Jackson Kidd (Book 1): Surviving

by West, Mark

  We approach the cause of the hold-up with a sense of foreboding. There has been an accident between four cars. They are squashed up against one another like sardines, bonnets crumpled except for the one at the front, which has steam pouring out of its engine bay in a mystic cloud.

  I see no emergency services at the scene and wonder if they are all dealing with the explosions we’d just left. In fact, I hadn’t seen any for a while now, and not one had passed us since we left the house. It was like they had all disappeared and been replaced by the military.

  There is someone still inside the steaming car. They are leaning over the steering wheel but not moving. A group is gathered around the car but no one seems to be reacting to the accident. I can’t see clearly inside because blood is splattered across the side window and the windscreen.

  I look harder and notice there is a passenger in the front. They have their head buried deep in the driver’s lap and are shaking furiously. A man approaches our car, pointing and shouting curse words. The whole scene seems surreal. I hit the accelerator as the last car pulls away: I don’t want to stick around to see what’s next and I don’t want us to end up like the police officer.

  With the accident far behind us, we continue our way along Horse Park Drive towards the edge of town. The bulk of the traffic has slowly dispersed into the suburbs and we were now making good timing as we continue south. We are still yet to hear from anyone, so I reach for my phone, which is between the seats and inspect the screen briefly. A faint glow of a signal bar drops in and out and, with nothing to lose, I decide to try and give my mate Lincoln a call. I figure it’s worth giving it another go.

  I punch in the numbers, waiting for the phone to cut out like it had done previously, but surprisingly it connects with a beep, followed by a few bursts of ringing. ‘Hey, Mr Kidd.’ Lincoln says in his husky voice.

  I glance at Victoria with surprise, and yell into the car’s handsfree kit. ‘Hey, mate. This is important, listen—’ I’m interrupted by the sound of beeping as the phone cuts out. I hit the re-dial button and wait, but it doesn’t even attempt to re-connect. I inspect the phone and see the signal bars have disappeared. ‘Dammit,’ I curse, throwing the phone into the footwell. It just misses Victoria’s legs.

  ‘Whoa!’ she shrieks. ‘You need to calm down there mister.’ Victoria turns in her seat, giving me a glare that could crack concrete.

  ‘Sorry,’ I mumble, my attention back on the road. I can feel her eyes burning a hole in the side of my head. Oops.

  The location we are heading for is a property my parents purchased as a vacant block of land years back when I was still in school. They called it the Block. It’s about thirty minutes past Cooma and is perched up on a large hill in a remote area overlooking the Snowy Mountains. There are only a few houses around, most of them small weekenders, and rarely do we see anyone about because the owners live in other states and come down mainly during the ski season or for special occasions.

  The Block has 360-degree views of wild bushland as far as the eye can see, and if you look close enough at night you can spot a faint glow of Cooma in the distance. There is little fencing separating the property from the surrounding bush. Most have either been torn down or left to fall apart. It does however have a large stone wall that surrounds the house, built over time with the rocks that scatter the surrounding countryside. There is one road in and out, which is shared with the few nearby properties.

  Dad is a builder by trade and spent a good two years building the two-storey, three-bedroom house. You might say he is a bit of a hoarder too. He collected all kinds of unwanted building materials over the years, successfully building the house at a minimal cost and using anything and everything he found. It has running water from a large tank and is hooked up to mains power. Gas, however, is bottled.

  Over the years the Block has become a place to escape the city and enjoy the peace and quiet country life has to offer. My parents gave Victoria and I full use of it when they were posted to Laos, and we have been coming here regularly ever since. We wonder what they are doing right now. Are they safe? Is my sister safe with them? What about my grandparents and cousins and friends? I wish my phone was working and the internet didn’t keep dropping out. I want to hear their voices and tell them I’m okay, and to know that they are too. Will I ever talk to them again?

  ‘Almost at Michelago,’ Victoria says, spotting a sign. ‘Are you sure we need to stop?’

