‘The machinery attracts any Carrier within earshot. If it wasn’t for the snipers, there’s no way construction could have continued at the current rate.’ The soldier marched off toward a rudimentary staircase in the wall’s shadow, waving a hand for Harry to follow. ‘Come on, we’ll climb the bastard. Once you get a view from the top of the wall, you’ll finally understand what we’re creating here.’
Harry nodded quietly, trailing in the older soldier’s wake as he climbed a set of scaffold stairs to the top. He emerged onto the top of the wall and stopped dead, taken aback as the sheer scale of the construction site finally hit home.
The soldier grinned at his response. ‘It’s no playground that we’re building, eh?’
The top of the wall was around four metres wide, easily allowing the movement of soldiers without impeding fighters at the edge. On the side facing Melbourne, lay a deep trench from which the soil for the wall had been excavated. The wide trench effectively doubled the height of the wall on the defensive side, creating a formidable barrier. Both sides of the earthen wall were buttressed with timber to keep the soil in place.
The wall curved slightly toward Melbourne on each flank, creating the atmosphere of a giant amphitheatre. The plains ahead were barren, any properties that had lain in the way were flattened and trees removed, enabling a clear line of sight.
Harry took a deep breath as he imagined the plain before him filled with a massive horde of Infected. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as his mind’s eye saw the swarm stretch to the horizon, a city’s worth of Carriers heading toward a barrier made insignificant before their hunger and rage.
He stepped back from the wall’s edge, his skin a tone paler than two minutes before. ‘Surely this isn’t how Black’s going to empty Melbourne?’
The older soldier misread his expression for excitement. ‘You’re damn right it is,’ he said, slapping Harry on the shoulder with enthusiasm. ‘Can you imagine it? This wall will extend from Port Phillip Bay, across the Princes Highway and west for a couple of kilometres in one massive arc, all ready to corral the Melbourne swarms for extermination. We’ll be like bloody warriors in ancient times, defending civilisation from savages bent on our destruction. It’ll be battle the way it should be, you know - before drones and surface to air missiles took the killing out real soldier’s hands. A tide of plague-ridden corpses will break on this wall, and we’ll pick the bastards off until none are left moving.’
Harry frowned at the man’s words. Nothing ever went to plan, even when it seemed fool proof. In his experience, there was always some bastard quirk of fate that wanted to cock things up. Empires had built walls throughout history to keep out the enemy, and as far as Harry knew, none had been particularly successful, only ever being as strong as the men defending them.
‘How long until it’s finished?’ asked Harry.
‘Probably another six months,’ said the soldier. ‘Hopefully time enough to recruit and train the troops needed to man the bloody thing.’
A rumble of an engine interrupted their discussion as a huge earth-mover seemed to appear from the very dirt of the wall below Harry’s feet. Steadying himself, he peered over the edge, noting for the first time that a tunnel through the wall allowed movement of trucks and equipment between either side.
‘Apparently, I’m here to give advice about constructing a field hospital or something?’ asked Harry, changing topic.
‘Yeah. We need to know location and how big you think it should be.’
Harry shrugged. ‘Location’s straight forward – keep it close to the Princes Highway to aid transport of high risk cases back to Geelong Hospital. As for the size, I don’t think it’ll need to be all that big. Maybe enough beds for twenty – fifty wounded?’
The soldier looked dubious. ‘You have seen the extent of the wall? I brought you out here so that you could fully understand the scale of what we’re attempting. There’s going to be thousands of soldiers on site.’
‘So? If it holds, there should only be a handful of accidental injuries. We’ll be all on one side shooting outwards, I mean, how many ‘friendly-fire’ incidents can there possibly be in a situation like that?’
The soldier’s forehead creased in concern, trying to understand Harry’s line of thought.
‘It’s the only outcome worth preparing for,’ said Harry, realising he’d have to explain his reasoning. ‘If you attract a swarm of that size onto the wall, and somehow they break through – there’ll be no need for doctors or a hospital.’
‘Yeah, why’s that?’
Harry sighed, wanting to get back to Geelong and his work. ‘Because if they break through, it’s game over. We’ll all be dead.’
