As Mac turned, he hung his arm out the window and signalled for David to follow. A moment later, they were both driving down the bumpy track. Mac checked the mirror and spotted a thin cloud of dust from underneath the wheels. He hoped it wasn’t enough to alert the young men to their attempt to conceal themselves. Their fishhook, Mac heard the boys from his old company say in his mind.
At the bottom of the driveway, Mac circled the Commodore in a wide arc until it faced back towards the road. The house was hidden from the highway and Mac prayed their plan was successful. David brought his vehicle up beside it. They wound down the windows so they could speak freely.
“Did you see them?” Mac asked.
David gave a short nod. “Yep. Not surprised. No doubt they heard Ashleigh mention it.” He glanced around. “This do the trick?”
“I think so. As long as we stay out of sight.” Mac kept his eyes on the end of the driveway.
“They’ll realise we’ve turned off eventually. Probably backtrack.”
“There’s a hundred options. They’d have to be very lucky. But if they wanna make more of it, they’ll eventually catch up at Port Arthur.”
“Can we stop now, Dad?” Tyler said, stretching his arms in the back seat.
“Soon, champ. Soon, I promise.” It reminded Mac he needed to find somewhere to settle. Everyone was running out of patience.
“What happens now?”
Mac looked at his watch. “How long before they realise we’ve pulled off the road? Maybe ten, fifteen minutes.”
“How we going to get clear of them?”
“We get a twenty- or thirty-minute head start and drive back to the C527 and then get on the B31 out of Oatlands. Takes us all the way to Sorell. From there it’s only an hour to Port.”
Mac checked his watch regularly until the fifteen minutes were up. If they waited too long, the young men might backtrack and they’d lose an advantage going the other way. That was the worry. Finding Jess was his priority.
They pulled back out onto the road and turned right, getting up to speed quickly. Mac must have checked the rear-view mirror every ten seconds for the first fifteen minutes. A short time later, they reached the C527. It was a dirt road. A white sign indicated Interlaken was sixteen miles and Oatlands thirty-five miles. They wouldn’t be able to drive as quickly, and all up, to reach Port Arthur, it was probably going to take them more than three hours. Just as long as we can avoid any more trouble, Mac thought.
38
January 12, 2014
11:35 am
Latrobe, Tasmania
Jessica and the others had already reached the holding tank as Juliet sprinted along the gravel path towards it. When she felt far enough away to be out of danger, she stopped and turned back to see what was happening and moved off the gravel track to stand beside a tree, where the thick trunk offered some protection. They still needed to escape, and going too far from the opening in the fence would just mean further to get back.
Most of the men who had arrived were fighting with the infected, some facing off with two or more. They had weapons already, and others grabbed whatever was lying around—tools from the fence repairs, gardening instruments, even big sticks.
Sam had managed to crawl away and now, unsteady, climbed to his feet. The man who’d attacked him lay on the ground with several infected feeding on his body.
Jess, Meg and Lory joined Juliet.
“This is mental,” Lory said.
More men arrived, and Juliet saw that Ponytail and Red Bandana were among them. They were no longer fighting each other. It seemed they had put their differences aside to fight the infected. Ponytail started shooting, and the infected began to drop. You’ll need more bullets than that, Juliet thought.
Red Bandana hung back, appraising the scene, waiting for his moment. Even he must have been surprised at how frenzied the situation had become. This was what she wanted. She recalled seeing the infected standing outside the gate on the first day, and they had heard their murmurs and slobbering along the fence line every time they passed, waiting to get in. It was chaos now, but if they chose their moment, she was certain they could still get out of the lot.
The infected were beginning to win. Men from the group—Juliet had no idea which side they were from—were on their knees and backs. Others limped through the congestion.
Several had guns, and they fired at the sick. Sometimes they struck their heads and ribbons of blood flew. When they didn’t strike true, parts of the zombies disintegrated and the infected kept coming for their flesh.
