by West, Mark
Rohan checks the time. It’s almost six. He bangs louder, calling Aaron’s name a few times, but again is met with no response. He lifts the front door mat revealing a key and picks it up. ‘Might as well,’ he mutters, putting it in the lock.
Before entering, Rohan calls out. Again, he’s met with no response. Assuming Aaron is still asleep in bed, he enters and strides towards his room, the leather soles of his highly polished shoes clacking against the floor tiles.
The house is an unusual design for the eighties. It’s open plan, split into two areas on different levels, with one long passageway separating the bedrooms on the higher level from the living areas and kitchen on the lower level.
When he arrives at the bedroom, Rohan can hear snoring coming from inside. ‘Typical Aaron, sleeping in when he is the one who organised this meeting,’ he says in a booming voice so that Aaron can hear. But there is no response, so thumps on the door. ‘Hey, Aaron get out of bed!’ A few more thumps. ‘I’m going to open this door in three seconds, you better have pants on!’ He gives another couple of thumps and waits for a minute. ‘Okay! Coming in!’
Rohan turns the handle, swinging the door inwards to find Aaron standing on the other side of the room. ‘What the hell is wrong with you!’ Aaron is covered in cuts from head to toe, his hands are bloody, and he’s holding what looks to be a part of an arm. The body of Phillip, Aaron’s housemate, is lying in the corner of the room. Phillip has been torn to shreds. He looks like he’s been mauled by a pack of wild dogs. Rohan’s breakfast wants to come up. He can’t hold it down and chucks up his porridge, splashing the front of his suit.
Shocked, he wipes his mouth and doesn’t notice Aaron approaching, teeth snapping like a piranha, until he is less than a metre away. In a reflex action, Rohan grips his mobile and smacks him across the face, sending Aaron stumbling backwards. Aaron regains his footing and lurches forward once again, growling angrily.
‘Get back!’ Rohan yells before turning and running out the room in fright.
Aaron follows him, growling and snarling ferociously. His feet drag along the tiles leaving red, slimy tracks. Rohan is in the lounge room in a matter of seconds, scanning the room for a weapon. He grabs some cushions and throws them at his friend. They hit Aarons body, bouncing off and onto the floor, never slowing his movement. He picks up the PlayStation and a couple of dinner plates and throws them too, but they bounce off just as easily, the plates smashing into a million shards on the tiles.
Rohan spots a floor lamp. He grips it with both hands and tugs it free from the wall socket. The lamp feels unbalanced, so he moves his hands for better control. The oversized orange shade wobbles around like a bobblehead. Holding it like a gladiator’s axe ready for battle, he watches his enemy approach with anticipation.
‘One.’ He counts loudly but slowly. ‘Two … Three!’ he screams, slicing the lamp through the air and striking Aarons shirtless body above his hip. The blow sends Aaron sideways, stumbling, across the room and into the television sitting on top of a glass stand. The glass shards slice through him. He wriggles around frantically, trapped, wedged between the stand and the television as if held in a vice.
Aaron growls in frustration, each movement slicing through more flesh, until eventually his internal organs begin to flow along the floor. The gruesome sight causes Rohan’s mouth to fill with returning bile and seconds later he is vomiting onto the tiles, eyes watering like a tap as tears begin to fall.
Aaron is still screaming when Rohan regains control of his stomach, the sight too much for him to handle. He can’t take the suffering Aaron is enduring anymore, even if his friend had tried to kill him. He runs to Phillip’s room, knowing what he needs to do.
On the back wall hangs Phillip’s pride and joy. A shiny, fifteen-inch blade that bears Chinese writing on a patterned leather-bound handle. It’s Phillip’s machete that he brought home from Bali. It’s untouched and unused, the blade’s silver edge as sharp as the day he’d bought it.
Without hesitation, Rohan grabs the machete and races back downstairs to where Aaron is still struggling to free himself. He stops and takes one last look at his friend while caressing the leather handle. He can feel the pulse in his arm from the weight of the blade, right down to his fingers, which tighten with every breath. ‘Goodbye, Aaron.’
