Ice Station Zombie: A Post Apocalyptic Chiller

by JE Gurley

  * * * *

  He awoke with Anson kicking his boot. He had fallen asleep leaning against the bike.

  “Wake up. Let’s get started.”

  Dawn had broken an hour earlier. Silently, he thanked Anson for letting him sleep, though his back ached from his awkward position. Seeing Anson was ready to leave without breakfast, Marino took a swig of water, and shoved a granola bar in his pocket for later. He assumed Anson was eager to catch up to his quarry. Killing a murderer did not bother Marino any more than had Anson’s killing John Gilford, one of those responsible for the end of the world. He simply saw it as a waste of time. He didn’t want to die to satisfy Anson’s sense of justice. Justice was a concept developed and harbored by civilizations, a consequence of laws. There was no longer a civilization to enforce laws. In Marino’s book, that made Anson’s quest an act of revenge. He knew it might just be a matter of semantics, but people would die regardless. He just hoped it wasn’t him. He glanced at the now expanded grave of Anson’s siblings, a meter-high cairn of stones, bearing no other marker. The grave would last a long time, a fitting tribute to the memories of his brother and sister.

  Marino was confused, but pleased when Anson headed the bike north on B80 instead of back toward Orroroo where they had both assumed the killer had gone. He was glad to see that Anson had lost his thirst for vengeance during the night. They passed the road leading to Flinders National Park. They were now entering one of the lowest points in Australia, fifty feet below sea level. The entire area was a drainage basin, an assortment of shallow salt lakes and marshes in the rainy season and dry salt flats and red sand desert in the dry season. It was desolate and empty, the perfect place to get away from the zombie hordes. When Anson suddenly stopped the bike in the middle of the road, Marino shook his head sadly. He knew it couldn’t have been that easy.

  “I can’t go on,” Anson said. “That bastard will just kill again. More innocent people will die.”

  “You can’t save everybody, Elliot,” Marino reminded him. He wanted to say, “You can’t bring back your brother and sister,” but didn’t.

  “I’ll draw you a map to the cabin. You can go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”

  “You know better than that. Let’s do it.”

  “You’re not bad for a Yank, Val.”

  “I still can’t drive a bike.”

  Headed back toward Orroroo, Marino felt strangely relieved. Some part of him wanted to finish the job they had started. It wasn’t revenge exactly. It was more self-preservation. At some point, they might have to return to Orroroo for supplies. He didn’t relish the idea of some killer sighting down the barrel of a rifle at him while he picked through convenience stores for food and water.

  Outside Orroroo, Anson took a dry creek bed, bypassing the main highway. They could see zombies along the side of the road staring at them, but encountered none along the creek.

  “How do we find him?” Marino asked.

  He pointed to a water tower overlooking the city. “Camp out up there until we spot him.”

  Marino choked back the protest forming in his throat. The possibility of zombies trapping them on a water tower with no escape didn’t appeal to him, but he knew he could never dissuade Anson. Twice, they heard gunfire in the distance but Anson didn’t waver from his destination. They reached the water tower and found it surrounded by a high fence and a locked gate. Even this didn’t deter Anson. He used a pry bar to snap off the lock, and parked the bike inside the fence, closing the gate behind them.

  Marino eyed the narrow ladder disappearing into a thin line high above them and had second thoughts about their destination. While he was deciding, he refilled the canteens from a faucet in the wall of a pump room. The pump was no longer working, but the water pressure provided a strong stream of water. He splashed some over his head and neck to cool down.

  “I’ll go first,” Anson announced, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

  As he climbed the ladder, Marino’s first concern was the possibility of Anson slipping and landing on him while he was climbing beneath the big Aussie. Then he dismissed the idea, figuring Anson was a better climber than he was. The aluminum ladder bounced disconcertingly with each step but seemed secure. He passed a few rusty bolts and hoped they were stronger than they looked.

