Greg passed her a cup of coffee from a flask they had prepared at the lake. “Thank you,” Kristy said with a smile.
She marvelled at the change in him over the past four weeks. Whilst he still burped, swore and drank too much beer, he had shown a side uncommon in men, uncommon to her, anyway. Greg had shared the burden of chores and followed her instructions without complaint, including washing clothes, dishes and cleaning up. He had also cooked, served, killed and cleaned their meat catches with a sense of satisfaction. Whenever he had made food or acquired a drink, he always asked others, especially her. She had known for some time that Greg liked her. He hadn’t made it obvious, but something Callan had said at a party awhile back made her aware. She was flattered, but having known him since she they were teenagers, she considered him a brother rather than a potential lover.
“Nice?” He said.
She nodded, sipping. “Yeah.”
Since they had found the old couple at the gas station, Greg’s frivolous nature had vanished. “You’re not making jokes or playing around anymore? I don’t remember seeing you like this.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Something’s not right here. I’ve got a bad feeling about this one.” He considered his next words. “To be honest, I’m scared.”
“You? Scared?” The idea twisted her stomach. Greg was what Callan called country tough, a man who had fought bushfires and floods, toiled for days on end without rest, and suffered injuries working on the land that would have sent lesser men to hospital. Kristy had never known him to be scared.
“Losing your parents makes you different. It’s not something you can control. You’re vulnerable. You can be tough, fight hard, and never give in, but still lose. My grandparents are all I have left, all I’ve really known. If they’re gone.” He glanced off into the bushes. “I don’t know what I’d do, but I’d be alone.”
Kristy flushed with sorrow. It was a huge contrast for a man who previously had never seemed to take life seriously and or have a worry in the world. She realised that the rest of their problems were faint compared to his suffering. Greg was an electrician, spending his days wiring houses around Albury and Wodonga. He worked hard, enjoyed the football, and his mates. Kristy had never seen him so serious, despite the challenges he had overcome. She felt a sudden admiration for him and wished she could ease his concern.
“No you won’t,” she said, taking his free hand. “I don’t think that will happen and I pray it doesn’t, but if it does, you’ll have us. Callan and I, we are your family. We’ve always been family.” She thought about the next sentence, but then she couldn’t stop it. “I’ve always thought of you as a brother. You are my brother.”
He scrunched his face. “A brother?”
Regret filled her. “We’ve known each other since we were, what, I must have been six?”
He chuckled. “I used to pull those long blonde pigtails of yours.”
Kristy laughed. “You did. But you also beat up any boy who tried to hurt me.”
“Yeah, I nearly broke Brad Taylor’s arm when he tried to kiss you.” They both laughed.
Kristy remembered the incident. She had suspected Brad liked her, but he spent days chasing her around the schoolyard calling her names she didn’t know existed. Eventually, Kristy had grown sick of it and faced him. Brad had grabbed her shoulders and tried to plant a kiss on her lips, but she had fought him, screaming and kicking. Nearby, Greg had leapt on the smaller boy, pinning his arm behind his back until through tears, he had apologised. “Nobody bothered me again.”
“So that means… as a kind of brother…”
A sickly feeling reared, and her mouth curled down at the edges. She tried to explain, but only shook her head and said, “No. Not that. I’m sorry.”
“That’s cool. Cal would probably kill me anyway.”
“Yeah,” she said, knowing the truth.
His face looked flushed and one finger curled around his necklace. She scratched for a subject change. “What’s that?”
“This? It was my fathers,” he said, thumbing a silver medal on the end of the black chord.
She frowned. “I haven’t seen it before.”
“Nah, just put it on today. I wore it the first day but didn’t want to lose it in the lake. My grandmother found it while she was cleaning out some old boxes. It’s a service award from the Vietnam war.”
“Your father was in Vietnam?”
Greg smiled. “Yeah. He did two tours.”
“Wow. I never knew that.”