“We need to get through to the opening,” Juliet said. “We need to get out while they are occupied. If they start winning, they’ll get control and we’ll lose our chance.”
Meg said, “I don’t want to go near them.”
“This is exactly what we wanted,” Jessica said. “We just have to pick our moment when it’s most clear and avoid getting caught.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Well, it gives us a better chance than we had an hour ago.”
Red Bandana had lost his weapon but fought his way through the mob towards the fence in an attempt to pull the flap closed. He had almost made it, with one infected tearing at his arm, another slung over his shoulder, and a third clawing at his leg. Juliet didn’t know if they were trying to bite him or take him down. He may well have been bitten. On his knees, he reached out, but at the last moment, he fell short, face shoved into the dirt, arm slapping into the grass. He rolled away from the infected, and they crawled after him, slow, unwavering in their quest for flesh. She lost sight of him behind all the fighting.
Shots were still being fired. More infected had begun to drop. A shout distracted Juliet from the carnage, and she switched her gaze to find Sam and Ponytail rolling in the dust near the road. Juliet started forward. The others shouted for her to stop, but she didn’t hear. She spotted a heavy stick on the ground and snatched it up on the run, but a wall of infected barred her way. She tried to find her way around them to Sam and Ponytail. In the back of her mind, she knew it was dangerous, but she wouldn’t stand back and let Sam be killed by that monster.
They fought to a standing position, Sam trying to shove Ponytail over, Ponytail attempting to drag Sam down. Juliet tried to take a wide berth, but every avenue was blocked by infected. From the corner of her eye, Juliet saw an infected get hold of Ponytail. He went down, and the thing burrowed its fat head into his torso. Sam staggered backwards out of reach.
“Don’t get too close,” came a cry from behind. She turned and saw the other women had followed her forward. Meg was closest, Jessica and Lory just beyond, eyeing the mayhem warily.
Juliet spotted a narrow route to the gap in the fence and beyond—the road, where the infected continued to roam. It was still too risky.
Meg spotted it too. “We can make it through.” She started running.
“Wait, Meg!”
Meg didn’t wait. She worked her way into the bloodbath and despite the others calling out for her to stop, she was having none of it. One of the infected fell into her path and knocked her down. She fell onto the grass with a cry. At that moment, Sam shouted, and it drew Juliet’s attention. He stood with his arms outstretched, his fingers locked onto a burly infected man’s shirt. They pushed and shoved, trying to drag each other down. Their feet scratched in the gravel, and finally, Sam got the better of the man and managed to drag him backwards. At the last moment, though, Sam lost balance and the man fell onto him.
Juliet had to make a choice. Sam or Meg. One of them was probably going to die.
39
January 12, 2014
1:32 pm
Eaglehawk Neck, Tasmania
It couldn’t have been any more than fifteen miles before the Port Arthur Historic Site that the minibus ran out of fuel. Tammy steered it off onto the side of the road and sat there, contemplating what to do now. Was the Port Arthur Historic Site the one people had been talking about? Or was it actually the
town of Port Arthur, which was more than fifteen miles away? She would find out eventually.
She had passed a petrol station about five miles back, but both bowsers had been demolished—literally ripped out of their footings. The awning had been battered, and one of the posts holding up the structure had been buckled in by a vehicle, ruining the integrity of the whole building. It was the first she had seen so badly damaged. She had tried two more stations earlier, but both had been out of fuel.
Now, there was no more guessing about how long her fuel would last after spotting the red light on the dashboard. She had zero choices but to get out and walk. The distance didn’t faze her. She had taken to running half marathons in her mid-forties. It had been liberating, and she’d gained a level of fitness unlike anything she’d experienced, even more so than when she was doing gymnastics and playing soccer regularly back in her early twenties. She hadn’t run one for two years now, but the running she did over that five-year period when she was active had conditioned her. It was part of the reason she was able to handle the physical demands of political life.
