Blood Line: What if your family was the last left alive? (The Blood Line Trilogy Book 1)

by Michael Green

  There was no reply when he hammered on the back door. He forced it open with a crowbar he found in the garden shed and was greeted by the stench of death. Pausing at a child’s bedroom, he peered in and saw the body of a small girl, her face crawling with flies. Beside her on the floor lay her dead mother, her stomach bloated. Pools of body fluid had soaked into the carpet.

  He threw open the kitchen cupboards and loaded the few rations he could find into polythene bags before leaving. He chased away the dog, but it managed to take the arm with it. Fighting his urge to vomit, Steven jammed the back door closed. At least he could stop the dog getting at the bodies inside.

  By mid-afternoon he could take no more. He had entered twenty houses. Some had been looted before he arrived. Most had at least one corpse, some several, and the stench of death had sickened him. It had been a harrowing experience, but he’d found enough tinned food and dry provisions to keep them going for several days. He’d found very little water; it seemed most people had not understood the seriousness of the situation, and consequently had not filled their baths.

  Mark listened intently as Jane and Steven relayed their experiences, proud of his daughter’s courage and the way his son had turned his mind to the practical aspects of the situation.

  ‘As I was running here,’ Mark said, ‘I was aware of a strange smell. I suppose it must have been all the dead bodies.’

  ‘It’s been sweltering the last few days,’ Steven said. ‘The rate of decay in these temperatures is horrific.’

  ‘So did anything else of significance happen yesterday?’ Mark asked.

  ‘Did it ever!’ Jane exclaimed.

  Steven continued the story.

  Shortly after Jane had finished packing her larder with the scavenged food, there was a knock at the front door.

  ‘Can you help me?’ pleaded a soft voice. Jane and Steven had looked out through the front door at a pathetic figure standing in the porch: a young woman cradling a baby in her arms. ‘I’ve got no food,’ she said. ‘Can you give me a little something, just for the baby?’

  ‘I’m sorry …’ Steven began.

  ‘Come in,’ Jane interrupted. ‘I’m sure we’ll find you something.’ The young girl followed them down the hallway and through into the family room. ‘Sit down, I’ll make something for the baby,’ Jane said, pointing to the sofa.

  ‘No, it’s okay, just give me some food.’ Jane opened the pantry door and Steven saw the young woman’s eyes light up at the stockpile they’d gathered. ‘I’ve got another kid at home,’ said the young woman. ‘He’s starving, too.’

  Steven watched as Jane packed part of the proceeds of his scavenging into a plastic bag. She closed the pantry door but then opened it again and added another couple of items to the bag.

  ‘Nice kids you’ve got,’ said the woman, watching Zach and Nicole through the window playing in the garden.

  ‘Yes, they are,’ Jane said proudly.

  ‘Thanks a million,’ the young woman said as she hurried down the passageway and out the front door.

  Steven closed the door behind her. ‘We’re going to have to be careful,’ he said. Jane looked at him, her eyes asking him how he could have even considered turning the woman away empty-handed. ‘There’s only a limited amount of food lying around,’ he explained. ‘Everyone’s going to be scavenging.’

  Before an argument could develop there was another knock on the front door. Through the glass panels they could see the silhouettes of four figures. Instinct cautioned Steven against opening the door. ‘What do you want?’ he called.

  ‘You got any spare food?’ a male voice asked.

  ‘No,’ Steven said firmly.

  ‘They’ve got a pantry full,’ said another voice. It was the young woman Jane had been so generous with a few minutes earlier.

  ‘We’ve got no more food to spare,’ Steven said firmly.

  They watched as the small crowd milled around the porch. One of the figures swung his foot at the door, breaking a glass panel.

  ‘If you don’t leave I’ll call the police!’ Jane shouted.

  ‘What police?’ a voice from the other side of the door laughed. Another foot swung in and another pane shattered.

  ‘If you don’t leave, I’ll come outside and sort you out myself,’ Steven threatened, adding quickly, ‘Why don’t you go down Greenfield Road? There’s plenty of food in the houses down there.’

