Jackson Kidd (Book 1): Surviving

by West, Mark

  ‘The Block.’

  Chapter 2

  GETTING OUT

  As I step outside, I feel the cold wind whip across my face. I yank my grey hoodie over my head, reach for the drawstrings and pull them tight, before stuffing my hands into the front pockets. It is a bitterly cold winter’s morning, a typical day for this time of the year. But the cold seems to strike me unexpectedly every time.

  I check the area for any signs of activity. It’s clear; all I see are a few lights on in a couple of houses. I can hear the faint throb of a helicopter, or perhaps two, in the distance, along with the sound of sirens. I run to my truck located about fifty metres down the road in a vacant lot, jamming my keys into the door and jumping in. It’s parked here because of the pile of mulch in my driveway. I close the door carefully, trying not to slam it and bring any unwanted attention.

  The frost is lighter this morning and luckily hasn’t covered the windshield in a blanket of ice. I check for any signs of movement before turning the key in the ignition. The old Hilux coughs as it struggles to start in the cold, then roars into life when I pump the gas and send fuel into the cylinders.

  I check my surroundings again. I’m still alone. I push the stick into first and press down hard on the accelerator. I’m parked on a hill and require additional power to tow my trailer that’s latched onto the back. The truck groans, and slowly it begins to ease forward as I stagger up the hill.

  I reach the front of the house and park, quickly running back inside where Victoria is waiting by the front door. ‘How did you go?’ she asks, eyes scanning from left to right before she closes the door behind me.

  ‘Seems clear so far. If we’re still thinking of leaving for the Block, we should get moving now before the roads get busy and perhaps the violence increases.’

  Victoria nods then looks at the bags on the floor next to the suitcases we’d packed. ‘I grabbed what I could. Food, water, a few other things we might need. I wasn’t sure about your rifles … if you wanted to take them?’

  I smile, acknowledging her efforts. ‘Might be a good idea to grab them, just in case things go south. You never know, they may come in handy.’

  I duck off to the garage to fetch the weapons locked away in the safe. I own five guns in total: three rifles and two shotguns. I’ve collected them over the years, obtaining my licence when my parents brought the property up in the hills years ago. I’m not a huge gun enthusiast, but I enjoy a bit of recreational shooting.

  I grab all the ammunition in the safe and sling the rifles over my shoulder, using the leather straps attached to each one. I scoop up the other two shotguns and cradle them like a baby.

  Victoria looks surprised when she sees I’m holding all my weaponry. ‘Do we need all of them?’ she asks, brushing a few loose strands of hair from her eyes.

  I nod, still cradling the guns carefully, trying not to drop any on the polished entry tiles. ‘Yep, we can never be too prepared.’ I take a few steps towards the front door. ‘I’ll run these out and come back for the rest of the stuff. Keep an eye out for anyone sneaking up on me.’ Victoria smiles nervously and opens the door.

  I load the guns in the truck and return to the house. Victoria has a backpack slung over one shoulder and is holding a shopping bag full of canned food and a few bottles of water.

  ‘You ready?’ I ask, when we finish loading.

  ‘Think so.’

  I peer into her eyes and see doubt. I need to reassure her. ‘We can do this sweetie. Whatever’s going on will blow over in a few days and we can return as fast as we’ve left.’

  She smiles but doesn’t seem convinced. ‘What if one of those gangs attack us?’

  I flex one of my arms and give her a cheeky smile. ‘We drive as fast and far away from them as possible.’

  ‘Seriously.’

  ‘We have guns. I’m hopeful we won’t need to use them, but if we do—’

  We’re interrupted by another loud explosion. I feel my heart skip a beat. I turn towards the open door, half expecting to see something happening across the road, but all is still quiet. ‘That one felt close. We need to go now!’

  We weave in and out of burning fires and frantic people screaming in the street. A little later we encountered our second dead body. I fear there are more.

  The dead man was resting in the gutter at the edge of the golf course that wraps around Ngunnawal and part of Nicholls. He is sprawled out like he is taking a nap. Part of his skull has been bashed in, and his clothes have been ripped apart exposing a chest that looks like it has burst from the inside. But we aren’t stopping to investigate.