He raises the blade in the air, striking it down without saying another word onto the centre of Aaron’s skull. It cuts like a laser, never slowing as the steel penetrates through flesh and bone, eventually stopping at the neck. His head erupts like a volcano, expelling blood and brains onto the floor. Rohan examines his blood-soaked hands before looking up at Aaron’s wilted body. His heart is thumping a million miles an hour. What the hell has he done?
Minutes pass and Rohan hasn’t moved. His mind is telling him to run but his body says to stay. He knows he needs to get out, to warn the others, but is transfixed. There’s the sound of glass breaking in the back room and it startles him, causing his body to snap out of its temporary paralysis.
‘Hello?’ Rohan calls. There is more glass shattering. It’s followed by a deep thud. ‘Screw this.’
He picks up the nearest cushion and wipes his face; the canary yellow fabric is now smeared in blood. He hears more glass breaking and without hesitation is out the door, taking the machete with him.
Chapter 6
COOMA
It’s just after nine o’clock when we arrive on the outskirts of Cooma. The truck and trailer are now full of additional food, fuel and gas that we took from the service station. We are yet to meet any more of what we have started to call the Infected, and I’m beginning to question what I had done to the man at the service station.
A few cars have passed us on the drive – all civilian – but they all seemed to be running from something as they sped past us in the opposite direction. No one appears to be heading our way. I’m wondering if we are going in the right direction.
I look over the farmland and see the morning’s dew as it steams off the grass. The sun is now striving for some height in the sky, creeping over the rooftops and casting a dark shadow on the fronts of the few houses that border the road. It’s a beautiful but eerie sight.
‘Keep an eye out for any Infected,’ I say, locking the car doors.
Victoria seems so anxious. She hasn’t said much since we left the station, just a murmur or two. I know she is scared, we both are. This is something we didn’t expect to wake up to and I think we may have a lot more problems up ahead before we can be safe.
Cooma is old country town with a population of around 6000 people. On the weekends, markets line the streets and people flock from all over the area to visit. During the winter months the town is a haven for travellers passing through on their way to the ski fields, which are just another hour or so down the road. During this time, snowmen cut-outs are bolted to the top of the stores, symbolising the eventful season. In the distance I can see the snowmen still out, soon to be replaced by the next seasonal character.
I stick to the main road which passes right through the centre of town. Shops line either side, stopping just short of the hill that heads back out towards the country. On our left is a large Aldi that was recently opened. It towers over its smaller competitors. It is usually busy, but today I see no life – only a few abandoned cars. More commercial giants, like McDonalds, KFC and Subway, are further down. We keep going and see a few more cars, but still no people.
‘Where the hell is everyone?’ I say, peering around at the buildings as we slowly pass. Victoria doesn’t respond, but before long I have my answer. I slow the truck down and we watch.
Five people have come out from a building: three older men, one younger woman and a girl. The girl appears to be around thirteen, long blonde hair falling to her sides. She looks like she has had a fight with a pair of scissors. I notice she isn’t wearing any shoes – none of them are. They seem oblivious to the cold and their expressions are blank and stony as they move towards us, but quickly change to fear
some anger. I drive closer for a better look, then quickly veer around them. It’s not worth the risk.
We see more Infected lurching out of shops and backstreets, attracted by the car. They form into a decent-sized horde following us. Infected, that’s what they are, infected with something turning them into crazy killers. They seem to gather in groups and hunt like pack animals. I hit the accelerator, unsure of what the hell is going on, and try to gain some distance. Our presence has somehow woken the town. It’s a good thing they are slow.
We are almost through the centre of town, continually swerving to avoid the Infected, when Victoria spots a group ahead acting differently to the rest. They are not looking in our direction, but at a man standing on the metal awning of a store. He is holding a cricket bat, swinging it around furiously at a group of people gathered below. He screams when he catches sight of us, waving an arm in our direction then swinging his bat again at the clawing hands.
