by West, Mark
Victoria nods and I can see the memory stirring to life.
‘I cried myself to sleep the night you didn’t come home, while Amy wept for Lincoln. Please don’t tell me …’
I grimace. ‘Yeah, well it seems someone is doing the same. This time they’re keeping people in chains and letting them die.’ I hold back the dismembering part. It’s too disgusting for her.
Her hands go straight to her mouth. ‘That’s horrible.’
I nod. ‘Messed up, alright.’
‘But why? Why are they holding people captive?’
‘I don’t know.’ I lie again. I bite down hard on the side of my cheek. The skin breaks and I taste blood. It’s different somehow, more metallic than usual.
‘And you didn’t see anyone around? No one was alive?’
I turn away to hide the shame in my face. ‘All dead.’
‘And the blood on your clothes?’
I freeze. ‘Infected. After I left the house. All dead now.’
Pity fills Victoria’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Jackson. I had no idea.’
She hugs me tight. My mind instantly flashes to the thought of Vivian. I panic and push her away.
Victoria looks at me, confused. ‘Jackson?’
‘Sorry. Just a bit shaken. You know.’
I stand and leave the room. The truth is, the second Victoria touched me I had that desire again, that unmistakable urge to feed.
What the hell is happening to me?
Chapter 23
White tents
Amy stares around in amazement. Someone has clearly tried to stop the infection. Dozens of red and white barricades are lined up along the street with high temporary fencing, blocking entry into the centre of Surfers Paradise. Police cars, military vehicles and fire engines are stationed in front of the blockade and beyond it are ambulances and massive white tents.
Amy picks up one of the many banners blowing about on the ground. The sign is painted in red with a timber picket at one end. In the middle is a biohazard symbol with the words ‘Stop the spread, remove the dead’. Several more banners are scattered across the road, all saying similar things. They must have had a warning.
It’s the first time Amy has seen any evidence of people fighting back. It seems surreal that they had time yet were unable to contain it. The curiosity to find out more is overwhelming. She must see what’s inside the white tents.
Amy creeps towards the blockade and finds a gap where a sports car had rammed into it. Checking the area is clear, she squeezes through. All around are towering buildings. Most are residential, some with small commercial outlets at ground floor. A few show signs of fire damage, blackened facades, smashed windows and caved-in doors. It looks as if a riot broke out. However, now it is deserted – not an Infected or healthy human in sight.
Where is everyone?
The last Infected Amy spotted was the one that chased her almost an hour ago after she left the apartment. Usually, they are everywhere, trying to satisfy their hunger. Here they seem to be virtually non-existent.
Perhaps Jackson was right and they die out in the heat.
Amy takes a side path, cautious of wandering eyes from above, and ducks in behind an ambulance parked metres from a tent. The tent is even bigger than she thought, as wide as a house and just as tall. Temporary barriers of tape lead up to the entrance, creating a rabbit warren of lanes labelled with a sign reading ‘Infected’.
Is it a hospital?
She moves towards the entrance, careful to avoid tripping on the fallen tape. At the opening she stops. The smell of death is seeping from the inside.
Should I keep going?
Amy shrugs, removes the gun from the holster on her waist and holds it in front of her before stepping inside. The room is light, the bright white canvas allowing some of the sun’s rays to pass through. Dozens of beds are lined up in the middle. On each one a skeleton is strapped in place on top of bloodstained sheets. To the back of the tent are dozens of stacked boxes and at the sides smaller rooms walled off by plastic partitions, making it impossible to see if anything is hiding.
The smell is unbearable. Amy promptly pulls up a yellow bandana tied around her neck, to cover her nose and mouth. It makes little difference. She takes a few steps then stops when something crunches underneath her boot – a needle. Other medical equipment is scattered across the floor along with more corpses.
Amy edges further into the room, mindful to keep sound at a minimum. Every so often she glances back at the entrance, wondering if she should turn around. Only half of the tent is visible from the entrance, the other half walled off by makeshift screens.
At the back, Amy can see a zipped down door with a sign above saying ‘Medical Supplies’. She heads for it, hoping there is something useful in there.
The zipper on the door is almost fully closed. Amy reaches down to pull it up when something tinkles inside. She pauses in fright and takes a step back, pointing her gun towards the canvas door. Waiting. Listening.
Her heart thumps in her chest. She is contemplating leaving when a large rat runs through the gap at the foot of the door. It scurries past, bumping into a bedpan and disappearing between the piles of boxes. Amy lets out a sigh of relief and lowers the gun. She reaches for the zipper again, not thinking twice before pulling it up and parting the canvas.
‘Shit.’
Before the word has come out of her mouth, her gun is up. Inside are five Infected in bloodied white coats. Amy takes a step back, but before she has time to hide, one of them spots her. It bellows like an injured cow. The other four spin around. All ten hungry eyes lock in on her.
Amy steps away, panic rising inside. She bumps into a bed, corking the side of her leg. One of the Infected charges. She fires twice, hitting it in the face. It drops to the floor metres from where she stands, dead. The remaining four gnash their teeth and stagger towards her like drunks. The gunfire would have been heard beyond the tent. Amy has but seconds before more Infected arrive. She needs to get the hell out of there.