  When we reach the highway it’s nothing but panic. We are still left with few answers because news and social media are telling us nothing. Victoria has been on all kinds of sites and found mainly outdated posts. The best answer we’ve been given for the explosions is that it’s a terrorist attack. We can see military planes as they fly overhead, but no enemy. I think about the two deaths we’d seen. Nothing is making sense.

  Dozens of cars speed past. I try to stick to the left, occasionally overtaking a slower vehicle puttering along. Most of the cars seem to be packed to the brim, with bags and random things strapped to the roof – and sometimes bonnet – by large ropes. I wonder where they’re all going.

  We are about halfway down the highway when the traffic begins to slow. In the distance, I can see some kind of hold up. I slow the truck down, cautious because of my trailer hitched to the back. The car behind honks and weaves past impatiently. I catch the passenger’s eye and see fear in her expression, then spot children buckled in the back, perhaps unaware of the seriousness of the situation.

  ‘What is it?’ Victoria asks, leaning forward for a better look.

  I sit up in my seat, trying to see. A couple of vehicles are pulled off to the side a hundred metres up ahead. The bonnet of one of the cars is steaming: a thin grey wisp slithering up into the air.

  ‘I think there’s an accident up ahead.’ I lower myself back down and check my review mirror. Behind I can see dozens of cars banked up. I’d often been caught in traffic going to the football, but this was the worst. We soon find ourselves boxed in and almost at a standstill.

  ‘We need to get out of here.’ I say, in frustration. I can feel panic welling up inside at the thought of being trapped.

  ‘There’s nowhere to go.’ Victoria is leaning forward in her seat again, desperate to see what’s up ahead. ‘A few people are getting out of their cars. Everyone seems confused. I don’t think anyone knows what to do.’

  ‘Don’t get out, whatever you do. Keep the doors locked.’

  A truck pulls off the side a few vehicles behind us, driving through the farmland and avoiding the traffic, only to re-emerge up ahead just past the jam.

  ‘If we left the trailer could we go around?’ Victoria asks, watching the truck disappear up into the hills in the distance.

  I shake my head. ‘Not sure, and I’m not willing to take the risk just yet. We may need the tools if we’re stuck out of town longer than we hope. Besides, I’ll need everything when we come back.’ But after what I have seen, I’m not so sure we’ll ever get back.

  Victoria grips her seatbelt and lets out a sigh. ‘Guess we wait then.’

  Chapter 3

  AMY

  Amy is not a morning person. She doesn’t like to get out of bed before eleven, and if she had it her way she would Netflix and chill all day long. But today is a workday, and there is no avoiding it. No matter how much she dislikes her part-time job, she has bills to pay.

  She scrolls through the day’s roster in her mind and lets out a dissatisfied sigh. She’s got a big day with morning and afternoon meetings. ‘Great,’ she mutters, pressing her lips together in disappointment. She reaches for her phone and slips back down in the doona and checks the time. It’s almost half past seven. She is already thirty minutes behind her normal schedule and on track to be running late for her first meeting. She rubs her eyes. Why did she
stay up so late?

  Amy slips her legs out of the doona and places them on the ground. The cold floor tiles make her jerk them back. ‘Freezing!’ She stands up, pulls her dressing-gown off the end of the bed and puts it on. It falls almost to the ground, covering her thin but muscular body. Her mouth is dry; she goes over to the kitchen.

  Amy’s flat is modest. It is situated out the back of the house of an old couple: Norma and Greg. The place is fully detached, with its own kitchen, bathroom and bedroom. It’s open plan, except for the bathroom which is tucked away in the back corner.

  Amy opens the fridge and pulls out a can of Pepsi Max. She cracks it open, pressing it to her lips and sucking in several big mouthfuls. She feels better straight away, thirst no longer an issue. She reaches for the remote on the kitchen bench and turns on the television. A man appears on the screen. He’s built like a house and has a moustache that makes him resemble a biker. He is standing in front of a car pointing to the engine bay, while two smaller guys ogle the shiny engine.