His mouth curled down and he looked off into the distance. “Grandma says that’s why he was so fucked up. He came back the second time with gunshot wounds and got hooked on the painkillers and then moved to the grog. She said he could never get over the shit that happened there. You know he died choking on his own vomit after drinking for three days straight?”
Kristy was speechless. They knew the death of Greg’s father had been alcohol related, but the circumstances horrified her. She felt a deep sadness.
The others appeared from the toilets.
“If you can keep this to yourself, I’d appreciate it.”
“Of course,” Kristy said. “Greg, I’m so sorry. The rest of us take our parents for granted. What your father must have gone through… and then you not having him as part of your life. It makes me so sad.”
He nodded. “Me too.”
Kristy visited the bathroom under a cloud of melancholy, and then they sat on the grey faded tables eating packets of potato chips and twisties as boiling grey clouds crept across the sky. A cooler, moist smell had drifted in on the breeze, promising rain. Callan and Greg secured the Jeep’s cover as the girls sought jackets to curb the dropping temperature.
“We’re about two hours from Albury,” Callan said. “This might sound a bit crazy but I’m gonna use an old back road my dad used to take me on that runs alongside the Murray River, rather than stick to the main highway. We’ll meet up with the Hume Highway just below Holbrook. Come into town from Table Top road.”
“Why?” Greg said.
“It’s quieter. Less people. I don’t want any more confrontations like the one we had.”
“No towns along those roads,” Dylan said.
“Just a tiny gas station my dad used to stop at. It’s probably a little quicker, too.”
“There are farms all around here,” Sherry said. “Should we stop in and see if they can tell us anything?”
“The old man came from one of those farms,” Callan said. “They might be infected. He mentioned someone getting his wife. Sounds dangerous. Could be looters about, too.”
“What about going to the police?” Sherry said.
Callan said, “Nothing out this way, but it’s a good idea and we should head there when we arrive into Albury.”
“I agree,” Dylan said. “You know we should be prepared for the worst. If this thing has gotten into the town, there’s a fair chance some of the people we know might be infected, or worse.”
“Let’s not get presumptuous,” Callan said.
“He’s right,” Sherry said. “The newspaper said millions were dead on the east coast.”
“Doesn’t mean Albury is infected.”
“That was three weeks ago,” Dylan said.
Kristy said, “The old man said the symptoms started yesterday, which indicates the virulence is high and it moves quickly.”
“Will they be working on a vaccine somewhere?” Greg said.
“Maybe. Do you remember the H1N1 virus a few years ago? It took a few months to formulate a vaccine.”
Callan laughed. “You’re dramatizing it. Flu strains come and go every few years. Who knows if that guy wasn’t just crazy?”
“Just be prepared,” Dylan said, walking off to stretch his legs.
3. The Checkpoint
They stopped at another gas station in heavy scrub, no more than a dilapidated shack sprouting an ancient bowser with the faded MOBIL logo on it. Two cars sat out the front and d
ust clung to the windows in a thick film. Callan wanted to keep the fuel tank full and although the place appeared deserted, Greg decided to look inside. Kristy needed to stretch her legs.
Sherry had fallen asleep and Dylan couldn’t be bothered moving, preferring to sit and consider the circumstances with greater thought. This happened whenever he felt nervous or stressed and wouldn’t cease until the issue was resolved. He thought it might be a long time before that happened. He wound down the window and the strong smell of gum leaves filled the car.
Sherry opened one sleepy eye and said, “Where are we?”
“Another gas station on some dirt road in the middle of nowhere.” He thought about joining Kristy. He wasn’t fond of Sherry, although she seemed compelled to unload her problems on him and had done so a number of times on the trip. She and Callan had seemed distant over the past five weeks and Sherry had told him one or two minor things. He felt for Callan having to put up with her bossy, obnoxious ways, and nothing he did ever made her happy. His obsequious efforts gained little thanks. It reminded Dylan that she had referred to an incident a few days ago during a brief discussion but had not elaborated. It had roused his curiosity.
“Great. Another delay.”