Chapter Thirteen
‘Do you want to kick off proceedings, Boss?’ asked Vinh. ‘If we leave it much longer, you’re going to start losing people.’
Mark sighed with frustration as he looked around the sparsely populated seats of the Town Hall. He knew Vinh was right, but he’d hoped for a much bigger turn out than the handful of nervous men sitting before him. Joel had warned that many would be scared of openly supporting the army, fearful that any such cooperation would invite retaliation from the Spartans. Mark hadn’t believed so many would be deterred until he’d viewed it with his own eyes.
Mark stood up and introduced himself to the group. ‘I’d like to personally thank each of you for taking the risk to attend. I am sadly aware that these risks are not limited to the Infected, however, I give my word that the Spartans will no longer have an opportunity to terrorize your town,’ said Mark, deciding that the elephant in the room should be shot quickly. Most of the men appeared to take some heart at his words, and he noted more than one set of shoulders square. He smiled inwardly at their response – maybe he would have some success yet.
‘The situation across the country is dire. The latest figures estimate that over seventy percent of the population has succumbed to the plague. This loss of life is unprecedented in Australian history. All of us have lost friends and family to the Lysan abomination, and if we don’t act quickly, more will die from hunger alone. When Carriers tore across our states in a bloody path of violence, the food industry was also torn apart. Stocks are nearing exhaustion, and if Tasmania abandons the mainland, our last access to a food supply will be lost. Famine is but months away, and unless we act – it will finish off what the plague started.
‘The army has achieved its first key wins in a war against the Infected, but it can’t run on an empty stomach, or without reinforcements to plug holes ripped by the Carriers’ teeth. This town, along with many others throughout rural Australia, has the unique position of being able to turn the tide against the plague, by re-establishing the growth of basic foods and supplying men and women to the ranks.’
‘And how the hell do you think that’s going to happen?’ asked one of the men in the audience. ‘You talk big ideas, but the realities of planting, let alone harvesting crops while simultaneously being hunted by the Infected...’ the man paused, shaking his head at the thought. ‘It’s madness. All we’d achieve is our own deaths.’
Mark held up his hand to forestall the meeting degenerating into fear. ‘I acknowledge it won’t be easy, and some farming methods may need altering. But don’t forget,’ he said, ‘you’ll have the resources of the army at hand to kill any Carrier that seek to interrupt your work.’
The same man opened his mouth to speak again, but was cut off by Joel before he could air further negativity. ‘My farm has wheat ready for harvest, along with a few head of cattle. If I volunteer my land as a test case and we come up with strategies that work, will you join us?’
Several of the men nodded, a few more were non-committal – but it was enough to make a start.
‘Thanks, Joel,’ said Mark, walking over to shake the man’s hand before turning back to the rest of the group. ‘There’s one more thing I want you all to consider. This isn’t going to be a one-way street where you’re expected to act fo
r nothing more than love of county. In return for your support, we will help to improve the level of security about the properties of those involved. Think on that – I’m offering help to ensure your loved ones make it to the other side of the war.’
At the back of the hall, one of the soldiers lowered a radio from his ear and broke ranks. ‘Boss, we’ve got some movement at the town border. Two utes carrying men have come through the northern gate and they’re wearing Spartan insignia.’
‘Good. Let them approach unimpeded, I want a meeting with their president.’ Mark turned back to the farmers in the room. ‘We have some unexpected guests arriving shortly. Until we’ve dealt with them – it may be in your interest to remain unseen. If you follow Private Horitch here,’ he said indicating the soldier that had brought him the update, ‘he’ll take you into a back room.’
Most of the farmers needed little encouragement, filing out of the hall quickly, but Joel stood his ground, refusing to budge. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Lieutenant Collins. It’s a free country, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let common criminals push me around any longer.’
Mark considered arguing, then let it drop. The man had a spine that wouldn’t be bent, something that needed fostering in the town. ‘Ok, but I’d request that you avoid drawing attention. If this negotiation becomes a little,’ he paused trying to find a diplomatic phrase, ‘strained shall I say, I’d prefer you don’t catch any lead souvenirs.’
