“Some people,” Conrad said. “Me among them.”
Olivia lowered the gun, but only halfway. “How sure are you?”
“Sure enough that I don’t want you putting a bullet in my head just yet,” Conrad said.
When they got to the turning, and the track leading up to the cabin, the RV, a comfortable hundred yards behind, stopped. Olivia had already turned onto the track. She braked, grabbed the pistol, and got out. Hurrying back to the RV, she expected the worst until the door opened and Conrad stepped out, smiling.
“I still ain’t dead,” he said. “I wanted to check the ground before we drove up there. Make sure we can turn.”
“Good point,” Olivia said. “And no, thinking about it, I don’t think you would be able to turn the RV. But we don’t want to leave it out here on the road.”
“Let’s take a look,” he said.
The children were left in the RV with the shotgun but instructions to slam the horn if there was trouble. Olivia led them up the track, indicating where she’d left the truck the night before, and then on to the cabin.
“There it is,” she said. “Not quite a castle, but there’s a well, a chimney. There’s a toilet that flushes as long as you fill the tank with water.”
“It looks nice,” Naomi said. “Just the kind of place you were looking for, Conrad.”
“I was,” he said. “A week ago, I’d have put in an offer. But you’re right, it’s too close to the town. These woods just aren’t remote enough.” He rubbed his arm.
“Do you think you can get the RV up here?” Olivia asked.
“I’m not sure,” Naomi said. “Maybe if we reversed it, we could get it off the road.”
“No,” Conrad said. “Not without clearing a lot of the brush. Maybe felling a few of the trees. The branches are too low.”
Olivia gave a wan smile. “That’s kind of what I figured. So… so I guess we continue, now. Today?”
“South, then west, then north,” Naomi said.
“Agreed,” Conrad said.
“I’ll go gather everything that’s worth taking,” Olivia said. “Give me half an hour.”
“The kids can stretch their legs,” Naomi said.
“And use the bathroom,” Conrad said.
“It’s the blockhouse over there,” Olivia said, and went into the cabin.
This time, she saw it differently from yesterday. Even differently from that morning. It was wonderfully twee, and utterly impractical for any real apocalypse. It was a place to escape to, for Mr Mathers to drink and tinker, in the knowledge he had a real house just a car-ride away.
She drew the curtains, but there still wasn’t enough light, so she lit a candle, then another, placing them on the fireplace, and a third on the saucer in the kitchen. Opening one cupboard, then another, wistfully wishing she could thank Nora in person.
A furious yell came from outside. Olivia ran to the door. In the clearing, near the annex, Conrad was on all fours. Naomi was scrabbling across the mud, blood seeping through a savage rip in her coat that ran from shoulder, halfway along her back.
Olivia dragged the gun from her bag even as Conrad found his unsteady feet.
“Conrad!” Olivia yelled. “Conrad!”
Naomi turned to look, but Conrad lurched on, towards his wife.
“No one’s immune,” Olivia said. “No one’s special.” She fired at the undead Conrad. Her first shot hit his arm. Her second his shoulder, breaking bone and getting the zombie’s attention. The third bullet slammed into his temple, ripping through his skull.
“Naomi?” Olivia asked, even as Conrad’s corpse collapsed heavily to the mud.
“I know,” Naomi said, pushing herself to her feet. “We have to be quick.” She began walking towards the RV.
“Where are you going?” Olivia asked.
“To say goodbye to my children,” Naomi said. “You’ll get them somewhere safe, yes? You promise me? You’ll find somewhere safe for them?”
“I do. I will.”
“Their aunt is Canada. She works near Medicine Hat. In Alberta. If you can get them to her, she’ll take them in. I know she will.”
“Of course. Medicine Hat. Sure,” Olivia said. Half of her wanted time to slow, for Naomi to have longer with her children. The other half, the part still holding the gun, wanted the confrontation to be over quickly.
At the RV, Naomi stopped by the door. When it began to open, she pushed it closed. “Kids. Your dad and I… we love you very much. We’re going to meet you at Aunt Sally’s. Okay? Olivia is going to drive you there. We’ll meet you there. I love you both, more than anything.” She opened her mouth to say more, but the words failed her. “Not out here,” Naomi whispered, and walked back through the trees, up the path, and to the cabin. “You’ll take them now? Today?”
