Howls of outrage rose from the protestors surrounding Chris.
‘What about those of us with family on the mainland?’ yelled one woman. ‘My daughter’s stuck in Adelaide with plague all around. Are you just going to abandon them to die?’
The speaker’s eyes flicked toward her with disdain. ‘If your kid thought so little of our state that she moved elsewhere, she deserves her fate. And so do the rest of them. The other states can rot for all I care, I’ll not have Tasmanians risking their lives for those of lesser worth.’
A cry of anger rose from his opponents, overwhelming the feeble cheers from his party supporters. The speaker ignored the lot, yelling over the melee, ‘We will achieve a Republic one way or another! Let me make this clear – if you are not with us, you will be treated as an enemy to Tasmanian freedom!’ The speaker grabbed his papers from the podium and descended, disappearing from view.
The volume doubled, men and women in the crowd appalled at his words and callousness. Chris smiled. What a perfect day it was turning into. He leant down, opened the top of his backpack slightly to check the electrical detonator was still sited appropriately in the plastic explosive, before zipping it closed again. He quickly about-faced and drove through the crowd to the edge and away from his pack. Once free of the mob, he dumped his jumper and cap on the ground and ran for the far side of the crowd where the supporters of the Patriots were standing.
He picked out the leader of the party easily in his navy-blue suit and approached his side.
‘So, it’s sorted?’ asked the man quietly.
Chris nodded, his eyes lit with excitement.
‘How much time do we have?’
Chris shrugged. ‘As much as you want.’ He pulled out a cheap mobile phone from his pocket. ‘All I have to do is dial the right number and we’ll have our bonfire.’
‘Get on with it then.’
‘With pleasure.’ Chris punched in a sequence of numbers, then paused for a moment to savour the experience before hitting “call”.
An explosion ripped through the protestors on the far side of the gathering. Those closest to the blast were critically injured, and for a twenty-metre radius, people were on fire, having been sprayed with accelerant as the can exploded. Screams of agony and panic filled the air as skin melted from victims’ bodies in the hideous inferno.
Chris stared, an expression of happy awe on his face at the level of carnage achieved. Disjointedly, he noted that a smell of roasting pork gave the burning petrol an odd tang at the back of his nose.
His father grabbed his arm and tugged him away. ‘Good work, boy. But we need to move. Time to play the victim for the evening news.’
Chris allowed his father, the leader of the Patriots, to drag him away while he looked over his shoulder, drinking in every moment that he could.
Chapter Three
Mark grasped the note tightly in his right fist as he walked at pace. On arrival to Geelong, a nervous looking Private had met him at his barracks. The young soldier had delivered a summons from his Major before bolting without a further word. The note hadn’t provided any information as to the nature of the meeting - and that made Mark nervous.
The summons had come a mere ten minutes earlier, leaving barely enough time to change into fresh clothes, and none to shower the Carrier filth off his body. He’d had to make do with scrubbing at his face, neck and hands with a damp cloth to remove the worst of it.
Mark glanced at his watch as he approached the assigned meeting room, scratching a gob of dried blood off the glass face. Damn it. The meeting had started two minutes ago, and if it was for providing notice of an upcoming court-martial regarding the direct order he’d ignored, it was not going to do him any favours. He paused at the door, taking a slow breath to settle his nerves. As he raised a hand to the doorknob, it was pulled inwards out of his reach. A harried looking Major looked at him from across the doorway.
‘Bloody hell, Lieutenant Collins, you’re fucking last again,’ the Major muttered under his breath. Mark’s mouth fell ajar, confused by the greeting.
‘Don’t just stand there like an imbecile, get your arse on a chair. The General’s already begun.’
Mark clamped his mouth and glanced past the Major into the room. It was packed. Twenty odd rows of silent officers filled the conference room, facing a lectern at the front where General Black held the floor.
