She tried not to think about her boy. He didn’t have a name yet. She would give him one when they found him. She would give him a good name. One that would mean something. A name people would always remember. When she found him she would give him a name.
“How much further?” Else said, her pace quickening over the sandy mud.
“A while yet.”
“We have to hurry.” She thought she heard something, a baby’s cry sounding out there in the mud-brown water.
“Baby!” Else called and started to run. Jirra loped after her, hearing only the cry of a seabird.
“Baby!” Else cried again. The river widened here and she could smell the tang of salt on the air. Leaping over driftwood, she sprinted along the water’s edge. A glint of dull metal caught her eye. The moon was bright enough to reflect more than the dull water. As Lowanna grizzled and writhed in the sling, Else dropped to her knees by the overturned skiff. The edge of the boat had pressed into the mud. Else dug at it with desperate hands. Jirra reached her and began to scoop the soft ground away with his digging stick.
“My boat. This is my boat. I can hear him crying. I can hear him!” Else panted as she dug. She snatched the digging stick from Jirra and crawled along the edge, digging frantically.
“There’s others here,” Jirra said, reading the ground with the eye of a master tracker. “Dead men walked here. Live fellas too. They got boots on and they fought pretty hard with some dead fellas.”
“Help me lift it now!” Else snapped from the sand. Her fingers scrabbled under the edge of the boat and strained to pull it free of the mud.
“Wait, missus!” Jirra leapt forward, knocking Else on to her side as the skiff came free. A bloody hand lashed out and snatched Jirra’s ankle.
“Shit!” Jirra hissed at the sky. He fell back, one leg caught. Else sprang forward, tipping the boat the right way up to grab her baby. A female evol snarled from the wet sand as Jirra smashed at her head with the butt of his spear. The dead girl growled and tore at his ankle with her teeth.
“Fucking bitch!” Jirra snarled.
“Where’s my baby?” Else wailed. She swung the machete down on the dead woman’s head, severing it from the neck.
“No . . . no . . . no!” Jirra whined. Scrambling backwards, he clambered to his feet on one and foot stared down at the blood oozing from his bitten leg.
“Baby!?” Else screamed. The boat was empty. The baby and all her carefully stored supplies were gone. Only the two paddles remained, tied in position.
“Shit . . . shit . . . shit.” Jirra sagged and toppled into the boat. “I’m dead, missus,” he said. The smoky-yellow whites of his eyes were wide and rolling.
“I need to find my baby,” Else said, ignoring Jirra for the moment.
“Fuck your baby,” Jirra growled. “This dead cunt fucking ate him!”
“No! Where are the supplies? He was wrapped in a blanket. Where is the blanket?” Else climbed into the skiff and ran her hands over the empty space, not trusting what her eyes were telling her.
“See now,” Jirra said, a grim smile splitting his face. “All that noise and we bring them to us. They come to take us home. Welcome us . . .”
Else looked up. A group of ten evols had stumbled out of the darkness of the tree line and were now making their way towards them. “Where is my baby!” she howled at them. The line of approaching dead groaned and writhed in response.
“Push the boat out; we can make for the water. They can’t get us out there.” Jirra pulled himself back into a sitting position at the rear of the skiff.
Else stepped out of the boat and pushed back on it. The skiff slid in the wet sand until the edge of the current tugged at it.
“Come on, get in, aye?” Jirra panted.
“Not without my baby.” Else scooped Lowanna out of the sling and carefully put her in the bottom of the skiff. “I’ll be back when I find him.”
“You’re fucking crazy!” Jirra shouted at her.
Else walked up the beach. The machete felt good in her hand. A solid piece of killing steel. She scanned the dead faces in front of her. With over twenty-five million zombies in Australia the chances were slim, but she looked each one in the eye, and still all of them were strangers.
“Let’s get this done,” she said to the advancing line. The first one reached for her, his blind eyes scarred by the scouring of windblown sand.