  Safely reaching the top, he dropped the canteen, knapsack of food and his rifle and prostrated himself on the wooden platform circling the tower as far away from the edge as he could get to catch his breath. His arms felt as if they had stretched an extra inch, and his shoulders burned from the unaccustomed effort of climbing. Anson calmly sat on the edge of the platform with his legs dangling into space, rifle across his lap, staring out over the city.

  After he had recovered from the climb, Marino sat back against the warm metal of the water tank and nervously looked down on the city. The water tower was on the western edge of town, south of B56, which entered the city from the south and turned west, and B80, which entered from the east and turned north, neatly dividing the city into quarters. Just to their south was a golf course. Farther south, he could see the Orroroo Hospital, its parking lot overflowing with vehicles. Figures moved among them, but he knew they were not living people. To the northeast, a rugby field had been converted to use as a crematorium. Large piles of bodies, still smoldering, indicated they had tried to stop the spread of the disease but to no avail. Marino was glad the wind was from the west.

  As the day warmed, he tried to remain in the shade of the tank out of the sun, but eventually, even that proved futile as the sun reached its zenith. Anson was oblivious to the heat or the sun, showing no discomfort as he kept up his vigilance. Marino toyed with the flash drive that had fallen from Gilford’s pocket, wondering what was on it. He considered destroying it. Any secrets it contained should remain secrets.

  “I see something,” Anson said. Marino shoved the flash drive back in his pocket.

  “What, the pickup?”

  “No, it’s a van coming in from the west.” He pointed. Marino followed his finger and spotted the van. It stopped outside the city and the driver emerged, holding a map. He studied the map for several minutes before climbing over the guardrail and continuing into the city.

  “He’s not from here,” Marino said. “I wonder what he’s after?” He spotted several zombies moving toward the driver. “He’s attracting a crowd. Should we help?”

  “Not yet,” Anson cautioned. “Let’s see how he does.”

  The driver avoided most of the zombies, shooting one that got too close with a pistol. When confronted by a dozen more, he entered a building and emerged a few minutes later through the rear door.

  “Crafty, isn’t he?” Anson commented.

  The man seemed intent on reaching a particular destination, but his circuitous route made it impossible to determine what it was. Marino spotted a flash of movement behind the man, hidden by a low wall. At first, he thought it was just another zombie, but then he noticed what the zombie carried – a rifle.

  “Look, it’s our man following this guy.”

  Anson growled, “Come on. I want that bastard.”

  He jumped up from his seated position, slung his rifle over his shoulder and descended the ladder at what Marino considered a breakneck pace. Marino, his legs stiff after sitting for so long, followed more cautiously. He was surprised when Anson ignored the bike and raced through the gate. Marino chased after him. Anson headed on an intersection course with the two men. Marino and Anson covered the few blocks quickly, keeping to the alleys and drainage ditches to avoid detection by roaming zombies, knowing any shot would give them away. Anson did not want to chance the man with the rifle getting away again. When they reached the area in which the stranger had been headed, they failed to find him.

  “Damn, we lost him,” Anson growled.

  Just as they were about to backtrack, thinking the stranger had stopped somewhere, Anson caught a glimpse of him entering an alley behind a row of warehouses. He stopped before
one particular door and once again checked the map he was carrying. Satisfied, he opened a small pouch he brought from his pocket and began to work on the door’s lock.

  “A bloody lock picker,” Anson said with a chuckle. “I’ve got to meet this bloke.” He looked around. “I don’t see our rifleman.”

  “We need to warn this guy,” Marino said.

  By the time they reached the alley, the stranger was inside the building. Marino read the sign on the door. “McAlbee Electronics Supplies. I wonder what he could want here.”

  “Maybe he needs batteries for his electric toothbrush,” Anson quipped. “Come on.”

  Marino didn’t like the looks of the alley. One end was blocked by a burned out delivery truck. The doors to the other buildings closed and probably locked. There was one way in and one way out. With the rifleman somewhere around and zombies roaming the city, it was not his first choice of where to be, but Anson was determined to meet the lock picking stranger.