Black’s eyes flicked up to Mark as he took a seat, narrowing in disapproval. ‘Turn up late to a meeting I’ve called one more time Lieutenant Collins, and I’ll bust you back to the enlisted ranks. It’ll take more than the evacuation of a few soldiers from behind enemy lines to get you off the hook next time. Now sit down and shut up.’
The General paused, eventually taking his eyes off Mark to scan the faces of the other soldiers in the room.
‘The successes we’ve chalked up in some of the smaller towns appear to have stalled in the face of excessive Carrier numbers. Accordingly, the time has come to re-consider our tactics.’
Mark found himself leaning forward, eagerly. There had to be another way that didn’t place his troops in such excessive danger.
‘The stalling advancement is due to key factors of which I know you’re already keenly aware. Replacements for soldiers killed in action have dried up leading to undermanned units facing the enemy. Our stock of incendiary bombs is empty, leaving the grunts on the ground to face the full brunt of numbers. And then to add insult to injury, our food supply lines from Tasmania may be cut off – and soldiers can’t fight on an empty stomach.
‘If we carry on as we are, I fear that we won’t achieve our aims,’ said General Black, the last words alluding to possible defeat were stilted, as if any consideration of failure was foreign to his reasoning.
An angry murmur broke out amongst the officers present at the news, frustration palpable. The General lifted a hand to quell the voices and carry on.
‘Therefore, we will pull back from the advance on Melbourne, regroup and wait for a time that we can attack with the odds in our favour. First of all, we need soldiers, and our own source of food to feed...’
An officer in the middle of the press interrupted, his voice thick with anger. ‘We all know the source of our issues – it’s the bloody Tasmanian government. When are they going to remember they’re actually part of our country and start sending soldiers?’
If the question hadn’t been on every officer’s lips before, then it was now. Black’s eyes tightened with irritation, but he chose to answer rather than reprimand.
‘Because there is a nationalistic movement happening in their state, where they don’t see themselves as Australian anymore, but rather as Tasmanian first and foremost. My sources suggest this movement is only backed by a small number of citizens, however, our problem is that the State Premier is a key proponent and supporter himself.’
‘So, why wait for something that might not come?’ asked Mark, immediately horrified that he’d drawn attention to himself by speaking out of turn. It was too late to back out now though, so he continued. ‘If it’s only a minority in power - unsupported by the people, surely we should seek to remove those that oppose us and replace the leadership with politicians sympathetic to our cause?’
An electric tension filled the air as the room waited in silence for Black’s response. All present knew that Mark had just proposed something that was unheard of in over a century of Australian history - a military Coup de Etat.
Black met Mark’s eye and held it, saying nothing. As the seconds drew on, a Sergeant Major stood up. ‘I’d suggest you re-think your wording, Sir. Statements like that can see a man end up in jail.’
The General sighed and waved the Sergeant Major away, dismissing him from taking any action against Mark. Black suddenly looked every year of his age.
‘These are difficult times. A few years ago, we’d never contemplated fighting a plague outbreak like this. Methods that were once anathema must now be considered. I will admit, I have a
lready considered such a plan as much as it made my skin crawl. And after exploring the ramifications of such actions, I am not willing to enact a coup when we still have other options on the table. Were we to attempt one, it would have to be bloodless and overwhelmingly supported by the people. What if we sparked a civil war?’ said Black, his voice grave. ‘Then we’d be turning fathers against sons, and spilling blood within the last Australian region at peace. As it stands, I’m not willing to risk it. But events are changing across Bass Strait – the Premier has stoked a fire that’s now out of his hands, and I think will burn him to the ground. I’m gambling that if we wait, we’ll be invited with open arms.’
‘And if we’re not?’ asked Mark.
‘Then in six months’ time we may be forced to remind Tasmania of its allegiance to the Australian people,’ said Black.
Satisfied with the answer, Mark nodded acceptance.
