Victor sighed, running a hand through his hair. ‘Look, I got here as fast as I could. The bloody thing wouldn’t drive faster than 40kmph,’ he said, holding out the key. ‘Just bring it back in one piece, or they’ll throw my arse in jail.’
Mark took the key and climbed up into the cabin, quickly familiarising himself with the controls. Starting out his career in the army as a sapper, he’d spent more than a few hours behind the wheels of similar equipment. ‘Don’t worry mate, I’m not planning on spending more time in that swarm than I need to. You’ll have the ‘dozer back in one piece. Can’t guarantee how pretty it’ll look at the end though.’
‘It’s not just you heading in, surely?’
‘I’m going against a direct order, and besides, there’s no point risking more lives. Either this works, or it doesn’t.’
His mate stepped out of the way as Mark turned the key in the ignition and started the machine into motion.
***
Steph’s head was pounding, a crippling dehydration migraine that threatened to split her skull with every heartbeat. There hadn’t been a drop of water in the truck now for over a day – solving any toileting issues. Each of them was so dry they’d stopped producing any urine.
She raised a hand in front of her face and was barely able to see her trembling fingers in the near darkness. Steph shoved the hand back into her pocket to still the tremor. She felt her mind starting to slowly unhinge the longer they spent buried. Each time she awoke after sleeping, the struggle to gain control of her faculties had increased. In her dreams it was always the same. She was alone in the back of the truck when the Perspex shattered, allowing the Infected to climb through the gap and attack. Each nightmare finished the same; a Carrier’s hand ripping a loop of intestines free of her gut while she screamed herself awake.
Erin was faring worse. She lay curled in a foetal position with eyes clamped tight and hands over her ears, refusing to communicate. If they’d had any ammunition left, Steph was starting to think that it’d be the sanest option of escape. But they’d fought until nothing remained – probably a deliberate move by her sergeant, to prevent an easy suicide in the event of a long wait. And by god, they’d had a very long wait.
Suddenly, Steph felt a vibration through the floor of the truck, then the noise of an engine over the snarls of the Infected. She kicked her sergeant’s foot to get his attention.
‘Do you hear that?’
Vinh cocked his head to the side, listening carefully. There had never been any scrap of excess weight on the compact Vietnamese-Australian, but now his face looked hollowed, eyes sunken and dull.
‘Yeah, but it’s not one of our trucks,’ he said as he pulled himself to standing. ‘Everyone up. Fuck knows what Mark’s up to, but it looks like our ticket out of this shit hole’s just arrived.’
Mark pushed onward through the press, mashing the undead beneath the bulldozer’s tracks as he steered by the satellite image on his phone. As he’d gone deeper into the swarm, Carriers had climbed onto the machine itself, covering the cabin in a layer of dead writhing bodies, their faces screaming impotent rage at Mark through the wire mesh as he tried to ignore them.
The stench in the cabin was gag inducing as he wiped another drop of foul sludge from the screen of his phone. His body was spattered with more of the same from the creatures above. Underfoot lay a carpet of desiccated fingers, shed by Carriers overhead when they wrenched at the steel mesh with such ferocity that digits were neatly severed by the metal.
Mark blocked it all out, concentrating on the target on his screen. He was nearly there, had to be coming in contact any second. Mark brought the vehicle to a stop then drew his pistol, and with business like efficiency culled the Infected swarming his cage, pushing the remaining bodies aside with a short length of broomstick through the steel lattice until he could see ahead once again. He scanned the writhing mass, eyes skittering across the surface looking for the air pipe as a tell-tale. If they hadn’t deployed that crucial piece of equipment, then his mission would be for naught.
There it is!
Dull grey metal streaked with dried blood poked above the press. Mark exhaled a ragged breath and lowered the scoop ahead of the bulldozer in preparation. Slotting the bulldozer into first gear, he drove forward once again, unheeding of the Infected that disappeared beneath.
Steph climbed back into the driver’s seat, put the truck into neutral and disengaged the brake. Erin had pulled herself together somewhat and now sat in the passenger seat adjacent.