  The inside of the building was in shadows. Rows of metal shelves filled the interior from the floor to the top of the six-meter high ceiling. Marino didn’t realize he was standing silhouetted in the door, until Anson grabbed his arm and jerked him into the shadows, frowning at him. Properly chastised, Marino squatted against the wall. He didn’t want to be mistaken for a zombie. The stranger had already demonstrated his marksmanship.

  A slight noise farther inside, drew their attention to the back of the building. The bobbling light of a flashlight showed the stranger was near the right-hand wall near the rear of the warehouse. He seemed to be searching the shelves for something in particular. Marino decided that someone had to make the first move. He leaned his rifle against the wall, stood and moved back into the doorway, keeping his hands out to his side to show he was not armed. He ignored Anson’s loud warning hiss.

  “Hello,” he yelled.

  The flashlight immediately extinguished.

  “My name’s Val Marino. I’m an American climatologist.” He looked down at Anson. “My friend here is Elliott Anson, an Australian climatologist.” Anson growled his displeasure. “We saw you come into town. There’s a man following you. We think he’s the same man who’s been waylaying people on the highway and killing and robbing them.”

  “Orroroo’s a bit small for two climatologists, isn’t it? What brings you here?”

  “We were on our way to Lake Eyre and someone shot down our plane. We found a barricade this man erected to stop cars and rob them. We tracked him, but he got away. We followed him here.”

  “Sounds like a lot of work just to administer justice in a dead world, especially by two climatologists.”

  Anson stood and came over beside Marino. He still held his rifle. “He murdered my brother and sister and I’m going to kill the lousy bastard. He’s tracking you now. Want to join us? We saw you take out that zombie. I like the way you move. If not, we’ll leave you here and go after him ourselves.”

  The stranger hesitated before answering. His voice sounded harsh, as if he too had reason to hate. “I don’t like predators, but I’ve got a job to do. Lives depend on it, maybe yours.” He stepped out of the shadows and eyed Marino’s Stetson curiously. “The name’s Nelson, Alex Nelson. Thanks for the warning.”

  Several shots rang out outside in the alley. Alex jumped back into the shadows. Anson fell to the floor. Marino glanced out the door just in time to see their quarry clamber onto one of the nearby roofs. As he looked back down the alley, several zombies came into view.

  “The bastard’s drawing zombies in here to finish us off.” He was incredulous. More than that, he was furious. He had been opposed to Anson’s seeking retribution. Now, he wanted the man dead. Such people did not deserve to live, not when so many good people had died. As he watched, more and more zombies appeared. He drew his head back inside quickly, but not quickly enough. “Damn! They’ve seen me.”

  “I’ve got eight rounds,” Anson said. “How many are there?”

  “Too many.” He looked toward Alex, still in the shadows. “We saw you pick the lock. Can you get us out the front door?”

  Alex rubbed his chin. “Hmm. Maybe. It might take a while.”

  “We can shut this door,” Marino suggested. “That will give us some time.”

  “I have a better idea,” Alex said. He walked out from behind the rows of shelves. In his hand, he held a small silver sphere the size of a baseball. “This had better work or Nicole’s going to be pissed.”

  “What the hell’s that?” Anson growled. “You going to pitch some ball with them?”

  Alex smiled. “Something like that.” Anson and Marino watched on with interest and concern as Alex walked out into the alley and set the sphere on the ground. He returned and removed a small device from his pocket. “Hope the batteries are good.”

  Marino gazed out the door with mounting panic at dozens of zombies shuffling down the alley like starving men headed for the buffet. The three of them didn’t have enough ammo for them all. He was becoming a little anxious as to the purpose of the sphere. To him it looked like one of those mirrored balls you find in a garden. He didn’t think the zombies would be curious to see what they looked like in its reflection.

  “Whatever you’re going to do, you’d better hurry.”

  When Alex touched a button on the device in his hand, the sphere began to hum and the air around it shimmered. Marino felt the hairs on his arm stand to attention. He clamped his hands to his ears as a high-pitched whistle that he imagined only he and dogs could hear vibrated his inner ear. Suddenly, the sphere flashed and the zombies fell as one, as if struck down mid-stride by an invisible force.

