by Owen Baillie
Kumiko opened the door, and Jim slipped past her; he smelt terrible. “We thought you were …”
“Dead?”
Kumiko nodded. Despite the smell, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. He returned the gesture. It was only brief, but it felt like the first real human interaction in days.
“I almost was, believe me. I’m as surprised as you that I’m standing here now.”
“I’m so glad you are,” Kumiko said, locking the door again. “And Dan will be too.” She read something more on Jim’s face: terrible concern. “What is it?”
“My daughters.” Jim explained the situation. “I’d go after them if I knew where they were.”
“I’m sorry. It must be difficult for you, not being able to help.”
Kumiko led Jim across the staff room and then got down onto her knees, indicating he should do the same. They crawled to where Dan sat with his back to the outer wall. His eyes lit up when he saw Jim. They shook hands, and Dan gave a brief explanation as to how they broke down the back fence.
Kumiko couldn’t get over Jim’s appearance. She had all but written him off, accepting the idea that she and Dan would have to work things out for themselves. Even though Jim had survived, it reminded her that it would be incredibly difficult to make it back to the hospital, and the idea left her somewhat depressed.
There was a thump against the glass. They all pressed back against the wall. Even from her angle, Kumiko saw one of the infected faces pressed against the window. It remained there a moment, sliding its fat, dark lips and peeling skin over the surface, leaving smears of some horrible fluid. They were worried the infected might realize they were inside the building and start smashing the windows. She lay back and closed her eyes, wondering how they would get out of this.
Kumiko felt something touch her hand. She jumped as she turned and saw Dan reaching for her. His forehead creased, jaw tight, his mouth flat and lifeless. It was an unfamiliar expression; she had mostly seen him smiling. She reached out and took his hand. The skin was surprisingly smooth, his touch light. A faint tingle went up her arm. It surprised her. She had never thought of Dan like that. Sure, he was handsome in a scruffy sort of way, but he was also a bit nerdy, almost goofy. He wasn’t the type of guy she normally went for, though he had a gentlemanly way about him that none of the guys she dated ever did. She squeezed his hand, and he smiled … a different smile than the one she had seen before, cautious and hopeful.
Jim had his eyes closed, head facing down between his knees. Kumiko knew he was thinking about his daughters.
When she checked the window again, the infected thing had moved along. “It’s gone.”
Jim rose onto his knees and peered out through the glass. “They have. But they won’t be far away.”
Hunched over, they moved back to the staff room. It was here they saw that a number of infected had surrounded Jim’s car, as if something of interest was inside. They stood at the doorway leading out onto the decking and watched them smear their grubby hands over the windows.
“They seem to like your car,” Dan said
Kumiko narrowed her eyes. There was something stuck to the front of the car. “What’s that?” It looked like …
“Oh, shit,” Jim said. “It’s an arm. I had to run over a few to escape my house. It must have gotten stuck in the grill plate.” It was a forearm covered in the bottom part of a white shirt. “We also need get what’s in that car,” Jim added. His expression changed. “I suppose the food is gone by now.”
“No,” Kumiko said with some relief. “The power came back on briefly yesterday.”
“I checked it earlier,” Dan said. “It hadn’t defrosted yet, but it won’t last much longer.”
“That’s something, at least. As long as we can get that generator.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“We’ll need to distract them,” Dan said.
Jim was nodding. “That’s exactly right.”
36
“I don’t like this,” Jessica said as Juliet raced along the street after the truck. The man in the front passenger seat waved them on.
“What part?” Juliet asked.
“The guy driving. There’s something strange about him.”
“Well,” Juliet said, fighting the wheel, “at this point, I don’t think we have an option.”
The laneway was narrow, walls and buildings on either side. She guessed they were at the back of a set of stores. The other car was flying. Infected stepped out of doorways and the big SUV ploughed through them.
“If we’d stayed there,” Meg said, “we’d be dead now. That lot would have gotten us.”
“Just see where they go,” Bill said. “We don’t have to keep following them.”
The truck made a sharp right and momentarily looked like it might not make the turn. Juliet spun the Mercedes around the corner with ease. They straightened up and drove down another long laneway with wire fences on either side. At the end, they turned right and hit the main drag again.
Back on the street, Meg said, “Oh lord Jesus, there’s so many.”
Juliet glanced in the mirror. It was a bigger group than the one from which they had just fled—more than a thousand, she guessed. They were all over the road, picking through the storefronts, packed together like an Indian train station.
“I don’t like this,” Jessica said. “Something isn’t right.”
Meg sat forward. “Well, we can’t go back. We have to keep going now.” She stared at Jessica, waiting for a response. “Just follow that truck; they seem to know what they’re doing.”
Juliet did, but only because any other move at this point would lead them to more infected. She decided if they didn’t like where they were going, they could just leave.
Ahead, the street seemed to narrow into a dead end. One side was a pile of cars, battered and smashed, as though a major pile up had occurred and the vehicles had been pushed to the side. It was a wrecking yard. On the opposite front was a large brick building with a fence around the perimeter.
“What’s that ahead?” Meg asked.