  It was a lie, but the ruse appeared to do the trick. Jane and Steven watched as the figures milled around, arguing among themselves. They were relieved when they saw the four file out of the porch, but stood in the hallway and waited a couple of minutes, fearful the youths might come back.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jane said as she followed Steven back towards the family room. ‘I see what you mean about giving the food away.’

  ‘Not to worry. They’ve gone now.’

  But they hadn’t gone. When Jane and Steven walked back into the family room they were confronted by three young men and the young woman. They’d doubled back through George’s garden. They had grabbed Zach and Nicole and there was a knife at each child’s throat. Jane lunged forward, but Steven grabbed her and held her back.

  ‘Try anything and the kids get it,’ said one of the youths.

  The children’s eyes were imploring. Steven looked at the men; two of them appeared to be very ill, the third in only slightly better shape. But they were also desperate. A fight could only end in bloodshed, and possibly the death of one or both of the children.

  ‘We only want your food,’ the young mother explained.

  ‘Let the children go and you can have it,’ Steven said.

  ‘Yes, take the food,’ Jane pleaded. ‘Let my children go.’

  Nicole began to cry.

  ‘Let the girl go,’ ordered the one who seemed to be the leader. He continued to hold the knife to Zach’s throat. Nicole ran to Jane and clung on to her leg. ‘We’ll let the boy go when we’ve got the food.’

  They watched and waited as his companions packed the precious food supplies from the pantry into six plastic bags.

  ‘Let him go now,’ Steven said when the bags were full and the pantry empty.

  ‘Tell you what,’ said the ringleader with a cruel smile, ‘we’ll bring him back tomorrow. Get us some more food, and we’ll let you have him back then.’

  ‘Mummy,’ Zach pleaded, his voice hoarse with terror.

  ‘What about a trade?’ Steven asked suddenly.

  ‘What you mean a trade?’ The youth pressed the knife against Zach’s throat. ‘You’ve got nothing to trade. We’ve got all your food.’

  ‘What about some dope?’

  ‘What’ve you got?’

  ‘Good stuff,’ Steven said. Jane looked at her brother incredulously. He was a fitness fanatic; she’d never known him to smoke a cigarette, let alone marijuana. The youth hesitated. ‘And P,’ Steven continued. ‘You let the kid go and you can have it.’

  ‘You don’t give me the P and he’ll get it now,’ threatened the youth, pressing the knife harder against Zach’s throat.

  Jane looked reproachfully at her brother.

  ‘It’s hidden. I need to go and get it.’

  ‘Yeah, like I was born yesterday,’ the leader sneered. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Follow me.’

  Steven walked towards the door leading to the internal garage. The gang followed him.

  ‘You too,’ said the leader, motioning towards Jane and Nicole. They filed into the garage and watched as Steven took a stepladder and climbed up to the rafters, where he reached into a pile of junk and located the stock of George’s rifle. ‘Found it,’ he said. In a single movement he swung the rifle out of the rafters and lined it up with the head of the teenager holding the knife at Zach’s throat.

  ‘You wouldn’t,’ said the terrified youth.

  ‘Try me,’ Steven said, aware that his position at the top of the stepladder afforded him a psychological advantage.

  ‘I’
ll kill him,’ threatened the youth.

  ‘I’ve got six bullets in the chamber and I’m a crack shot. I’ll take all four of you out if I have to.’

  The gang looked at one another.

  ‘Now let him go …’ Steven said.

  The youths hesitated.

  ‘You’ve got five seconds to get out of here.’ Steven sighted the gun directly between the eyes of the sweating leader. ‘Five … four …’

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ said the youth as he released Zach.

  Zach ran to his mother. Steven waved the gun wildly at the gang. They crashed out through the door, dropping the plastic shopping bags as they went.

  11

  Mark put his arm around Jane’s shoulder. ‘It must have been a terrifying day.’

  She nodded, fighting to hold back the tears.

  ‘They were going to cut our throats but I wasn’t frightened,’ Nicole boasted. ‘And I was brave when the doctor came.’

