We moved into the next lab. I was unsettled by the heads, and annoyed with myself for being unsettled. I’ve seen plenty of gory shit this year but there was something off-putting about the heads in the lab. Something clinical, or sterile. Like people who have no problem with blood or injuries, but feel queasy in a hospital.
It was nothing compared to the next few labs Florian took us through. Cells with observation glass, zombies imprisoned in groups or alone. Zombies shackled down on tables, zombies with limbs or body parts removed. One zombie with various layers of skin flayed out on hooks above it like something out of a horror movie. One zombie that had had its eyes, ears, nose and tongue surgically removed, a hideous-looking thing with half a face, which nevertheless strained against the straps that held it down against the far wall, reaching its arms towards us, on the other side of the safety glass. “That one’s left over from the sense experiments,” Professor Llewellyn explained.
“The what?”
“No ears, no eyes, no nose, not even a tongue,” he said. “And it still knows where you are. It can still find prey in a dark room. They can sense life, and we don’t know how. They’ll come straight towards it no matter how far away it is.”
“Anyone who knows anything about them can tell you that,” Corporal Martin said.
“True,” said Dr Florian, “survivor reports do indicate that the undead will cluster around any stronghold; that they’re instinctively drawn to the living. But the common perception is that they do so using the same sensory organs they would have used in life. Many people have died, in fact, because they thought that being quiet and staying out of sight might help them avoid the undead.”
“But… it does, though,” I said.
“Perhaps in singles, or at a reasonable distance,” Dr Florian said. “But ultimately the undead will inevitably be drawn towards life. Even if they’ve lost their sensory organs, and even if that life is hundreds of kilometres away.”
I thought of Puckapunyal, RAAF Base Wagga, the Cloud Mountain Observatory. I thought of the thousands of zombies who’d come from a derailed train on the Nullarbor, crossing hundreds of kilometres of empty desert to arrive in Eucla.
Florian led us into another lab, thankfully free of chained-up corpses. “And this is what’s causing it,” he said, showing us some colour print-outs. “The nanomachines.”
A long time ago, aboard the HMAS Canberra, Captain Tobias had shown us satellite photos of the machine base in Ballarat, and I’d been gripped with a profound sense of unease in the architecture: something unmistakeably alien, byzantine in its curves and edges and sense of perspective, like an Escher drawing. I’d felt similarly unsettled by the appearance of the flying machine that had attacked us in the Snowy Mountains, although that had been mostly drowned out by the raging, pants-pissing terror that had come with it.
The nanomachines gave me that same sense of unease. The print-outs were microscope close-ups, with no sense of scale, but the nanomachines in the image had been magnified enough to see the little details: the overlapping plates, the needles, the palps. They looked like insects, I suppose, though there was also a suggestion of the snake, the snail, the shark.
I guess that doesn’t make any sense. To put it another way, they didn’t look like anything that belonged on this planet.
“They largely cluster in the brain,” Dr Florian said. “But they also spread out across the body – through blood, even when congealed, and through flesh and bone marrow and possibly, we suspect, bone itself, though we haven’t been able to confirm that. In a living subject they remain dormant. Once that subject becomes brain-dead, however, they activate. Depending on the subject, and the proximity to one of the machine ground stations, it can take anywhere between 30 seconds and 12 hours for... well, you know what happens next.
“While we know they animate the body – that much is obvious – they also perform secondary functions. They’re most likely the factor that repels certain bacteria; they may also, in limited circumstances, actually repair body tissue, usually after a large meal. If the brain is destroyed – whether the subject has reanimated or not – they dissolve.”
Nobody said anything. I’d known for a long time that the dead rising was caused by nanomachines, not a virus, and I’d known for a long time that we all already had them - that one way or another, however you die, you’re going to come back, unless somebody damages your brain enough. But having seen those microscope close-ups, it felt very different. Those horrible little things were crawling around inside every one of us. Right now, at that very second, as Florian was speaking.
“Someone told me you guys took a boat full of dead down to Antarctica and they stopped being like this,” Sergeant Mendelson said.
