by West, Mark
The place seems deserted, but I can’t be sure. I wait another five minutes before turning off the engine. I have parked the truck close to the front entrance in case we need a quick exit.
‘Looks clear,’ says Lincoln, pulling out his rifle from between his legs.
I lean back and grab my gun from the back seat. ‘Ready?’
He nods. ‘Let’s check the surroundings before making our way inside.’
‘Agreed.’
We jump out and walk around the back. The first thing we notice are piles of used solar panels, wires and boxes sprawled across the ground like it’s a dumping ground. There are stacks of pallets off to one side and a few more random items like fridges, washing machines and even a torn pool table. It’s seems the place is basically a junkyard, and a messy one at that. As we approach the rusted shipping container a faint sound comes from behind the doors. It’s hard to hear what it is, so I lean in closer and rap my knuckles across the front then call out.
‘Hello?’
Right away someone inside pounds on the doors and they begin to shake.
‘Whoa!’ I take a few steps back for a better view of the unit.
Lincoln walks over and stands by my side. ‘I’m guessing what we need is possibly inside with whatever that thing is?’ he says, inspecting the container.
‘You’re right. See that sign up to the top right of those doors.’ I raise my arm, pointing to the fine print sprayed across the steel sheeting. ‘Inventory supplies.’ I’d say this unit is where we need to be.’
Lincoln shakes his head and walks back up to the container’s doors, reaching down to hold a rusted padlock in his hand. ‘Lock seems nice and rusty. I bet we can shoot it off. What do you think?’
‘We could, or we could try and find the key inside? I’m not sure shooting unnecessarily is worth the risk.’
‘Yeah. Okay,’ he grumbles.
We walk around to the front after we’ve confirmed the back is all clear, and approach the glass sliding entry door. I press my face against the door and peer inside, cupping my hands around my face to block the external light. It’s dark, and with little to no light coming through the drawn curtains, I can hardly make out anything.
‘Hand me that torch,’ I say, reaching my arm back.
‘Here.’ Lincoln places the handle of the torch in my palm, and I grip it firmly. I click it on. The torch glows brightly and casts a yellow light across the back wall.
‘Seems clear.’ I reach for the doorhandle and give it a tug. ‘Locked.’
Lincoln steps forward. ‘Let me have a look.’ He pushes me out of the way and pulls on the handle, but it doesn’t budge. ‘Give me a sec.’ He jogs back to the truck, returning a few moments later holding a blue jemmy. ‘It’s a good thing I packed this guy,’ he says, smiling with glee. ‘I pinched it at the store.’
He chuckles and angles the bar, slamming the end into the corner of the jamb. The bar digs in and, once in place, he levers it back until we hear a small pop and the latch releases.
‘Bingo!’ Lincoln slides the door open and takes a bow. ‘After you.’
I cautiously enter the room, shining my torch left and then right, gun ready for anything that might jump out. Nothing does. It’s empty, full of nothing but memories.
We open all the blinds, letting what little light there is outside into the musty building, and scan the room once again. The place seems untouched. The shelves are full and it looks like there isn’t a thing out of place. After rummaging through the store for the next twenty minutes, we gather most of the items Joseph has written on the list. The only thing missing is the panels themselves, and after checking the cupboards and storage rooms it’s safe to say they must be in the container outside.
Lincoln comes over to where I’m standing, dropping a half-filled bag of wires and other parts. ‘The panels must be in that container,’ he says.
‘Figures. The one place where I was kind of hoping they wouldn’t be. Find the key?’
Lincoln rummages through his pocket and pulls out a set of large brass keys. ‘Must be these. I found them in the manager’s desk.’
‘Perfect. Let’s dump the bags in the truck and go check it out. The sun’s low. I want to have the truck loaded ready to leave as soon as we can.’
When we approach the container, the thing inside is still banging at the door. Lincoln pulls the keys from his pocket and begins fiddling with the lock. It takes him a few goes before one slips in and we hear a faint click as the lock pops open.