Mark positioned several soldiers along the left side of the room. If it did come down to a fight, he had no desire for any of his men to get hit by friendly fire. A low rumble of car engines approached, growing in volume until the Spartans pulled up outside.
Mark walked calmly to the centre of the room and waited, his face impassive as he ignored the desire to hold a weapon. Mark had won the first psychological battle by forcing the Spartan President to seek a meeting, and he’d be damned if he let them think he was even mildly concerned by their presence.
Heavy footsteps stomped up to the door before it was smashed aside. The Spartan President, Mac, strode into the room, followed closely by his huge Sergeant at Arms and two other members. Behind the bikies, the two soldiers that had been on guard outside, stepped through the entrance with rifles in hand, and took up a new site of duty inside the doorway.
Mac ignored the soldiers stationed down the side of the hall, heading straight for Mark in the centre.
‘That’s far enough,’ said Mark, his voice cutting clear across the room.
Mac pulled up four metres away from the officer. The man was red in the face, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool afternoon. He glowered at Mark, then looked around the room at the soldiers lining the side, his movements slightly unsteady, until his gaze fell on Joel. On recognizing the farmer, Mac spat in his direction. A gust of air through the open door swept over Mac, carrying a sour smell of alcohol and unwashed skin. His right arm hung at his side, the fist gripping the stock of a sawn-off shotgun.
‘I take it you’re Mac, the President of the local Spartan MC chapter?’ Mark said.
Mac gave a stiff nod, opening his mouth to speak. Mark cut him off before he could get a word out.
‘Good. Lay your weapon on the ground.’ The tone of his voice gave no room for compromise.
‘This is my town, soldier boy,’ growled Mac, ignoring him. ‘You can take your order and shove it up your arse.’
At an almost imperceptible flick of Mark’s wrist, his soldiers raised their weapons as one, sights trained on the Spartan leader and his men.
‘The order was simple, drop your gun, or you’ll be disarmed by force,’ Mark said, voice impassive. As Mac’s stubbornness continued, Mark sighed and waved Vinh forward. ‘Your choice.’
Vinh took two steps from the side of the hall, reversed his rifle and smashed the stock into the side of Mac’s head, driving the man to his knees. Blood sheeted the side of his face from a deep tear in his scalp. As the Sergeant drew his arm back for a second blow, the Spartan finally dropped his weapon on the floorboards. Vinh sent the shotgun skittering out of reach with a flick of his toe, then roughly patted down the bikie for other weapons. Satisfied that he no longer presented a risk, Vinh returned to his former position, leaving the bikie to regain his feet.
Mac had not uttered a sound after the strike and showed no sign that the wound caused him pain, maintaining eye contact with Mark throughout. ‘This town belongs to the Spartans,’ he said, ‘and the army’s not wanted or needed. We provide protection and security here, not you. I want you and your men out by tomorrow.’
Mark’s composure finally broke, a short bark of laughter escaping his lips. ‘Cut the bullshit. You have no power to order anyone around, let alone an officer of the ADF. You’re a common bloody criminal that belongs in a jail cell.’
Mac clenched his fists, cheeks flushing in anger. ‘You’re making a mistake taking us on. Anyone who insults the Spartans is as good as dead.’
‘Whatever,’ said Mark, looking like he’d become bored by the conversation. ‘The only reason you’re still standing is that I want your members. No point wasting men with fighting capability on some wannabee gangster. You have a week to dissolve the club and turn your men and weapons over to me. If that happens, I’ll ensure each of them obtains a pardon for past crimes and a new slate.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘I’ll grind your pathetic club into the dust.’
It was Mac’s turn to laugh. ‘Your platoon’s alone, outnumbered, and you’ve just signed their death warrants,’ he said, turning now to look at individual soldiers around the room. ‘And you know what? I’m going to enjoy feeding each of you to my pet Carriers. They love a good feed, especially when it’s a pretty body like yours darlin,’ said Mac, blowing a grotesque kiss at Steph.