‘We need to help him,’ Victoria says, looking at me with concern.
I slow, glancing in the rear-view mirror to see dozens of people gathering behind us. ‘What do you suggest?’ I can’t think of anything and I’m starting to panic for the man’s safety.
‘I’m thinking, I’m thinking.’
We both watch, slowly approaching the man. He’s built like a gymnast: short and toned. He kicks at a woman who has managed to climb up the side of a purple falcon and grab at his feet. She falls back onto the ground and is replaced by another.
‘Help me, please!’
I’ve wound my window down a little and we’re close enough to hear him yell. I don’t know how much longer he can hold them off. The awning seems unsteady under his feet and rocks around as clambering hands latch on to it. He is looking directly at me through my dusty windscreen. We’re so close I can feel his fear. We have around fifteen Infected trailing down the main street after us, about forty metres away, staggering like they’re in lead-weighted boots. We’ve still got time to do something.
‘Run into it!’ Victoria is frantic.
‘Run into what?’
‘The back of the car.’ She points at the Falcon. ‘We can use the truck’s bull bar to ram it out of the way. He can jump down onto the truck.’
I grunt in response, nervously gripping the gear stick, and shift down a gear.
Victoria winds her window down. ‘We’re coming under. Jump onto the truck.’ She quickly winds it back up.
The man nods and yells back. ‘Okay. Hurry, the others are coming.’ He points to the group behind us. I don’t turn around; I know they are there.
I plant my foot on the accelerator, aiming for the group, and barge them out of the way. I knock a few to the ground before hitting an elderly woman head-on, crushing her into the back of the Falcon. One arm remains free and slaps the boot of the Falcon repeatedly like the incident never happened. The fallen bodies are clambering about. A few have already picked themselves up off the ground. It shouldn’t be happening. No human can survive that kind of trauma.
Victoria gasps in shock as Infected surround the car. Their attention is now focused on us; they have forgotten all about the man on the awning. He reacts quickly now the group is distracted and leaps down onto the truck, bat still clutched in his right hand, and lands on my bonnet with a thud; relief written across his face. I’m amazed at his agility as he quickly scrambles up my windscreen in a desperate attempt to avoid grasping hands, dropping his bat in the process. I quickly lose sight of him, but hear him pounding his fist against the rear glass of my twin cab. He’s in the tray.
‘Move!’ he screams urgently.
I don’t hesitate. Shifting the truck into reverse, I send us speeding backwards in an awkward twist. The pinned woman collapses. Her lower half completely flattened, she slips onto the pavement in an unrecognisable mess.
Victoria gags. I line the truck back up with the road. In my mirror I can already see Infected swarming around the trailer like a plague, and ahead I can see three Infected coming down the road: a man and two small girls.
‘Time to leave!’ I bark.
I snap the stick back into first, planting my foot down on the accelerator in a desperate attempt to gain some speed. I don’t feel like I have the choice but to hit the trio head-on. Their bodies slam into the bonnet with a loud crunch. They tumble about in a cloud of blood. Body parts fly free and an arm clips my side mirror and snaps it clean off.
‘Dammit!’ I yell. I’d only just had that replaced.
I turn on my wipers to clear the windscreen. If it is an airborne virus, we’re in deep trouble. A hundred or so metres down the road I slam on my brakes and call to the man, ‘Get in! Quick!’ The road is clear, but for how long I have no idea.
There’s a scramble and the rear door opens. He jumps in swiftly and slams it shut. Victoria turns to face the him as I try to pick up some momentum again. ‘Are you hurt?’
He shakes his head. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
He pulls out a small cloth from his pocket and begins to wipe away the blood that coats his arms and face. I sense Victoria’s unease when she spots the blood, but I decide not to say anything about our fears of contamination. There’s nothing we can do at the moment.
‘What’s your name?’ I call out, peering at him through my mirror.