“Yes,” Florian said. “That was a while ago now. When we brought it back north again – I don’t mean back here, the ship was still significantly south of the mainland – they reanimated. And that’s the interesting thing about the ground stations. Their reach is unblockable. I mean, take here for example. We fall within the range of the Thailand ground station, but that’s well beyond the curvature of the earth. There are thousands of kilometres of earth and ocean between us. And yet the signal – if that is what it is – passes through that matter as though it were clear sky.”
“It’s not radio, obviously,” Hannah said.
“Nothing so primitive as that,” Dr Florian said. “But the thing is, we have absolutely no idea what it is. Of what could be capable of doing that. And that’s the wonderful, fascinating thing about studying alien technology. It sometimes seems to operate on an entirely different level of understanding of physics than we do.”
“Well, get your research in now,” I said, “because if everything goes right in the next few weeks, the ground stations are gone.”
“Yes,” Dr Florian smiled, “but then we really will be living in a brave new world, won’t we, Mr King?”
We thanked him for the tour and took the launch back to the island. I sat by the starboard bow, lifejacket shoved uncomfortably up around my neck, trailing one hand in the spray from the prow as the boat cut across the waves. I wonder what Florian would make of half the stuff that goes on in my head. I wonder what he’d make of my dreams of Matt sitting on an endless beach. I don’t even know what the Endeavour would make of it.
December 15
5.30pm
Sergeant Mendelson, from somewhere or another last night, managed to secure a bottle of whiskey. A few of us sat around the swimming pool after dinner, drinking and swapping stories. I regretted it the next day – not because I had too much, but because I had just enough to make me pleasantly drunk and fall into a deep sleep. No dreams. No Matt.
I woke up feeling depressed, and didn’t realise why at first. But I’d been expecting Matt, after two nights in a row. And what does it say that a deep, dreamless sleep prevents me from seeing him? That these really are just dreams, and nothing more?
Sergeant Tucker came to the hotel not long after breakfast, to drive us off to whatever today’s planned activity was. Tobias was already at another Defence meeting with most of the soldiers; Llewellyn was at CSIRO briefing. “Right,” Tucker said. “If you want to hit the beach today, we’d better do it soon, ‘cause there’s a cyclone on the way.”
“A cyclone?” Jess said in alarm.
“Just a Cat 2,” Tucker said. “Nothing to worry about. It’s not making landfall till this arvo. But, yeah, that means we’ll need to be off the beach and back here by noon. Who’s up for it?”
I didn’t have anything better to do. Jess and Hannah agreed to come along as well, as did Martin and Mendelson. We split up into two cars, and I found myself sitting in between Martin and Mendelson in a Land Cruiser, while Jess and Hannah went in another. Tucker was driving, with Stafford next to him.
“Aren’t you the other driver?” I asked Stafford. He glanced at me, then glanced back out the windshield, saying nothing.
“Got a couple of other guards on today,” Tucker
said. “Since we’re taking you out to the southern beaches. Just a bit of a precaution. Orders are orders, you know.”
It occurred to me that I didn’t actually know who gave Tucker his orders.
We went down a familiar path at first, up through the hills, through the half-constructed city, past the barracks and the yards where the government was training every man and boy to become a soldier. Out past the edge of the city, where teams were working to clear the forest and turn it into lumber for housing. Out past the camps where half the population still lived, Army tents looking ragged in the breeze, children playing in puddles from the previous night’s rain. The skies to the north-west were dark and ominous.
“What happens to the people in the camps when the cyclone comes?” Sergeant Mendelson asked.
“Ah, they’ll all get shifted up into the main housing for the night,” Tucker said. “Gonna be a lot of people sitting on floors, not getting much sleep, but better than sitting in a tent.”
We left the town and started making our way along the tracks through the jungle again, the Land Cruiser bouncing around in the sand, fording the occasional flooded dip or stream. We’d been driving for twenty minutes when Corporal Martin glanced behind us and said, “Where’s the other car?”
