Aftermath (Invasion of the Dead) - Part I

by Baillie, Owen

  The fingers of her left hand remained entwined with his. She wanted to prolong it, sit there all night. Until now, he had been coy, at times removed. The odd instant had kindled the flame, but beyond a few words or the briefest touch, she had made all the investment. What had changed his mind? Right now, she didn’t care.

  “Let’s move then,” Callan said, turning to Dylan. “Which way into the house?”

  Dylan snatched his hand away. “Front veranda. If it’s locked, there’ll be a spare key hidden.”

  “Good. Greg, you get the torches, Dylan, lead the way, and you girls go straight into the house, just to be safe.”

  With the exception of Greg, they walked across the gravel parking area. A giant gumtree stood beside the house and for a moment, its strong smell of eucalypt took Kristy back up to the lake and she felt a pang of longing. Four wooden steps preceded a long merbau veranda edged by a three-tiered rail. Dylan led them down the decking to a set of wide glass sliding doors reflecting the sparse moonlight. He paused, and turned the handle.

  Locked.

  “I’ll find the key,” he said, squatting to feel the underside of a pot plant.

  The garden’s silhouette bubbled; the grass long and scruffy. Kristy had visited Dylan’s house before, and it had always been pristine. She doubted the gardener had been around of late. A moving shadow caught her attention further off in the darkness.

  “What’s that?”

  “Got it,” Dylan said, holding up a small key.

  “Where?” Callan said. Kristy pointed towards the lower paddock. An invisible spider ran over her skin.

  “Inside or outside the fence?”

  “Inside, I think.”

  Dylan touched her arm. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. I thought I saw something move down there.”

  Beyond the rocky garden with its rough outlines of plants and shrubs, the moon cast a thin silver hue upon the lower paddock.

  “We have a few sheep,” Dylan said. “Could be one of them.”

  “Let’s get inside,” Callan said. “I won’t be comfortable until we’re locked up in this place.”

  Greg arrived with two torches and a box of supplies. Dylan opened the door, pushed apart heavy curtains, and stepped inside, poking one of the golden beams through the blackness. He held the drape for Kristy and she entered. She wanted to hold his hand, reignite the magic that she had felt touching his skin in the car, and to comfort him as he prepared for the news about his parents. She didn’t know how long she would be able to stay away from him. Callan would have to deal with it. She felt for Greg, too. Aside from the rough, beer-guzzling edge, he was sweet and caring.

  The sliding doors led into a family area where two long couches joined at right angles. A coffee table lay centre of the room, and a large television hung bolted to the wall. Dylan walked across a soft rug to a junction. Left and right led to other rooms. Ahead was a wide timber kitchen with a large island bench as its centrepiece.

  Sherry and Callan stood near the couch. Greg placed the box on the table.

  “Well, we made it,” Dylan said. “I didn’t think we’d get here.”

  “For now,” Callan said. “But we have no idea about our families.”

  Greg moved towards the door. “I’ll bring the rest of the stuff in.”

  “I’ll be there in a second,” Callan said.

  “Mom, dad,” Dylan said in a loud whisper.

  He swung the beam over the room. It looked neat and orderly. Several plastic containers sat on the bench beside a notepad with a list. A blind extended over a large window above the sink, where a wire dish rack sat filled with plates, cups, a bowl, and utensils. Dylan walked to the fridge and opened it to darkness, confirming the power was out.

  “There definitely still alive, Dylan said. “There’s a bit of food. Vegetables, some leftover meat. No milk though.”

  “You got a veggie garden?” Callan said.

  “Yep. Wait, there is milk. In a jug.”

  “Cows?”

  “No. The Smiths, our neighbours do though. There’s a bowl of water at the bottom. Probably ice. Melted by now.”

  “So somebody’s been here in the last day or two,” Callan said.

  Dylan went left into the formal lounge. A grand fireplace had been cut into one wall, black and cold. More plush couches settled in a square pattern around a low table. In this area though, piles of newspapers and notebooks lay spread about.

  Dylan picked one up. “Holy shit, it’s a newspaper from two weeks ago.”

  “What does it say?” Sherry said.

  From the family room, they heard Greg drop a box of supplies.

  Dylan said, “Eleven and a half million dead along the east coast and there’s still no vaccine.” He looked up, mouth open. “Jesus, this is beyond bad. That’s half the population.”

  Callan picked up a notebook and turned the pages. “Someone has written down a heap of information. This details the… what they refer to as “the plague”. He followed his finger across the page. “There’s stuff about the infection. What to do to avoid it. How to protect yourself.” He put the book back on the table and looked across the other pages. “This is amazing.”

  “Has to have been your Dad,” Kristy said.

  “I told you he would have it covered.” He dropped the paper and ran to the stairs calling his parents’ names. Kristy followed, but Callan said, “Let him go. I don’t think anybody’s here.”