She hobbles backwards, leg throbbing and gun shaking in her hand. Something breaks over to one side of the tent. Infected are moving out from behind the plastic partitions.
They are everywhere!
Amy fires off another two rounds, missing the Infected and hitting glass jars that explode across the floor. Her eyes grow wide in horror as Infected close in on her – eight in total. There are more coming up from behind, trying to cut her off and block her escape. She can’t shoot them all!
She turns and runs, ignoring the pain in her leg as she shoves beds out of the way in an attempt to make it to the door. The room explodes with noise as Infected take chase, aggressive and unpredictable.
Only metres from the door, Amy glances back to see an Infected hot on her heels. She spins quickly, firing a round and hitting it in the neck. It tumbles, taking down another Infected with its whirling arms. She doesn’t stop to finish it off.
Clearing a path, Amy runs through the exit, hopeful her last shots are enough to slow them down. She needs every advantage she can take. Who knows what is waiting outside.
The sun blinds Amy, causing her to stumble and hit the barrier tape. She blinks rapidly, pushing the barrier aside.
Now where?
She scans around hopefully, looking for shelter. More Infected are coming up the road. Most are walkers, but some are runners leading the pack, sprinting in her direction. They will be on her within seconds.
In the opposite direction, seagulls are circling in the sky.
The beach!
Amy turns and runs, jumping fallen branches and debris as she bolts towards the beach.
Waist-high weeds are growing through cracks in the road. The once immaculate strip is overgrown. Mother nature is claiming it back. She runs past familiar stores, their signs now in tatters, their windows smashed. Royal Copenhagen, her favourite ice cream parlour, is abandoned: its busy past now a distant memory.
When she arrives at the end of th
e strip, she has three options. Run onto the beach or run down along the foreshore. She looks behind. Dozens of Infected are now making chase, three of them are runners. Amy checks the magazine – four bullets left.
Do I risk it?
She knows the runners won’t stop, but the walkers may lose interest if she gets far enough away.
‘Fuck it!’
She turns and takes a stance; hopeful her aim is true. It’s her only chance to get away other than fighting head-on.
Her first shot travels through the air like a missile, hitting one of the Infected directly in the stomach. Blood sprays from its belly as flesh is ripped open. Innards fall from the wound. The Infected acts as if nothing has happened and continues the chase.
Amy fires again, arms stiff, and hits another in the face. Two runners left.
With the next bullet she hits the one with the torn stomach in the eye, killing it instantly. All that practice over the past year is paying off. One runner left. One bullet.
Amy gets down on one knee. The last Infected, a small boy with red hair, is less than ten metres away, zig-zagging as if knowing what to do to avoid being hit. Amy pulls the trigger, but at the last second, he side steps, causing the metal to scrape his shoulder and hit another Infected about sixty metres back.
‘Dammit!’
The boy lunges for Amy as she scrambles to her feet. She catches him mid-air, and flings him to the side like a rag doll. The boy tumbles to the ground and rises straight to his feet. Something tears in Amy’s back. She bites her lip in pain, knowing it’s the least of her worries.
The boy comes again. Amy reaches for the knife on her hip and draws it free. It’s only the length of a butter knife: feeble for a group, but lethal one on one. She jabs it forward as the boy dives, scraping the blade along his cheek and cutting his ear clean off. She elbows him hard in the back of the head, causing him to face-plant onto the edge of the curb in a gut-wrenching crack. He doesn’t move.
More Infected merge with the group coming from the main drag, spilling from buildings either side of the strip – hundreds of them. They move slowly, but with such numbers, it would be impossible for her to stop them. Her only option now is the beach.
With no choice, Amy jumps down the stairs, past Borobi, the Commonwealth Games blue koala mascot and runs to the yellow sand. She heads north, running close to the water’s edge on the harder sand, taking in the misty salt-filled air. She must keep going.
Chapter 24
The Terminator
The service station’s door implodes with the force of the wide, size twelve boot. The fridge blocking the entrance tumbles to the floor. The sun’s rays expand into the room, illuminating the empty shelves and the dust that’s floating in the air.
The black dog barks twice, before pushing past its Master’s legs and entering, its nose sniffing madly, searching for a clue. The Master follows and trudges stiffly towards the back of the store like the Terminator on a mission. His calloused hand pushes open a rear door, signalling for his dog to enter. The Rottweiler barks and runs into the room, returning minutes later wagging its tail.
The Master enters, peering up at the high window as if recalling a memory, then looking down at the two empty beds. The dog barks again, breaking his Master’s concentration, nudging his Master’s hand. The Master lifts the torn hat away from the dog and scowls. The dog barks in agitation and goes over to the wall. It has found something.
The Master shoves the animal aside and studies the wall, eyes soaking in every detail the morning light has to offer. The black dog paws at a dirt-stained blanket. The Master pushes it aside revealing two names etched in the wall: Jackson and Victoria.