Else swung her blade. It tore through the dead man’s head, splitting him between his gaping jaws. She moved on as he fell, spinning and using her momentum to tear the next rotting head from its shoulders. There were those among them that had not been dead for so long. Their clothes were cleaner. Their dead flesh showed little signs of the ravages of the elements. They were all hungry. They came down on Else with savage snarls and raking claw-like hands. She hacked an arm off, then blocked a grasping hand and shoved the tip of the machete into a gaping maw that bled black.
An evol caught her hair, dragging her head back. Else dropped to one knee and slammed the machete up and over her shoulder. The end of it buried in a zombie’s chest. He looked down, releasing her and tugging at the steel now sticking out of him. Else jerked the blade free and took his head. The dead pressed closer, mindless of each other and everything except for their need to tear at the warm, wet meat they could almost taste. Dark drool oozed from the mouths of the fresher ones. The older dead had little moisture left in their bodies.
Else rolled to her feet, kicking at a zombie who tried to bite her leg. Her booted foot crushed his nose and smeared it into a black paste across his rotting cheek. A girl with lobotomy eyes gaped at Else. The little control she had over her dead limbs made them thrash aimlessly. Else smashed her face into the sand. The back of the girl’s head was a gaping crater, half of her brain already gone.
In the moment it took Else to straighten up, a man with black and broken teeth bit into her sleeve, narrowly missing her skin under the loose shirt. With the machete blocked in her right fist, Else punched her fingers into the eyes above the biting mouth. The grey orbs burst, sending stinking pus spraying out. The man moaned, his head thrashing, tearing the cloth away from her arm. Else snarled and shoved the zombie’s head back.
Dropping the machete, she kicked upwards, catching the back of the heavy blade on her booted foot and sending it flying up to within reach of her other hand. With three hard blows she hacked the evol’s skull into chunks. Panting, she circled slowly. The sand was thick with black slime and broken bodies. Nothing moved. Else took stock—the fresh corpses were all dressed the same. Frowning, she searched them. They carried odd possessions: seashells and bullets, keys and colored tags. They all had the same tattoos on their arms that Else recognized as an anchor with a lightning cloud above it.
Hacking an arm off, she carried it back to the boat.
“Jirra,” she said. “You know what this means?”
Jirra opened his eyes. His breath came in shallow pants. “I can’t see...” he whispered. Else leaned over and let the black blood drip down Jirra’s chest as she held it close to his clouded eyes.
“Sea People...” Jirra whispered. “Sea People. They come in boats. Sometimes they trade. Mostly they take.”
“Could they have taken my son?” Else tossed the severed arm into the water.
“Coulda.” Jirra tried to shrug.
“Where do I find the Sea People?”
Jirra moaned, his eyes rolling. Else slapped him hard across the face. “Where, Jirra? Where are they?”
“Big boat . . . like a cloud on the water . . . out there on the sea.”
Else stood up and stared out into the darkness. She could hear the hiss of the waves. The books told her the sea went all around the world. She wondered if there was any place free of evols.
Gathering Jirra’s dropped spears, she laid them in the boat next to him and the wailing baby. Else pushed the boat out and climbed in. Dropping the machete in the bottom of the boat, she took up a paddle and steered the boat
into the current. The river grabbed them, driving them towards the sea.
“Help me paddle!” Else yelled over her shoulder. Jirra stirred and fumbled for an oar. He started singing again, a low and chilling sound that made Else’s skin crawl. As he sang, he paddled, dipping the oar into the dark water and pulling them straight.
“Gotta hit the waves head on,” Jirra said. “We get turned around, we all gonna drown.”
Else gritted her teeth. Lowanna cried and wriggled between her feet. The land was ending on either side of her. She felt a sickening sense of the world opening up and she was falling into the darkness.
“Keep her straight!” Jirra yelled.
Else dug her paddle deep, pulling against the water as it foamed. The stink of river mud and salt clogged her nostrils. The sea goes on forever, a small voice in the back of her mind said. It goes on forever and you will never find your way back to land. “My baby is out there,” Else said to the heaving waves. The nose of the boat rose up and crested. Else’s paddle swept through open air and she overbalanced. Slamming her hand into the floor of the boat, she braced herself as the bow dropped and hit the water.
