Jackson Kidd (Book 1): Surviving

by West, Mark

  Ideas roll through my mind. I try to think of the best way to handle the situation. But I know there’s only one that’s right. ‘It’s okay, guys,’ I finally say, in calm voice. ‘Just thinking how I should handle this.’

  ‘Handle this?’ Victoria screams, rubbing her hands along her thighs.

  The pair are now only about twenty metres away. ‘Yeah. Like, do I get out and move them or …’ I’m not sure how I should word what I really want to do.

  ‘Run them over,’ says Victoria.

  ‘Well yeah, I guess that’s one way of putting it.’ I feel uneasy. My kill count, if you add the ones in Cooma, is now at five. Five bodies. Five deaths and they are all on my head. Add another two and I’m basically a serial killer. I’m not sure if this is something I should be proud of. The thought of running these two over is making me feel nauseous.

  ‘I would rather stay in the car if you don’t mind.’ Joseph sounds nervous. His hands are gripping the back of the seat.

  Victoria squeezes my thigh. ‘I’m with Joseph,’ she says. ‘Don’t risk it.’ She gives me a nod.

  ‘Okay.’ My car is already a bloody mess; what’s another two anyway? I clench the wheel tightly.

  This pair seem slower than the ones I saw in town. Possibly the gravely road or the steep incline is making it difficult for them to walk. Or perhaps it’s the cowboy boots they are wearing. I’m not sure. But like pack animals, Infected stick together like glue: hunting as one, killing as one.

  The gravel crunches under my tyres as we start to move up the slope, picking up speed as I press my foot hard down on the accelerator. I can feel the bottom of my heel digging deep into the rubber mat, and I pray I have enough momentum to kill them.

  We slam into the pair with as much speed as I can gather. The bodies tumble backwards, skidding across the rocky surface. I feel the crunch under the front tyre as I go over them, then the back of the truck lifts like we are going over a speed bump.

  I check my mirror and see a tangled pair of bodies lying on the ground in a cloud of dust. The couple are motionless. I ease my foot onto the brake. When we come to a complete stop, I pull on the handbrake. I can feel my body trembling with adrenalin. It’s making my heart thud against my chest like a war drum.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I can hear the anxiety in Victoria’s voice.

  ‘I’m making sure they’re dead.’ I don’t want anything following us.

  I unlock my door and reach for the handle. Victoria grips my arm. I’m hoping she’ll tell me to stay, but I know I must go. ‘Please be careful.’

  I lean over and kiss her. ‘Back in a sec.’ But I’m not sure what lies ahead. I pull the handle and step out, closing the door behind me and gesturing to the others to stay inside. ‘Keep the doors locked.’

  I slip my hunting knife from its sheath and hold it tightly in my right hand as I make my way to the bodies. They still haven’t moved. I hope to God they’re dead.

  Close up, it’s obvious they’re not getting up any time soon. Both heads are crushed, and abrasions cover every inch of exposed skin. There’s a pool of red and black blood soaking the earth. How does a body hold so much blood? The killing doesn’t seem to bother me as much this time. It worries me how quickly I’m becoming desensitised. I shake off the thoughts and walk back to inspect the truck for damage.

  The front of the truck seems fine, despite the fact it’s covered in human remains, and my side mirror is missing. I stare at the gore for a moment. A crow lands on the bull bar. It’s black, feather coat glistens in the sunlight as it watches me standing less than a metre away. It squawks and picks away at something that’s wedged in the grill. For a moment it feels like it’s just me and the bird as we stare at each other, hypnotised. The bond is suddenly broken when it turns its head and skips to another chunk of flesh, picking it up and flying back into the sky. I guess we’re all just trying to survive.

  Shortly after our quick stop, we arrive at the entrance to the property. I stop just short of the gate and jump out, checking my surrounds to make sure it’s all clear. To the left of the gate is a metal sheep my sister has shaped out of old tin. Small holes are scattered throughout the sculpture where it’s been shot at by random people, myself included.

