Turning

by Melinda Chapman

With a straight back, Mari lowered herself into the chair opposite him and leaned against her backpack.

  “I’ve got some supplies I can share. I was hoping to meet up with my group, but no luck so far. You haven’t seen an armoured truck heading this way, have you?”

  He shrugged. He shook his head, but the stiff chunks of his sun-bleached hair barely moved. “Are you heading to the camp?”

  “No.” Mari’s eyes faintly twitched as she realised her mistake. Any normal survivor would be crazy not to go to the camp.

  He drew his feet in toward himself and concentrated on playing with the chocolate bar in the pocket of his cargo pants. “My food comes from the camp, but I’m not interested in living there. You’re not missing much.” His pupils narrowed into darts, feathered by his angled brows. “Where’s your guns? Who on earth gets around here without guns?”

  Drained of colour, her face failed to blush. “I dropped them. I…ran out of ammo. I haven’t found a stocked gun supply around here because they’ve all been looted. So they were just weighing me down.”

  “Fair enough. No other weapon? Nothing?”

  A small blade was strapped to her calf, but she didn't need to mention it. It wasn’t intended for zombies anyway. Grinning, she raised her hands up into claws. “My bare hands.”

  “Well, that'll get you into trouble.”

  Mari flashed a tight-lipped smile as she resisted the urge to look at the sleeve disguising her wound. His smug, self-righteous head was beginning to aggravate her. It was time to change the conversation. “What's your name?”

  “Andy. And yours?”

  “Mari.”

  “Uh-huh. Your accent's strong. What is it?”

  “Italian.”

  “Well then, welcome to Deer Park, Mari." He nodded with self-importance.

  “Andy, why don’t you like the camp?”

  He huffed dramatically. “Ahhh...I guess they don’t like me.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t fit in with their…prime directive.”

  Mari smiled genuinely. Andy shifted his body and stretched his back. The plastic chair flexed under his weight, and the rifle across his lap rocked with the gentle bounce of his thighs. Mari noticed how the tan line on his abdomen followed the dip of his partially unbuttoned fly. Beneath his leather chest holster, a patch of his navy singlet was almost hard with a kaleidoscope of stains. His hand compulsively wiped it as he glanced out the window beside the counter.

  “The camp…it’s too controlled. If you stay there, it’s like you owe them your existence. Sure, they have food rations. There’s tank water and even electricity. They've got a few doctors on hand, too. They'll sew you up and sort you out.” Andy scanned her torso and limbs. “But after that, they own you. They do research there, you know.”

  Mari shook her head. She knew nothing about the camp.

  “Somewhere cross between medical assistance and experimentation,” he said, “and I don’t like which way they lean.”

  Mari had a question, but as she struggled to form the end of it, the start disappeared from her mind. She meant to close her eyes lightly, but her lids became sealed. Her head dropped, and her mind plummeted toward darkness. But within seconds, fear streaked through her nerves and forced her eyes wide open. Her focus readjusted on Andy's unrelenting stare.

  This was far more exhausting than Mari expected. It was a constant fight to conceal her pain and delirium. Her few careful words of clarity were glimpsed and snatched out of the thickening fog of her mind. When she was alone, she could shut down at regular intervals and drag herself along in any way that was comfortable.

  Now that she was with another human being, she realized how sick she was. Mari was sitting here for too long, composed and switched on, distracted from the careful monitoring of time and her deterioration. The critical hour was ticking away, and she was trapped in a plastic chair investing time in this shady survivor. She wouldn’t live long enough to trust him, let alone team up with him.

  There was only one question to consider now. Could she ask him to kill her humanely? Mari eyed the rifle. It would certainly make things easier on her. And once she brought it up, there would be no going back. As an infected, Mari had no rights. Anyone she came across had a license to kill her – zombie or human. And there were no laws yet about how that should be done.

  Death by zombie was brutal but impersonal. However, between compassionate euthanasia and acting out of heinous fantasies, humans were capable of anything. Those who feared zombies the most were prone to projecting their helplessness onto an easier target, an injured, turning human. Mari had to find someone she could trust soon, or she had to do it by herself.