‘Joseph,’ he says, running a hand through his thin, black hair. ‘I’m from the Philippines. I’ve been here three years.’ He is shaking, and his lips are trembling as he speaks. ‘I’m a maintenance man at the local school, and I work at the Alpine Hotel on the weekends.’
He continues until I interrupt and ask him more details about what had happened. I’m desperate for some answers. He is the first person we have spoken to since it all went to shit.
‘I was at the coffee shop when a crazy woman burst through the doors. She began grabbing customers, biting them one after another like a wild animal. She only stopped when she pinned a woman to the ground and ripped her apart like she was feeding on her.’
It all comes rushing out. He’s obviously still traumatised with what he has been through. ‘The ones who were bitten began to act all strange, convulsing on the floor, while others ran out the door screaming. I hid behind the counter. There was a cricket bat on the wall … a decoration. I used it to knock her down, her and a man, before running out and escaping. I didn’t know what to do. I thought if I waited the crazy people would just leave, but they didn’t. Instead the ones who were bitten changed and began attacking the others cowering on the floor.’
He begins rubbing at his eyes and I see tears fall from his smooth jawline. ‘Mrs Parker was in there, the baker from across the road. She was attacked so fast I didn’t have time to help her. Before I knew it, she was up and attacking someone else.’
I picture my situation in the service station and how terrified I felt. How terrified he must have been to be surrounded by so many all at once and all alone, not knowing what the hell was going on. I had no idea what to do either. Only one thing crossed my mind, and that was to fight back. I can still feel the blade clutched in my hand as I stuck it into the side of the man’s head. How the bone cracked as the blade forced its way through and into the brain. I feel my stomach whirl with guilt. But then again, if I didn’t do what I did I’d be dead too … or would I?
‘It’s the bites you need to look out for,’ he says, gnashing his teeth a few times, imitating the infected humans.
He kind of looks funny, with his face all bunched up and with swollen red eyes. I hold back a laugh. It isn’t the time to be making fun of a man who just survived a horrific attack, even if his imitation is something to laugh at.
‘Bites?’ Victoria asks, furrowing her brow in my direction because I’m smirking. I quickly compose myself, concentrating on the road while he continues.
‘Yeah, bites.’ He leans forward in his seat. ‘Shortly after someone is bitten, they begin to act all strange as if they’re enraged with drugs. They twitch around on the ground like they’re havi
ng a seizure or something. A few moments later they’re up, attacking the closest person. Some even stop to feed …’ his voice trails off.
My insides twist. ‘Kinda makes sense with what we’ve seen.’ I remember the body by the side of the road in the gutter, stomach torn open – eaten.
Joseph peers at me through my mirror. ‘What have you seen?’
‘It’s happening in Canberra too. We think it’s all over the country. We met an Infected at a service station on the way here.’ I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand upright.
‘Infected?’
‘Well yeah, that’s what I’m calling them. An infection of some kind, like a virus has them acting like trained killing machines. Hence, Infected.’
‘They’re not alive either.’ Victoria jumps in. ‘The one at the station, he was no human.’ She shakes her head in disgust. ‘I guess you’ve seen all of that and more. How’d you get onto the awning?’
‘When I ran out the store, another mob was walking in my direction. I ran to the Falcon, which had come off the road. The driver’s door was open. I was about to jump in when another one of those things jumped out at me. I kicked it away and jumped on the hood, then scrambled up onto the awning. And well…’ He shrugs his shoulder. ‘You guys found me.’ He smiles and begins rubbing his chin. ‘You saved my life.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Victoria smiles. She’s pleased with our efforts; we’ve saved another life.
‘What about the blood?’ I ask nervously, looking at his shirt in the mirror. ‘The blood has something in it: a black sort of swirl.’
Joseph shrugs. ‘I never noticed.’
I leave it at that. No need to scare him further. I guess we’ll find out soon enough if it’s infectious.
They’re all along the road, in parks and coming out of houses: hundreds of them, all moving around like they are searching for something or someone. Its freaky as hell, like something out of a movie. And we are the unfortunate actors who are witnessing this apocalypse.