  I sort through the array of keys I’ve got on a silver chain, searching for the right one. They are all similar in size and shape. Eventually I lift a brass key from the bunch and insert it into the lock. Wrong one. After a few more attempts, the lock clicks open and can I remove the chain, swinging the gate wide open until it wedges up against the sloping ground.

  Victoria has moved into the driver’s seat and edges the truck forward, slipping slowly past me and into the property. I follow, closing the gate behind me, pulling the chain through the mesh and hooking the padlock over; deliberately not locking it, just in case we need to leave.

  I jump into the passenger’s side, and look around at the land. Rocks of all shapes and sizes litter the ground, most about the size of a football, but some as big as a large suitcase. The grass is short this time of the year and looks very dry, with only a few tufts of green sprouting from the cracked earth. It’s treacherous land in these parts, very hilly, and veering off the path is a death sentence for your tyres if they’re not up for the challenge.

  To my left, just a hundred or so metres from the road, is a group of pine trees, at least five trees deep. The trees were planted to shelter the house from the strong winds that whip across the land, and, as an added bonus, keep it well hidden from the main road. Victoria turns the steering wheel and veers off down the gravel road that will lead us to the house.

  ‘Looks clear,’ I say, scanning the area. I can see the outline of the house over the rise, growing with every metre we get closer.

  ‘Wow!’ Joseph calls out, his eyes wide with amazement. ‘This place looks amazing!’ He opens the electric window and sticks his head out. ‘Is this all yours?’

  ‘Kind of, but I’ve never lived here,’ I explain. ‘This is what you’d call a weekender, my parent’s retreat. They used to come here most weekends until they moved overseas.’

  I worry about their safety and wonder what they are doing right now. I haven’t heard a peep out of them since last week.

  Joseph pulls his head back inside the cabin. ‘Weekender? This place is bigger than my house back home.’ He shakes his head in disbelief and I shrug off the comment.

  The grey Colorbond roof of the two-storey house, gleams in the sunlight. The light blue weatherboard walls still have a sheen from the update they received last year. The decks on the front and back are dull though, the dark timber weather worn. That’s how Dad likes them. He has never stained them since they were nailed down. ‘Keeps the place looking like an old country home’, he would say. He placed an old wine barrel on the back deck, hung rusted fox traps on the timber posts and strung a few goat horns from the rafters, to emphasise the feeling.

  Victoria pulls up just in front of the house, yanks on the handbrake, and shuts off the engine. We all wait a moment, then I slowly open my door and check for danger. It’s eerily quiet, except for the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves in the breeze. A shadow darts behind the house. We’re not alone.

  Chapter 9

  THE ARRIVAL

  I reach into the back of the cab, grab my rifle and lock in the magazine. ‘You guys wait here.’

  Victoria is out of the car before I’ve taken a step. ‘I’m coming with you.’ She has a tyre iron in her hand. I’m thankful she will be with me. Joseph hasn’t moved. I hear the car doors lock behind us as soon we step away. It’s going to take a while for him to get over what he’s been through.

  We sneak along the edge of the house, side by side. I can hear my breathing over the sound of our footsteps. I’m nervous, glad I have a gun this time: pump action .223. It can put a decent hole into anything up to three hundred metres away, but with my skills I’d be lucky to hit a target less than half that distance.

  As we reach
the corner of the house, I hear scraping along the ground. I signal to Victoria to hang back, but she shakes her head and sticks to my side. There’s more scraping and then a thump, like someone has jumped onto the ground from a ledge. It’s clear something is around the back. I flick the safety off and grip the handle, careful not to rest my finger too closely to the trigger. I don’t want a misfire.

  ‘Ready?’ I whisper.

  Victoria nods, hands white-knuckled from gripping the tyre iron so tightly. I poke my head around the corner and flick the safety back on. I should have guessed. The grass is a bit greener around this side, much longer, and not rock riddled either. If it was yesterday the shadow wouldn’t have worried me. But today it did; I couldn’t take any chances. We’ll have no worries from this lot though: three kangaroos are staring at us with a glum look.