“Yes,” Olivia said.
“Good. They won’t hear the shot from inside.” She opened the door, and went into the cabin.
“You want me to…” Olivia began, leaving the sentence unfinished as she followed Naomi inside.
“You have to,” Naomi said. “I don’t want to infect anyone else. Please.” She sat in one of the battered chairs.
Olivia raised the gun. But the barrel dropped. “Maybe you are immune,” she said.
“No one’s immune,” Naomi said. “It was all myths and lies. Rumours and stories. You can’t believe any of it. No one’s immune. No one’s special. Please.” She closed her eyes again.
Olivia raised the gun. Holding the barrel an inch from Naomi’s head, she pulled the trigger. The gun clicked. “Sorry. It’s jammed.”
Naomi let out a sobbing sigh. “Get the shotgun. No, there’s no time. Just…” She picked up a candle, then the bottle of lighter fluid from the shelf near the chimney. She squirted some on the floor, then on her shoes. “Just go. Quick. When I turn, I’ll drop the candle.”
“Wait,” Olivia said, but it was too late now. She hurried into the kitchen, grabbing as many of the cans as she could, throwing them into the bag she’d brought from Pete’s and which still contained the boxes of cereal. She ran outside. “I’m going to get the other bags.”
She ran to the door, out to the track, and down to the RV. She dropped the bag.
“Where’s Mom?” Tyler asked. “Where’s Dad?”
“They had to help someone,” Olivia said. “I’ll be back in a moment. I need bags. Bags? Ah.” She saw a couple of hold-alls near the door, upturned them, and then ran back up the track towards the cabin. Smoke was already trickling out from under the door. She was too late.
“No one’s special. No one’s immune,” she said. “I’m sorry, Naomi.”
But she’d keep her promise. She’d get the children to Canada.
Part 2
A Crazy Thing Called Love
Canada & U.S.A.
27th February
Chapter 11 - Air-Drea
Qualicum Beach Airport, Vancouver Island, Canada
The battered but winterized ambulance sped through the checkpoint outside Nanaimo Airport.
“How far is it to the plane?” Corrie Guinn asked from the paramedic’s jump seat.
“About an hour,” RCMP Police Constable Jerome MacDonald said. “It’s fifty kilometres to Qualicum.”
“Bet I can do it in twenty minutes,” Andrea MacDonald said from behind the wheel.
“It’s not a race!” Jerome said even as the pilot stomped on the accelerator.
“Says who?” Andrea replied. Gravel and grit rattled against the chassis as the wheels carved a path through the semi-frozen slush.
Pete closed his eyes, and held on.
“And you said there are American soldiers at Qualicum?” Corrie asked.
“I said there are crazy Alaskans,” Andrea said.
“Four are active-duty soldiers,” Jerome said. “The other six are retired or reservists.”
“Enthusiastic hobbyists,” Andrea added.
Jerome sighed. “They wanted to get back to the U.S. To
New York. To go help on the frontline. Came in by helicopter. We took the helicopters to help with the evacuation of Vancouver City. We said we’d find them work, or a flight, and asked them to keep the airport secure.”
“Won’t have room for all of them, though,” Andrea said. “Not in Shqa.”
“That’s the type of plane?” Pete asked.
“No, it’s her name. Shqa’élu. She’s a CL-415 water bomber.”
“Why did you name the plane that?”
“I didn’t,” Andrea said. “Our engineer did. He was from Nanaimo, you know? Um…” She leaned forward, then abruptly spun the wheel to avoid driving over a corpse.
“Whoa!” Jerome said. “Steady!”
“Yeah, he lived somewhere over there,” Andrea said blithely while waving to the right with just as much abandon.
“You should slow down,” Jerome said.
“I could go faster,” Andrea said.
“With the same surname, I thought you two were a couple,” Corrie said, “but you’re not, are you?”
“Us? Ha!” Andrea said, laughing, but still keeping control of the speeding ambulance.
