Mine (Book 2): Sister Mine, Zombie

by Peter Trevorah

  Chapter 15

  Zombie Playgroup

  I knew that this was the moment of truth. When similar situations had arisen, David had defended me against his own kind – and saved my miserable life on more than one occasion. But, as I have said, he and I were identical twins. We were, in effect, one.

  So, anyone who tried to touch one of us was trying to touch both of us.

  I had saved David when the occasion arose and he had done likewise – no thought required.

  Deb was not my identical twin.

  Would she also leap to my defence, instinctively or otherwise?

  o0o

  The three females bore down upon me: grey-skinned, sunken-eyed and wide-mouthed.

  They each had the same murderous, bloodthirsty rage about them – just as I’d now seen in Deb three times to that point.

  They emitted the same – or almost the same – high-pitched banshee wailing that I’d first heard in St.Vincent’s Casualty Department and then from Deb when she, too, had changed. (There was no three-part harmony about these zombies at all – just a terrifying cacophony of imminent danger.)

  In the second or two that was available before they fell upon me, I looked to Deb – she was observing the newcomers with detachment, apparently only mildly interested in their arrival.

  This was not good – when zombies had first attacked me outside the Baillieu Library, David had instantly (and fiercely) leapt to my defence and driven them off. The primal roar that he gave out as a means of warning off his fellow zombies still rang in my ears – a very sweet sound indeed.

  But, on this occasion, there would be no ‘sweet sound’ – Deb was not about to warn anyone off from attacking me. This was, to say the least, disappointing.

  I pushed past Deb and ran into the dam until I reached the middle – the water was up to my chest. My would-be attackers slowed and paused at the water’s edge. Would water be my salvation, I wondered.

  Actually, no. The women-zombies put their feet daintily into the water and decided it was just fine. They resumed their rapid advance upon me.

  “Deb?!” I screamed to my sister. “Help me! Please.”

  Deb turned her dead, sunken eyes towards me but she was more interested in the newcomers. She stood, unmoving, on the bank of the dam.

  I repeated my request – rather more loudly and in somewhat more colourful and urgent terms.

  Same result – or, more accurately, non-result.

  I was on my own.

  The girl zombies clumsily waded out to where I was standing in the water. They stood there, screaming and threatening – one in front and one either side of me. My back was not under immediate threat – so, for the moment, I was not completely surrounded.

  Deb looked on from the bank. (Well, at least she was taking an interest!)

  The bottom of the dam was covered in thick, gooey clay. I spread my stance for maximum stability. The zombies, awkward at the best of times, did not do likewise and were quite unsteady on their feet. I had noticed that, as soon as they had entered the dam to pursue me, they had all slipped and slidden, quite out of control. Two had already fallen completely and were covered in the sticky clay.

  So, there was now a face-off: they, snarling and screaming, and me, silent and vigilant.

  I was put in mind of a nature documentary I had once seen: a caribou standing in the middle of a half-frozen stream, a pack of wolves gathered all around but waiting on the banks. The wolves dared not enter the stream for fear of getting soaked and freezing to death. The caribou dared not leave the water for fear of being instantly set upon and killed by the wolf pack.

  I remembered also how that particular face-off had ended. Wolves are patient animals and even a large caribou cannot stand in freezing water forever.

  Like the caribou, I knew that I stood no chance on dry land – so, I stood where I was.

  At first, each of the zombie women advanced on me separately. With superior stability – and intelligence – I was easily able to repel such ‘single’ attacks by a sharp fist to the face – which usually resulted in that particular zombie instantly collapsing into the thick mud (before, of course, rising once again).

  (Care to mud-wrestle with three female zombies? I can’t say that I recommend it.)

  My efforts in repelling single attacks did not discourage or even slow down the zombies at all – in fact, it just seemed to enrage (and energise) them even more.

  The single attacks went on for, maybe, half an hour or so. (I wasn’t looking at my watch.)

  During all of this time, there was only one, slightly bored, spectator: Deb.

  Deb did not, apparently, appreciate that I was in danger. Indeed, Deb actually sat down on the bank towards the end of this phase of the proceedings – I suppose she was getting tired. (I know I was.)

  Eventually, even two-year-old minds will figure out that some co-ordination is required to defeat a determined foe (i.e. me). So, as the stand off continued, one of the three female attackers finally turned to another and said:

  “Bella do, too!” (So, Deb wasn’t the only female zombie capable of speech.)

  ‘Bella’ nodded solemnly in apparent agreement – and two of them came at me at the same time. They both tried to grab at me but I was easily able to slip their grip because, by that time, they were completely covered in slimy clay (and I was soaked through with water – though I had yet to lose my footing.)