‘Wait till it stops hitting the door then open it quickly.’ I take a few paces back, rifle at the ready. I grip it tightly, anticipating what’s about to happen. I’m on one knee so I have a steady aim at the door. I must make this shot count.
The thing inside continues to pound at the walls. We wait patiently until the pounding stops. ‘Now!’ I quickly place my eye to my scope and wait.
Lincoln releases the handles, enabling the doors to swing freely open. They screech on dry hinges before hitting the sides with a loud clang. The instant the doors are open a shrivelled-up man bursts out and charges towards me, taking me by surprise. He’s fast, a lot quicker than I anticipated. I scream in my mind. ‘Shoot!’ But my hand is frozen. I’m panicking. I yell again and my fingers twitch. He’s almost on me. All I can do now is fire and hope I hit something. The recoil kicks against my shoulder as he crashes into me. I feel weightless as I glide back through the air, an overwhelming sensation of freedom surges through my body and a sense of calm floods my mind.
Chapter 23
ABANDON SHIP
Rohan cuts the engine and stares at the van parked in the road just twenty metres ahead. A few bodies are lying beside the driver’s door. There is no sign of any movement or activity around. He picks up his machete and cautiously opens his door, checking the surroundings before hopping out. The air is still, and, although the sun is going down, he can still feel warmth coming off the surface of the road.
Rohan takes a few steps and stops. There are black tyre marks fishtailing along the road behind the van. He starts walking again. His legs feel shaky and his heart is starting to race. It’s clear something went down here and he is too late. He stops at the back of the van, peering round the left-hand side where he sees a large, round indentation the size of a basketball. Rohan walks around to the driver’s side of the van, calling out softly for Doug. No answer. The driver’s door is smashed in like a large boulder has rolled into it. But there is no boulder on the ground, only glass, metal and Infected who have been shot. The cabin is too high to peer into, so Rohan continues around to the front of the van.
In front of the van is the man in the trench coat who he’d seen outside the supermarket. He has a hole in his temple and has been bleeding so much that his body seems to be deflated. It sends a chill down Rohan’s back and he holds up the machete, ready for anything that may appear.
He looks up and spots the shredded corpse on the bonnet. Some limbs are detached, all are chewed right down to the bone. Its chest is nothing but a bony cage, and, where organs once lived, there is nothing; they have been torn out and splashed across the bloodied bonnet. Rohan spots the torn shreds of Doug’s Iron Man top amongst the scraps and vomits on the ground.
A distant scream breaks his mortified state, and he turns towards the sound. His nose is running and he wipes his face in disgust, angry at himself for letting his friend die alone. ‘I’m sorry man.’ He quickly runs to the back of the van and opens the doors, knowing he has limited time to grab what he can. Doug’s death is not going to be for nothing.
Food is scattered like it’s been through a washing machine. Items are crushed and broken, their contents leaking out across the plated surface. Rohan removes the small step and places it on the ground, wedging it in tight so it won’t move. He snatches at the trolley and jumps in, stacking crates of food three high before running back to the truck and unloading. He repeats this process over and over.
He’s halfway through wh
en there is another scream, this time louder and not far away. It’s time to leave.
Chapter 24
HOSTILES
I flinch as a chill runs across my face: my body reacting to the irritating sensation that’s washing over me. I wipe my face, eyes still closed, desperately trying to stop the unwanted sensation that’s spreading to every facial cavity. My brain eventually registers that it’s a liquid. I wipe furiously at my face as my body comes back to life. I’m not sure where I am and know there is only one thing to do to find out, and that is to open my eyes.
I peer up to see the liquid falling from the end of a bottle hovering high above face. I turn my head to avoid the unwanted droplets, and cover my blurry eyes to shield them from the light. When I open them again, I look up to see Lincoln smiling like the Cheshire Cat.
I groan, rolling onto my side, eventually pushing myself up slowly, and find I’m sitting in a muddy patch of dirt. I can feel my shirt clinging to my chest. ‘That truly is the worst way to wake someone up, you know.’
‘About time you stirred.’ His arm reaches down and pulls me to my feet.