“We’re siblings,” Jerome said.
“Step,” Andrea said. “Which is how come I’ve got all the looks.”
“And I’ve got all the common sense,” Jerome said. “Our parents lived next to each other. Died in a car crash. My aunt adopted us both. Policing’s the family business, you see.”
“Which is why I became a firefighter,” Andrea said.
“I don’t get it,” Pete said.
“Firefighters are one up from police,” Andrea said. “You can’t put handcuffs on a forest fire.”
The highway hugged the coast. To their right lay the bay, close enough to see the white-capped waves. Between and before, and inland, were the quiet homes of the local residents. Very quiet. Far more so even than Nanaimo. Pete leaned forward. “Where is everyone?”
“The town was abandoned days ago,” Jerome said.
“Why?” Pete asked. “And what’s that smell?” An oily vapour had crept in around the sealed windows. Dark, foetid, unforgivingly pervasive, leaving a metallic aftertaste in his mouth.
“Look to the right,” Jerome said. “We’ll pass it in a minute.”
Three partially burned hulks lay on the beach, the waves lapping at their charred sterns.
“Ferries,” Jerome said. “From Vancouver. They approached at night, too close together, too close to shore. One ran aground. The other two ran cables across to stop her listing, but it brought them close enough for the fire to spread to all three. The smoke forced us to evacuate the town, consuming resources that should have helped Vancouver. Plus, without those ferries, getting people out has become far more difficult. You can slow down,” he added. “No matter how hard you push the accelerator, we won’t fly.”
“Look at those clouds,” Andrea said, waving to the left, turning as she did, at the same time the front wheel slammed into a frost-logged pothole. The ambulance careened left, jumped right, bounced up, and slammed back down. With mud and grit splattering the windshield, she regained control. “Sorry. Sorry. My bad,” she said blithely. “But do you see those clouds?”
“I can’t see the road,” Jerome said, leaning forward and switching on the wipers.
“Spoilsport,” Andrea said. “Anyway, a storm’s coming. Either we want to be on the ground when the storm arrives, above it, or heading away from it. We absolutely do not want to be taking off. I guess we should have come here last night. But we’re here… now. There. Do you see it?”
Pete could only see mud smeared with the first splashes of rain. Jerome reached across, speeding the wipers up. Ahead, emerging from the growing murk, Pete found the squat tower, then the runway and, on it, a twin engine jet. Sleek white with a green flash on the tail to match the cockpit-surround. There were only eight windows in the cabin, but that was more than enough.
“That’s our plane?” he asked.
“That? No way,” Andrea said. “That’s just a Cessna we found in the hangar. I pushed it outside to make room for Shqa’élu. Can’t have her sitting outside in the rain.”
“She wouldn’t have minded,” Jerome said. “Of all the planes in the world, she doesn’t care about getting wet.”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t like the cold,” Andrea said. “She’s a summertime plane, you see?”
Pete didn’t, but had already learned questions distracted their driver.
“Didn’t you say the Alaskan soldiers were on guard here?” Corrie asked.
“They were,” Andrea said, finally slowing as they approached the wide-open gates that led to the runway.
“They should be,” Jerome said. “I said we’d find them passage east as soon we could.”
“Yeah, where are they?” Andrea sped up, driving towards a hangar close to the squat tower. “You two open the doors. Jerome, you uncover the engines. I’ll wake her up.” With no more warning, she slammed on the brakes.
Pete was thrown forwards and sideways at the same time, jarring arm and chest against the seatbelt while Andrea threw herself out of the driver’s door, sprinting over to the hangar.
“Hope she doesn’t fly like she drives,” Corrie said.
“Oh, she does,” Jerome said, opening his door, and following Andrea inside the hangar.
Pete grabbed his pack and the Colt-C7 assault rifle that, like most of his gear, and Corrie’s near-matching set, had been a gift from the Canadians. The rest of their supplies had come from the coffin-like containers they’d found aboard Kempton’s jet and which they’d unloaded in Nanaimo to make room for the sick children to fly south.