It was early afternoon; the sun was hot and high, and she’d be sweating in no time. From a pile of leftover clothes in the back of the van, Tammy took a thin cotton shirt. She fashioned it with a sloppy peak so it would sit over her eyes and provide a little shade for her face. She slipped a second cotton shirt over her t-shirt to keep the sun off her arms. If not, she’d be five miles down the road and have sunstroke.
She went around to the front passenger seat and sifted through the small amount of supplies. She took out the screwdriver and slipped it into her pocket. From the foot well, she took two bottles of water, then locked the minivan and started walking down the long hill.
A brown sign on the left side of the road read Eaglehawk Neck Historic Site 200m. She remembered being here some years back—maybe ten or twelve—when they had fought for the historic site to remain. Developers had wanted to turn the place into something grander, looking out over both Eaglehawk Bay on one side of the road and Pirates Bay on the other. Tammy had not been an influential politician then but had fought alongside those who were and prevented the development going ahead. In hindsight, it had helped further her ambitions. The whole area meant something to Tammy. She and her husband had spent several nights at the Eaglehawk Rainforest Retreat. It had been the last time they really enjoyed each other’s company.
A quarter of a mile ahead, the road flattened out and the sea met it on both sides. To her immediate right, several homes were built on the hill. There was a flat-boxed double-storey place that looked out over the water. Tammy imagined it had a nice view. On the left, as the earth sloped down and away from the road, a long, single-storey dwelling sat in the middle of a wide patch of dry grass. There was no sign of the infected yet. Eaglehawk Neck was little more than a drive-through, except for the pub, historical site, and tourist stops. A scattering of houses meant there probably weren’t too many infected to worry about.
A second roadside sign welcomed her to Eaglehawk Neck. On the right, parallel to the highway, another beckoned with arrows pointing in either direction. Tammy was surprised and gladdened. Only twelve miles to the Port Arthur Historic Site. She could do that easily. Back the other way, Dunalley was the same, while Sorell was thirty-two and Hobart was forty-eight miles.
She kept walking and unscrewed the top off her bottle of water. It was warm but tasted good. She only took two mouthfuls and screwed the lid back on. She reached the bottom of the slope with the sea on both sides. The smell of salt and seaweed was refreshing. Tammy never thought she’d say it, but with all the death and sickness, it was a welcome change.
On the right sat Pirates Bay, a large flat expanse that led out into the open ocean. On the left, Eaglehawk Bay, where the water lapped right up onto a lick of white sand running parallel to the edge of the road for another hundred and fifty yards. It was a pleasant view as she walked, the hot sun glinting off the gentle waves. In another life, such a stroll would have been taken for pleasure, where she would have removed her shoes and walked along the sand in her bare feet.
As Tammy crossed the neck of land separating the two masses, she thought about all the people she’d come across of late. Darren had been one of the good ones. His death filled her with sadness. She felt partly responsible, letting him go and search the park. But he was a grown man and capable of making his own decisions. He would have stood by you. Of that, Tammy was certain. They had made a connection, whether plutonic or not. They trusted each other.
When she thought of the decent people, the list was short. She’d thought Charlie was one of them, but in the end, he had left her too. Shane was on the other end of the spectrum. Not the worst person she had ever come across, but narrow-minded and almost obsessed with his own view. People like Shane didn’t often ascend into positions of leadership or responsibility, though there were exceptions. She had seen a few in politics over the years.
Her husband had been another level above Shane. The thing was, he could be as charming as a prince. To outward appearances, nobody would have believed he’d delivered the physical and verbal abuse Tammy had taken over the years. He was an average-looking man, but inside, was different. He had tried to make up for it after every occurrence, but there are some things that can never be rescinded. Would she ever forgive him? She wondered whether he had survived. She was pleased to think it didn’t bother her either way.
Tammy reached the other side of the neck where the road forked. She stopped and looked at the width of land here. This is the spot, she thought. This is where they could block off the road so no more infected could move further south. If they put up barriers here, they would be blocked off from the larger part of the island. She filed the idea away for later.