‘What happened?’ I ask, rubbing the back of my head, where I feel a grape sized lump protruding from the skin. ‘This is how Rohan must have felt.’
My brain is foggy, and I have a very uncomfortable throb running from one ear to the other.
‘You got knocked the hell out, that’s what happened,’ Lincoln laughs, taking a sip of beer.
I scan my body for any bite marks but can’t see any. ‘I’m assuming I didn’t get bitten?’
He shakes his head. ‘Nah, it didn’t bite.’
‘How long was I out then?’
He checks his watch. ‘I reckon about twenty minutes, give or take.’
‘Twenty minutes! Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘I tried, but you wouldn’t stir. You were breathing. I figured you’d wake eventually. I grew impatient after a while.’ He begins to chuckle again. ‘You were hit really hard. It’s a good thing he kept running, otherwise I’m sure he would’ve devoured you by the time I grabbed my gun.’
‘I didn’t kill it? It kept running?’
‘Like I said, after he dropped you he just kept on running.’ Lincoln points to the bushland about three hundred metres away. ‘I kept a close eye on him while I loaded up, but I never saw him again. Figured he wasn’t coming back.’
‘You loaded up the panels? How?’
‘They weren’t too bad.’ He flexes his arms. ‘But there were only eight I could salvage. The rest were all smashed up.’
I walk over to the open container and peer inside to see glass and metal sprawled out across the floor. It looked like a bomb had gone off.
‘Dammit, I hope those eight will be enough.’ I turn back to Lincoln and slap him on the shoulder. ‘Cheers for looking out for me.’
He takes another sip of his beer. ‘All good bro. Here.’
He offers his beer and I willingly accept. I take a sip. The beer is lukewarm and tastes bitter, but I don’t complain because it’s a whole lot better than nothing. I hand the bottle back, dregs still floating around the base, and frown. ‘So, he just ran off into the bush? Didn’t stop, even when I took that shot?’
‘Nope.’ Lincoln shakes his head, accepts the bottle and finishes it off. ‘You did hit him though, right through the chest. Took a chunk out of his back where the bullet exited. But nothing was going to stop him.’
‘Bloody hell. Well, I guess the good news is I didn’t get mauled to death.’ I pick my rifle up off the ground and inspect it. It’s covered in mud, so I wipe it over with a rag before slinging it over my shoulder.
‘I’m thinking,’ adds Lincoln, ‘he may have been locked away inside that container for a few days. Possibly before this whole event even happened. Did you see the way his skin was all shrivelled and dehydrated?’
‘Briefly, before he crash-tackled me. So … what are you saying? He was murdered?’
‘Don’t know what I’m saying. But if you ask me, that dude’s been trapped in there for a while. I could be wrong, it could be starvation and dehydration, but …’
I look back at the tomb, imagining the feeling of being trapped and starving: the loneliness and darkness engulfing the last days of your existence.
‘It got me thinking,’ Lincoln says, swatting away a fly that’s buzzing around his face.
‘What about?’
‘Whatever this virus or infection is, perhaps it re-animates the dead, no matter if you’re bitten or not.’
I wipe a clump of dirt from the stock of my gun. ‘Well, we’re screwed if the dead start returning.’ I make a mental note to avoid the cemeteries and shudder at the thought of hands clawing up through the ground. ‘Perhaps it’s something else and we’re immune somehow?’
‘Don’t know, but it has me thinking every day about the cause. Guess we’ll find out sometime.’
‘Anyway … it’s getting dark and I don’t want to be hanging around out here for much longer.’
Lincoln walks towards the shop. ‘I got a few things to grab. Meet you at the truck?’
‘See you in five.’
It’s been at least five minutes, more like ten, and I’m still waiting in the truck. I should have gone to look for him but I keep thinking he is going to step through the door. I get out of the truck, leaving the keys above the visor, and grab my gun. When I approach the door, I call out, but there is no response, just silence and the shimmer of the last of the light reflecting off the glass.