Outside, for a glorious quarter-second, Pete relished the motionless safety of solid ground before the chill wind dragged icy sandpaper over his exposed cheeks. “I’m starting to miss the Australian heat,” he said.
“Give me a month, I might re-adjust,” Corrie said, and jogged over to the wide hangar doors. She stopped, and shivered, jogging on the spot. “Maybe four months. Can you see the Alaskans?”
But Pete was looking inside. “Is that the plane?” he asked. Through the eight-inch gap in the hangar doors, beyond the pool of icy rain the wind had hurled inside, he saw only one plane. It had to be Andrea’s because Jerome was hauling giant blankets away from the engines. And it had to be a plane because it had a cockpit and a turboprop on each of its wings. Bright yellow, except where it was an even brighter red, it had a large, curving, bulbous cabin slung below the cockpit. If planes were birds, then this was a duck. And though he knew the story of how the ugly duckling turned into a swan, somehow he doubted that would happen before take-off.
“The motor’s not working on these doors,” Corrie said. “We need to push.”
“Right. Sure.” He added his shoulder to hers. Slowly at first, then faster as momentum built, they slid the gates open, finishing as Jerome slung the engine-coverings inside the odd-shaped plane.
“Where are the soldiers?” Corrie asked as the police officer and pilot joined them.
“Not a clue,” Jerome said. “They were here yesterday.”
“What do you want to do?” Andrea asked. “We can leave without them, we can wait, or we can go look for them. Your call, but if we don’t take off now, we might have to delay until tomorrow.”
“Why?” Pete asked.
“She’s a summer plane,” Andrea said. “Designed to fight forest fires. There’s not much call for those during the winter, so she’s not rated for these temperatures. She’s not rated for night flying, either. We have no way of calling ahead, no way of knowing if the runway will be clear. No way to ask them to turn on the lights. We can land on the water, but you really don’t want to do that at night. If we leave within the next hour, we’ll land before dusk. If we leave it much longer, we’ll have to wait until tomorrow. But from how grumpy those clouds look, it might be longer than that.”
“Pete?” Corrie said. “It’s your call.”
He f
rowned. “We need the soldiers,” he said. “I mean… after Broken Hill. But if we don’t go now, there’s a chance we won’t leave. The plane might be needed for something else.”
“Wait, there they are!” Corrie said, pointing at the opposite end of the runway where four figures slowly trudged towards them.
“Cool,” Andrea said. “I’ll wake Shqa up and give her a snack. You’ll want to get out the way.”
Pete walked away from the entrance, out onto the tarmac, waving to the approaching Alaskans. “It’ll be good to have the soldiers with us,” Pete said. “And good to find out what’s happened in Alaska. It can’t be so bad if they volunteered to head to New York rather than stay… stay…” He trailed off. The soldiers were waving back. Continuously. Erratically. None carried weapons in their hands, though it looked as if two carried slung rifles. The other two were charred. Burned. As they drew nearer, he better saw the singed rags for what they were. And he saw the figures for who they had been, but who they were no longer.
“They’re zombies,” Pete whispered.
“I think so,” Corrie said. She raised her assault rifle. “Is it just four? Pete? Pete! Is it just four of them?”
“Yes. Yes I think so. I can’t see any others. Shall I tell Andrea?”
Behind, there was a bang, a burr, a growl as the plane’s engines came to life.
“She’ll know what it means when I…” Corrie let her rifle’s shot end the sentence for her. The shot was a sharp punctuation to the engines’ rising roar, while the sound of the bullet’s impact was utterly inaudible. The zombie staggered, turning sideways with the impact against its body armour.
“Missed,” Corrie muttered. “Better wait, I suppose. Until they’re closer.”
Pete half-raised his rifle, then lowered it. He knew he was a terrible shot. His sister wasn’t. During her self-imposed exile, she’d guarded and repaired a lonely seven-hundred-kilometre stretch of dingo-fence in the Australian outback, keeping wild dogs away from the sprawling cattle stations. For when the fence broke, she had a rifle, albeit one which fired tranquilliser darts. People were different from dogs, and zombies were different again, but against four slow-moving targets, while armed with military-grade assault rifles, they weren’t truly in danger. Not yet.
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