Gates, Juliet saw. Large steel gates that started to move. Several men were pulling them open. The red brake lights of the truck in front glowed as it slowed on approach.
“Keep up,” Meg said.
Juliet touched the brake. Last chance to turn around, her voice of intuition said. But turning back was turning into certain death. Only Jessica had voiced any concern, and she had not said anything for a time. At least behind gates they had sanctuary, respite from the infected.
The truck stopped as the gates made their final arc. Juliet pulled up behind it. One of the men holding the gate open peered their way. He wore a T-shirt, and at the end of a heavily tattooed arm, held a rifle.
“Turn back,” Jessica said, her voice urgent and terrified.
“Don’t you dare,” Meg replied. “We’re dead out here.”
There was a knock on the back of the car. A man had moved to the trunk and was now urging them forward. The truck moved off. “I can’t go back,” Juliet said. If she reversed, she’d run the man over.
She eased the vehicle forward. The truck had passed through the open gates, and beyond, Juliet saw a large red-brick building and light-colored earth, thick with dust. There were people standing around watching, and as a long-haired man with a beard and a leather vest signaled for her to park off to the side, an uneasy feeling crept over her. The others were all of similar appearance—armed with weapons, long hair tied back or shaved heads, leather pants, leather boots. Nobody inside the vehicle spoke. Juliet put the car into park and pulled on the handbrake. In the mirror, she saw the wide double gates closing.
“Hell-o,” a booming voice called out. It was one of the men from the truck that had provided them safe passage. “Come on out. Don’t be shy.”
Juliet glanced around at the others. Jessica was grim. Bill watched them through the window with a stern expression. Even Meg w
ore an expression of caution. “Let’s get out. We’ve done nothing to bother them yet.”
The driver’s door opened and a man wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt reached in and took Juliet by the arm. He helped her out, though she could have managed it herself. She glanced up at his tanned, shaven head and found narrow brown eyes and a creepy smile regarding her. Around them, a line of others appeared, all dressed similarly with their rough clothes and dirty demeanors.
The man from the truck wore black leather pants and a vest covering a white T-shirt, with long, curly blond hair peeking out at the bottom of a red bandana tied around his head.
“What a lovely set of wheels,” he said, running his hand over the sleek black surface of the Mercedes. The others had exited the car and stood beside Juliet, Bill battling to stay upright. She supposed she should say something. They were alive because of the men in the truck.
“Thank you for your help,” Juliet said. “I don’t know if we would have made it without you guys.”
Red bandana stared at her with his piercing blue eyes. “No, I doubt you would have. We’ve seen plenty perish in the same circumstances.”
Black jeans, who’d helped Juliet out of the car, walked around Jessica, almost ogling her. Bill watched him, shifting balance to his good leg. Jessica ignored it. “How long do you think before it’s clear out there?”
“It’s never clear out there,” Red Bandana said, and there was tightness in his jaw that scared Juliet.
One of the men opened the trunk of the Mercedes. Two others joined him from the throng standing around and they began removing the supplies.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Juliet asked, stepping towards the trunk. The creepy guy in black jeans who had helped her out of the car grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back into line.
Bill stepped forward and grabbed the man’s arm. Another man with a ponytail and a tight fitting black T-shirt rushed in and struck Bill across the back with a club, making a sound like a shovel patting down dirt. Bill’s right leg buckled, but he didn’t fall. He turned around and punched the man in the nose. The man’s eyes went wide and he fell backwards, the club sailing through the air as he struck the dusty ground with a grunt.
Red Bandana had a pistol pointed at Bill in an instant. “Now that wasn’t very nice, was it?”
Bill said nothing. He eyed the gun as if it were a snake about to bite. The man with the ponytail rolled over and climbed to his feet. A trickle of blood leaked from one nostril. Chuckling, he swiped the club from the dirt and swung it in a wide arc into Bill’s stomach.
This time, Bill bent over, but still he did not fall. Ponytail swung again. Bill turned sideways and took the force of the club in the ribs. The man struck again in Bill’s lower back.
“STOP IT!” Juliet screamed, spittle flying from her lips. She stepped between Bill and Ponytail, her face strained. “What are you people doing? We’ve done nothing to you. He’s done nothing.”
Ponytail touched his bleeding nose. “He hit me.”
“You grabbed Jessica!”
Another man with a handsome face and a receding hairline took hold of Bill and pulled him away. Red Bandana snickered. Ponytail cocked the club, letting everyone know he was ready for another go.
“Put ‘em in the holding cells. We’ll deal with them later.”
Another set of hands shoved Juliet forward. “What are you doing? We’re supposed to be working together to survive these things. Not against each other.”
“We are surviving,” the man with the red bandana said. “We’re surviving just fine.”
37
They drove south in a crooked line, working their way through the backstreets of Latrobe towards the Bass Highway, and beyond, to Mole Creek. A feeling of emptiness at Jessica’s absence settled in the pit of Mac’s stomach. The kids kept asking for her, but Mac provided no satisfactory answers. Eventually, Tyler and Ashleigh said nothing, staring out the window, lost in their own thoughts.
