by Watts, Russ
Evan meandered down the rows of boxes, looking for anything useful. He needed to refocus and forget the argument with Karyn. He began rifling through one box and grabbed a couple of blankets that might be handy later. He opened another box, full of clothes. He sorted through it, past t-shirts with ‘I love Melbourne’ on them, and at the bottom of the box, found an olive-green jumper. Picking it up, he swooned and grabbed the shelf to stop himself from falling. A memory jolted through him of his wife, wearing a jumper just like this one.
He slid to the floor holding the jumper to his chest and closed his eyes. He and his wife were standing side by side on a pier. He could almost smell the sea-salt air. They were waving. He saw the boat, ‘Lemuria,’ again in front of them. The picture gradually came into focus. His children, Charlie and Anna were waving, standing tall and proud on the boat’s deck. They were shouting goodbyes. Evan smothered his face with the jumper. He had left them on that boat for their usual summer holiday. He vaguely remembered turning to his wife, kissing her, and saying it was okay, that they would be back in a week to pick them up. Then what? His mind went blank again and the picture faded. Damn it, why couldn’t he remember?
Evan pressed his palms against his eyes, pushing down on them, patches of light fading in and out of the black-red mist, swirling around. He screwed his eyes shut tighter and the orange circles were replaced by pools of deeper black: bursts of magenta and crisp dark blue shimmering in and out of focus. Opening his eyes again, Evan’s head felt lighter. The horrible fluorescent lights were still there but the pain that had been building in him had subsided. He took a deep breath and clutched the green jumper to his chest closer, trying to remember anything else useful, hoping he could kick-start his brain.
Another memory flowed through his mind and sent shivers down his body; the woman on the tarmac lying beside him had been wearing a green jumper too. That familiar face, so pale in death, was his wife. So he had known her. It was his wife, his poor wife. She must have been on the plane with him. Evan began crying for his lost wife, muffling his sobs into the jumper. As he lamented his wife, his tears dried up. He found he was grieving the idea of her but could remember little about her in reality. What was her name? When was her birthday? What was her favourite food? How long had they even been married? All he had to hold onto was this memory of them together waving at their children.
It struck him that this particular memory must be important, such as it was being the only one he really had of her. Or maybe it was a recent memory. Waving at their children on the boat...he mused and tried to recollect when it was. What was it Charlie had said in his dreams?
“We come here every year.”
‘Every year.’ He and his wife took the children to their granddads yacht on Tasmania every year for a holiday. Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. What was the date today? He pictured the calendar that Joe had been waving around earlier. Was it January 23, 24? That would mean it was school holidays now. ‘Every year.’
Evan was overcome with emotion. Grief for his wife weaved uneasily through him alongside relief. His children had to be on that boat: that was where they were trapped. He and his wife had dropped them off as usual and were headed back home, as they did every year, but then their plane had crashed. He tried to picture home. Was it in Melbourne? His head hurt as much as it had that day on the tarmac. He could not envisage the street or the house where they lived. He buried his head in the jumper, remembering his wife, and hoping he would find a way to his children soon.
* * * *
As the afternoon dragged by, Evan busied himself exploring the warehouse and regularly checked the loading bay. He needed to keep his mind focused. He had lost his wife; he did not want to lose his children. Each time he went out to the loading bay, it seemed quieter. The grill wasn’t shaking as much and the moaning noises outside had lessened. He was sure the zombies were losing interest. Eventually, the grill didn’t move at all anymore. Just the very occasional knocking sound as if someone half-heartedly wanted to come in but wasn’t quite sure or was just brushing past it.
Evan had found Amane sleeping beside George, but finally, desperate to talk to her, he woke her, unable to wait any longer. He put a hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her until she woke. Kneeling down beside her, he whispered in her ear, putting his finger to his lips.
“Hey, I didn’t want to wake George, but I need to show you something.”
Amane rolled her head on her shoulders, waking herself up, and traipsed behind him. By the ladder outside the office, she paused, noticing he seemed distracted.
“Are you okay?” she said, touching his arm warmly, “You look a bit pale. Has something happened?”
“No, it’s fine.” He ushered her up the ladder but she knew something wasn’t right. His words had a distinct lack of conviction, yet before, he had been so direct and confident.
They padded across the grimy storage area above the office, and she followed him up through the rooftop doorway. He intimated to her that they should be quiet. Once up on the roof in the sunshine, she kept low and sat down next to Joe. The murmurs from below were un-nerving.
“Over there,” Joe said to her, as quietly as he could in his gravelly voice.
She shielded her eyes from the sun and looked to where Joe was pointing whilst Evan sat down next to her. It was a house, over the road from the warehouse, looking like every other house in its row, except for one thing. Beneath an upstairs window, someone had hung out a sheet and painted on it in deep crimson letters:
HELP – ALIVE
Amane looked worriedly from Joe to Evan. “Have you seen them? Who’s in there?”