Off to the left and following the contour of Pirates Bay was Blowhole Road, which led eventually to Devil’s Kitchen, Tasman Arch, and the Blowhole itself. If Tammy were there to see the sights, it would be perfect. But she was not. Instead, she followed Arthur Road around to the west and alongside Eaglehawk Bay on her right. Here, more tender waves lapped against the sand. There was no wind, and the silence, even in the heat, was tranquil.
Far behind, Tammy heard the muted whine of a car engine. The last ones she had seen were five miles back when she’d stopped to get the bottled water at a roadside store. She turned back and listened, peering far up the hill. But her view was obstructed by trees on both sides of the road leading to the mountains.
She kept walking backwards, looking up at the slope. Her heart began to beat faster. There was no guarantee these were good people. She tried to reassure herself, but decided she’d be cautious and watch from out of sight.
As the noise grew louder, Tammy turned back in the direction of Port Arthur and scanned both sides of the road. To the right was rippling water and a strip of beach that offered no concealment. On the left, houses sat at wide intervals, set thirty yards back from the road. Most were either ceramic sheeting or weatherboard. They looked forlorn, almost creepy with their weedy front gardens and blinds drawn down. Still, if it came to it, Tammy thought she could use one of them to hide.
She kept her gaze distant, watching the furthest position on the road at the top of the hill. The moment the car came through, she felt a glimmer of hope, but it was quickly replaced by a sense of foreboding. It must have been doing a hundred miles per hour. A second car quickly followed at similar speed. Tammy stepped off the blacktop and onto the gravel edge. She studied the closest house. The building was wide, with shrubs at both corners that provided camouflage if she needed it. There were no vehicles and, like most of the places, the curtains were pulled across. It looked as though they had gone on holidays.
Both vehicles had disappeared from view, but the sound of the engines was prominent. A gunshot cracked. The sound rolled across the land with a dose of terror that struck Tammy in the gut. These were not the people to ask for a ride. Tammy hurried across the front lawn. The grass was yellow and thic
k, the clippings having been left after the last cut, and the uneven ground buckled Tammy’s ankle twice. She slowed to avoid falling, and had almost reached the corner of the house when the roar of the engines approached. She glanced back and saw they had passed over the neck and were headed right for Tammy. She quickened her step as she passed beside the house and around the back of the shrub. Beyond, further along the edge of the house, a small shed with its open door and darkness beckoned. She wasn’t going in there. The shrub would do. She squatted down, heart hammering.
Several more gunshots sounded, and glass exploded in one of the houses further along the road. They were shooting into the properties. Tammy crouched lower and then decided it wasn’t low enough. She hunkered down flat, pressing her hands into the grass and stretching her legs out behind. The roar of the engines was loud now. Another boom of gunfire, and a panel of the house by which she was hiding disintegrated.
And then the cars had passed, the roar of their engines diminishing. They fired again. Tammy lay there a few more moments then looked up to where the bullets had struck the panel. Wood splinters lay on the grass and a chunk of the weatherboard was missing.
She let out a long breath and dragged herself onto all fours. A noise sounded from behind, and she jerked her head around to find the tottering form of an infected standing there. Panic flooded her. She scrambled to her feet and snatched the screwdriver from her pocket. She spun to face the thing, as it was almost open her, an elderly man with a wisp of grey hair and bloodshot eyes. He didn’t look as bad as many she had seen but the unmistakable thirst in his expression was undeniable. Tammy backtracked but walked right into the shrub. It bounced her off, and she came forward to meet the infected. At the last moment, she lifted the screwdriver and stabbed it towards the man’s neck. She missed. He grabbed her by the arm and tried to pull her towards him. She shrugged him off and punched the weapon again. This time, it dug a shallow wound into his neck and blood spurted out onto his white collared shirt. It was not fatal, though. Tammy twisted away, and as the man lurched after her, he tripped and went down on one knee.
Invasion of the Dead (Book 5): Resolve Page 24