  I check the gauge; it’s now pointing towards the quarter mark. ‘Yeah, I’m sure. We need to fill up. It’s on low; I don’t think we will make it. Might as well get gas for the BBQ too while we’re here. Need anything?’

  ‘Snacks?’

  I smile. ‘Sure.’ I’m feeling peckish too. We left in such a hurry I didn’t eat breakfast. I wonder if the service station attendant has some answers.

  I pull in slowly, swerving to avoid the large potholes that greet us at the opening. The surface resembles something of a moon with muddy craters large enough to bog even the toughest of trucks. The lights are on inside and the pumps glow green to show it is open, but I can’t see a single person or car in sight.

  I scan the area, feeling my heart begin to race and pray that someone is here. ‘Hopefully they have some answers about what’s going on.’ I say, turning the wheel to avoid the last hole and steer the truck to the closest pump.

  I inspect the building once more, trying to locate the attendant, but still see no one inside. Something doesn’t feel right, and I slip my hunting knife from my backpack into the side of my belt as a precaution.

  ‘What’s that for?’ Victoria frowns when she spots the knife.

  ‘It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it,’ I answer, brushing her off.

  ‘It’s not nothing Jackson.’ she insists, looking directly into my eyes.

  ‘Just doesn’t feel right,’ I mumble. ‘I dunno … it’s just in case. Just stay here, okay?’

  I slowly open the door, peering in all directions for any kind of movement, but see nothing. I turn back towards the truck, locking the doors and notice Victoria is still glaring at me. I smile back, assuring her that everything is okay, but her expression doesn’t change.

  I unscrew the fuel cap. It dangles on the thin plastic wire. I place the nozzle into the filler and wiggle it to ensure it is all the way in, before squeezing the trigger. A few moments later the fuel begins to flow, and I peer inside to see if I can see anyone. ‘Still seems to be empty.’ I mutter, glancing at a few cars as they race past along the highway.

  Once full, I pull out the two twenty-litre drums I have stored in the trailer and fill them up. Finished, I knock on the car window, gesturing to Victoria that I’m going inside to pay. ‘I’ll grab some chips and water while I’m in there,’ I mouth through the window.

  She winds down the window. ‘Any sign of people inside?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Be careful.’ She blows me a kiss then sits back in her seat, turning her gaze towards store.

  There’s an illuminated sign flashing green with the word open written in the centre. I push the glass door and hear a small bell ding a few times before cutting out. I keep pushing on it until it wedges up tight against the unlevel floor. I take a step into the room and scan from left to right.

  The room is dusty with age. The vinyl floor is torn in spots and some of the paint on the walls is flaking. I act like nothing is out of the ordinary, picking up a shopping basket loading up some snacks. There isn’t much in the way of nutritional food. It’s mainly chips, chocolates and soft drinks. I select a few items, collecting an array of food to eat for the last part of our trip, and head to the counter to pay.

  To the left of the counter there is a rotatable stand with all kinds of phone accessories and car gadgets. I spin the stand, inspecting the goods while waiting patiently for the attendant.

  I continue to wait, growing more impatient by the minute. ‘Hello!’ I tap down on the bell resting on the counter. It pings, the
n I’m left with silence again. ‘Is someone there? I need to get going!’ I glance back outside at the truck. Victoria’s face is pressed hard up against the truck’s window. Everything else seems fine.

  After another few moments I hear a chair sliding across the ground. I peer into the small room tucked off to the side behind the counter. ‘About time,’ I mutter.

  A short man comes edging around the corner, head down and hands by his sides. I feel a growing irritation tingle through my body as I watch him drag his heels along the floor. ‘Hey mate, what’s going on?’ I ask, my words snapping out before I think. ‘I’ve been waiting here for ages.’

