by Dan Yaeger
People got to it and slowly emerged from behind Rob who was ready to keel over from exertion and the shock of whatever battle he had been in to keep the women safe.
“Rob, you can do Maeve’s old job and will remain here in Cooleman until further notice. This won’t happen again people.” Penfould shook his head, realising he had almost lost control. These people were being kept captive, but as soon as he took things too far, he knew he would have a revolution on his hands. “Well done, Rob, well done.” Dr Penfould gave him a golf clap, to which others joined in. The young man nodded at the gratitude and returned the thanks with a quick wave. Those around him appreciated the decision and patted him on the back. Rob looked like he had his mojo back and a new look of pride and self-worth. This was one of Dr Penfould’s better decisions for his people, not for himself, however.
“Someone get Barlow in here! Xavier’s going for a little ride with Sirocco and Price.” He involuntarily stomped his foot like he had to come to attention when at the Singaporean boarding school he had attended. “That survivor is still out there, by himself for another day! We’ll get him. We are close to the cure people! OK, stay positive! Dismissed!”
The awkward frog-like man clapped his clumsy hands and turned. He was hunched, almost ashamed and walked back to his chambers, alone like a survivor but nothing like Jesse.
Chapter 3: Morning
After holding Jen for some time into the morning, I was finally allowed to leave the couch to make breakfast. I went to the toilet and then washed my hands with warm water and soap; a luxurious wonderland like a modern-day resort. It was almost like a morning before; like the zombie apocalypse had never happened. I whistled and looked in the mirror, smiling at myself and the point in time I was in. Life was in a sudden step-change and I couldn’t have been happier. The deprivations of the last two years were made OK by the company, love, connection and experiences at that time. I had to pinch myself to see if it were real.
It was a luxury to have breakfast cereal, and I had plenty from the scavenging done at the holiday park. “Muesli? Energy cereal? Light cereal?” I asked from the kitchen. Jen lay there, cosy by the fire on this cool but sunny morning. “Toasted muesli please!” she called out. With powdered milk, a fine china bowl and a clean spoon, I served Jen a treat that a person from before the Great Change would have laughed at as boring. I sat there with her in our bathrobes and we chatted casually but avoiding any mention of what had happened the night before.
After we had eaten our fill, we had a cup of tea and some biscuits. Jen went to the toilet and she was gone a long while, I hoped she wasn’t sick. She came back and looked fine and thought nothing of it. She deserved some privacy. “Ah, this is what I survive and scavenge for,” I stretched and pulled her in for a hug. Jen had also finished breakfast and had other things on her mind. “I’m gonna go have a shower,” she said, smiling. “Wanna join me?” she winked and smiled, opening her bathrobe to reveal my fantasy girl. “Yes ma’am, I will.” It was a long shower with steamy windows and all the trimmings of a dirty weekend. There was plenty of cuddling, back washing and talking too. I had solidly fallen for her. There was no further doubt, inhibitions or reservations. It was full-blown infatuation and devotion that washed over me like the warm, fresh water of the shower. She was someone I loved and was my new best friend. This felt so right that I almost couldn’t believe that it was real.
After getting all dirty and all clean in the same event, we filled the washing machine with our clothes. Working with our new-found power supply, the front-loader was alive and humming; doing work I used to have to do with my own two hands. The new power system provided ample current to service our needs. Mechanical advantage was a wonderful thing to experience and enjoy again so that I could spend all my spare time with Jen: living. We could be together in love, life and being industrious survivors. My mission to explore, find people and face the Doc and his people in Cooleman seemed less important.
Jen was in the bedroom getting dressed and I was lacing up some boots on the couch when I felt we should address the obvious; our future together. I called out to her saying, “Jen, we need to think about how you want to make more permanent arrangements. You can stay with me, my preference, or you could have the spare room or another whole house if you like.” I was trying to be a good partner and provide assistance without making her think I was ordering her around. Human contact had been so infrequent, I was nervous about giving the wrong impression but I also wanted to hear about her views on the longer-term and where she might stay. I was trying to be me without any veil or guise. “I am actually pretty comfortable being with you, whichever room you’re in,” she replied, factually and not with humour. “I was hoping you’d let me stay in there.” I smiled, a little relieved. “Yes of course,” I smiled at her knowing what I was feeling was what she was feeling.