“We don’t know. I didn’t see it at first,” said Evan in a hushed voice. “I showed Joe up here and he saw it.”
“I’ve not seen anyone,” admitted Joe, “and I’ve been out here quite a while now.” There were discarded cigarette butts littering the rooftop around his feet. “Look at the front door.”
A dozen or so zombies were pressed against it, scratching at the wooden door, pounding at the brickwork, leaving bloody handprints behind.
“Fuck,” she said. ”We can’t just leave them.”
“We agree on that, but,” said Joe, gravely, “to play devil’s advocate for a minute, we don’t know who is in there or in what state. When we get out of here, it’s going to be risky trying to get in there and we don’t know what we’re going to find. Is it worth taking a chance on something that could be nothing?”
Amane scanned the house. She couldn’t tell if there were any lights on due to the glare from the sun’s rays hitting the windows. The road between the warehouse and the house was empty, save a few decrepit corpses straggling behind the rest on the road to nowhere.
“Come down, I want to talk about it inside where it’s safer.” Evan led the way down and they filed down after him, congregating back in the office.
“Look, when we do go, we can’t just leave them. I’m sure someone is in there or those zombies wouldn’t be so keen to get in, would they? We have to at least try,” said Evan. He was glad to be able to talk about this. He didn’t want the responsibility squarely on his shoulders.
“Nearly four o’clock. We should go soon. I don’t want to try doing this in the dark. You know, no matter how long we wait, there’s always going to be some of those things out there,” Joe countered.
“I know,” agreed Evan, “we’re going to have to move quickly.”
“That truck out there is running on fumes, but it’ll get us to one of the other trucks in the lot. Be safer than running for it.” said Joe.
Evan was filling backpacks with their abundant bounty: medicine, blankets, food, cans of drink, matches.
“Okay, stick with me here, I’ve got an idea” Evan said. “I’ll run for it to the house. The back garden looked empty. I can smash the window and get in there in two seconds. You two get another truck, swing back here to pick Karyn and George up, then get me and whoever I find in that house.�
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Joe began stuffing his backpack with his essentials: cigarettes, lighters, booze.
“I don’t know,” said Amane, “for all we know, they’re dead, or dying in there and we could be risking ourselves for nothing. What if you get hurt, Evan?”
“I have no intention of being eaten thank you, I’ll be careful. I just couldn’t live with myself knowing we left someone who might need our help. Look, you take the backpacks into the truck. I need to be quick on my feet, so all I’m taking with me is a weapon. I’ll grab one of those hockey sticks.”
Evan picked one up and examined it. One end had a carving knife wrapped around it, securely held in place by thick layers of masking tape.
“Let’s do this now,” he said. “This waiting’s killing me.”
Joe and Amane nodded in silent agreement. He stuck his head out of the office.
“Ten minutes, Karyn. Get George and pack up, we’re leaving.”
* * * *
As Joe helped Karyn gather together the few measly things she had managed to muster up, and explain to her and George what was going on, Amane walked with Evan to the metal grill.
“Just give me a five minute head start, okay?” he said, brandishing the homemade weapon.
“Sure.” Amane looked at him seriously. “Evan, what’s wrong. I mean, more than the obvious, there’s something wrong, I can tell.”
Evan sat down on the cold steps in the loading bay and glanced over his shoulder at the door behind them. As she sat down too, he explained to her in a few words how he had woken up on the tarmac, met Joe and Karyn in the hangar, and eventually met with her and Miguel. She listened intently, not interrupting or hurrying him.
“I told you I couldn’t remember anything before that day and that’s true. But earlier I found a jumper. Nothing special, but it reminded me of my wife. I remembered her from the airport. She’s dead.”
Amane rubbed his back as Evan choked up. He wiped his eyes and continued.
“I also remembered my children. They’re on that boat, Amane. My wife is gone, but my kids, Charlie and Anna, I have to find them, I have to.”
He stood up, hearing footsteps approaching. Amane gave Evan a hug.
“They’ll be okay, Evan,” she whispered in his ear. He held her, the presence of her warm body against his reassuring him as much as her words.
Joe came through the door as they released each other.
“Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” said Evan. “You talk to her and George? They know what the plan is?”
Joe nodded.
“All sorted, mate. Good luck.” Joe shook Evan’s hand firmly. “We’ll pick you up in five minutes.”
“Don’t be late,” said Evan, giving Joe and Amane one last look. He hit the button to roll the grill up and slid out quickly when it was a few feet over the ground. Joe rolled it down, listening to Evan’s footsteps diminishing as he ran.