Tucker stopped the car, and we all looked behind us. The track was bare. “Fuck’s sake,” he said. “Maybe they think we’re going to Dolly Beach again?”
“Probably,” Stafford said. “Just keep going, when they see we’re not there they’ll come find us.”
“Maybe we should go to Dolly and get them?” I said.
“Nah, she’ll be right,” Tucker said, and fired up the engine.
We kept driving through the jungle, down tracks that were more and more overgrown. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable, but reassured myself. I had a Glock strapped to my thigh, and Mendelson and Martin right next to me. I was just being paranoid. Maybe Matt really is stuck in my head, I thought.
We eventually pulled up in a clearing. “I don’t see a beach,” Corporal Martin said.
“Bit of a walk across this ridge,” Tucker said. “Then we get to climb down a ladder, you’ll like it. Don’t worry, it’s worth it.”
He led the way through the trees, beneath flowering orchids and drooping vines. The birds could tell that a storm was coming, and already they were screeching and chattering above the foliage. Before long, I could smell the sea.
We stood at the edge of those familiar steep cliffs, looking out to the west. The cyclone was still just a dark patch on the distant horizon, although it was grey and overcast above us as well now. Down below was a crescent of powder-white sand and colourful tropical reefs. Tucker had been right – it was the best-looking beach I’d seen on the island yet – but the way down was a rusty, rickety ladder riveted into the cliff-face.
“Who wants to go first?” Tucker grinned.
“Shit,” Mendelson said. “All right, I’m not scared of heights.” He gently lowered himself backwards and began climbing down. “Wait till I’m at the bottom, this thing’s fucking creaky!” he called up.
“Don’t be a wuss, it’s fine,” Tucker said. “I been down that ladder a hundred times.”
We waited for him to reach the ground, gathered around the edge. Stafford had lit a cigarette. I kept glancing up at the west, looking at the gathering cyclone. “You sure that thing’s not coming until this arvo?” I asked.
“You’ll be able to tell when it’s on its way properly,” Tucker said. “Don’t worry, we’ll be long gone by then. All right, who’s next?”
Corporal Martin went down, the ladder rattling and creaking with his progress. I stood nervously at the lip of the cliffs, peering down at him. There were quite a few sharp-looking rocks at the bottom, before it opened up onto the sand. Sergeant Mendelson had already pulled his boots off and walked down onto the beach.
“All right, Aaron,” Tucker said. “Your turn.”
“You first,” I said.
“Nah, come on,” he grinned. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”
He stepped a little closer towards me. I glanced at Stafford, who’d flicked his cigarette away and was watching me with cool eyes, MP5 slung across his chest.
In the back of my head I could remember Matt’s voice: Don’t trust them…
Tucker took another step forward and shoved me hard in the chest, but I’d been expecting it, and I twisted to the side and grabbed his arm. I saw the wild, surprised look in his eyes as his momentum carried him forward, as all of a sudden he was closer to the cliff than I was, but as I’d grabbed his arm he’d grabbed mine in turn, and suddenly both of us were teetering on the edge. We hit the dirt struggling and kicking, clutching at the cliff edge and the ladder’s guard rail. There was no way either of us could throw the other off without going over ourselves, but a moment later we swung back onto the grass, punching and choking and grappling.
Someone pulled me off him – I caught a quick glimpse of Stafford, holding his MP5 in one hand and grabbing the back of my shirt with the other – and as my feet got some purchase I abandoned Tucker and shoved all my weight into Stafford, knocking him to the side, into the ground, shoving my shoulder into his chest. In between I’d managed to scream out for Corporal Martin, hoping he wasn’t too far down the ladder. Stafford and I rolled in the grass and struggled over the MP5. I headbutted him, kneed him in the groin, wrested the sub-machinegun from him and held him round the throat with one hand, turning and raising the gun, expecting to see Tucker lunging towards me...
But he wasn’t. He wasn’t there at all. And then the split second I’d wrested from Stafford was gone, and he rolled over on top of me, knocked the gun from my hands, and slammed a rock into the side of my head – once, twice, three times.