She was looking outside from the window, distant again and in a calm and assertive voice she said “Jesse, this isn’t like before. Everything has changed. I want to stay in the room with you, keep it your room, make it our room, whatever.” She was calm and clear. “A woman doesn’t know how long she has out there and I don’t want to waste any time. We’ve already bared ourselves over the last few days. Will you keep sharing things with me?” She was right and I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t mince words either. “You are special, Jen. I want to be with you. I’ll share everything with you for as long as we have.” There were smiles, a long, close hug and a kiss. And that was that. Her prediction was prophetic and we truly didn’t know how much time we had together.
Over the next two days, the bliss continued. We went fishing together, ate well and talked. My wounds, both physical and mental were healing. The next day was a walk through the orchard picking fruit together and sitting out, watching the view. With her head on my shoulder and sitting underneath a big gum tree, we looked at the sunset which was crowned with kisses and an embrace. These moments were illustrative of the romance and love we were enjoying. That night we sat by the fire, sipping wine and enjoying some chocolate. I wanted to know more, go deeper and know this woman’s life, her soul and share mine too. While she was clearly in deep too, she still held a veil to her past and experiences.
I told Jen about my childhood, being born to loving parents and growing up in a well-off home which I described as “Affluenza”. I had all range of toys, always had clothes, too many Christmas presents and birthday parties every year that other kids may have gotten a few times in their childhood. My brother and sister were the same; spoiled but happy. I had played my part in the consumerist nightmare that ended, killing the world. I told Jen as much and she listened intently and nodded. She seemed interested in my philosophy, but only to a point. I felt like she was almost saying “get on with it”, so I did. I explained that we had so much and familial wealth that had been built up over a couple of generations of hard work that I never wanted for anything as a child. I told her about the pop-culture I liked and she responded; only a little, indicating a fondness of certain dolls and lines of toys. The next part of the conversation was me opening up about the obvious question about how I became the man I was instead of an IT guy who stayed at home and played computer games. She hadn’t asked but I delivered. I explained it was the outdoors, trips to the coast house and long summers away from the consumerist world where I defined myself as a maximiser, a make-do kind of guy who could survive off “the sniff of an oily rag” and used that way of life to off-set and appreciate the creature comforts and opulence of my world. Again, she nodded and provided little in return.
After all I had been through and all I was sharing, I was struggling to get to know the woman I had fallen for. The words we had said earlier in the day were not being lived. It was early days; it would come later.
I couldn’t get too much out of her about her past and didn’t want to push it. The telling comment was “Look, I was a boring waitress in Cooleman. Nothing else to say really. I spent my days working to go travelling. It was w
orking holidays in hotels around Europe mostly. It was crappy work for crappy pay, working with people who are in a temporary, non-committal sort of life.” She wasn’t enjoying talking about herself or her past. “I had a few relationships, if you can call them that, but I was mostly on my own. I went to music festivals with groups of acquaintances, experienced culture by myself and art by myself: I love art,” she said, giving a little bit of background. My mind did what it always did. It went back to that place of logic, that cerebral mode that had kept me alive and I had to ask: “How does a waitress or hotel worker learn to shoot a shotgun and setup solar equipment?” She looked at me with an unfamiliar, dark look. “I worked in hotels, Jesse. They have all sorts of equipment, including solar power, hot water, air conditioning, entertainment systems and lights. I am allowed to have technical skills. Or am I only allowed to turn on lights or be a 1950’s housewife?“
She almost sneered at me with a side to her character that had not been revealed before. There was a fighter in there, a survivor. She was educated, well-read and assertive; no expectation that I would answer her question and I didn’t attempt it. She then looked away and I could visibly detect her shaking off the internal anger she harboured from someone or something in the past; it wasn’t me. I was just the irritant. But that passed in a moment. She looked at me with a renewed softness and I gave a nod and gentle smile in return. We all had demons and we faced them every day. I didn’t press the question about the shooting skills she had displayed; even though that was something I couldn’t shake. My heart wanted to believe her, believe in her, but my head was still unclear and there were things that niggled away at me that I could only later explain. Then, in that moment, I was content to not care and move on.