“Paddle!” Jirra yelled. Else pulled herself up. Scrambling with her oar, she swept it through the water and they surged up the face of the next wave. Else was ready when they broke through this one. The entire skiff was airborne for a moment and then with a sickening fall they dropped. Lowanna howled as the shuddering blow of the wave hit the bottom of the boat.
“One more!” Jirra shouted and they rode the sickening slope up the third wave. Cold water burst over the bow. Else tasted mud, not salt. The river had pushed itself out into the vast sea like a cold steel dagger stabbing deep into a warm body.
They paddled on, pulling themselves through the water. The waves slid under the skiff now, lifting the small craft and rocking them in a longer motion.
“How far to the ship?” Else glanced over her shoulder. Jirra had slumped forward, his paddle trailing in the water. “Jirra?” Else twisted in her seat.
“Unngh . . .” Jirra moaned and his head twisted. His dark skin had gone as grey as the white ash of mourning he smeared himself with. Else dived for the machete. The dying man lunged at her in the same moment. She jammed her right arm under his jaw and scrabbled for the knife handle, his teeth snapping at her, black saliva dripping over his bloodless lips.
Else lifted the machete. Jirra’s hands clamped on her arm and he pushed her back. Else hissed and swung at the zombie’s head with the machete, striking him a glancing blow. He grunted and his teeth sank into her forearm.
The effect was immediate. The zombie’s eyes went wide and he pulled back. His back arched, contractions popping his joints as every muscle in his body clenched. Else pulled herself up into a sitting position and watched as his skin swelled and split. Strips of flesh peeled off his bones. Black blood gushed from every pore and spots of dark liquid welled in his eyes. Jirra whimpered, a desperate and agonized sound as the antiviral plasma in Else’s blood destroyed the Adam virus that coursed through his dying body.
Else took his head off with a wild swing of the machete. The dark-haired ball splashed into the water and sank out of sight. She dropped the blade and heaved the rest of his corpse over the side. Lowanna still howled, her angry cries not eased by the rocking of the boat. Else stared down at the tiny, blanket-wrapped form. The baby girl’s parents were dead, but she needed the same constant care of any newborn.
Else wondered how she could do that. If her boy died, there would be bloodshed. There would be no time for taking care of this little girl. There would only be time for killing until the very end.
Reaching down, Else scooped up the wriggling bundle. Stroking the tiny head, Else studied the baby’s features. She smelled wet. Else’s body ached to hold her own baby again. There was nothing she could do for Lowanna. The sea would take her as quickly as it took her father.
Chapter 4
Else shivered in spite of the heat of the sun. The coastline was now a faded smear on the horizon at her back. Ahead there was only open water. A rolling carpet of jade green hiding horrors she could only imagine. She focused on paddling. First one side of the boat, then the other. Her oar dipped and stirred the water.
Lowanna had nursed at Else’s breast until she slept. Now the baby lay wrapped in a blanket, protected from the sun in the slight shade under the bench seat. Else didn’t know why she hadn’t simply dropped the girl over the side with her father.
The bite wound on Else’s arm had been bound with a torn strip of cloth and already it itched from the rapid healing of her cells. Lowanna’s life was her responsibility now and by keeping her alive, Else would have to take care of this baby and her own son when she found him. That, she told herself, were the rules.
She paddled until her arms ached and her head throbbed. The water bag that Jirra carried was almost empty. Else didn’t dare drink anymore. The salt in the air and on her skin dried her out. Her tongue seemed to swell and clog her mouth.
The heat of the day grew more intense, the glare off the water made her close her eyes and paddle. It would be so easy to lean over the side and slip into the warm water. Let the sea ease her passing and to float off into darkness. Else jerked awake and resumed paddling. My son, she reminded herself. He is out here. Someone has taken him and I have to get him back.