  ‘The doctor?’ asked Mark.

  ‘Yes,’ Jane said. ‘We had more people banging on the front door later in the day.’

  Once the gang had fled, Steven secured the house as best he could. He found some sliding bolts in Bruce’s workshop and fitted them inside the doors. Then he nailed down the lower windows of the bungalow. He knew the house couldn’t be made totally secure, but now the only way in was to break a window, and at least they would hear the glass breaking. He put George’s loaded rifle on top of a kitchen cupboard where he could reach it easily and he kept a pickaxe handle close by when he went onto the back veranda to cook meals on the barbecue.

  ‘I’m worried about Zach,’ Jane said as her brother turned over the concoction of ingredients she’d mixed together to make barbecue patties. ‘He keeps locking himself in the playhouse.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I think he needs time to himself. He has to grieve for Bruce, just like the rest of us.’

  She took Steven’s advice and didn’t protest when Zach took his patties and disappeared into the old playhouse to eat alone. He stayed in his hideaway until he was called in to go to bed.

  Jane had just got the children into bed when there was a knock at the front door. Steven picked up the rifle and checked the doors at the rear of the house. All were secure. Then he crept along the hallway, motioning to Jane to keep quiet. There was another, louder bang on the door. ‘Open up, police.’

  Jane and Steven could see the outline of two figures through the opaque glass panels. ‘Ignore them,’ Steven whispered to Jane. ‘It might be another trick.’

  Jane could just pick out the shape of a peaked cap. ‘It might be news about Mum and Dad.’

  ‘What do you want?’ Steven called through the glass panel.

  ‘We need to talk to you.’

  ‘How do we know you’re the police?’

  ‘I’ll show you my ID,’ said the voice from the other side of the door.

  The silhouette bent down and an identity card was passed through one of the broken panels at the bottom of the door. Steven and Jane were both satisfied.

  ‘Just a moment,’ Steven said. He walked quickly through to the kitchen and replaced the rifle on top of the kitchen cupboard. He didn’t want the police officer confiscating it. Then he picked up the pickaxe handle and opened the front door.

  ‘Had a problem with looters?’ the officer asked.

  ‘Sure have.’

  ‘This is Doctor Irwin from Auckland Hospital,’ said the policeman, introducing the second visitor. ‘He’s doing a medical survey.’

  ‘Do you have any news about our mother and father?’ Jane asked.

  ‘Your mother and father?’

  ‘Yes, they came in on the last flight from Singapore, the Qantas flight that was quarantined.’

  The visitors shook their heads.

  Jane led the way through to the family room. Steven glanced nervously at the butt of the rifle above the kitchen cupboards, but it was barely visible in the gathering shadows.

  ‘Are you Mr and Mrs Owen?’ the doctor asked, checking his notes.

  ‘No, I’m Mrs Owen. My husband Bruce died yesterday. This is my brother.’

  ‘Steven Chatfield?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good,’ said the doctor. ‘And your children, Mrs Owen? Are they well?’

  ‘Yes, they both had a touch of the flu, we all did, but they’re fine now.’

  ‘Excellent,’ the doctor said, as if he was conducting a routine examination. He undid his case. ‘I’d like to take your temperatures, including the children’s.’

  ‘The children are asleep,’ Jane protested.

  ‘No, we’re not,’ a voice interrupted. Zach and Nicole were standing at the doorway in their pyjamas.

  ‘Excellent, young man,’ said the doctor. ‘You must be Zach.’

  ‘I’m Nicole,’ interrupted his sister, ‘and I’m six.’

  ‘You are a big girl, aren’t you? Well, come over here both of you and get your temperature taken.’

  Nicole shoved her brother out of the way.

  Doctor Irwin placed the thermometer in her ear. ‘Good,’ he said. Zach stepped forward. ‘And your temperature’s normal too, young man. Now we’ll do Mummy and your Uncle Steven, shall we?’

  Jane and Steven had their temperatures taken, which elicited more expressions of ‘Excellent!’ from Doctor Irwin.