I go inside. I check all the rooms. Lincoln is not in there. I figure he might be out back on the toilet. I noticed an outhouse behind a small garden shed earlier. If he were anywhere, he’d be there. I approach the back door. It’s slightly ajar so I push it open and start down the timber stairs that lead to the outhouse. Something stabs at my back. It’s not sharp, like a knife that would have me screaming in pain, and it’s not an Infected, because no bite has followed. It’s a solid and comes with a voice. My blood runs cold.
‘Turn around slowly and drop the gun.’
I freeze. This is the first unfamiliar voice I’ve heard since it all went to shit.
‘I said drop the gun and turn around.’
The voice is male, commanding and a little husky, like its owner has smoked too many cigarettes. I have no choice and drop my gun, before turning to face my assailant.
A tall thin man is standing before me holding a rusted shotgun. He’s all in black and has a ponytail poking out of an old Yankees cap. He has the gun at my face and I edge to my left slightly so I can make out more of his appearance. Its cruel looking. He has dry, leathery skin that’s so aged I suspect he’s had a harsh life in the sun.
‘Where’s my friend?’ I ask, but his gun jerks towards my face telling me not to speak, and I clamp my mouth shut.
The man smells bad: off tuna mixed with sweat and alcohol. I hold my mouth shut to stop myself from gagging.
‘Back inside. No funny business,’ he commands, and takes a step back to allow me into the room.
I step inside and spot Lincoln over in the corner. A short man is standing in front of him holding a gun to his face. The guy is about five six and overweight by at least sixty kilograms. He’s wearing a stained white shirt and is baldheaded with a rounded face that reminds me of Elmer Fudd. If we weren’t in such a serious situation right now, I’d be laughing.
The bald man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a set of cable ties, tossing them in our direction. It’s a poor throw and the ties fall short and scatter across the floor.
‘Put them on.’
I look at Lincoln and then at the ties.
‘Pick them up, or I’ll shoot you in the gut.’
Lincoln shrugs and bends, picking up the ties without saying a word. I snatch three in disgust and begin clipping them together to make a strap long enough to fit around my wrists. We help each other tighten them then wait for further instructions. I still have no idea what they want, and every
time I go to ask Lincoln a gun edges a little closer. They seem unpredictable, and it scares me.
The thinner man removes a hand-rolled smoke from his pocket. I smell weed the second it begins to burn. He passes it to his friend, who accepts it and sucks in a few drags before passing it back.
‘Where is it?’ The thinner man asks, eyes flicking between Lincoln’s eyes and mine.
‘Where’s what?’ Lincoln asks. It’s the first time I have heard his voice since he told me he would be back over twenty minutes ago.
The thin man’s lips compress. I notice the smoke fold slightly between them. He takes a step towards Lincoln. ‘Don’t play with me boy, you’ll have a hole in your gut.’
Lincoln’s forehead is covered in beads of sweat. ‘I’m not—’
The back of the gun slams into his stomach. Lincoln wheezes from the blow, but somehow manages to stay standing, although hunched over and coughing.
‘What did you do that for?’ I snap, and go to reach out to Lincoln to give him some support. The gun barrel hits my lower ribs. A sharp pain rips through my stomach. I gasp, clutching my gut and coughing uncontrollably.
‘Where the fuck is it!’ the bald man screams. I can tell his patience is wearing thing.
‘Fuck you!’ Lincoln coughs out. ‘Let us go, junkie pricks!’
A gun barrel is lifted towards Lincolns head. He straightens in fright, stepping back until he is stopped by the wall.
‘Ten seconds,’ the thinner man says and begins to count down slowly.
My ribs are burning, but I manage to regain control of my breathing. I attempt to straighten, but buckle again when I feel a sharp twinge in my side. I think a rib may be broken.
‘Six … Five …’
His gun edges closer to Lincoln. His face is now white as a ghost. I see the smirk on the bald man’s face as he wills his friend to pull the trigger.
‘Three … Two …’
‘Wait!’ Lincoln yells. ‘Hold on, okay.’
The gun lowers, but only slightly, and the man’s eyes narrow. He stops counting