  It doesn’t take long for them to hop away, perhaps because I’m laughing. I must seem crazy and unpredictable with a gun. I turn to Victoria who is smiling, her cute cheeks glowing pink. I chuckle and pull her in close for a hug. I hold her tight and can feel our hearts still thumping strongly.

  ‘I wish this was over.’ She speaks softly into my ear. ‘I just want to go home, Jackson.’

  I feel the same way, but I don’t say a word. I’m enjoying the moment because I know the danger isn’t over yet; we still haven’t checked the rest of the property. The Infected could be hiding somewhere and watching us as we speak.

  ‘Come on.’ I break free. I can see the tension in Victoria’s face when she looks at me. ‘Let’s check the rest of the place before we unload.’

  When we get back Joseph is standing by the car door, one of my spare guns by his side. I give him a quick run-down of what we saw and we continue the search to ensure we are alone. We stick together, circling the small country home first. We find no signs that anyone has been to the property recently, perhaps not since we were last here. When it’s deemed safe, we decide to investigate the shed. Heading to the small building just thirty metres from the house, we continue searching.

  The shed is the size of a standard double garage, with a corrugated iron roof and walls. At one end there is a roller door. There’s also a timber entry door and a few windows scattered around the sides. The roller door is never used; not once have I seen it open since the shed was constructed.

  Dad built the shed way back when he first bought the land. The idea was to stay in the shed while the main house was being built. It had a fireplace, a few beds and a small kitchen, but no running water or power. To shower we filled a rubber bladder full of water, leaving it in the sun during the warmth of the day to heat up. In winter, Dad would sometimes hook up the generator and boil some water so we didn’t freeze. This was very rare though, so I found it easier to not shower for a few days and wait until we were back in the city.

  The day the cottage was built we ditched the shed and moved in. Now it’s used mainly for storage, holding tools, furniture, building materials and garden equipment: a bunker for a hoarder’s collection.

  ‘Nothing here,’ Victoria says, giving the final okay as she comes around from the side of the shed. She is holding my .22 rifle. Joseph has the four-ten shotgun under his arm. Victoria looks more confident now she has a weapon; I can see it in her stride. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail and her shoulders and back are straight: ready for anything.

  ‘Time for inside the cottage,’ I say. ‘Once that’s clear and we get settled, I might use some of this wire over here to block off the gaps in the rock walls – try and reduce the chance of Infected coming through.’ I point to a few rolls of chicken wire leaning up against the side of the shed. They are in tight bundles, but aren’t new.

  ‘Good idea,’ she agrees, and we make our way back to the house.

  The house is empty and untouched, just how we left it a few weeks ago. The air tastes stale, so Victoria opens a few windows, letting in the fresh country air. A few trapped flys buzz around in a panic. They head for the windows, mostly crashing directly into the glass and falling onto the windowsill in a frantic spin.

  While Victoria and Joseph unload the last few items, I grab my sledgehammer, wire cutters and a pair of used work gloves from the trailer. I dump the gear near the rock wall before making my way to the shed for the rest of the supplies. There are three large rolls of chicken wire and around twenty star pickets scattered around the back. Most of the pickets seem rusted and bent, but I grab them anyway, knowing I can make them work. I still have to find the twitching wire.

  I make my way inside the shed and begin searching the drawers. No luck. I lift an old drop saw off the top of a battered toolbox and rummage through, pushing aside rusted hand tools and unloved junk. I spot the wire. Perfect!

  When I have everything I need, I load the items into an old, rusty wheelbarrow I find by the water tank and make my way to the first gap in the rock wall. I figure if I can block these up quickly, later, when we are more settled in, I can consider building a more permeant structure. That’s if we are stuck here long term.

  I approach the first opening in the wall and tip the barrow’s contents onto the ground. I scan the area once again, taking in the wall’s beauty. It’s about a metre high and surrounds the shed and cottage. It has five small openings, each about a metre wide, scattered along its length, with one large gap at the front to allow cars to pass through from the road. The wall was built from the rocks scattered around the land, representing years of hard work. One after the other the rocks were collected, piled into the ute and then dry stacked, painstakingly, year after year: the wall growing ever higher.