  ‘What are you showing me today, Anderson?’ Amy grabs the Weet-Bix packet from the side of the breakfast bar. She places two biscuits on a plate, slips a knife from the drawer and dollops honey over the top. She quickly eats them and is about to make her way to the bathroom when there is a bang on the glass sliding door.

  ‘Huh?’

  She turns, facing the drawn curtains. The banging starts again, this time it goes on longer. She pulls her dressing-gown tight to cover her naked body and steps closer.

  The banging grows louder. Amy stands close to the curtains. ‘Norma is that you?

  There is no answer. The knocking intensifies. She looks through a small slit in the curtain, but all she can see is a dark shadow. ‘Greg?’

  Still no answer. Unable to ignore the banging any longer, Amy pulls back a corner of a curtain to see Norma standing by the door. ‘Norma?’

  In surprise, Amy grabs the curtains and yanks them open. Bright sunlight pours into the room temporarily blinding her. She opens her eyes to see Norma standing directly in front of her, pounding on the glass.

  ‘Oh Jesus!’ Amy yelps, jumping back.

  Norma’s aged face is bleeding. Her cheek is gaping open, exposing bone and yellow teeth. Her silver nightie is torn, and she is covered in a dark fluid that makes it cling to her skin.

  Norma starts scratching away at the glass like a cat begging for food. Amy is drawn to Norma’s hands. Her fingernails are broken off, leaving raw tips which are leaking blood.

  Amy can feel herself shaking. Horrified, she tries to compose herself. ‘Where’s Greg?’ She doesn’t wait for a response and reaches for the handle, sliding it open cautiously.

  Norma lunges at the gap in the door, her arm slipping through as she attempts to force her way in. Amy holds tightly to the handle and tries desperately to close it. She plants her foot behind the door, which prevents it from sliding anymore. Norma frantically swings her arm around and tries to grab Amy’s hands that are slowly slipping from the handle. Amy dodges the arm and leans forward some more, pressing against the door and willing it to close. ‘Get back!

  Norma, taller and somehow stronger despite her withering arm, manages to wedge a foot in the gap and begins using her body weight to slide the door open. Amy scans the room in a panic, trying desperately to find something within reach that she can use to hold the door closed. She spots the coat rack.

  She leans over, shoulder still pressing up against the door while her free arm is outstretched. Her fingers wiggle as she leans a little more, hoping to gain just a few more millimetres. They brush the metal but are still unable to grasp hold.

  Sweat is running down her forehead and into her eyes. Her arms and legs are burning from the lactic acid. ‘Okay Amy, you got this.’ She grits her teeth. ‘One, two … three!’

  In one quick motion she removes most of her weight from the door, gaining the few precious millimetres, and snatches at the rack. She clamps hold of it in her hand like a vice and in seconds she is jumping back and slamming hard against the glass door, but it is too late. It only took a second for Norma to gain the advantage and slide the door wide open, hitting Amy on the side of her body and sending her backwards with the rack.

  Amy’s winded, but she holds tightly to the coat rack as Norma lunges in her direction. Amy doesn’t blink. She smashes the base of the coat rack into the side of Norma’s face, shattering her jaw and knocking out a few teeth. Norma’s head smashes into the door with a thud, creating a thick crack down the middle of the glass.

  Amy drops the rack and runs towards the kitchen in fright, unsure if she is being followed. ‘A big knife, I need a damn big knife!’ she screams in panic.

  Grabbing at the drawers she pulls one open, searching frantically for something to use. The first drawer holds nothing but small cutlery. She goes for the next, yanking it open so hard it dislodges from its tracks, falling to the floor with a clang. Utensils scatter across the tiles. ‘Dammit!’ Panicking, Amy dives to her knees and begins sifting through them for something useful.

  Norma’s feet slap on the floor as she prowls towards Amy, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind her. Her arm slaps the bench when she arrives. She glares down at Amy in anger, scowling. Blood is trickling from her mouth.

  Amy snatches at the meat cleaver, jumping to her feet as Norma lunges forward. The cleaver slices through the air and connects with Norma’s ear. There is a small pop as cartilage implodes and blood bursts out like an erupting boil. Amy lifts the cleaver back in the air and strikes again, hitting the centre of Norma’s skull with a sickening crack. The cleaver falls out of Amy’s hand and drops to the floor, blood splattering the ground.