Dylan added unrealistically impatient to her list of flaws. “The other day when we were talking near the swimming hole, you mentioned an incident that had happened before the trip.”
Sherry watched Callan pump gas. Kristy was standing in the doorway of the shack, talking to Greg who was inside. Sherry let out a big sigh. “I cheated on Callan,” she said.
Dylan’s mouth fell open. It was the last thing he had expected her to say.
“You’re not gonna say anything to that?”
“To be honest, I couldn’t think of an appropriate response. Are you joking?”
“No. No joke.”
“Why haven’t you told him? You haven’t, otherwise he’d be majorly pissed.”
She shrugged. “I will. When we get home.”
“Shit. This whole time you’ve been carrying that around.”
“I know. It’s been difficult.”
“Not for you. For him! You’ve been pretending to love him.”
“I stopped doing that a while ago.”
“Oh fuck me. Why are you telling me this?”
“You asked, and I’ve got nobody else.”
“Why did you come on this trip?”
She rolled her tongue over her lip. “Guilt, and I wanted see if there was any love left.”
Dylan closed his eyes and lowered his head. Callan wouldn’t think so, but he was better off without Sherry. What a mess. Nobody deserved this. The guy was hapless with girls. Dylan thought back to grade ten. He knew Callan still blamed him for his breakup with Emma Sandhurst. Dylan had barely spoken to her. She had chased him and he’d been as confused as everybody why she’d done it. It wasn’t his style to pursue an attached girl. Emma had fed Dylan lies and he had gone along with it, probably making it seem worse to Callan. They had been peripheral friends until that point. A shocking thought formed in his mind.
“Who was it? And don’t you dare fucking tell me it was Johnny.” Sherry looked away. “Noooo. No. Come on Sherry. One of his best mates? He loves Johnny. Are you trying to fuck him up completely?” Tears ran from the corners of her eyes. “Anyone but Johnny.”
The door opened and Callan jumped in. Dylan’s heart froze.
“What’d you say about Johnny?”
Sherry wiped at the tears. “We were just talking,” Dylan said, his heart thundering, “about who might have survived. We thought Johnny was a sure thing to have bunkered down somewhere safely.”
“You bet,” Callan said. “No chance that he’s sick. He’s too smart and tough. Are you okay babe?” Sherry took his hand. “It’s okay. Johnny will be fine. Our parents will be fine.”
Dylan turned away, supressing disgust. He was ready to explode. He hated knowing secrets. He had a bad habit of inadvertently making them known.
Greg and Kristy returned empty. The place was deserted, no phones or newspapers, little food. No dead people in the house out the back either. They drove away and Dylan felt the secret like a lump of ice in his gut.
He checked his phone again but there was still no service. Not even the “SOS only” message. He needed to talk to his father. Dylan was certain he would be across the virus, collecting papers and making notes. He’d never let him down, and would have a plan for staying safe. Survival. He loved his father. He loved his mother too, and she had been almost infallible, but he was closer to his father, the same way Jenny was closer to her. The man had been there every day of Dylan’s life, coaching, counselling, providing. He ran a hugely successful business, although Dylan had rarely suffered his absence for it. He had long encouraged Dylan to follow his dreams and pursue whatever made him happy. His father would support him unconditionally. He thought about their last conversation, funnily enough, about Kristy.
“So you like her then?” His father had said with a wry smile beneath a trimmed moustache showing the first flecks of grey.
“Ahhh. I don’t know.”
His father had laughed. “Just like me at your age. I bet you do like her. A lot. It’s complicated, isn’t it?”
Dylan had frowned. “Yeeeahh.”
“See. Let me guess. Her brother. He doesn’t like you.”
Dylan narrowed his eyes. “That’s easy. You know the whole, backstory. You’re part of it.”
Bob Cameron shrugged. “Don’t let the thoughts and feelings of outsiders affect this, Dylan. It’s between you and Kristy. If you like her, do something about it.” He walked over and put a hand on Dylan’s shoulder. “Mate, your mother and I just want you to be happy. We’ll deal with anything or anyone, as long as you’re where you want to be.”