  It doesn’t take long to block up all the smaller openings with the chicken wire. I place a star picket on each side of the gap and run mesh across to close it in. It’s nothing special, but it should stop something wandering in and can be quickly removed if we need to escape. By the second opening Joseph has joined me, speeding up the process considerably. It seems he’s acquired many skills over the years.

  We chat while working. It turns out he is forty-two years old, but he looks more like he’s in his twenties and comes across as very fit. He moved to Australia because he couldn’t make a good living in the Philippines. He sends most of his money home to his family. He has a wife, Rosamie, and two boys: Daniel, six and John, ten. He misses them dearly and is looking at flying back in the next few months but is finding it difficult with visa regulations.

  ‘Let’s do the large opening,’ I say.

  ‘I’m ready.’ Joseph gives me the thumbs up.

  We pick up our gear and load it back into the barrow. The last push is a struggle because the tyre is basically flat. Fortunately, it’s not far, and we work together to move the stubborn thing over the rocky ground. While unloading the gear I catch a drift of a faint but familiar hum in the distance. My ears prick to attention and I stand up to try to pinpoint the direction the sound is coming from. Joseph continues to unload the pickets, throwing them onto the ground. They clang sharply as they hit one and other.

  ‘Shhhhh!’ I insist, holding a finger to my lips.

  ‘What is it?’ He looks startled and looks around in a panic.

  I wait another moment, listening to the sound as it gets louder and louder. Joseph has stopped moving. I know he hears it too; his eyes say it all.

  I turn back towards the pine trees, cupping my hands around my ears to catch the sound. I hope my suspicions are coming true. ‘People!’ I blurt out. I can hear one car, or possibly two, rumbling in the distance. I turn to Joseph to see his face light up, beaming in hope in the sunlight. The thought of more people, more survivors, makes me feel slightly anxious, but happy that someone else has made it out alive. Perhaps they’ll tell us it’s all over. Doubtful, but I can only hope.

  I drop my hammer and run towards the trees, leaping over rocks and logs, forgetting all about Joseph, who for some reason doesn’t follow, but calls something out I don’t catch. When I reach the trees the engine noise is loud and more distinct. I peer towards the road a
nd can see dust billowing around a car: two to be exact. Two cars winding down the dirt road towards our property. I squint, trying and to make out what they are, wondering if I can recognise the vehicles. But the dust is too thick. I have to wait patiently for them to draw closer.

  ‘Who is it?’

  I jump, turning to see Victoria running up behind me.

  ‘Not sure yet. Too much dust.’

  I peer back over to where I was working. Joseph is bashing in another post. Great.

  As the vehicles approach, they slow down and the dust begins to settle. They come to a crawl as they get close to the gate. I can see the front vehicle. ‘It’s Lincoln!’ I laugh, hands in the air in celebration.

  The white Holden Colorado stops just short of the gate, the other pulling up closely behind: a Nissan patrol. Lincoln jumps out and walks to the gate, followed by a black dog. He turns and yells at the animal while pointing back at the truck. ‘Koda! Koda! Get back in the truck. Now!’ The Rottweiler stops and stares at Lincoln, then walks off to a nearby shrub. Lincoln’s shoulders drop and he turns back to the chain on the fence. The gate is eventually opened and Lincoln jumps back into his truck and closes the door. Koda, is still exploring and is now about a hundred metres or so from the truck, without a care in the world. When the second car is through, a young woman with short dark hair jumps out. I can’t get a clear look at who it is. She closes the gate, pulling the chain through the mesh before hopping back into the Nissan. The car starts back up and continues along track.

  We move out of the trees into the open view of the cars as they drive towards the house. I’m unsure if they have seen us at first, but then Lincoln’s lights flash and he gives a few toots of his horn.

  ‘Typical Lincoln.’ I wave both arms in the air to greet our new guests.

  ‘Let’s get back to the house,’ Victoria says. She turns and starts running.