  Awestruck, he muttered, “What the hell?”

  Alex didn’t reply. He pulled his opal from his pocket, gave it quick rub and stuffed it back in his pocket. He then retrieved a cardboard box from behind a rack of shelves and raced for the door. “I don’t have time to explain now. I don’t know the exact range of this EMP, but we had better hurry. More may come.”

  Anson was speechless and Marino was amazed. Whatever the device was, it killed zombies, dozens at a time. Alex probably hadn’t needed their help after all. Then he remembered the rifleman on the roof. But Anson hadn’t forgotten. He headed directly for the ladder and climbed toward the roof. Halfway up, he stopped.

  “Val, you go with our new friend here. I’ll take care of business and follow on the bike.” He looked down to Alex. “Where are you headed?”

  “Woomera. Some scientists are building more of these EMP devices there. I came here for some spare parts. It’s the white building by the communications tower. You can’t miss it. There are hundreds of dead zombies outside.” He smiled.

  Anson returned his smile. “That’s the kind I like. Take care of my friend here. He’s young and a Yank, two strikes against him.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Marino said. He didn’t like the idea of Anson going after the rifleman alone.

  “This is personal, mate.” He jerked a thumb toward Alex. “Go with him. He’s got the future in that box he’s carrying.”

  With that, he peeked over the edge of the roof. “Damn! Bastard’s gone. But I’ll find him.” He disappeared over the edge of the roof.

  Marino turned to Alex. “Looks like I’m yours.”

  26

  Sept. 7, 2013 Woomera, Australia

  Alex’s reunion with Nicole was spectacular. When he opened the door of the van, she threw herself into his arms, wrapped her legs around his waist and covered his face with kisses. He almost fell backwards with her added weight but it felt wonderful to feel her body pressed against his.

  “Oh, my God! I’m so glad to see you. I was so worried.” Her words exploded in bursts from her lips between kisses. Her expression changed from relief to suspicion when she saw Marino stepping out of the van.

  “Nicole, love, this is Val Marino. I met him and his mate in Orroroo. Jumped in to save my life.”

  Marino shuffled his feet in embarrassment. “More
like Alex saved my life.”

  She glanced into the van and saw it was empty. “Where’s his friend?”

  “He’ll be along shortly,” Alex answered. “He had some pressing business.”

  Nicole looked puzzled at his answer, but said nothing.

  Alex turned to Marino. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the others.”

  Marino saw three men in white lab coats, masks and rubber gloves dragging bodies into a growing pile of the dead a few hundred meters from the building. He whistled softly to himself when he noticed a second mound nearby.

  “You weren’t kidding, were you?” he said.

  Alex saw the look of satisfaction in Marino’s eyes. He was sure his eyes held the same look when he witnessed the results after activating the larger device on the roof while they sought safety in the shielded room. The dead covered the ground like fallen leaves beneath an oak tree in the autumn.

  “We’re trying to rig a grader blade to a truck to make it easier,” he replied. “For now, it’s grunt work.”

  With his arm around Nicole’s shoulder and her clinging to him as if she would never let him go, they continued to the research center. Inside, Dr. Jeffries and Ivers greeted them with unabashed enthusiasm. Jeffries’ eyes lit up when he saw the box Alex carried.

  “Wonderful! You brought the supplies we needed,” Ivers said as he grabbed the box from Alex and disappeared into the back.

  Jeffries looked at Marino. “I see you’ve brought company, Alex.” To Marino, he said, “Welcome to our humble abode.”

  “Val Marino is an American climatologist. He and his friend Elliot Anson were in Antarctica when the plague hit and made their way to Melbourne.”

  “Well, an epic journey under terrible circumstances. Welcome to Woomera,” Jeffries said.

  “That’s not the best part. It’s what they brought with them that’s interesting.”

  Marino handed Jeffries Cromby’s diary and Gilford’s flash drive.