by Frank Tayell
Again she got out, walking through the gate and up to the house. “Kasey?” she called. “Johno?” She pushed the front door open, and went inside.
Pete took that as his cue, got out, and walked through the gate. Angular metal statues were planted where a lawn should be. They told a story, Pete was sure, but like most art, it went so far over his head it would take more than a leap to catch the meaning. None of the statues was more than a metre tall, none shorter than twenty centimetres, some were circular, some square, but all had the same ten-centimetre-width. A few were pointed but most had rounded ends, and all were polished to reflect the glow from the rising sun. He was weighing up whether it might be a three-dimensional plan for a city or an elaborate sundial when a cacophonous crash came from inside the house.
He spun around, taking a cautious step towards the building. A shot rang out. Then another, then two more in quick succession. He managed three steps towards the house when he saw movement to his right. A young woman staggered out into the front yard, green haired with clothing that had been entirely green before it was soaked in blood.
“Are you okay?” he asked. There was something familiar about her, but the flash of recognition vanished as the woman’s face twitched, her teeth snapped together, and she lurched towards him. Her gait was unsteady, the limbs moving jerkily as if each joint was independent of the others.
Pete stepped back. “Are you… are you…?” He didn’t finish the question, but he already knew the answer. A gobbet of bloody flesh fell from the woman’s mouth.
“You are,” Pete said. He looked for a weapon, a tool, an escape. All he saw was a long length of nylon rope on the dusty packed soil.
The rope was looped and tied, giving him a hefty coil with a metre-long-reach. As he swung, the woman clutched for it, batting it away like a kitten with string. Pete backed away, swinging the coiled rope in a tight figure of eight. The woman lurched forward, thrusting her arm before her. It caught in the looped rope, and when she swung her arm sideways, it was tugged from his hands.
Pete skipped back three paces, trying to give himself space to think, but he’d forgotten about the forest of metal statues. His feet knocked into them, kicking one over and under his foot. He slipped, falling backwards with a rattling clatter, scattering the display. He grabbed the nearest metal column, hurling it easily up at the zombie, and only then realised that they were hollow, flimsy, and unlikely to hurt anyone. His throw was off. He missed, and the zombie lurched on. Her hands were in front, her mouth snapping open and closed, her unseeing eyes fixed on his.
A gunshot echoed, and the zombie crumpled to the ground.
“Are you okay?” Qwong called out. “Pete? Talk to me.” She ran over, weapon trained on the downed zombie.
“I’m alive. Fine.”
“She bite you?”
“No,” he said, pushing himself to his feet.
“Let me take a look at you. No, you look fine.”
“The girl was inside?” he asked.
“No. Kasey and Johno are dead. Infected. Zombies. I just shot them. I think the house is clear, but go and wait in the van while I finish searching it.”
“The van, right. Sure.”
He made it to the vehicle before he retched. He got inside, pulled the door closed, and felt no safer. He didn’t want to go home; he wanted to go back in time, to any time before this nightmare began. One corpse led to another, and it never seemed to stop. Because it wouldn’t. No. This was how the world was. A living nightmare from which there would be no waking, no hiding, no escape, nothing but the thin hope he would see the sunset, and the dawn that followed.
Quietly, he cried.
There was a tap on the van’s window. Pete jumped, but it was only Tess Qwong. He opened the door.
“You okay?” she asked again.
“Fine. Just adjusting.”
“Fair dinkum. I’m not certain what happened here. I think Kasey was coming back from town, alone, in the car. She saw the bike. Stopped, but the girl had already turned. She drove on, coming home. The zombie followed. The rest is just sadness and pain.”
“I think I know her,” Pete said. “The girl.”
“You do? How?”
“A few hours before the plane crashed, an RV drove up to Corrie’s compound,” he said. “There were three people aboard. Three that we saw, anyway. That girl and her parents. The girl had been sick. Cancer, I think. But she’d recovered and her parents were taking the long route to… to… I can’t remember. Relatives somewhere, but seeing some of Australia on the way. Let me take another look at her, I might recognise her.”