At first she thought it might be a rocky island, a long white blush on the horizon. Hard to see through the glare and the haze. Else focused on it, pushing herself towards this object. Willing it to come closer. The sun set behind her and a slight breeze came up, pushing the skiff closer. The white rock shifted and changed. Becoming clearer, more defined, and taking on the shape of a large metal ship. The massive white boat wallowed in the water, like a sow with a litter of piglets made up of smaller boats lined up, nose first, against her side.
Else pushed on. The ship was nearly three hundred meters long and towered over her tiny boat. She constantly scanned the rails and decks for signs of life or movement. Seabirds circled and landed on high perches. Soon she could hear the chatter of their scolding and smell the ammonia of their shit.
It was a cruise liner, Else decided. One of the white ships she had read about in a moldering magazine. They once took people on journeys around the islands of the South Pacific. Now it was a home to birds and, she hoped, the Sea People Jirra had told her about.
Mostly Else avoided other survivors. They wanted her to do things their way. Or they wanted to do things to her without her permission. That meant they ended up dead, and she didn’t like killing people unless they were already dead.
Paddling closer, Else let the skiff drift the last ten meters to the outer ring of small boats. They varied from rubber Zodiacs with outboard motors to an old fishing boat with masts for trawler lines and nets, sticking up like big insect antennae from its back. Along the rail of the ship a heavy rope net had been rolled up and tied off. Else could see no way to climb up the smooth metal sides.
Turning the skiff, she made her way to the front. A massive anchor chain as thick as her thigh rose out of the water and vanished into the ship through the hawsehole portal high on its shoulder. Lowanna grizzled and mewled. Else lifted her gently and tucked the baby inside the cloth sling. Here, against her breast, Lowanna started to suckle and Else felt the now constant pang of the loss of her own child more deeply than ever.
With Lowanna secure against her chest and the machete sheathed and hanging across the other shoulder, Else tied the skiff to the anchor chain. Stepping out of the boat, she pulled herself onto the thick chain and climbed hand over hand until she hung above the water.
The baby’s weight was nothing compared to the ache and sudden cramp that burned in her arms and shoulders. Gritting her teeth, Else moved a hand up to the next link. Feeling the sharp grit of rust digging into her palms, she moved on. One hand at a time she slowly made her way up the chain, the stink of guano getting stronger the closer she got to the deck of the ship.
Reaching the end of the chain, Else swung her legs up and hooked the back of one heel through the wide portal. Straining, she twisted her upper body and pulled herself the last few feet and finally got a hand on the edge of the deck. Standing on the chain, she peeped over the side and took stock.
Birds nested in the sheltered corners of the open decks, and someone had set up rainwater-catching tarpaulins in the open spaces. Fishing nets hung in wide sheets from rope lines strung across the deck, and Else could see that the metal plates of the deck had been swept clear of guano.
Satisfied that there were no signs of movement other than the birds, Else pulled herself up and climbed over the rail. Her booted feet silent on the deck, she moved to the lengthening shadow of the nearest wall. Keeping her back close to the rust-stained steel, she crept along the deck. Her senses tingled and the machete made a comforting weight in her hand. Lowanna lay still and warm against her chest. Else reached the end of the wall; ahead of her the bow of the boat tapered off into a point. More nets hung from rope lines and mysterious containers were stacked in a haphazard fashion across this section of the deck.
Crouching down Else studied the landscape, looking for signs of evols. Finally satisfied, she started to move across the front of the ship when a movement caught her eye. A flash as something small darted between the stacked crates and coiled ropes.
Machete held ready, Else left the wall and moved into the maze of boxes, when she heard the soft laugh of a child. Curious, she moved closer to the sound. Coming around a corner she stopped. Ahead, crouched down in the flat-footed way of small children and totally absorbed in something on the deck, was a young girl.
Else hesitated. The child was dressed in faded clothes. Her long sun-bleached hair seemed cared for, though it was twisted into rope-like plaits and had a number of shells and small metal ornaments woven into it. The pallor of her skin in the twilight looked warm and alive.
Tankbread 2: Immortal Page 3