Dylan sat rigid, controlling his hopefulness. “You go right at the next turn, along Gillam and onto Starling, then all the way out to Silvan road. Ten minutes, tops.”
Callan considered this. “Let me be clear. As soon as it is safe, I’m going to my parent’s house to check on them. Alone if I have to.”
“I’ll come with you,” Greg said. “Soon as we get some more ammo.”
“Alright. I ain’t driving through that.”
Several zombies looked up towards them and began a slow trudge in their direction.
“They’ve seen us,” Sherry said.
A commotion occurred about fifty yards ahead below a sign that said: SIRELLI’S PIZZA. They had all eaten pizza from Joe Sirelli’s shop. Orange flames appeared at street level, reaching out through the front windows, and smoke rose in a grubby trail. One of the zombies moved unusually fast, bouncing from one to the other.
“Is that a person?” Dylan said.
“Yeah,” Callan said. “I don’t think-”
“Two of them,” Kristy said, as another chased.
They had burst from the flaming pizza shop in a desperate escape, running towards the Jeep.
“They’ve seen us,” Kristy said. “They need help. Drive closer Cal.”
Zombies lurched at the desperate couple, blocking their way with gangling limbs. They had made it about fifteen yards. Callan rolled the vehicle forward.
“Don’t be stupid,” Sherry said. “Where are they going to fit?”
The man led, waving his arm, shoving the undead aside with desperation, and calling out in a muffled voice.
“They can sit in the boat,” Greg said. “If we pull the cover back they’ll be able to hold on until we get to safety.”
“Go closer, Cal. We have to help them. I think its Serena and Joe. They must have been in the pizza shop for weeks,” Kristy said.
“It is,” Callan said, and he let the brake off a little more, edging the car forward.
Serena fell first. One of the zombies feeding on the road turned toward the commotion and tripped her. She went sprawling onto the bitumen in a heap. Others aborted their ignorant wanderings and fell onto her. A loud piercing scream chilled Dylan’s skin.
“No,” Kristy said. “We have to do something.” She unclipped her belt and flung off her three hundred dollar pair of Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses.
Dylan grabbed the buckle. “We can’t.”
“He’s right,” Callan said. “We’ll die.”
Kristy seemed poised to argue, but said, “Please, Greg?”
Greg watched, unmoving.
Joe Sirelli had gone back for his wife, throwing his heavy build at the monsters like a football blocker to keep them away. They milled around her, fighting to get at the fresh meat. He swung wild roundhouse punches, and the rotting zombie heads snapped rearward. Others groped for him, and when his fists would not work, he kicked at them and they fell into each other, collapsing in an awkward heap. Finally, he reached his wife, but a pack of undead was feeding on her, and as Joe clawed at them, others converged on him in overwhelming numbers.
Kristy sobbed. Sherry looked away.
“Fucking bastards,” Callan said. Joe disappeared and the zombies fed.
“There,” Greg said, pointing at the throng.
“What?” Callan said. “Is that a…”
At the edge of the massacre, a dog appeared, barking and growling.
“It’s a heeler,” Greg said. Blue Heelers were famous for droving cattle. They nipped at the heels of the cows, driving them in the required direction for herding. Stocky and tough, they generally had black pointed ears and a predominantly bluey-white coat.
“Get ‘em boy, get ‘em,” Callan said. “Tear some fucking heads off.”
Several zombies lurched at the dog, but he was quick, zipping between their legs in figure eight patterns.
“Don’t get caught doggie,” Kristy said.
One undead staggered after it, clawing repeatedly at fresh air, unwilling to quit. It shoved aside the undead, biting into the neck of one in another failed attempt. The dog scuttled to the edge of the mayhem, turned, and barked. You can’t catch me, it said.
“Go buddy, go,” Dylan said, pumping a fist.
The zombie screamed. The dog turned and ran off into the night.
“That’s one of the crazy ones,” Callan said. “They’re different.”
The Jeep gave a violent shake, and Greg reached up for the handle above the passenger door.