“I shot her in the back of the head, the bullet exited through her face. No one would recognise her now. Tell me about the RV. A camper van, right?”
“Yeah, it was white with green flashes. The bike, that’s green, so was her clothing. That’s what I remember. All the green. They didn’t know about the outbreak. Their radio didn’t work. We said there’d been an outbreak, but not that it was zombies. We told them to come back to town. They must have turned the radio on, heard what was happening, and decided they were safer on their own.”
“This was a few hours before the plane crash?” Qwong asked. “I guess they can’t have travelled far from the fence. I better call this in, get Captain Hawker to take a helicopter back up to look for the RV. While I’m doing that, can you get three body bags out from the back?”
“Body bags?”
“We can’t leave them here.”
Chapter 18 - The Rosewood Cartel
Gaffney Street, Broken Hill
“Where’ve you been?” Corrie asked as Pete trudged up the drive. She and Liu were unloading an odd assortment of bags from her car.
“What’s that in your hand?” Liu asked. “Is that the looter’s gun?”
Pete held the evidence bag up. “Inspector Qwong gave it to me at the crematorium. She said there was no point letting it rust in the evidence lock-up.”
“What happened?” Corrie asked.
“It’s a long story,” he said. “Do you remember that RV that came through the outback, just before that plane crashed?”
“Sure,” Corrie said.
“They got infected. The girl, the daughter, she didn’t turn immediately. Managed to make it to a house belonging to… I can’t remember their names. It’s on the Silver City Highway, has a kite flying above it.”
“Johno and Kasey’s,” Liu said. “Are they okay?”
“They’re dead,” Pete said. “So’s the girl. Inspector Qwong shot them. They were infected. Zombies. She said I should take the gun, just in case. Huh, I guess it wasn’t as long a story as I thought.”
“Kasey taught Bobby a couple of years ago,” Liu said.
“I’m sorry,” Pete said, and wished there was something more comforting he could say.
Twenty minutes later, when he stepped out of the bungalow’s small shower room, he found Corrie sitting on the sofa.
“I forgot where I was,” he said, pulling the towel around his waist.
“How are you doing?” she said, standing up and turning away.
“I don’t know,” he said as he hurriedly dressed. “I really don’t. Half of me is terrified. Half of me is saying that it doesn’t matter how I feel because we’re stuck here. Half is saying that however bad it is here, Olivia has it worse since we’re really only dealing with a plane wreck, not a continent in flames. And the other half is saying that’s way too many halves.”
“You never were good at math,” she said.
“Those people in the RV, they must have decided they’d be safer in the outback than back in town. And stayed close to the plane crash.”
“Or they saw the smoke and went to investigate, to help,” Corrie said. “I wouldn’t dwell on it.”
“I’m not. Inspector Qwong radioed the soldiers. They’re going to look for the RV, but based on the fuel left in the dirt bike, it can’t be more than thirty kilometres away. That’s a day’s walk, and it had to have happened
at least a day ago. That’s why she gave me the gun. So, yeah, I’m not really dwelling on it, just trying to get my head around how much has changed. This morning, Liu and I killed a man, albeit in self-defence. Instead of being questioned, the inspector basically gave me a job. And now she’s given me a gun. Things are clearly bad. I can see that, I just can’t get my head around how bad they really are. I mean, out there, outside, it all still looks so normal.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “Or almost exactly. But getting stuck inside your head isn’t going to help. Liu said she’s going to fire up her grill. There’s too much meat to store so she wants to throw a barbecue. Invite over all her neighbours.”
“I don’t think I could face a barbecue,” he said. “Not after the plane wreck. I don’t think I could even face food,” he added, but his stomach gave a treacherous growl of disagreement.
“Either way, since they’re going to be our neighbours, too, we should help.” Corrie picked up the evidence bag. “We shouldn’t leave this around, not with Bobby in the house. Maybe I should look after it, though.” She opened the bag and loaded the loose round into the magazine. That went into one pocket, the pistol into another. After a second’s hesitation, she pocketed the suppressor as well.