Chapter 25
Searching
William and Eden spend the next few hours searching for Cynthia, coming up empty-handed. There’s not a clue to her whereabouts. They have searched a good two kilometres in all directions, checking the parks and rivers and backtracking through the bush, believing she might be waiting for them. It’s as if she has vanished into thin air. William is sure she is long gone by now or killed by the Infected.
‘Cynthia!’ Eden yells, cupping her hands.
William scowls, placing a hand over her mouth. ‘You can’t do that around here.’
Eden slaps his hand away. ‘And why not. For all we know she may be in trouble.’
‘Doubt it,’ William says bitterly, clenching his teeth.
It’s one thing looking for someone in a world full of Infected. It’s another searching for someone who doesn’t want to be found. If he didn’t find Eden so cute, he would have left her by now. In a way, though, he feels sorry for her. He knows what it’s like to be abandoned.
‘Well?’ Eden stamps her foot.
‘Well, what?’ he snaps. ‘She’s long gone.’
Eden stares at him with raised eyebrows. ‘Will!’
William takes a step towards her, noting her glassy eyes and now realising he should have kept his mouth shut. He places a hand on her shoulder.
‘I’m sorry, Eden,’ he says softly. ‘I didn’t mean to say that.’
Eden shrugs his hand away. ‘Go away.’ She turns her back and stamps off a few paces.
William continues looking around, unsure if anyone is listening, hoping for a chance to break the tension. He is not used to fighting with anyone, especially a girl like Eden. They are just on the edge of town, perhaps a few kilometres north of the service station, surrounded by three large abandoned factories. Half of one is torn down. The other two are graffitied like a comic book. The factories are in a large, open, fenced-off area, with a few dump trucks, diggers and a single crane situated roughly in the middle. To the left of the factories are three site sheds and beyond that is the highway to Brisbane – and salvation, William hopes.
The thought of refuge in Brisbane continually plays on William’s mind. Ever since talking to the girls about it, he has felt a sense of purpose, a feeling of hope in an uncertain world.
William has yet to tell Eden about his father or that he has any family for that matter. He lied, saying he was adopted. He still isn’t sure why. Perhaps pride, but more likely it’s that if he tells her his father is dead it would confirm it. He would rather keep quiet until he checks this place out for himself.
William’s hand falls to Eden’s shoulder once again. This time she doesn’t shrug it off.
‘Why would she just leave me like this, Will? What kind of person does that?’
William knows exactly the kind, but carefully picks his words before answering.
‘A scared one? We all do stupid things, Eden.’
Eden wipes her face. ‘I miss her already.’
William doesn’t answer. He isn’t sure what to say or do. This kind of emotion is not what he signed up for. Instead, he wraps his arms around her. That’s what his mother used to do when he was upset. A hug fixes everything.
‘It’s time we moved on Eden,’ he whispers. ‘We need to keep going.’
Chapter 26
It’s my turn
‘Screw this.’
Victoria pushes aside the doona and leaves the room. It’s 6.00 am, and after tossing and turning for over an hour in bed, her restless legs finally win the argument. She has spent the past hour debating whether or not to go out and explore today. It’s been weeks since she has left the house, and right about now, she has had enough of playing housewife.
Yes, being in the safety of the home is in her best interest. And yes, she must think of Isabelle. But after the conversation with Jackson she has no choice. The guy is not telling her something, and she needs to see what’s up. Besides, she could do with some fresh underwear.
It’s not her first time being out in the world alone, and she knows it won’t be her last. She has spent the past year running and today is no different, except she will be returning. She will explore for a few hours and come straight home.
Victoria scribbles a note on a piece of torn paper, leaving it by the side of Jackson’s b
ed. Isabelle is fast asleep, her arm across a small baby elephant. Victoria leans in and gives her a kiss before leaving the room as silently as she entered.
Shouldering a small pack, Victoria grabs the gun by the stairs and stuffs a map in her side pocket.
‘I’ll see you kids soon,’ she whispers nervously, pushing open the gate and stepping out into the big wide world.
Chapter 27
Exhaustion
Amy stops in the middle of the beach, allowing her pack to fall to the sand. She draws in mouthfuls of salty air, enjoying the ocean breeze as it whips past her face. It would be bliss if she wasn’t being chased. Her muscles are cramping from running on the sand, and she’s got the fricken twinge in her back that spasms with every step. But despite the pain, the exhaustion, she is still alive – just.
She glances back down the beach. Dozens of Infected are still following her like an annoying rash and have been ever since she left the main strip.
Don’t these monsters ever give up?
They move unevenly in the sand, sinking and tripping like a child learning to walk. They are slow and only pose a threat if she stops long enough to let them catch her. But they keep coming.
Amy looks at the ocean, taking in the crystal blue, uninterrupted water. Waves are tumbling calmly along the shoreline, spreading thinly across the sand, wiping away any trace of her footprints. It’s the prettiest thing she has seen in years.
Sweat trickles down her cheek and Amy wipes it away with her damp shirt. It’s warm, around the mid-thirties, and the humidity no doubt over 90 per cent. She’d kill for a swim right now.
Amy sips water from a bottle before shouldering her pack again. The gap is closing. If she has any hope of losing them, she needs to expand it.