They turned off the main highway onto Yan Yean Road, passing through light scrub along the roadside and a sprinkle of buildings nestled between gum trees and thicker brush set back from the road. Mac liked this area—it wasn’t quite as remote as his property, but there were generally less people, which probably meant fewer infected under the current circumstances. To his surprise, Mac noticed a gathering of nasty clouds had moved across the sky towards them.
Smitty must have done the same. “Rain comin’.”
It was about two miles along the winding road, at a roundabout that they saw the sign. A brown slab of board read: TURN RIGHT IN 500 YARDS AT SCHOOL. FOOD & SHELTER AVAILABLE.
Mac rolled through the roundabout into a series of sweeping bends, and just as the view of the school appeared on the right, they spotted something blocking the road ahead. He slowed the car. At first, he didn’t recognize it. The long, cylindrical body lay crossways from the high bank on the left to the lower ditch on the right. A red and yellow SHELL logo peered at them.
“Bloody petrol tanker,” Smitty said. He sat forward. “You think it’s full?”
“I doubt it,” Dutch said. “Thing probably would have exploded already.”
“I can’t see a way around it,” Mac said. “Either of you?”
Neither man said anything. Poking around the truck were a dozen or more infected, but it wasn’t the truck they had come to see. Others were milling at the school fence, and beyond, inside the school grounds, Mac saw dozens more wandering about.
With the Stevens shotgun in hand, Dutch opened the door and climbed out. “Let’s take a look.”
“Wait, Dutch,” Mac said, but it was too late. Dutch had closed his door and was walking towards the school fence. “Shit.” Mac climbed out. “Dutch!”
Smitty followed with the M4 in hand. “I’ll go with him.”
Mac was torn. Did he leave the kids and go with Dutch and Smitty, or wait with them? Tyler started to get out. “Hey,” Mac said, rapping on the window. Tyler’s eyes widened. “You’re not getting out. Stay in the car.” There was no negotiation in his tone.
Mac jogged to Ken and Shelli and crouched by the window. “They’re just going to take a closer look and see what’s going on in the school. You read the sign?”
“Yeah,” Ken said. “Sounds like they got a place for people to go.”
“I don’t know this area very well, Ken. What about you? Is there another way to Mole Creek from here?”
Ken shook his head. “This is the only way, Mac. Unless we go back to Frankford, but then the road south from there is blocked too.”
Gunfire sounded from ahead. Dutch was going to work with the shotgun. Mac stood on his toes to see over Dave-O’s black Commodore and saw both men taking aim at the infected around the tanker. Three more blasts sounded, followed by several M4 rounds, until bodies lay over the ground. The boys jogged to the school fence. Mac felt an itch to join them.
“You think there’s people inside?” Ken asked.
“Maybe.”
Dutch and Smitty jogged back to Mac. “We’re going in,” Smitty said. “There are people inside in trouble that need help.”
Mac tapped his foot with indecision. He needed to reach Mole Creek, but they couldn’t get past for now. He knew the boys were always ready for a fight, had probably been itching for it under the current conditions. “Perhaps there’s way through the school,” Mac said. “If we help clear it, we might be able to drive around to the other side and get past this thing.”
Ken said, “We’ll look after the kids.”
Mac pulled the Commodore over to the side of the road and took the other shotgun from the trunk, along with a dozen extra shells he stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. Then he escorted the kids to Ken and Shelli’s car.
“You stay here with Uncle Ken and Auntie Shell, okay?” Mac said, opening the back door. Both nodded. He kissed them on the head. “I’ll be back soon.”
Mac closed the door and went to the driver’s open window. He didn
’t need to tell Ken and Shelli to take care of his children. They had done so countless times and he knew they’d give their own lives if it ever came to that. Mac hoped, on this occasion, it did not.
Mac took his glasses off. “You don’t hang around if things somehow get messy. You turn around and drive on down that road until you’re safe.” Ken shifted in his seat. “You hear me, Ken? I’ve never asked you directly to do something before, but I’m asking now.” He stuck out his hand. Ken stared at it for a long time, as if he didn’t want to shake it, because doing so would obligate him to do what Mac wanted. Ken Palfrey was such a man, the kind that didn’t need contracts or agreements, the kind that if he shook your hand and gave his word, he’d die before dishonoring it.
“I can’t shake your hand, Mac.” Ken broke eye contact and peered out the window. “You’re like a son to me. Maybe even better than my own son, who never bothered to call me much.” He rubbed a stubble-covered cheek. “I’m gonna wait here and if you need us, we’ll be ready.” He turned to Mac. “The only time I might bolt for it is if your kids look like they might be hurt. Then, I’ll do what I have to do to protect them, first and foremost.”
Mac smiled. “That’s all I ask, my friend.” He clapped Ken on the shoulder then walked away from the car.
They would help these people and find a solution to getting past the tanker. They were walking into another fight, albeit one that Dutch was insisting on starting. And while somewhat prepared, these situations had no real planning or tactical knowledge with which to take down the infected. They would, in a sense, be winging it. He had to get through to Mole Creek and this was probably their best chance.