‘Now, if there’s no other interruptions?’ said General Black, scowling as he looked about the room. ‘Good. We will be changing focus to the country areas of the state and re-establishing food production on the mainland. We already know that farming communities have had the highest levels of success in holding off Carriers. By getting the farms running and safe against attack, we guarantee our own supply lines and prevent famine in resurrected towns, while also gaining access to a new source of troops. Any available men and women of age surplus to minimum staffing on the farms will be conscripted to the army.’
Mark saw a few nodding heads about him as the rationale sunk in. Without the core building blocks beneath them, there was no point continuing a push into the main cities where millions of the Infected awaited them with open mouths.
‘And when we are back to strength, how do you plan on attacking Melbourne the next time around?’ asked a Major two rows ahead of Mark.
General Black opened his mouth to answer, but then appeared to think better of it. ‘As soon as we have a concrete plan ready to action, the troops will be made aware. But as the proposed strategy will require significant preparation, scenario testing is underway to ensure it will prove resilient against a multitude of possible variables before construction of the battlefield commences. Rest assured, we will be unleashing Armageddon against those dead bastards.
‘Your assigned missions await you. Good luck,’ said Black. Dismissing the officers with a short nod, he exited the room without a further word.
Mark picked up his briefing paper on the way out. Scanning it quickly, he identified where they were headed within moments. Cob Hill, a small town 180 kilometres northwest of Geelong, had surrounding farms that needed to be brought back on line to supply wheat and sheep. His eyes skittered onwards and then to a stop as he re-read one sentence. A member of his platoon had been requested for a new tactical squad. Erin.
***
‘What do you mean I’m not going with the rest of you?’ said Erin. ‘You better not be shipping me off to catering or some bullshit just to keep me safe, Mark!’ She sat straight-backed on a chair with her fists balled in her lap, eyes furious. ‘I had a right to enlist, just like everyone else – it’s not my fault we got buried under a pile of corpses for two days!’
Mark held up a hand, ‘Jesus, just chill for a second will you. I’m not transferring you to catering, and just so we’re clear - this was not my idea.’
Erin took a ragged breath, then slumped into the chair back. ‘So, what is it then? Why do I have to get separated from you guys? You’re the only family I’ve got now.’
Mark dumped another spoon of sugar into the cups of tea he was making, gave them a stir, then handed one to Erin. Sometimes he forgot just how young she actually was. At nearly fifteen years of age, she’d seen enough combat against the Infected to earn a thousand-mile stare, and yet, for the most part, she held her shit together as well as any of the other soldiers in his unit.
‘It’s an experimental squad, one that will be used to attract Carriers to where we want them. For better way of explaining, you’ll be bait, albeit a bait that’s out of reach of tooth and hand,’ said Mark, cringing at his own description.
‘You’re not making much sense,’ said Erin, a slight tremor of worry entering her voice.
‘Shit, it’s not as bad as I’m making it sound, I swear. You’re going to be trained to fly helicopters. There’s some sort of plan to move swarms out of Melbourne to a place of the army’s choosing – I still don’t know the details as yet, but they plan on using small helicopters to herd or tempt Carriers onward. You’ll be like a drover in the Northern Territory where the farms are too big for a horse or motorbike,’ he said with a half-smile of encouragement.
‘Aren’t I too young to fly a chopper?’
‘As far as I’m concerned, you’re too bloody young to be a soldier, and that hasn’t stopped you so far. But even before the plague, you could get an independent flying license at fifteen years of age. The more important thing is your height and coordination – and I’m sorry to say, you fulfil both of those requirements.’
‘Crap, so this is actually going to happen?’ said Erin. What had been worry on her face was turning into excitement. ‘I’m going to learn to fly, how friggin’ cool is that!’
Mark smiled as he watched her leave to tell Steph of her assignment. Up in the air, she’d be out of reach of the Infected with no way of being trapped. In reality, it was probably a smart move on the army’s part to keep some of their younger soldiers out of harm’s way.
Then his smile faltered. If there was a crash while guiding a swarm, and god knows small helicopters in the hands of relatively new pilots made it a good possibility, they’d have virtually zero chance of survival.