“Sorry, just curious about you. I want to know everything about you and really know you,” I came to her and put her left hand between my hands. It soothed whatever savage beast was in there enough to be receptive to my next suggestion. “I love you,” I said and she looked at me for a moment, initially oddly and that look then softened to a genuine happiness. I kept things rolling from there; “So tell me, what music do you like? What was the first album you bought and the first concert or festival you went to?” I smiled at her with a renewed excitement.
The excitement was infectious and she almost jumped up from her seat into a cross-legged position and engaged me in animated, lively, just plain lovely conversation. She loved music and I loved watching her love music. We drank more tea and ate chocolates until we had talked well into the night. Strangely, our conversation was cut with a sort of intermission where Jen disappeared for another 10-15 minutes. Those moments with her; the fun, the spark of life and that early part of a relationship are “forever” memories.
Jen returned and she had a concerned look on her face. There was enough pressure in earlier conversation so I simply asked her “All good?”
This interest was diffused with a simple nod, her brushing her hair behind her head with her lovely hands and gentle smile of her own. I noticed her t-shirt was a little wet on her chest, around her nipple. “Are you OK?” I asked. She wasn’t impressed and fussed wiping herself quickly and nervously. With a closer look, while Jen was looking down on her shirt herself I asked, somewhat joking and, in part seriously “Are you lactating?” I had seen that before but could not believe what I was seeing and put it down to coincidence. She looked embarrassed and almost angry for a moment. Instead of the response I was expecting, given her initial reaction, she smiled, said “Ha, ha; very funny,” brushing off both her shirt and the conversation. She closed her cardigan across her breast uncomfortably.
We continued to talk music and discussed genres we could not get into. For me it was an intense dislike of jazz music, for Jen it was R&B. We gave our views on things, overly harshly, and then laughed with and at each other imitating songs we loved, hated and thought were overrated. Things had picked up and I was immersed in her company, loving every moment. Despite a few hiccups and the tattered world we lived in, we were enjoying something special. “Relationships are complicated, just go with it,” I reminded myself while I got us some more wine.
By the end of the night we were out on the balcony. We were tired and feeling the effects of fresh air, too much food and wine, some humour and exciting conversation. It had turned out to be a great night. We had reached agreement on some of the best music of all time; no greater peace accord could be struck between us. We had discussed the duel between the Beatles and the Rolling Stones in the early development of rock and roll. The Stones won for us, but only just. Jen lost her focus after that part of the conversation and talked, almost to herself, as she leaned on the railing. I was looking between her and the stars when she said something. She seemed to mimic a phrase she had heard in the past. “It is rock and roll time at the Rock” she whispered, shaking her head at this memory that troubled her. I just put it down to a festival or venue that had been a night of lost love or a rough night of too many drinks, perhaps. We got back into the fun conversation again. It was only much later that I would get the reference.
We went to bed and Jen was obviously not in the mood for any action, rather needed some care. I looked after her and gave her the comfort she needed and then lay awake. As I drifted off to sleep, I fell in and out of slumber. It was unlike me but I woke, feeling tired and bleary-eyed. Bad dreams had plagued my sleep. I had been visited by some of them; the taken, the fallen, the lost. All was not well.