  ‘Now, who’s going to give me the first blood sample?’ he asked.

  Suddenly Zach and Nicole looked as if they wished they’d stayed in their beds and pretended to be asleep.

  ‘Blood samples?’ queried Jane.

  ‘Just routine,’ Doctor Irwin assured her.

  ‘For your own sake,’ added the police officer. ‘It’s the only way we can monitor the spread of the pandemic.’

  ‘I see you have a dog,’ observed the doctor, once he had taken the samples. ‘Do you have a cat?’

  ‘We do, but he’s gone missing,’ Jane explained.

  ‘He’s run away because they were going to kill him,’ Zach added.

  Steven leaned over and whispered in Doctor Irwin’s ear. ‘We haven’t seen the cat for over twenty-four hours. I suspect one of the neighbours may have shot him. I’ve heard several gunshots.’

  ‘If you find the body,’ the doctor whispered, ‘hang on to it. I’d like to run some tests.’

  The examination over, the visitors followed Steven down the hallway.

  ‘You’d better call at number five,’ Steven said as he opened the front door and pointed out the bungalow on the opposite side of the street. ‘There’s a woman and sick children in the house.’

  ‘Thanks,’ the police officer replied.

  They bade one another good night and Steven closed the door. As he re-checked the bolts on the front door, he heard the car doors slam and the engine start. ‘That’s odd,’ he said to Jane as she tucked the children in bed again. ‘They didn’t bother to go to number five. If anyone needed a doctor, that family did.’

  ‘That’s not the only thing that’s odd,’ Mark said, interrupting Steven’s account of the previous day’s events. Steven and Jane looked at him anxiously. He was already grieving and exhausted, but since they’d begun their story of the doctor’s visit he seemed to be struggling with a new source of anxiety.

  ‘They knew your names,’ Mark explained. ‘Every one of you … Steven … the children.’

  ‘Dad’s right,’ Jane said, turning to Steven. ‘I just said you were my brother, yet the doctor knew immediately your name was Steven. And why didn’t they go to number five? Why did they only come to us?’

  ‘Because’, Mark said, ‘they suspect our family has immunity to the virus.’ He told them of his visit from the American doctors at the airport and their attempt to abduct him. ‘I think we should get out of here as soon as possible,’ he said once he finished telling his story.

  Jane looked at him. She seemed puzzled by his determination.

  ‘They know where you live,’ he explained. ‘It will onl
y be a matter of time before they conclude I’m likely to be here.’

  Steven agreed. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  Jane shook her head. ‘If we have a special immunity and can help, we have a duty to do so.’

  ‘I don’t trust the authorities any more,’ Mark said firmly. ‘It’s not the world as we knew it. There are no precedents, no rules. Who knows what they’re prepared to do?’

  Steven nodded. ‘They haven’t got much time. Suppose they decide blood samples aren’t enough. Suppose they decide they need a liver, or a heart, or some other organ for their research. Are you prepared to sacrifice Zach and Nicole?’

  ‘Let’s get packed up,’ Mark said. ‘It’s just not safe here.’ He noticed Jane looking out of the window at Bruce’s grave and saw the tears in her eyes. ‘It’s only temporary,’ he added more gently. ‘We can always come back later.’

  12

  ‘Where will we go?’ Jane asked her father.

  ‘I think we should get out of Auckland altogether. Let’s get to Raconteur.’

  ‘The boat!’ She seemed surprised at her father’s suggestion they make for his twelve-metre motor-sailer.

  ‘Think about it,’ Mark persisted. ‘She’s self-contained. She’s got enough fuel, water, tinned food and bottled gas to last for weeks.’

  ‘We should give it a go,’ Steven agreed. ‘One way or the other, we’ve got to get out of the city.’

  Mark looked at his watch. ‘Let’s get packed.’

  ‘I want to stay,’ said Zach. His mouth was set into a look of defiance.

  ‘We’re going,’ Jane said firmly, finally convinced of the wisdom of leaving the city. She turned to the children. ‘Now go and pack your clothes. Use those nice backpacks your gran gave you.’