  “So, it’s just you out here. You actually live here?”

  “Yep. Figured I could do my bit away from the camp.” Andy pointed out the window to the road heading west. “Ballarat Road will put you on the Western Freeway. It's the main route for vehicles heading to the camp from Melbourne. My job is to point the way around that mess.”

  “How can anyone drive around that?”

  “All the buildings surrounding the intersection have had their fences knocked down, so you can cut across the corners. The bonus for me is that my food is delivered every week, the happy campers leave me alone, and I get to mow down putrid fuckin’ meat-bags.”

  Mari flinched at his words and wondered if the sight of her unease was inciting him further.

  Andy moved the rifle from his lap and leaned it against the table, still within his reach. He whispered, “Hey…you ever shot the limbs clean off a zombie? The damn things go forever like wind-up toys! Only reason I put ‘em of their misery is because they keep me awake at night!” Laughing, he reached over and slapped his palm on Mari’s arms.

  His hand was like an anvil. Nausea heaved in her throat, and her lips trembled apart over gritted teeth. It wasn't even her bad arm that took the direct hit. Her growing repugnance for the man soared into rage. It competed with her pain in overwhelming intensity – and it felt good – much better than just pain. Mari sat forward in her seat, and her backpack rustled as it decompressed.

  “I should get going.”

  “Aww. You people have no sense of humour! They're just fricken’ zombies, for Christ-sake.” His leg twitched, and he scraped at his neck until it reddened. He dotted his finger in the air at Mari. “You should run along down the yellow brick road. You’d love it! Manifestos, rules, militia, a man behind the curtain, you name it.”

  “You really hate the place, don’t you? Did they experiment on you?”

  “Lady, I am an experiment!” He waved each arm in a big circle to emphasise his point. “Why’d you think they got me out here, delivering me room service and putting me up in this nice place with ammo laid out on the fresh towels?”

  Mari couldn’t think of anything to say. She had disengaged him and was marking out the exits in the building. “They need you to point the way around that mess?”

  “No, noooo!” Andy moved forward in his seat aggressively. Mari homed in on him. He shot to his feet and flapped his arms. “They could put a fuckin’ sign up to do that, couldn’t they!”

  Mari exhaled a deep breath through the fine slit of her lips. “Then why?”

  He sank back into his chair. For an infuriating length of time, he sat motionless. His eyes seared into hers, drawing out her anticipation. Under the table, she rubbed the glass of her watch face. Cool moisture trickled on the top of her lip.

  Andy tapped his index finger to his upper arm. “I've been vaccinated.”

  Mari’s heart jumped in her throat. Her fingers climbed like a spider up her chest to cover it, and her eyes watered instantly. He could be lying. Still, she had no control over her rising hope. She forced her gaze onto the table until her expression hardened. Her mind reordered her thoughts and worked faster to gather them.

  “There’s…an antidote?”

  “You haven’t heard? Not an antidote as such.” He thumbed toward the sprawlin
g grave of undead in the intersection. “I mean there’s no coming back from that.”

  The smell of alcohol hit her as he roared with laughter. Mari tried to gauge how drunk he was.

  “But there’s a vaccine? Sure. That’s why I’m here. They got us out in the field, testing the long-term effectiveness and so forth. Whatever. You know why I signed up.”

  Andy watched as Mari's hand slipped on the arm of the plastic chair. It was saturated from her own sweat.

  “Are you okay? Don’t you want to take off your backpack and jacket?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just…really tired…and hungry.”

  Her words trailed off as her body began to shake. It finally eased, but the trembling continued in her injured arm for a while longer. Andy locked his eyes on it. For half a minute, he just sat there, staring at her arm tucked at her side. He stood up, brushed past her shoulder to the box on the counter, and returned with two beers. Cracking them open, he placed one to the side of her injured arm and returned to his chair.

  Captivated by the glorious amber liquid, Mari unexpectedly lost herself. The last rays of sunset spilled through the wall of windows and refracted in the bottle. She didn’t even drink beer, but she realised that this could be her last taste of sweetness and bitterness. It was tempting, but there was no way the tendons in her left wrist could hold it.