  As I came out of this latest contest, I realised that, for the first time, I stood at the centre of a triangle of murderous zombies. I was, in effect, now surrounded on all sides: not good. Suddenly, I had to protect my back - as well as my front and sides – and from now-co-ordinated attacks. My opponents were figuring it out, how to beat a flagging enemy.

  They could learn – which was interesting knowledge – in retrospect.

  The contest went on, I’d say, for another fifteen minutes or so but, as my strength began to fail me, I realised I was about to go the same way as the wolf-beseiged caribou.

  In my now fatigued and befuddled mind, I formed another, very desperate, plan. With my last reserves of strength, I would counter-attack the individual zombies with a view to disabling them, one by one – by breaking their necks, perhaps.

  Why had I not thought of this at the start of the contest – before their attacks had become co-ordinated? (It might actually have worked then!)

  Dunno – I’m too stupid, I suppose.

  Anyway, I gathered my breath (and wits) standing in the middle of the zombie-triangle, still chest deep in frigid water, and then launched myself at the nearest, weakest-looking, zombie. The result was predictable: I took that one down to muck at the bottom of the dam and struggled mightily with her for a few seconds and then felt first one, then the other, pile on top of me, seize me and start tearing at me.

  There was little wind left in me after such a prolonged struggle against overwhelming odds and so, within twenty seconds or so, I had to release that remaining wind into the murky dam. I exhaled and, immediately, I felt the chilly water rushing into my lungs.

  I knew then that I was done in.

  My last thought before losing consciousness was: “I’m coming to join you, Mr Caribou.”

  (It’s strange what one thinks in extremis, isn’t it?)

  o0o

  But the next stop was neither Heaven nor Hell.

  When I awoke, my face was firmly planted in mud and I could hear girlish giggling.

  I felt like shit and immediately had a coughing fit. Up came water and mud – and at least one decaying leaf among sundry other, unidentified, detritus.

  The giggling continued unaffected by my coughing.

  I scraped the mud from my eyes – at least enough of it to be able to open them a little. What I observed in front of me was a broad furrow in the mud leading from my face to the water’s edge – and an extensive damp patch next to where my mouth had been on the ground, evidence of what had just flowed out of my lungs.

  So, I ha
d been lying on my stomach, face to one side and my feet, on the bank of the dam, raised above my head.

  Let’s call that blind luck, shall we?

  (Enough water had been able to drain naturally from my lungs to keep me this side of eternity – but, as I have said, I still felt like shit.)

  I think it was safe to assume that none of ‘the girls’ had administered CPR.

  So, what the fuck had just happened?

  I raised my head and looked in the direction of the girlish giggling. Sure enough, Deb was sitting on a travel-rug with the three other zombie girls and they were having what appeared to be a mock tea-party.

  Plastic cups and plates had been retrieved from the subie – along with bits of fruit and other food – and the girls were passing various items between themselves – just as two-year-old girls are wont to do.

  “Fruit?” said one, very politely, to Deb, proffering a plate with a banana on it.

  Deb shook her head: “No, Bella. Want cake.”

  So, now they were on a first-name basis! (Bloody hell.)

  And with that, a third passed a plate to Deb with a broken biscuit on it.

  I wondered, briefly, whether I had in fact died and whether this were merely some sort of weird hallucination happening inside my dying brain.

  With that, Deb noticed me, stood up, left the tea-party and proffered her biscuit to me.

  Here was a clue: Deb had remained dry and clean, save that she had mud on her hands. She had not entered the water.

  I took the biscuit and croaked: “Thanks, Deb.”

  But, if Deb had been the one to drag me up onto the bank, that didn’t explain how or why the attack had stopped before I had been killed and eaten by the others. (As far as I could see and feel, the worst damage I had suffered was in the form of a few deep scratches – and I had felt those being inflicted in the final few seconds before I had lost consciousness.)

  And more to the point, I wondered, why was everyone being so fucking chummy now!?

  I still can’t answer these questions but I am sure, at least in my own mind that, somehow, Deb called the others off – albeit at the last possible moment.

  Maybe it was a ‘girl-thing’? I don’t know. I just don’t know.

  Chapter 16

  Getting another Car

  Deb was very happy with her new playmates.

  She didn’t want to leave.

  On the other hand, I knew that we had to leave – the police helicopters had not yet spotted our little band but, from time to time, they still flew overhead - they were still looking.

  I thought it likely that the police and volunteers were still searching for me and Deb on foot as well. There was a fair bit of bushland to cover but, with enough volunteers properly organised and equipped, they would eventually stumble upon us

  On the other hand, I wasn’t so fussed by the new zombie ‘playmates’ now. They seemed to understand that I was Deb’s family – and was therefore off the menu, at least for the present.

  Great!