“Thanks Dad. I do like her. A lot. But a few things worry me and I’m just not sure how to approach them.”
“Well, either one of us are here if you need to talk. But take a risk. I wouldn’t have the amazing family or the business if I hadn’t taken plenty of risks.”
Dylan thought about never seeing him again, and tears blurred his vision. He tightened his jaw until it hurt. I hope you’re okay Dad.
He shut away the thoughts and watched the scenery out the window, reminiscing about their time at the lake. The rain had come soon after leaving the stopping area, pattering the windows in long bullets. Overhead, dirty clouds bubbled, creating a feeling of impending dusk. Nobody had spoken. Dylan knew they were all turning different questions over in their mind. Answers would be difficult to find. Some would emerge when they reached Albury, and their respective homes. He tried to bury the secret Sherry had told him with the knowledge that it would sort itself. Callan had never shown any concern for him, so why should he worry?
They spotted the checkpoint about fifteen miles out of Albury, just north of Table Top road. They hadn’t passed a single car in either direction. Callan stopped the car on a roadside patch of gravel and cut the engine. On their left, a thin creek flowed in lazy, green pools, surrounded by more tussock grass leading to fences and undulating paddocks beyond. About half a mile along the blacktop, two Army trucks touched noses at angles across the highway. They sat watching the miniature scene in silence. No soldiers were visible in the rain.
Dylan felt rumblings of concern. An army blockade meant only one thing. Either they would have to turn back, or the military were inspecting citizens for signs of the virus.
“We could ram it,” Callan said.
“Don’t even joke about that,” Kristy said.
Sherry said, “We’re not infected though. They’ll have to let us through.”
Callan said, “What if they don’t? What if the town is infected and they won’t let us go back?”
“I doubt it.” Whilst the old man had scared Dylan too, it didn’t mean the world had gone to hell just yet. The army would know what was going on and they would have a suitable plan. They would tell them exactl
y what had occurred along the east coast, and more importantly, in Albury. The newspaper they found was weeks old. Surely the government had control of the situation by now. “They’ve probably cleaned up Albury and just want to make sure nobody brings the virus back in.”
Callan said, “We’ll see. Just remember there are forty-five thousand people in Albury and another thirty five thousand in Wodonga. That’s a lot of people to get sick.”
Kristy bumped Dylan’s leg. “Sorry,” she said, but one finger remained resting against his hand.
He smiled, and looked away. He had to consider her now. Despite his father’s advice, he had promised himself nothing would happen whilst Callan was around. Technically, it hadn’t. They had never even kissed, but his feelings had developed into a deeper affection. She was irresistible; smart, kind, a wonderful listener. Despite the danger, he’d admired how she had rushed to help the old man, deferring her safety for the welfare of another. She was selfless. Such a contrast to his ex-girlfriend, whose self-interest had been her predominant thought. In hindsight, he didn’t know how the relationship had lasted. Perhaps it had been the companionship. He hated being alone. That was one of the reasons he had agreed to the trip. His roommate was travelling overseas and he detested coming home to an empty house.
“Let’s see what they have to say,” Greg said. “The worst they can do is turn us around.”
Dylan noted the absence of humour in Greg’s voice. Until their roadside episode, he would have bet Greg was incapable of being serious. It fortified his nerves. When the joker stopped joking, it was time to worry.
Sherry said, “If they turn us around, we can try another way.”
“What if they arrest us?” Callan said.
“Why would they do that?” Kristy said.
“I dunno. Just a crazy thought.” He turned the key and the engine rumbled into life. “Let’s do it then.”
The car crept along at forty miles an hour, and Callan turned the windscreen wipers to full speed. Greg laid the Remington beside the seat out of view, and passed the shotgun to Dylan, who pulled out a length of seatbelt and placed the weapon in the back compartment.
Aftermath (Invasion of the Dead) - Part I Page 4