  Ten minutes earlier, Mari would have surrendered to this stupid challenge and enjoyed her last glimmer of the old world, knowing her death would surely follow. Now everything had changed. She had a burning question, and she needed an answer before she reached across to pick up the beer with the wrong hand.

  “I thought maybe you weren’t going to the camp, Mari, because you’d already been vaccinated.” He picked at the large scab on his arm. “You've lasted a long time without getting bitten. Especially for someone who doesn’t carry a weapon.”

  He seemed to be fishing again, but it didn’t concern her. The conversation was coming to an end, and she needed to focus on the critical information. Mari strained to think of a way to ask the question.

  “So…whom does this vaccine work on?”

  “Oh.” He pursed his lips with mock shrewdness. “You know…men, women, children, the elderly, even pregnant women won’t refuse it.” Chuckling, he lowered his brows. “But…that’s not who you’re asking about, is it?”

  She had nothing to lose. “The infected. Does it work on the infected?”

  Andy hiccoughed, seemingly surprised by the abruptness of what was her confession. He leaned his chair back on two legs and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, plotting his thoughts in the metal grid of worn-out fibro squares.

  Mari waited, suspecting he was contriving an answer intended to disappoint her.

  “Yes, it works on most of the infected. It just takes time for antibodies to build up in your system and kill the virus. Judging by the test group, the sooner you get vaccinated, the better. A handful of people still turned because they were too far-gone already. But you look okay. I mean for an infected. You must be around ten hours. I’d give you another five after that.”

  Mari nodded. He was off by several hours. She stretched her right hand to pick up the beer and took a long, slow gulp.

  Andy smirked and raised his own bottle to his lips.

  The beer was pure gold. She was probably delirious. The alcohol went straight to her head, but it was hard to stop drinking it. When she started to feel green, she held the bottle close to her chest and averted her eyes from him.

  “Although, there is one problem,” he said.

  And there it was. Her groggy eyes zeroed in on his sharp ones, and her breath stopped short of her lungs.

  “You'll never make it in time,” he continued. “The camp is a day and a half's walk, and maybe two days for someone in your condition. It’s only two hours by car, but there’s not much fuel in any vehicles around here. It’s all gone to the camp." His fingers soundlessly tapped the table before he looked up at her. "We can go check them if you like.”

  Mari doubted Andy was lying about the fuel. She knew, from having the armoured truck with the crew for the last four months, that finding fuel was a difficult challenge. She also knew that he wouldn’t let her out of his sight. More likely, this was a ploy to lure her outside.

  Mari sculled a giant swig of beer but left the remaining third to leave some weight in the bottle. Her enjoyment of every last drop wasn't going to happen under his supervision. She raised the bottle in a cheer to him. As his eyes were distracted in a contemptuous nod, Mari placed her foot against the table leg. Andy brought his beer down, and his other hand reached for the rifle. Mari kicked the table, and the gun fell like a lopped tree to the floor. He changed course to grapple for it, but she lurched across the table and smashed the bottle over his head.

  The room spun around her. The simple effort of walking three steps to the rifle became a trial in a psychedelic landscape of white chair and table legs. Just as the dizziness passed, her fragile stomach rejected the alcohol. The vomit of amber, chocolate-streaked liquid sprayed across the floor. Andy punched her wound. Mari screamed. The room reeled faster and wider, and her guts came up her throat. The floor raced to her head as she collapsed, and her temple thumped on the cold tiles.

  “Get up, you fucking zombie!” He crouched, bringing his face close to hers. “You’re the worst kind. You've no idea who I've lost because of infected scum like you!”

  Andy's eyes changed shape. Mari thought she saw in them who he really was and perhaps even whom he had lost. He pushed her face to the side and ripped the backpack from her back. Agony tore through her nerves. Hauling her to her knees by the ponytail, he squeezed hard and held her on the spot.

  She gripped the fist on her head. “Please, make it quick. No pain.”

  “Pain? I’m in pain. Everyone’s in pain. You’re already in pain! How much longer did you plan to drag that rotting limb around? ‘Till you turned?”