  The man ignores me and continues to edge forward, head down and groaning to himself. His arrogance is getting to me. I’m about to say something when I notice his top. He’s wearing a white button-down shirt that is immaculately clean, except for a few red stains below the collar. I cock my head to try and see his face but can’t see anything. ‘Mate, you need to go to the till, so I can—’

  My words are cut short when his head lifts. I’m greeted with a pale face and glowing eyes with a distinctive red ring around them. There is blood seeping from the side of his mouth and he has a swollen lip. He looks awful, as if he’s been in a fight. I can smell him now, it’s like rotting meat.

  ‘Whoa, buddy. What’s wrong with you?’

  He ignores my question and keeps coming, growling and snarling like a rabid animal whilst eyeing me up and down. The smell emanating from his body is so bad I put my arm in front of my nose. He raises his arms and keeps coming towards me. I stagger backwards in shock, knocking the basket of food onto the ground. ‘Whoa, mate. What’s wrong?’ But he doesn’t listen.

  A brief flashback enters my mind of the officer at the roundabout. How the people attacked him. How his arms were up signalling for them to stop, just before he tripped.

  I reach for my knife, clutching the handle and drawing it forward. ‘Stop right there!’ I yell. He doesn’t waver. His lips are drawn back as he snarls, and I can see his teeth and his bloody receding gums. His expression a mixture of hate and anger. The knife doesn’t seem to bother him at all. He doesn’t seem human.

  ‘Stop right now!’ I yell again, waving my knife from left to right as I take another step backward. But he tracks my movement like he’s hunting me. My brain is racing, and I have no idea what the hell is going on. Could I really stab this guy?

  I glance quickly around for something else to use. I spot a stack of old metal shelving parts leaning up against the back wall. This may be my only chance to make a break for it. Now or never.

  I run over to the stack, grab the largest shelf support and swing round, pointing it at the man like a sword ready for battle. He follows me, snarling and growling. I hold the bracket in front of me and watch for any indications of an attack. The bracket is about a metre long, with small slots down the sides for additional supports to lock into. It’s heavy, but I’ve got muscular arms and hold the weight easily.

  ‘I’ll hit you!’ I slowly draw the bracket back and count down, hoping he will snap out of whatever it is and walk away.

  ‘Three, two, one.’

  I strike bracket across the man’s face, causing him to fall backwards into a shelf full of chips. A large gash appears on the side of his face and blood spits across the room in an arc. He begins floundering around on the shelf. I draw back the bracket, ready to strike again while waiting to see what he will do. He steadies himself and comes for me again.

  I close my eyes and drop the bracket down across his skull. I feel the metal bend from the pressure and hear a pop. Opening my eyes, I see him fall back against the shelf. His legs and arms sprawl in a mess of burst chip packets and blood.

  I start to shake; it must be the adrenalin. My stomach does a flip and I have an urge to vomit, but manage to hold it back. This is not the time or the place to spill my guts. The man begins to snarl again; it’s not from the pain but from the pure anger. His eyes narrow in on mine. I can see it now and can’t believe how stupid I’ve been. This man isn’t human. I’m not sure he’s even alive!

  Everything we have seen from the time we woke, from when we had left the house: the gang of people at the roundabout, the officer, the dead man on the side of the road and the fires that were breaking out, I know now it will not blow over in a few days.

  He pounces and grabs my leg; I yelp. Deep in my thoughts, I hadn’t noticed him. I call out in fright and try to pull back, but he doesn’t let go. I can feel his grip tighten: his claw like fingers clamped around the heavy material of my cargo pants, his teeth bared.

  He drags himself closer, his face edging towards my leg. I know exactly what he’s is about to do. I’ve seen enough movies to know that one bite is death.

  Without thinking I grab my knife again. The man’s face is now only a few centimetres from my leg. I jam the knife deep into the side of his skull with no mercy, passing through the bone and striking the centre of his brain. His hand goes limp, and I can feel the throb of blood returning to my foot as he slips to the floor.

