent knock on the front door. Mac stood and followed the hallway that led to the entrance. He glanced back towards the kitchen, wondering whether he should have the M4 with him. He didn’t think the infected knocked on doors though.
A muffled voice sounded from the other side. “Mac? Mac, it’s me.”
Mac knew that voice. He reached out, turned the handle, and snatched the door open. A middle-aged couple in their late fifties stood before him. Shelli and Ken Palfrey were their neighbors—had lived on the road for more than thirty years, before it had been sub-divided into smaller lots from the original farm. If Mac had conjured up the perfect set of neighbors, Shelli and Ken were it. Shelli cared for the kids like she was their grandmother. Ken would bring over a beer or two at least one night a week, and they’d drink on the front porch watching the sunset, or around the woodpile out the back in winter, chewing the fat. They were fabulous people, cultured country folk, the finest kind. Mac had never heard Shelli say a bad word about anybody. Ken was like a second father, always offering advice—most of it pretty good.
“Shelli, Ken,” he said in a flat tone. “Are you guys all right?” It was a question—a check—more than anything. Of course, he hoped they were healthy, but if either of them were sick, Mac wouldn’t hesitate to close the door.
“We’re fine, Mac,” Ken said, removing his baseball cap. “Just fine. How are you? And Jess and the kids?”
“Jessica is sick. I took her to Mersey Community in Latrobe, but she was all right the last time I saw her.”
The older couple glanced at each other, their faces tight with worry. The sorrow in their expressions was touching. Shelli came forward and gave him a strong hug. She lowered her voice. “We heard the Mersey was firebombed by the army.”
“Yeah, I know,” Mac said. “We went there earlier. Apparently, they got some of the people out and took them to
Mole Creek.”
Shelli let out a big sigh and put a hand on Ken’s arm. “Thank goodness for that.”
Ken gave Mac a reassuring look. “I bet she’s down there already, safely behind those fences. We heard about Mole Creek on the ABC’s emergency broadcast station.”
Mac pulled the door open all the way. “You wanna come in?”
“Thank you, Mac. We’d like that,” Shelli said.
Ken slipped his hat back on as they passed through the doorway. “What you planning?”
Mac closed the door and led them down the hallway towards the kitchen. “Head on down to Mole Creek and find out if Jessica’s there.”
Mac made the introductions with Smitty and Dutch. Tyler and Ashleigh were pleased to see them and leapt off their chairs to hug both Ken and Shelli. Maybe the older couple’s arrival was exactly what the kids needed. He told them of his parents’ fate—Ken and Shelli having known them from the kids’ birthday parties.
“What about your kids?” Mac asked.
“We’ve heard nothing from either of them,” Ken said. “Though we’ve been told both Sydney and Melbourne have been hit hard.”
“And what’s your plan?”
Ken glanced at Shelli. “We don’t really have one. We’re almost out of food, and we haven’t left the house in more than a week.”
“Maybe that’s why we’re not sick,” Shelli said.
Ken continued. “We’re worried it’s just a matter of time before those things attack our property.” He wore a grim expression. “Truth is, Mac, that’s why we came over. We’d be grateful for any help. We figured you’d have a plan and would know what to do.”
“At this point, Mole Creek is the plan. This place isn’t secure enough to hold the infected if they come this way. Fine by us if you guys wanna tag along.”