  Norma’s eyes grow wide with anger. Her head rolls back and she lets out a horrific scream at the ceiling. The noise is deafening. The pause gives Amy enough time to lean across and grab the butcher’s knife she can see beside the stove top. ‘Found you!’

  The stainless steel handle feels cold in her shaking hand. She draws it forward, pointing it in the direction of Norma who has suddenly stopped screaming and is now moving forward unsteadily with eyes that glow with revenge.

  Amy lunges with the butcher’s knife, misjudging and hitting Norma’s right shoulder. The knife slices through the skin like cheese, splitting the muscle open and hitting the bone. The shoulder dislodges and falls from its socket, hanging by a thread of skin like dangling fruit.

  Amy pulls the knife back. Norma slips on the pooling blood and falls to the floor, her one good arm grasping at the cupboard handles but failing to grab on. She scrambles along the tiles in frustration, attempting to stand once again, but the blood is like slime and taunts her in her efforts.

  Amy smiles and approaches the woman, being careful not to slip too. She holds the knife high above her head. In one swift movement the knife’s laser-sharp edge lands right in the centre of Norma’s skull, cracking it open and spilling more blood onto the tiles. Norma’s body becomes limp. The smell of bodily fluids is overpowering, but Amy doesn’t turn away. Her eyes fix on her once warm, friendly landlord who is now a pile of bloody meat, noticing for the first time the black swirl through the blood. Amy wipes her face with the corner of her robe, cleans her hands on the kitchen cloth and cries uncontrollably.

  Minutes pass before her attention is drawn suddenly to the television. The news is playing. A thin black-haired man is talking. Behind him is the image of a raging fire. She gets closer so she can hear what he is saying.

  ‘We interrupt this broadcast to bring you this news update.’ The man’s tone is blunt; he gets straight to the point. ‘There have been further explosions around the capital following those reported in the early hours of this morning. There were some initial reports of an attack, but sources now say there is a breach in the gas lines. We haven’t yet had that confirmed. A spokesperson from the city services reports that mains are possibly blowing due to a pressure build up in the lines. All explosions so far have been in the north of the city and hope
fully shouldn’t affect the south once the issue is contained.’ The man leans in closer to the camera. ‘We will give you further updates as the situation becomes clearer. We urge anyone thinking of going to the north of the city to stay away until the situation is under control.’ The newsreader shuffles a few papers and continues. ‘In other news, we have received numerous reports of people acting irrationally or lashing out violently following symptoms of a fever. Authorities are asking everyone to stay indoors if they are feeling unwell, and to seek urgent medical assistance if symptoms persist.’

  Amy shakes her head in frustration, ‘Lash out! Lash out!’ She stomps closer towards the television.

  ‘Some extreme cases have resulted in death. So, again we urge everyone to stay indoors and seek urgent medical assistance if necessary.’ The man sits back in his chair. ‘We will keep you updated every hour, on the hour. This is Timothy Stalls from WIN News.’

  Amy snatches at her phone resting on the kitchen bench. In the corner of the glowing screen a blue light is flashing. It’s a message from Victoria. She starts to read. ‘Oh God!’ She changes to the keypad, taps triple zero and places the phone to her ear, waiting for the police to pick up. It beeps a few times and goes dead. She looks at the screen with narrowed eyes, puzzled. There’s no signal. She tries again, but the result is the same so she places the phone back on the bench. ‘Well, I’m not sticking around here for Greg to make an appearance. I’m leaving.’

  Chapter 4

  MICHELAGO

  It isn’t long before the traffic starts moving and we are approaching the accident. The honking stops, and everyone seems to be working together, desperate to get wherever they are going. I glance back in the mirror to see rows and rows of cars lined up for kilometres into the distance, until they disappear into the trees. I can’t help but think we are lucky to have left when we did. I can see smoke coming from the hills, and more helicopters circling. Every so often one will dive like a hornet. There are now jets shooting across the sky as well. We have no idea what’s going on because the internet is down and has been for the last twenty minutes. Victoria sent a message to friends and family, telling them of our location, just in case someone comes looking for us. We hope it got through.