‘How are we going to attach a tow cable with those bastards outside? It doesn’t make sense – I haven’t heard a single gunshot,’ said Erin.
‘Yeah, I don’t think we’re getting towed home for some reason. That noise outside isn’t tyre on asphalt, they’re bleeding tracks of a tank or something...’ said Steph trailing off.
‘Can’t be,’ muttered Vinh. ‘There aren’t any tanks in Victoria at the moment. Some sort of earth-moving equipment maybe, but…’
Suddenly the truck lurched as the something crunched into the back corner of their truck, knocking Vinh to the ground and driving them forward. The breathing pipe tore free with a screech, unable to tolerate the weight of Infected on the structure. Steph spun the wheel to keep the vehicle going straight, or what she guessed was the right direction with her windscreen still covered by the Infected.
The truck bucked as it climbed over a carpet of Infected bodies, Steph fighting to prevent them sliding side on to the battering ram behind. A beam of light suddenly struck Steph’s face from the right upper corner of the windscreen, forcing her to squint. As yet more Carriers fell free of the glass allowing them to see again, Vinh cheered from behind as light flooded the cabin.
The frantic gallop of Mark’s heart eased slightly on seeing the truck finally emerge from the mass of corpses. He’d not seen anything like it while fighting the plague to date. For around thirty metres on either end of the truck, Carriers had swarmed to a depth of three metres, thrashing against each other like eels in a tub to access the soldiers inside.
Although the vent pipe had given the location of the truck under the swarm, Mark had no way of knowing the orientation of the vehicle. It had been guesswork to determine from which direction he needed to make contact. The risk of driving into the truck’s side had been heavy on Mark’s mind, knowing that it could result in their death if he caused it to roll.
Whoever was behind the wheel had met the challenge, controlling the rough ride with a skill that Mark thought he’d struggle to replicate. As the roof and windscreen came free of the press and he knew the driver would be able to steer more easily, Mark slowly increased the speed of the bulldozer to maximum pace. Bodies popped under his tracks like bladders of air, spurting foul liquid to either side, leaving a charnel house of mashed flesh in his wake.
It was working. Although the Infected continued their pursuit, in the cold state of early morning, they were unable to keep pace. After ten minutes, they burst free of the swarm’s edge and hit clear road for the first time. Mark heard a ragged cheer erupt from inside the truck ahead, and he joined in himself, relief flooding his body like a warm bath.
Three blocks further on he reached the point where he’d left the other armoured truck. Vic was standing beside the driver’s door looking stressed. Mark glanced behind and understood the reason immediately. They may have escaped the swarm, but it was still within yelling distance, trailing less than a hundred metres behind. Mark braked and dismounted from the cabin in a hurry.
‘Have you got the tow cable ready?’ asked Mark. His mate nodded and ran to attach it to the front of Steph’s truck.
Mark hammered on the side of the truck. ‘Everyone out, we’re riding in the other truck. We’ll ditch the towed vehicle if things get hairy.’
He heard a lock release at the rear of the truck, then a creak as the door swung wide. Mark pulled Erin and Steph into a brief hug as they jumped down to the ground, then ushered them on to the next vehi
cle. The noise of the approaching Infected was gaining in volume, they didn’t have much time.
Vinh was the last man out. He gave Mark a quick nod in greeting as they ran back to the first vehicle. ‘You were starting to get me a little worried back there,’ he said. ‘What held you up, Boss?’
Mark just grimaced. ‘Just the usual bullshit,’ he said, slamming the door closed after he’d climbed in. Mark pointed out his mate behind the driver’s wheel. ‘That’s Victor – you can thank him for the ‘dozer. If it hadn’t been for him, you’d still be under the swarm.’
Victor waved off Mark’s introduction. ‘Is that everyone?’ he asked. On gaining confirmation, he took off slowly, allowing the tow line to set the following vehicle in motion before accelerating.
Mark finally had a chance to check out the condition of his mates and squad. Each look exhausted, drawn, and on edge. He grabbed two full canteens of water from behind one of the seats and passed them out.