“Shit,” Dylan said. Several zombies banged on the back window of the Jeep. “Just drive. We can’t help the Sirelli’s.”
He turned to see if there was another of the crazy ones, but their impassive expressions confirmed they were the normal type. Fuck, I’m classifying them now, Callan thought. He flicked the switch down to parking lights, accelerated the twenty yards, and turned right into Gillam Street. Stragglers from the mob were still thirty yards away.
“They’re gone, “Dylan said.
A soft orange glow spilled onto the road in front of them, offering poor visibility, but it would ensure their stealth through the streets.
In the darkness, Kristy took Dylan’s hand again. Her skin was soft, warm, and he closed his eyes, knowing that his feelings for her had grown beyond a curious liking. Perhaps it was the situation embellishing the sensation, he didn’t know, but the feeling existed in his belly, sweet and enjoyable, fighting against the constant nervousness and fear of the circumstances.
She sniffed, fighting tears, and Dylan put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. What could he say? There were no words. They all knew the Sirelli family. The impact was greater than the old man or the soldier. If it had been the beginning of a bad dream before, now they were in a nightmare.
It took a little more than ten minutes to reach Silvan road. Dirt greeted them and the car slowed. They had left the city borough, where thick brush lined the roads and cows and horses roamed extensive paddocks.
Callan twisted the indicator to full headlights.
Dylan said, “Should we do that? They might see us.”
“You know what it’s like out here. The roads are narrow and there are potholes everywhere. We might end up off the side.”
The road thinned to one lane in places where feeder creeks cut their way through snarling trees and lush vegetation to join the mighty Murray River further out of town. Dylan’s parents had talked about forming a paying coalition to have the road paved, but it hadn’t happened, and probably never would, he realised.
They reached Dylan’s property where a wide, steel gate loomed, odd against a backdrop of paddocks and trees. Years ago, an unhappy employee broke in through the garage and confronted Dylan’s mother, so his father had hired a security company to outfit the estate. Wire fences ran along the boundary, the upper section barbed. Under normal circumstances, they would be electrified, but he suspected the electricity was out. They might be able to get the generator running though.
Callan turned the Jeep into the small section of space in front of the gate and let the car idle. The lights painted the entrance and the stony driveway beyond. The house sat huge and shadowy in the distance. Three enormous gumtrees towered over the dwelling in different locations, as if protecting it. Dylan had expected darkness. If his parents were inside, they wouldn’t be advertising it.
“You don’t have a remote for the gate, do you?” Callan said.
Dylan chortled. A coil of nerves tightened around his belly. “I wish.” Kristy squeezed his hand. “There’s a lever that changes the gate from automatic to manual. Won’t take a moment.” He unlocked his seatbelt.
“Take the axe,” Callan said. “You never know.”
Darkness beyond the murky yellow headlights appeared peaceful, innocuous. It might have been any other night, coming home from a friend’s house or the movies. Tell yourself that. He had no choice. He had argued for the refuge of his parents’ house and now he almost had it.
“Good idea.”
He took the axe from the storage area in the back. It was a familiar tool. He had spent countless hours splitting timber for his parents’ wood fire. Out camping, they had shared a roster for the essential jobs: firewood, clean water, dishes and washing. He had grown to know the axe like a friend and it felt comfortable, but he prayed he would not have to use it.
“Be careful,” Kristy said, placing her hand on his arm. “I couldn’t deal with it if…”
He thought about kissing her for good luck. A peck on the cheek or maybe the lips. What if he never got the chance? What if he was killed or maimed so badly he couldn’t function? You’d be a zombie then, and wouldn’t remember anything. He knew Callan would be pissed though, and Greg would be heartbroken. “Thanks.”
“You wanna co-pilot?” Greg said from the front seat.
Yes, he thought. That would be fucking great. Greg was a good guy. If Dylan had learned one thing on this trip, it was that. It sucked that he liked Kristy too. He wouldn’t risk anyone else though. “Thanks man, but I’ll take this one.”
Sherry said, “Hurry, I hate being out here exposed.”