Mac spat blood on the floor and headed for the exit, his men falling in behind like trained hounds.
‘You seem to be forgetting something,’ said Mark.
‘Yeah, and what’s that?’ asked Mac.
‘My soldiers aren’t the women and children your club’s used to bullying. They’re trained and seasoned killers. If you send men against us, they’ll be cut down in a heartbeat.’
Mark moved his gaze to the bikies standing behind Mac. ‘You boys should think on that. Do you want to be gut shot for this fucking degenerate?’ he said, pointing at Mac. ‘Or do you want to re-join the nation and help us claw it back from the Infected like real men? Your choice.’
The Sergeant at Arms flipped him the bird and shoved the two other men out the door after Mac. Shortly, the sound of engines revved outside as the Spartans drove away.
Mark exhaled slowly, letting the tension seep from his chest. Now that the bikies had left, his soldiers returned to former duties. The sound of steps on the floorboards made him glance sideways at Joel as he approached.
‘Jesus, I don’t think you could have antagonized the man any further if you tried. You realise he’s going to throw everything he’s got at you now?’ said the ex-mayor.
Mark gave the man a withering look. ‘That was just a pissing contest. There’s no negotiating with a man like that, if I’d backed down an inch, it would have only boosted his ego and image.’
Joel raised an eyebrow, ‘So all that was targeted at his men, rather than convincing Mac to stop?’
‘He won’t lay down arms, the man’s a petty tyrant. I want him to bleed men, weaken his base with deserters who haven’t the stomach for taking on trained soldiers. I want him angry and irrational. If he were smart, he’d wait inside his armed compound where I will wear the higher risk during an attack. My bet is he won’t be able to maintain control of his men for long enough – he’ll be forced to emerge and take us on before all his men disappear. In the open field, I have every confidence my soldiers will wipe them out with minimal losses.’
Joel looked unconvinced.
‘Don’t worry, mate,’ said Mark, hitting a rough hand onto the man’s shoulder. ‘Y
ou get the farming side sorted and leave the Spartans to me. I’ll make sure Mac’s kept on a tight leash. I want his men, but not at any price. If it turns out the club has some bite to it after all, I’ll put them down like dogs.’
Chapter Fourteen
A pair of glowing red eyes reflected in the dark from the edge of the road. Chris gave a slight turn of the wheel toward the wallaby, and was rewarded by a dull thud as the fender of the truck cleaned up the small animal. In Tasmania, the native animals seemed to become suicidal around bush roads, drawn to the lights of cars like moths to a flame. Usually Chris tried to avoid hitting such wayward creatures, hesitant to dint the metalwork of his car. But tonight was different. He wasn’t driving his own car, but a van his father had borrowed from that dim-witted idiot, Frank. If it got dinted or smeared with the guts of a fluffy little beast – all the better. He sure as hell wouldn’t be cleaning it off.
‘Your destination is on the right in fifty metres,’ said a British voice on his Satnav. Chris peered ahead into the meagre light cast by the truck’s lights, and made out a road branching from his own not far ahead.
‘You have arrived,’ said the lady’s voice.
Chris geared down rapidly to make the turn, and punched the screen of his phone to turn off the directions. Thick eucalypts soared to either side of the narrow road, turning it into a tunnel of sorts as the branches arched overhead, smothering any light provided by the moon. The van he drove bucked over potholes in the dirt. Designed to carry heavy weights, the empty vehicle bounced unnaturally when it hit any defect in the road. The van was empty behind the driver and passenger seats, providing enough room for two loaded pallets, and if all went to plan, soon the suspension would be near bottomed out with his cargo.
The dirt road took a gentle right, finishing before a small pre-fabricated house. The setting was beautiful in the daytime, with trees close on all sides, a soft hum of insects and gentle movement of leaves in the breeze. But at night, that same bush transformed. Shadows grew, animal noises seemed to magnify and morph, playing with the mind until dreams became nightmares. It was one of the reasons that Chris hated camping – he couldn’t understand why anyone would want to give up a perfectly good bed to sleep like a homeless loser.
Plague War (Book 3): Retaliation Page 10