‘Sorry it took so long. I would have come back immediately, but my truck was running on fumes and we were out of ammo. I figured I’d be more successful once we’d restocked. I just didn’t bet on the response from command,’ said Mark.
‘We got written off as expendable, didn’t we?’ said Steph, her voice thick with disgust. ‘So, the bastards sent us into a shit-storm under manned, and then wouldn’t even try a retrieval?’ She angrily pushed a sweaty strand of blond fringe off her face. ‘That’s pretty fucked up.’
‘Agreed,’ said Mark. ‘For all I know, you’ll be taking up the issue with a new officer once we return. I went against a direct order to retrieve you guys.’
A quiet voice murmured in the back.
‘What was that, Erin?’ asked Mark.
Erin was staring outside through the Perspex strip, gaze unfocused. ‘This has to stop. They need to find a different way to clear Melbourne that doesn’t see us drowned under a tide of undead every other mission. Why can’t they just incinerate them like in Geelong?’
‘There’s only a limited stock of those MK77 incendiary bombs remaining and they’re being held back for some reason. That and our other problem’s a lack of soldiers – until they increase our forces and sort out supply lines, I reckon this push into Melbourne’s premature,’ Mark said.
‘What can we do to voice these concerns with Command?’ asked Vinh. ‘Because if we get buried like that again, knowing that we’re probably going to be abandoned… Soldiers will start deserting. Just saying.’
Mark nodded, his mood grim. ‘I’ll do what I can. You’ve got my word on that.’
Chapter Two
Chris lurched forward in his seat as the public bus braked heavily into his requested stop. As he disembarked, the female driver wished him a pleasant day. Chris rolled his eyes in disgust and ignored her. He hated it when ugly chicks talked without being spoken to first.
As the bus pulled back onto the road, Chris waited until the footpath around him had emptied, then placed the heavy rucksack he was carrying on the ground. Lifting one corner of the top flap, he inspected the contents to make sure all was still in order and ready to use. Inside was a gerry can full of petrol with a wad of C-4 plastic explosive stuck to its side. Chris lifted the pack carefully to his shoulders. A waft of petrol hung about him, but nothing that would draw too much notice. Happy that his package was in order, Chris pulled his phone out and turned on the camera app to use as a mirror. He fussed briefly, trying to smooth lank blond hair over a growing bald patch before pulling a baseball cap down firmly to hide the lot.
The rain of early morning had cleared from Hobart, leaving a blue sky above and an earthy smell rising from the nature strip. Chris glanced to the left at the Salamanca Markets, a sneer lifting the corner of his mouth as he observed the crowds meandering like sheep amongst the stalls. The weekend market sold a variety of wares beside the water front. Usually an eclectic mix of art, hand-made clothes, artisan jewellery and foods; since the plague it had become more mundane, mainly selling basic items of canned food and second-hand clothes. His gaze hardened as it reached the vegetable stalls run by the Hmong, a community of Laos refugees that had settled in Hobart forty years earlier. Sheep he could tolerate, but not if they were of a foreign breed.
He had more important things to consume his attention than questions of immigration for a change – that had been sorted for him when the borders were closed to Tasmania after the outbreak of plague. No, today was special, because today he was going to be part of something huge. He could feel it in his chest - today was going to be the start of the revolution, a revolution that his Party Leader had dreamed of since the plague tore across the Australian mainland, leaving Tasmania the last infection free stronghold of the country. Anyone stupid enough to not share their vision would be crushed. Millions had died on the mainland, so he saw the loss of a few more lives as inconsequential in the greater scheme.
Ignoring the mingling crowd at the Salamanca Markets, he headed toward an increasingly rowdy mob of people filling the park before Parliament House, home of the Tasmanian government. At the front was a podium dressed in the state flag, a blue ensign with a red lion over a white disc. Chris’s eyes flicked up to the banner hanging above the podium, and for the first time that morning, he smiled. The ‘Tasmanian Patriots Party’ stood proudly in block white letters upon a blue background, the red lion from the Tasmanian flag roaring beneath the heading.