Chapter Four
Harry stared at the ceiling above his bed in the half-light of early morning. He wanted to sleep, needed it more than oxygen. And yet it still eluded him, teasing like a mirage in the desert. Work had become a constant. With responsibilities both in a new plague research lab and an understaffed hospital, shifts had ceased to exist. He was either asleep or he was working. If sleep was kind enough to actually find him, it was usually with his head on a table in the lab, or passed out on the staffroom couch at work. He couldn’t recall how many days it had been since he’d had the privilege of lying on his own bed, and yet now that he was here, it was doing him fuck-all good.
The sole nurse in the Emergency Department had sent him packing when his head bounced off the table for the third time while attempting to write notes. He’d been on the go for 28 hours prior to that, and working through a state of exhaustion comparative to being blind drunk wasn’t doing anyone a favour. So, he’d left. He knew the nurse was more capable than most interns he’d worked with, but the worry of leaving him alone to manage the entire department was keeping him awake. Harry rolled over and shut his eyes, trying to clear his mind.
A vibration came from the bedside table, his pager rattling like it was having a seizure. Harry groaned as his eyes flicked open to stare at the wall. Not again. He reached blindly for the table and grabbed the device, expecting a call back to the Emergency Department. His adrenaline spiked as he read the brief message.
Bite victim en route. ETA ten minutes.
This wasn’t a case for the ED, once bitten the person was good as dead. No, this patient was headed to the research lab as an opportunity to test the next batch of trial plague treatments. Every second counted. He ran a hand over his face, trying to scrub away fatigue. With a grunt of resignation, Harry forced himself to sit and grabbed the closest item of clothing, a stained pair of scrubs.
***
Harry slammed the door to his house and started off at a run. The house he’d been allocated was only a block away from the new research facility that he’d set up in the Old Geelong Gaol. After the failure to contain test subjects at Queenscliff, Harry had campaigned to have the public adequately protected from any future facility. The twenty-foot red brick walls surrounding the old prison buildings had fit the bill and seen the complex pass into
his hands. Built in the 1860’s, the jail had operated until 1991 when the last prisoner was transferred out. In the middle of the grounds, a cruciform building constructed from bluestone rose three storeys into the air. The east and west wings were largely unchanged, still holding the original prisoner cells that had proved so useful to accommodate Carriers during research trials. Harry had set up his lab in the north wing, along with a makeshift bunk for when his eyes couldn’t stay open any longer.
Excessive hours at work, little sleep and poor diet were starting to take their toll on Harry’s body. Just the short run left him feeling light headed and out of breath. Drops of sweat beaded on the pale skin of his forehead as he slowed to a stop and hammered on the gate of the jail for admission.
Maybe the smokes will get me before a Carrier has the chance. Harry felt a sick sense of satisfaction at the thought as he waited for someone to open the gate.
A palm-sized viewing plate slid aside, revealing a narrow-set pair of eyes on the other side.
‘Geez, you look like shit,’ said the guard manning the gate. Hair that once had a healthy spattering of salt pepper, was now slate grey and plastered to his forehead. His beard had long ago escaped control, and now hung to his collar bones.
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, Phil, but I’ve got a mirror at home,’ said Harry. ‘You want to let me in sometime today?’
‘Oh yeah, sorry mate,’ said the sentry as he quickly unlocked the gate and let him through.
‘Has the bite victim arrived?’
‘Yeah, I let them through around ten minutes ago. You’d want to hurry, they headed to the east wing cell block.’
Harry nodded and took off at a jog, ignoring the stitch that burned in his gut. A modified ambulance was parked in front of the east wing’s entrance. A steel grill covered the windscreen and side windows to protect against Carrier intrusion, giving a jarring appearance to the old service vehicle. One of the back doors still hung open, creaking in the breeze. Harry glanced in the back of the ambulance to confirm it was empty, concerned now at the evidence of undue haste. From inside the building, he heard a scream.
Plague War (Book 3): Retaliation Page 3