My vision blurred. I could barely move, and the voices of the others suddenly seemed very far away. I could feel someone pinning me down, but it didn’t seem to matter. The darkness was descending on me. I wanted to close my eyes and sleep…
Keep fighting, Aaron, a distant and familiar voice said. Don’t give up, Aaron! They’re going to kill you!
Tried, I thought groggily.
They’re going to kill you!
They’re going to kill you. My vision focused again. The voice sank away. I could hear gunfire, then nothing. The grass and the birds and the feeling of a knee pressed into my back suddenly seemed very acute.
Stafford was sitting on top of me, both my hands pinned behind my back, beneath his knee. “Tucker!” he yelled hoarsely, as he pulled the Glock from my holster. “Tucker, where the fuck are you?”
“I’m here,” I heard Tucker say, breathing heavily. “I’m here. That sergeant tried to make a break for it down the beach, but I got him, I got him…”
“Fucking hell,” Stafford said. “Fucking hell, so what do we do now? His two mates dead? How the fuck do we make that look like an accident? We’re fucked!”
“No we’re not. No, no, no… we’re fine, we’re fine. We just have to... think a bit.” A pause, as he tried to catch his breath. “Jesus, you didn’t shoot him, did you?”
“No, he’s fine. I just hit him in the head with a rock. We’ll toss him off the cliff and it’ll be fine. It’s not him you need to worry about! What the fuck do we do about the other two?”
“We just have to get our stories straight, that’s all. We can come up with something. Fucking hell. All right. Let’s get rid of him, anyway.”
They grabbed my wrists and started dragging me forward. My head was still woozy from the blows, but I was gripped with a sudden sense of alarm as they pulled me towards the cliff. Out over the ocean, the cyclone was starting to strengthen and darken in the north-west. I caught a glimpse beyond the edge of the cliff of Sergeant Mendelson’s body halfway down the beach, the waves washing around it, staining the surf pink. Tucker had shot him, from up here on the cliff. Where was Corporal Martin? Dead at the bottom of the ladder?
As we grew closer I started struggling, realising
what was about to happen, kicking and screaming. “No! Fuck you! No! No!” Neither of them said anything, just tightened their grip, hauled me closer.
It was when we were only a few feet away, when going over the edge suddenly looked like a real, gut-wrenching possibility, that I pulled my last trick out of the hat. Or I didn’t do anything, really. It did it by itself. The same thing that happened in Canberra. I felt a tingling, almost painful sensation in my head and both Stafford and Tucker suddenly let go of me, dropped to the ground, started thrashing about in pain.
I fell backwards on my ass, scooting backwards, gasping for breath and putting as much distance between the cliff and myself as possible. Tucker was screaming; Stafford, though, had struggled onto his hands and knees and was looking forward at me with bloodshot eyes. He staggered to his feet, but I was already up on mine.
I could have killed them both there and then. Stafford was climbing to his feet, but wouldn’t have been any match for me in that condition. Tucker was similarly helpless. I could have shoved them both off the edge like they’d been planning to do to me. Matt probably would have.
But I’m not Matt, and I didn’t want to go anywhere near that cliff again. I wanted to get away from it, and away from them. I turned and ran into the jungle. Stafford screamed something unintelligible at me, tottering unsteadily on his feet, and a moment later a burst of gunfire ripped through the leaves and bark behind me. But I was already gone.
I made it to the clearing where the car was. Didn’t have the keys, of course. Didn’t even have my Glock, so I couldn’t shoot the tyres out. That was fine. Lungs burning, head throbbing, I left the trail and started pushing through the jungle – anywhere to get away from them.
After ten minutes I stopped running and listened. Birds were still shrieking in the canopy as the storm approached, and the wind had picked up. But I couldn’t hear anyone chasing me. The rainforest was thick enough to provide good cover, but not so thick that I was leaving an obvious trail.
End Times Box Set [Books 1-6] Page 178