  A few minutes later, Dylan returned. “They’re not here. But they’ve slept in their bed and there’s a pair of old leather pants and a jacket on the bed.”

  “You were right,” Callan said. “This is a good place, much better than mine. Up on the hill we’ll be able to see from all directions. We have vegetables, maybe even some fresh meat and milk. And this stuff… your dad’s done an incredible job.”

  “What about your parents?’ Dylan said.

  “We’ll take a look first thing tomorrow. I hate to do it but driving around in the darkness is like asking them to attack. We can start at my house then check everyone else’s family is okay.”

  Kristy felt the first sliver of relief. Despite the circumstances, they had reached a destination and found some kind of refuge, at least for the night. She thought about what they had gone through, and who had literally and figuratively driven them most of the way. She smiled, and said, “Hey, Cal, thanks for getting us here.”

  “Yeah,” Dylan said. “Thanks man.”

  Callan nodded, a flash of surprise on his face. “I’d better help Greg.”

  Dylan said, “When you’re done, we’ll take a look out back at the generator. If we can get that working we can electrify the fences and help keep them out.”

  “Sure. Collect all the ammo and guns you can find. We’ll need it.”

  Callan disappeared through the curtain folds, and the girls gathered in the kitchen. Dylan carried the boxes Greg had left in the family room over to the island bench.

  After dropping the first lot, Kristy grabbed Dylan buy the shirt and pulled him to her. She took his face in her hands and said, “Kiss me, please.”

  “What about Greg and Callan?”

  Kristy shook her head. “They’re not here right now.”

  Dylan leant forward slowly with his eyes open, and parted his lips. Kristy tingled as they met, feeling waves of pleasure roll through her neck and breasts. It seemed to go on and she felt herself drifting away to another place, where nothing but the electricity of their touch existed. When they parted, she hugged Dylan, and felt the warmth reciprocated as he pulled her to him. “Finally,” she said, beaming over Dylan’s shoulder at Sherry.

  “About time.”

  Callan stumbled through the curtains holding the axe, searching the family room and kitchen with large, wild eyes. “Is Greg in here?”

  Dylan drew back from Kristy. “No.”

  “I can’t fucking find him.”

  “What do you mean?” Sherry said.

>   “He’s not at the car, or on the veranda. I called out to him but he didn’t answer.”

  Dylan said, “Could he be playing a prank? You know what he was like before today.”

  Callan shook his head. “No way. Not now.”

  “Gimme a minute to grab another torch and I’ll come-”

  “No. Stay here. I’ll find him.” Callan disappeared through the folds of the curtains.

  “Don’t go out there,” Kristy said.

  “I have to help find Greg. He saved my ass just before.”

  A tapping noise sounded from the lounge room.

  “What was that?” Kristy said. Nerves slithered back into her belly.

  “It’s those two playing tricks,” Sherry said.

  “I don’t think so,” Dylan said. He passed the torch to Kristy and took a knife from the drawer.

  They gathered near the entrance to the lounge room, Dylan leading the way, Kristy holding the torch, and edged forward, down the steps, until they stood beside the table.

  Tap, tap sounded on the window. Kristy shrieked.

  Dylan’s face drew into a mask of worry. “It’s gotta be them.” He stepped away from the girls, crept around the couch, and reached out a shaky hand for the drape. Intuition told him whatever was on the other side of the window wasn’t good, that it might make what he had seen so far irrelevant. Don’t do it man. Walk away and let Callan handle it.

  He grasped the curtain, and paused, then yanked it aside.

  Kristy screamed, and the torchlight wobbled. Standing with one curled finger on the glass, was a zombie.

  It was female, with long tendrils of dead grey hair falling in patches from a dry, cracked skull. Its bloodshot eyes sunk deep into its bony head. It opened its mouth, revealing rotted, gapped teeth. A long moan sounded, as if it was in pain.

  It stared at Dylan, grimacing. He tried to speak but his lip trembled.

  “It’s your Mom,” Kristy said. She looked like she wanted to kill him.

  End of Volume I

  Thanks so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed the story. Part II is due soon, but if you liked the first section, you can really help me by leaving a review on Amazon.com and Goodreads. Independent authors survive on reviews, and if you feel compelled, I would be so thankful for your time.

  About the Author:

  Owen Baillie lives on the outskirts of Melbourne, Australia, with his wife and three children. Aftermath (Invasion of the Dead) Volume I is part of a greater work due for completion in 2013.

  Connect with me online:

  http://twitter.com/OwenBaillie/

  https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/20239466-owen-baillie

  http://www.amazon.com/Owen-Baillie/e/B00CW1BIJ2/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

  Or try my other stories at:

  http://www.amazon.com/Cinema-13-Time-Escape-ebook/dp/B00CVFBU1A/

  http://www.amazon.com/The-Perils-of-Adultery-ebook/dp/B00D52X2X2/