Stepping outside, he closed the door. The day’s heat remained like a warm blanket. The ground was dry, as though it hadn’t even rained in Albury. He inhaled through his mouth, bunched his nose in disgust at the rotten scent. Death. It was close.
Dylan hurried to the fixed section of the gate where the sliding part closed. The lever sat on the other side, and he needed to lean through the bars and pull it to release the connection. He turned in a circle, widening his eyes and tuning his ears to the night.
The town was dark, except for the odd lick of orange flame. He heard them, far off, goring and grunting, feeding, killing. We can’t stay here. It wouldn’t be long before they overtook the town, if they hadn’t already. They would find them up here on the hill, eventually.
He leant the axe against the fence and squatted, reaching through the railings. His fingers groped, finding weeds and the bulky motor casing. He felt around, but couldn’t find the lever. Damn. He didn’t want to have to climb over. It was too high for him to scale without a boost from one of the others.
With a final push, he reached between the bars, and touched a thin, flat metal rod. He clasped his fingers around it and pulled, feeling the mechanism dislodge. He took the axe and walked to the heavy gate, then leant into it, pushing with his thighs.
The gate moved a couple of inches and stopped.
Once it gathered momentum it would roll all the way to the other side, but he didn’t have the strength in one arm. He would have to put the axe down.
His heart skipped. He looked around once more just to be sure they weren’t waiting for him inside the property. He laid the axe on the ground and stood at the end of the gate, then pushed, getting his shoulders and legs behind it.
The gate slid open, picking up momentum. He gave it a final shove and it coasted to the other side, leaving space for the Jeep and trailer to enter. He heard the muted sounds of clapping from inside the car and gave a thin smile.
Picking up the axe, he stepped aside and waved them through.
The Jeep spun its wheels on the gravel, found traction, and then rolled past, rising slightly as it crossed raised ground under which a concrete pipe ran ferrying rainwater from the roadside gutter. The brake lights on the boat glowed as he stepped into the gateway, preparing to pull the barrier shut.
The boat cover was partially off. Dylan halted.
The shadows moved and two zombies sat up from the bottom of the boat, sniffing the air with vigour, chunks of animal flesh hanging from their mouths.
The rabbits.
They were eating the meat Callan had stored in the boat fridge. The smell must have lured them. The zombies dismissed their curiosity and returned to the feast. With their heads down, it was impossible to see them in the dark.
Dylan’s guts shrivelled and he fought the urge to run. He had known such a fight was coming, eventually. Did he call the others? No, it would alert the zombies. He had the surprise advantage, and might be able to kill one easily.
Holding his breath, he stepped towards the boat. Could he really do this? What if it was someone he knew, one of his parents, or a neighbour? They were no longer who they had been in their previous life though, and they would kill him without hesitation. If the town was as bad as they thought, killing these things would become normal. He considered what would happen if he didn’t kill them. No kiss with Kristy, or death.
He tightened his grip around the axe handle, and raised it.
The first zombie looked up. Dylan swung sideways as if cutting into a tree. The blade dug into the soft flesh of its neck and its head jerked sideways. Blood exploded in jets, and Dylan felt wetness on his shirt. The zombie fell out of the boat with a thump. He pulled the axe loose and stepped back for another swing as the other monster slid over the edge.
As it attacked, a third zombie feeding in the bottom of the boat stood up grunting and started climbing out of the boat. Dylan watch horrified. I can’t beat three of them.
The distraction cost his advantage, and the second undead closed, sticking out its arms, clutching with curling, bloody fingers. Dylan felt slimy hands and swung the axe, breaking its grip and slicing its arm. The zombie shrieked, but didn’t halt. Dylan jumped back, and turned to face them on a steeper downward slope, gagging at their stinking smell, fear tugging at the stability of his mind.
They lurched at him and he raised his weapon, securing his footing for a powerful swing, but his left foot slipped on the loose gravel and he lost balance. They were on him in a moment, scratching at his clothes, and he felt their hot breath on the back of his neck. I’m dead, he thought. I’m going to die. He couldn’t believe this is how it would end.