  Mari shook her head desperately until her vision darkened, and she vomited again. She cleared her throat, spitting wisps of hair from her mouth. “No…I didn't…I was going to leave…I just needed more time.” She cried at the overwhelming loss. “More time to…”

  “Sure you were. You infected are all the same! Try to stretch out the last remaining pathetic hours of your life even though you’re fucking miserable, and you’re putting everyone at risk. Should be a law against it!”

  Grabbing Mari in a headlock, he hoisted her to her feet and steered toward the door. “Can’t blame you. It’s just the zombie in your blood. And quit crying! I’ve had a year of this shit. One after another! You all end up as the same walking corpse trying to kill me.”

  Outside, he dragged her past the bowsers and collected a shotgun. She struggled to free herself, but his grip was too strong. Mari tripped and stumbled as her feet uselessly kicked at the weapons on the ground. One arm was paralysed with pain, and the other with fear as it clung to her wound to protect it from another debilitating blow.

  “Guess what? I’ll do something for you. An act of kindness. I can’t guarantee it won’t be painful.” With a sharp change in direction, Andy lead her to a van at the brink of the piled up cars. He slammed her against the open side door. While she recovered, he swung the shotgun into the holster on his back. He rummaged through the clutter inside the van and pulled out some rope. When he clamped her arms behind her back, her loud bellow resounded throughout the crossroads.

  “Shhh! Shut up!” He gathered her limp hands and tied them in front of her instead.

  Mari shook her face side to side while he taped her mouth. She could no longer scream or reason with him. Panic streaked through her body as she realised it was the last weapon she had.

  “Your death won’t be in vain.”

  Andy whispered the words, or perhaps he yelled them. Mari couldn’t tell. Her ears were blocked with her own fright and the skin of his arm. He lugged her over the grey bodies scattered within the web of cars, puffing from exert
ion.

  “You’re going to take about thirty zombies with you. Maybe more depending on how long you last. If you’re lucky, you’ll cop a bullet.”

  Grasping what this meant, her mind became static, and her body convulsed in final desperation for some random chance of escape. Andy scowled with impatience and knuckled her wound, but she didn’t feel it. The knowledge of it flashed across her mind after the fact, and she perceived it only as a painless memory. Her leg kicked a sedan door repeatedly. A piercing alarm rang out, drowning out his swearing protest. The tape on her lips contorted with her grimace of victory, and her body pumped with adrenalin.

  Mari curled her body into a ball, throwing Andy off balance. Barrelling him sideways into a car, she sandwiched him on the fender. Another alarm blared. In the early darkness, grey, blurry shapes appeared beyond the cars in her peripheral. She broke away from his grip for only several seconds but managed to damage more vehicles in that short time. The strength was beyond anything she’d ever experienced. The exhilaration of it sustained her even more.

  Three more car alarms ignited and joined the cacophony.

  “Fuck you!” Andy screamed.

  He snatched her by the ponytail. This time, he threw her head like a football against a car. The alarm went off, but the sound dwindled into near silence as she lost consciousness. When she came to, his hot breath filled her ringing ear, and his elbow pinned her neck to the front of a van. An unruly flapping sound came from above her head. It was the inflatable hamburger at the centre of the intersection. Andy swore a barrage of abuse as he began to tie her hands to the bull bar.

  Mari ceased to listen. Her entire body stiffened, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Instantly, she was alerted to a greater threat. Between his rants and the billowing burger, she heard the sounds of metal buckling. The melodic squeaks of skin and clothes rubbed across the paintwork of cars. All kinds of shoes and bare feet thudded their own sound as they dropped to the asphalt. Mari’s distracted poise aroused suspicion in Andy.

  “Fuck!”

  He left her where she stood. With one of her hands tied to the van, there was no chance of immediate escape. Andy unclipped the shotgun from his holster, cocked it, and fired into the growing throng of undead. As soon as one zombie exploded backwards, another two shuffled forward. Mari kneeled down, pressed her cheek to the bull bar and focused on only the knot. Her fingers worked mechanically, their joints rigid with fear.