Pete followed Corrie up to the house. Music was coming from the direction of the bedrooms, but with too slow a beat for it to be playing that loud in anything but childish frustration. Liu was in the kitchen, a bulging freezer bag on the table.
“They didn’t want the meat?” Corrie asked.
“Neither cooked nor frozen,” Liu said. “They’re leaving. Half the street is. They’re driving off together. Asked if we’d like to go with them. Bobby and me. I’m not sure you’re invited.”
“Oh,” Pete said. He sat at the table. “Are you going to leave?”
“They’re driving to Wollongong,” Liu said.
“Where’s that?” Pete asked.
“About a thousand kilometres east, on the coast south of Sydney,” Liu said. She angrily filled the kettle. “Jan’s sister has a small hotel.” She slammed the kettle on. “Apparently it has a campsite. It’s the first I’ve heard about it. Reckon they’ll go there to start with.” She gripped the counter. “Sorry. It’s just that money is tight. It’s always tight. Even tighter now that Clemmie’s abroad. Yes, Scott works for an airline, which means we can get a free cargo flight to the mine of our choice, but that’s not exactly a destination getaway. A discounted stay at a campsite would have been more than welcome many a time, and Jan knew it. I dunno, maybe she’s not close to her sister. It’s not important now. My anger’s more that they’ve been talking about this for days and didn’t mention it. No one did. Will I go? I don’t know. I can’t see how it would be safer than here.”
“After this morning,” Pete asked, “can it be more dangerous?”
“It’s precisely because of this morning that I’m hesitating,” Liu said. “Tess said there’d been a lot of looting, but people took what they needed and left. On the coast, there’d be nowhere to go to. People would take what they wanted, then stay and take some more. Out here, people have to help one another. It’s a different way of life. You help each other because you’re certainly going to want that help yourself one day soon. You bank the goodwill. On the coast, we’d be outsiders among other strangers. We’d be giving up everything. Of course, you’ve both lost everything already, haven’t you? And I suppose that’s it. If we leave, we’re leaving it all behind. For years, we thought we might have to, until we settled here. This is the first house in twenty years where we didn’t panic anytime we saw a stranger walking up the path. I’m holding onto the house because it’s where our family was together. If I leave, I’m worried I’ll never see Scott or Clemmie again, but staying won’t bring them back to me.”
Outside came the sound of an engine. They all crossed to the window, but it wasn’t people leaving; it was Inspector Qwong, arriving in the police van.
“G’day,” Qwong said. “How are you doing, Pete?”
“Still alive,” he said.
“Good to hear. Did you tell them about Kasey and Johno?”
“He did,” Liu said.
“Sad business,” Qwong said. “A helicopter’s gone up to look for the camper van. We’ll see what it finds. Looks busy out there. Your neighbours all leaving?”
“This afternoon, Tess,” Liu said. “About four is the plan.”
“To go where?”
“Wollongong.”
“You thinking of going with them?” Qwong asked.
“Would you?” Liu replied.
“Nope. I’d advise against it,” Qwong said.
“Then we won’t,” Liu said.
“Will you stop them from going?” Corrie asked.
“Not exactly,” Qwong said. “We’re putting together a road-convoy to go to Adelaide, leaving tomorrow, at dawn. The army’s sending an escort. Should arrive around two a.m. If people want to leave, after what happened to Johno and Kasey, I’d prefer they left together, and with the escort. But I don’t have enough cells to lock them up, and don’t have the time to try. I’ll let them sweat for a few more minutes, then go have a word.”
“What’s happening in Adelaide?” Liu asked.
“Not a clue,” Qwong said. “The road-convoy is only for people with vehicles. Locals, in other words. Everyone else is being put on a train. They should arrive overnight.”
“They’re going to Adelaide as well?” Liu asked.
“No, Singleton, I think. That’s what they’re saying. They want the miners. They’re taking the tourists, too, but it’s the miners they want. Putting two together with another two Captain Hawker heard on a military frequency, they want to hack as much coal and iron ore out of the ground as they can. Create a stockpile. I don’t think it’s for export, so I assume it’s for us.”