A dull thud sounded and one of the zombies fell aside, grunting. Move, he demanded. Do something! Dylan thrust upwards with the thick back section of the axe, connecting with a head. He swung again, and hit the monsters torso, knocking it backwards onto its ass.
Greg stood to the side with the shotgun turned upside down, drawn back as if waiting for a pitch. The zombie crawled towards him begging for more and he swung again with one of the sweetest actions Dylan had ever seen. The sound made a thump, like striking leather. The side of the monster’s head caved and it folded to the gravel.
Two down.
Dylan stood, drawing the axe into position. “Thanks,” he said, breathing heavy. He had thought he was dead, writing off Kristy, making it home, and finding his parents. Euphoric joy flooded him and he wanted to shout, but he knew they weren’t finished.
The monster Dylan had knocked over looked from one to the other, hissing. It chose Dylan and lumbered towards him. Invigorated, he re-enacted his first swing and the axe dug into its bony neck, but still did not severe the head. The undead staggered, and Dylan swung again, this time knocking it to the rocky patch as stones kicked up. It lay with savage wounds to the neck and shoulder, its mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He thought of how close he had come to dying, and he raised the axe and thrust it down, tearing through the zombie’s neck in a clean cut, separating its head. Inky blood spurted onto the gravel in short sprays, and then the walking dead fell forward and lay still.
The zombie with the crushed head kept trying to stand, but the damage had ruined its balance and one leg kept failing. Dylan passed the weapon to Greg, and in one motion, he spun around, and drove the axe through the meaty neck and into the gravel with a clunk. The body twitched once, then stopped moving.
They stood watching their effort, breathing heavy. Dark stains covered the gravel in random splashes.
“I’m glad I can’t tell who they were,” Dylan said. “I don’t think I could kill one of my old school teachers.”
“You might have to soon. Don’t think about it though. I didn’t kill a soldier at the checkpoint. I killed a fucking animal trying to hurt Kristy.” He paused, considering. “Think of it li
ke this. If you don’t kill it, you will end up one of them.”
He couldn’t stop himself thinking that he would, eventually. The others, too. “Thanks man. For helping. Again.”
“Sure,” Greg said, touching one of the heads with the toe of his boot. “Any time.”
Greg raised the axe again and detached the first zombie’s head. “Just to be safe.” Together, they drew the gate across, and Dylan locked it in place, securing them inside the perimeter.
Back in the Jeep, Callan said, “Where did they come from?”
“They tore the cover back and climbed into the boat probably when we stopped on Main Street. They were after the rabbit meat.”
“We have to be more careful,” Kristy said. “These things are everywhere.”
The car edged up the winding incline. The broad yellow beams revealed a large, two level house, with surrounding rock gardens and manicured lawns.
“Greg saved me,” Dylan said. “I slipped on the gravel. I must have walked over it a thousand times before, half the time blind drunk. Without him, I’d probably be dead.”
“I think Greg gets the ‘Zombie killer of the day award’”, Callan said. “I’d be scared if I was one of them.” He put up the palm of his hand and Greg slapped it lightly.
Kristy smiled, and squeezed his hand. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Dylan felt stirrings of desire. He had fallen for her. He took her hand, lifted it to his mouth and pressed his lips against the velvet skin, feeling electricity suffuse his limbs and torso. Kristy’s eyes widened, then her face softened and she smiled. They looked at each other for a long time and then lay back in their seats, their bodies close and comfortable.
6. The House
Callan guided the Jeep onto a flat area covered in crushed rock beside the main veranda, and followed the path in a circle until it pointed away from the house. He cut the lights and darkness filled the place, except for a sliver of moon.
“Torches?”
“In the boat. Pink bag,” Kristy said. “With the batteries and rope.”
The day had been an emotional roller coaster. If she thought about the dead, she lost control and cried, wondering if it would ever end. She couldn’t recall shedding tears at so many different times. She wished she were emotionally stronger, able to deal with it the way Sherry had, even if it meant being a bitch. With Dylan beside her though, it all disappeared into another time.
Aftermath (Invasion of the Dead) - Part I Page 8