  Deb and they played all sorts of games – the like of which I had not seen since kindergarten. They seemed to be especially keen on ‘dollies and houses’ – though ‘dollies’ seemed in short supply and therefore rudimentary figures made of green twigs had to be pressed into service. (Being the most dextrous, I’m afraid that I was obliged to do most of the ‘dolly’ manufacture – but the girls seemed very happy with the crude products I made for them.)

  So, though we had to leave soon, I did not feel it needed to be in a blind panic.

  My first priority therefore was to obtain another car – the police would immediately recognise my beloved golden subie from the description that would no doubt be given by the officers I had bound so securely back at the shack. So, the subie and I had simply to part company.

  I thought first to hide the subie in the dam but judged that the water was so shallow that the iridescent golden roof would still be visible from the air. So, I drove it into a dry creek bed nearby and covered it with freshly-cut eucalypt and wattle branches.

  It’s probably still there. (I wonder if my cassette collection is still there, too.)

  Though the abandoned mining settlement was buried in thick bush, I knew there was at least one farmhouse within walking distance, a few kilometres away. I recalled that there had been more than one vehicle parked in the farmyard when I had last passed it. I hoped that there still would be – and that at least one vehicle was driveable. (You could never make assumptions about cars you found on farms.)

  So, I waited until after dusk before I started a walk of an hour or two from the abandoned mining settlement to the farm.

  I had hoped to be completely stealthy, under cover of darkness, in my quest for an alternative vehicle.

  Then ‘the girls’ decided they would ‘help’ me in the quest. Have you ever tried to discourage four zombies when they have fixed their minds on joining you in doing something? No, I didn’t either. So, any thought of a stealthy approach went out the window.

  Nevertheless, I walked cautiously along the night-time road – some of it dirt, some of it broken tarmac. ‘The girls’ trailed along behind me, babbling happily – but most indiscreetly - all the while. I cursed under my breath. Honestly, I felt like I was in charge of some sort of demented playgroup.

  I had, by now, had a chance to observe the three zombies that had attacked me. Leaving aside the disfigurements of death, they all looked very similar. They had all been young women. I guessed they were probably sisters in their late teens and early twenties.

  So, they had probably been together – and bitten together – when the first wave had come through ten years previously. And here they were now – still together.

  And yet, Deb and I had encountered them effectively in the middle of nowhere, in dense bushland. So, how had they gotten there – and gotten there whilst remaining together?

  A mystery. You would have expected that, in the course of ten years, they might have parted company.

  Then the obvious answer struck me. I would test my hypothesis.

  I turned and waited till ‘the girls’ caught up. Still deeply occupied with their babbling chatter, they walked past me in the dark without noticing. I called to Deb. She stopped and turned to me. The others stopped with her.

  “Bella got keys?”

  Incomprehension.

  “Keys?” I repeated.

  Still blank zombie looks, barely discernible in the darkness.

  I pulled my own keys from my pocket and jingled them: “Bella got?”

  Deb looked to Bella. Bella no longer understood about keys it seemed. Oh, well. Then one of the other sisters (the tallest one whose name I forget) slid her grey paw into her jeans pocket and, after fumbling about for a bit, triumphantly pulled out a sizeable bundle of keys.

  And there was great rejoicing! The four zombie girls jumped about and hugged each other, squealing all the while. Apparently, they thought this was very exciting – who knows why.

  But I was excited, too – only less overtly so. The fact that one of them still had a bundle of keys on her suggested that the girls had not been ‘on the loose’ for too long. A bundle of keys is of little use to a zombie – who does not generally have the dexterity to use them. So, they would be retained, I thought, simply because the zombie had not yet bothered to discard them.

  So, I reasoned, there was a good chance that the three sisters had come from a nearby farm (the closest of which, as I have said, was a few kilometres away from where I had encountered the girls). If they had come from the closest farm, this bunch of keys would unlock everything from the front door of the farmhouse to the new ute parked outside.

  After the girls had finished their curious celebrations, I encouraged the tall one to put the keys back into her pocket (I wasn’t about to snatch them from her just yet) so that they did not end up being accidentally cast upon the roadside during our nocturnal meanderings.

  I continued our trek to the nearest farmhouse wit
h increased hope that acquiring a vehicle would not be at all difficult – and supplies from the farmhouse itself? One could always hope.

  o0o

  Every farm has a dog.

  Farm dogs bark at strangers.

  And so it was when we arrived in the yard.

  But the barks were clearly those of excitement – not of warning nor of threat.

  Bella walked from the gate and crossed the farmyard. She leant down stiffly to a kelpie that was tied up by a thick chain and, clumsily but effectively, untethered it from a stake that was driven into the ground. Somewhat hesitantly, it started to lick her hand. Then stopped and whimpered a little.