  I take a deep breath, press my foot hard against his face and pull the knife free. I can feel the blade grind against bone as it slides out, blood pumping from the open wound when it slips free. I look at the discharge; there is so much of it. Thin lines of black are also leaking out, mingling with the red blood in a swirl. It doesn’t look normal; no one I know bleeds like that.

  The shops door pings. I turn to see Victoria walking through the door, hands cupped around her mouth in disbelief. She shrieks when she sees the fallen man on the ground.

  She turns to me. ‘You okay?’ My jumper is covered in a fine spray of blood and I’m still shaking from the adrenalin coursing through my veins. ‘I think so?’ I take a step back to avoid the blood that’s pooling around the body.

  Victoria’s hands shake uncontrollably as they withdraw slowly from her mouth. ‘Is he …?’

  I peer down at the man. ‘I think he already was.’

  I watch as Victoria takes a few steps closer to him with shaky legs. ‘What do you mean?’ There is a quaver in her voice and I suspect she just wants to run.

  ‘I think the guy was …’ I hesitate, thinking of a better way to explain the scenario. ‘Look you won’t believe this, but I think he was infected with something.’ I gesture towards the man’s face. ‘Take a look for yourself.’

  Victoria takes a few steps closer, stopping and inspecting the man. She shakes her head fiercely and turns away. I can see her face starting to go white and it looks like she’s swallowed something nasty. ‘That’s disgusting.’ She gags, placing her hand against her mouth.

  I gently rub her shoulders, leaving a smear of blood on the back of her shirt. A sudden realisation dawns on me: the blood, it’s all over my hands and clothes, is it infectious?

  ‘Step back’ I hold my hands out in front of me. ‘The blood. It might be contaminated.’

  Victoria stares at my hands. It takes a second for her to realise what I’m saying.

  ‘Wash it off!’ she shrieks. ‘Wash the blood off.’

  I run to the toilets located in the corner of the store, shove open the door and hurriedly turn on the tap. I scrub furiously at my hands, watching the bloody water fall into the porcelain basin and drain away. I take off my jumper and throw it on the floor, but decide to leave my pants on as they only seem to have a few spots on them. I hear the door to the toilets swing open. Victoria is standing there.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asks, anxiously.

  ‘I think so.’

  I look at the bloody water sloshed over the sink. My mouth is dry, but I don’t dare drink from the tap.

  ‘Let’s grab our stuff, Jackson, and get the hell out of here in case there are more. I’ll feel safer with other people around. I’ve seen loads of cars driving past, even a few that look like army.’

  ‘Which way?’ I ask, peering towards the road. But my view is obscured by the pumps and the truck.

  ‘Mostly north,
towards home, but one or two went south, same as us.’

  I don’t speak for a minute and gaze out the window, turning back eventually to peer down at the man. He seems to be deflating: his body getting thinner by the minute as more and more blood drains from his head.

  ‘Wait,’ I say. ‘If this guy is the only one here and this is an outbreak or whatever the hell it is, shouldn’t we stock up while we have the opportunity?’

  Victoria looks around at all the confectionary that lines the walls. ‘Isn’t that stealing?’

  I don’t care at this moment because I know we need to get the hell out of here before someone comes. I gesture at the man, his body slowly draining of colour. ‘I just committed murder.’ I feel a shiver run down my spine.

  Chapter 5

  ROHAN

  Rohan arrives swiftly at the front of Aaron’s house, pulls on the handbrake and hops out. He is wearing a light grey Burberry suit, one of his favourites, with a silky blue shirt and no tie. It complements his dark skin and deep brown eyes. The suit clings firmly to his stocky body as he strides to the door with a swagger. He’s feeling good today; he was awarded a promotion last week and it’s the first day he can show his leadership skills off to his peers.

  He knocks on the door a few times and waits. There is no answer, which is strange because he’s early and Aaron is the one who set up the meeting. He wanted the two to discuss an opportunity that apparently Rohan won’t be able to say no to.