Two opposing groups were present, neatly divided down political lines. The Patriots were smaller, outnumbered three to one by those that had come to drown out their message for a better Tasmania. Chris still couldn’t believe that their opponents had the hide to call them cowards and traitors. He smiled as he felt the weight of his rucksack pulling at his shoulders; he was many things, but a coward was not one of them.
Chris skirted the edge of the park, past the supporters of the Patriots until he was behind the enemy. He shrugged off his rucksack, careful to keep it upright, then pulled his cap down firmly and flipped the hood of his jumper over the lot. Happy that his features were somewhat concealed, he cradled the pack against his chest and began to worm his way deeper into the press. Chris kept his gaze downwards, apologizing to those he pushed past to avoid drawing attention until he was in the centre of his opponents. He lowered the rucksack to the ground, protecting it between his feet as he looked up to the stage and waited.
Up ahead, the leader of the Tasmanian Patriots Party climbed the podium and faced the crowd. The mob around Chris doubled in volume to counter the cheer of Patriot supporters to the far right. The party leader appeared undaunted by the display of opposition. To the contrary, he smiled broadly as he scanned the crowd before him, seeming to revel in the attention. He straightened the lapels of his navy-blue suit and smiled as cameras flashed from the press cordon directly below the podium.
The party leader held up his hands for quiet and waited patiently for a few moments as the volume dulled. Surprisingly, even those within the protestor block largely stopped yelling, curiosity as to what the man could say winning out.
He tapped the microphone twice to check it was on and was rewarded by a loud thud through the speakers. ‘I welcome all of the Tasmanians present to the formal launch of the Tasmanian Patriots Party.’ As a few jeers sounded from the press, his expression altered to that of a disappointed headmaster addressing an unruly assembly of teenagers. ‘All of you present are here for a reason. Whether or not you support our cause, you are obviously interested in hearing what I have to say, or you wouldn’t have come. Now show some courtesy and hold your opinions quietly for five minutes. I have no problem with you screaming after I’ve said my piece, but until then - keep your tongues still!’ he said, expression now hard as he scanned the crowd before him.
The jeers died away to a dull murmur of anger, many of his opponents stunned at being addressed like children. But it had worked. He had the direct attention of all present, and silence to convey his message. Satisfied that he’d won, his expression altered
again, replaced like a change of mask to that of a benevolent leader before adoring masses.
‘Good. Now that we understand each other, let’s get on with it. The Tasmanian Patriots Party has been formed to achieve our island’s freedom, to make it an independent country.’
‘Free? Australia’s already a free country, you twat!’ shouted somebody near Chris in the crowd. This time the leader didn’t bat an eyelid at the interruption.
‘And that’s where you’re wrong. For over a hundred years since Federation of the Australian colonies in 1901, our fair state has been at the mercy of the mainland. Tasmanians have been forced to send hard earned money in taxes for redistribution to mainlanders who thumb their noses at us. Mainlanders who never get tired of puerile jokes that we’re inbred or have had a second head cut off. It’s pathetic, and from now on it will stop!
‘We’re the only place free of the hideous plague that was born in Queensland. Free of a plague that has decimated every mainland state before island hopping across the Torres Strait to spread disease to Asia and the rest of the world. And why are we safe while others get torn to shreds?’ he asked, pausing to scan the faces in the crowd as if seeking an answer. ‘I’ll tell you why, it’s because we’re smarter and able to make the key decisions to protect our own; demonstrated through the Premier’s closure of our borders at a crucial time when plague could have lurched ashore like rats escaping an ill-fated ship.’
‘If you love the Premier so much, why aren’t you part of his Conservatives Party?’ taunted a woman in the crowd.
‘Because I say he hasn’t gone far enough!’ answered the leader, eyes bright. ‘We’re still supplying food to a failed army when our own citizens are barely putting meals on the table for their own kids. We’re sheltering a defunct federal government that’s as useless as tits on a bull. This needs to stop, and the only way forward is through seceding from the Federation of Australian states and becoming our own country, becoming the Republic of Tasmania!’
Plague War (Book 3): Retaliation Page 2