In one dream, Dane, the eldest of those brave boys who had fought with me on Tanny Hill, had visited me. He was warning me that we had to go back there, to Tanny Hill once again. He was warning me that “they” were coming for me. It was vivid enough and the brain reacted to whatever was plaguing my subconscious to disrupt my sleep. In that fitted slumber, the day dawned and I was tossing and turning in a troubled state. Strange thoughts and sounds; a helicopter? In my fitted sleep, I was unsure if I had heard or dreamed it. I slept in that morning, unsure of what caused my mind such consternation. Jen also tossed and turned.
As I woke, I got up out of bed and keened my ears to any unusual sounds as I stood by the window. All was normal; no car engines, helicopters or angels singing. If that damned helicopter had come this way, I hoped that they couldn’t find us in the heavily wooded area we called home. They hadn’t been able to find us before and I had killed the party who had made it here on foot so I felt some sense of reassurance. Blackbeard, Skinny and the Mechanic, my first neo-zombie assailants didn’t have a radio to let anyone know I was here either; “Strange,” I thought, standing, stretching and groaning tiredly. “Strange they didn’t have a radio.”
The stretch kick-started my mind and body and I quickly found my thoughts went onto other things, my everything: Jen. I found myself looking at the sleeping woman that had come into my world and woken me up to the world that could be. I had found love again. Well, she had found me, anyway.
After a few moments I realised she didn’t look well; her usual colour wasn’t there and her nose visibly wept. Jen sputtered into a coughing fit and I was sure she had fallen ill. I rolled her over, rubbing and patting her back until it passed. She rolled back toward me and her eyes blinked open; bleary, unwell and their opening heralded her exit from slumber. She smiled with a brave face but I could see her eyes watered, nose dripped and coughing erupted uncontrollably for a moment. Her skin had red rings around her mouth, eyes and nostrils. Jen looked and fumbled frantically for the tissue-box, pulling a tissue into each hand. She sneezed first and then coughed again, phlegm launched from her throat and lungs into her tissue-shrouded hand. She threw those two soiled tissues over the edge of the bed and onto the bedroom floor. I smiled; she was really at home with me.
“You’ve got a cold, Love?” I smiled and asked gently. “Yeah,” she looked away. “Get me something warm would you?” she asked with a hint of pitiful desperation. I went to the kitchen made a tea, as she liked in the morning, hoping it would pep her up a bit. She sat up, cross-legge
d and cupped her hands around the mug of tea. “Ahhh,” she sighed with satisfaction as she sipped. It improved her spirits but not her condition; I sat watching her drink the tea intently. My focus on Jen was broken as the helicopter noise, distinct and not imagined, droned in, intensifying as it seemed to come closer, only to fade out again. Jen looked at me, her eyes wide wide with alarm as the noise intensified. “They’ve not found me yet.” I said to her reassuringly. She looked back at me, not looking convinced. “I know Jesse. But it is just a matter of time.” I nodded at that comment, knowing she was right but hoping my plans would mean we would come out on top.
The helicopter’s patrol was a timely reminder that I needed to revisit my plan to go into Cooleman and find out what was going on and where the aircraft was coming from. We needed to take the initiative; strike first. I was convinced the infamous Doc and the neo-zombies were still hunting me, Jen evidently thought so too. I was intrigued to understand them, learn more about the potential cure and their other motivations. If I had to, I would take them down like I had the others. The neo-zombies, with their tough but somewhat idiotic approach to engaging me, had shown the limitations in the strategy and leadership. “Food?” I reached out and touched Jen’s cold hand. No, she shook her head, taking another sip. “In a little while.” She gave me a weak smile and gulped another mouthful of hot tea with a wince. Her throat was clearly sore and her free hand went up to instinctively soothe the area. I continued to think about the next steps; where Jen and I were going together and how we could stay free, alive and on-top. “Cooleman,” I whispered. Jen either ignored me or didn’t hear.
While drawn to Cooleman and its vestiges of humanity, I didn’t trust them, those neo-zombies. They had proven dangerous and out to kill me or take me in, whatever state. I would survey them, engage them and out-think them on my terms.