“The mines are open-cast, and the machinery is mostly automated,” Liu said.
Qwong shrugged. “I’m passing on rumours. I think the real goal is to keep people busy, and to give them the impression that there’s a plan. I bet a lot will end up farming, or maybe that’s what’ll happen to the mob who end up in Adelaide. Like I said, most of what I know is rumour, other than the military are arriving tonight, the trains soon after.”
“And what’s going to happen to everyone who stays?” Liu asked.
“I’m not sure,” Qwong said. “Broken Hill will be a re-supply centre and infrastructure conduit, whatever that means. We’re to expect four cargo planes later this afternoon, a few more overnight. Not sure what’ll be on them.” She turned to Pete and Corrie. “But if you two don’t mind a bit of heavy lifting, Mick could use a hand unloading them. I’d like to keep as many uniforms in town, as visible as they can be, at least until the trains have left tomorrow. Oh, one more thing. It’s not much comfort, but that bloke who died in Mr Thurlow’s cafe, he definitely was involved in the drug business.”
“How do you know?” Liu asked.
“As Charlie was prepping him for cremation, he found a tattoo on the corpse’s arm. A branch with three leaves, from which a fourth had fallen off. The three-leaved branch is a tattoo used by a group calling themselves the Rosewood Cartel. They’re the mob that was muscling their way into the coastal cities. It’s good news, I’d say. Means he was probably just looking for a car so he could drive back there. What?” she added, looking at Corrie.
“I think…” Corrie began. “I think he was after Pete.”
“You do? Why?” Qwong turned to Pete. “What’s your connection to an international drugs gang?”
“He’s got none,” Corrie said quickly. “Lisa Kempton does. A long time ago, I worked for her. She had this idea that the way to beat people like the cartel was to befriend them and tear them down from the inside. When I found out, I quit. I went off-grid. And I came here. I stayed away from America, and Pete, to keep him safe. It wasn’t Kempton I was worried about, but the cartel.”
“You didn’t thi
nk of going to the authorities?” Qwong asked.
“I did. I tried. But the cartel had people in the FBI, and so did Kempton. That’s why I went on the run. Everything she was trying to do was a disaster waiting to happen. I stayed out of it, and figured Pete was safe, because he was just a wage-slave with whom I had no contact.”
“From what we were told, this cartel is more like a syndicate running franchises across the world,” Qwong said. “They recruit on the streets and in the prisons, and all recruits get a tattoo. Once marked, you can never quit. Add to that they controlled twenty-four percent of global distribution… or was it production? I forget. My point is, the tattoo is pretty common, even in Australia. So why, specifically, do you think this is connected to Pete?”
“Because the killer looked at his phone,” Pete said. “He did, didn’t he?” he added, turning to Liu. “He was looking at something on his phone. It had to be a photo of me. He was confirming I was the person he was after.”
“Okay, maybe,” Qwong said. She turned back to Corrie. “Why?”
“I don’t know. Truly. But Kempton sent her own private plane to find me. Except those two pilots, they’re senior executives, members of her inner circle. I was wondering about that, but then the plane crashed, and we had other things to worry about.”
“Wondering what about these pilots?” Qwong asked.
“I used to work for Kempton, yes,” Corrie said. “And I was good. Very good. But I haven’t touched a computer in years. I’m out of date. All she wanted me to do was activate some old code. It only took a few minutes. She didn’t need to send Pete. Unless him coming here was just smoke and mirrors. Why send people in her inner circle to fly the plane? Why not a normal pilot? Why not send Pete on a commercial flight?”
“Why not?” Qwong asked.
“And why was that gangster after me?” Pete asked.
“Because he wanted a way out of here,” Corrie said. “I’m guessing, but out of the three of you on the plane, who is more likely to be the pilot, one of the two multi-millionaires, or the guy sent off into the outback on his own? And what if that hitman was in town specifically to meet those two, to sell them information on the cartel?”