CHAPTER SIX
Evan’s race across the car park was surprisingly easy. Most of the zombies had indeed left, leaving him to dodge through the few standing easily. He sprinted around the warehouse and down the road unhindered, ignoring the feeble arms and hands reaching for him. Jumping over a low wooden fence, he landed in the back garden of the house. One large window showed him it was dark and quiet inside. Evan wasted no time and smashed the window with the hockey stick. The noise instantly alerted inquisitive zombies and Evan rushed through the big bay window he had knocked out.
The room was dim, but clean, and he could make out two open doorways flanking a huge flat-screen television. One door led to a small kitchen, the other to a hallway. He could hear the sounds of the approaching dead and had to take a chance.
“Hey, anyone here?” he called out loudly.
He heard movement upstairs and went to the foot of the stairs in the hallway. At the top were closed doors and Evan called out again.
“I’m here to help! Hello?”
He heard more movement and tensed, preparing to run. A door opened and a young girl walked out. A pale face looked down at Evan.
“Are you alone?” she said, timidly, sizing Evan up.
“No, my friends are outside. We’ve got a truck and we’re getting out of the city. We saw your sign. Are your parents here? Are you hurt?”
She relaxed, realising Evan evidently wasn’t going to harm her.
“I’m okay. My dad’s in Canberra and my mum went to church yesterday to pray, but I haven’t seen her since. I put the sign up this morning but you’re the first person I’ve seen: other than those things out there.”
She walked down the stairs and Evan was glad she was alone. He wasn’t sure what he’d have done if a whole family had appeared. The girl was about fifteen or sixteen, dressed in black jeans and a skin-tight black top that looked like it had been sprayed on.
“I’m Lily,” she said, “Um, look, can you take me with you? I can’t stay here anymore. I’m not stupid, I know my mum’s not coming back.” She precociously swung a tiny handbag over her shoulder.
Evan could see her clearer as she got to the bottom of the stairs. Her hair was tied back in a thick ponytail and she’d caked the make-up on a little too thick.
“Sure, but we need to hurry, okay?” Evan heard the moaning and groaning of the dead worryingly close now. A few zombies had gotten into the house through the broken window and were stumbling around in the lounge. One of them, an old Chinese man in a tatty, torn bath-gown, suddenly appeared in the doorway beside Evan. Lily screamed.
Evan instinctively sliced the bladed hockey stick through the air, tearing the zombie’s throat out in one swoop. It reeled backwards and stumbled into three more zombies, all converging on the doorway.
“Come on!”
Evan grabbed Lily’s hand and they ran down the hallway into the kitchen. Through the tiny window, Evan saw the front yard was swarming with zombies, thrashing and gnashing, desperate to get into the house. He saw a white van screech to a halt on the road.
“That’ll be our ride,” he said to Lily. “Look, I know this is crazy, but our best bet is the way I came in. Just follow me and run to the van. Don’t stop for anything, all right?”
“Okay,” she said, trembling. Lily’s bright red fingernails were digging into Evan’s hands. He let go and charged back down the hallway into the lounge. Using the hockey stick like a battering ram, he speared the first zombie that lunged for him, knocking it over. He pulled his makeshift spear out and swinging it over his head, sent it smashing into another’s head. Another zombie grabbed his arm and he shook it free. He rammed the hockey stick upwards, the blade entering through the chin and penetrating its brain. The zombie tottered backward unsteadily with the tip of the knife sticking out of its head. As Evan yanked the hockey stick back, the knife refused to budge and tore free from the stick, permanently lodged in the zombie’s head.
“Run!”
Evan jumped through the bay window with a terrified Lily in tow. In the garden were more zombies: lots of them. He couldn’t possibly fight them all in such close proximity. Head down, he charged through them like a bowling ball, hoping that the snapping teeth wouldn’t catch him. The zombies flailed and failed to get a decent hold on him or Lily. He jumped the fence and Lily followed in his wake. She saw the van and raced ahead of him. Evan saw the back door was open and Amane was swiping at anything coming close, knives slicing through skin, shaving off fingers, keeping the clamouring zombies at bay. Lily jumped up and Karyn helped pull her into the safety of the van.
Evan suddenly slipped and fell. His hockey stick flew out of his hands and he felt fingers curl around his leg as he fell to the ground. He lashed out, trying to kick free but the grip was too strong. The zombie’s other hand grabbed him at the knee. Evan saw the remains of the dead dog he had slipped in and thought how stupid he was. Trying to wriggle himself free, he began punching the zombie on the head so it could not get a stronghold. It was another old man: larger though and a lot less fragile than the one in
the house.
Evan rapidly brought his fist down, again and again, on the man’s bald head, feeling his knuckles strike bone through blanched, leathery skin. The zombie could not bite Evan being jostled about and it looked up at its prey. Evan landed a left-hook that broke the zombies jaw, but did not dislodge its grip. He saw a dozen more zombies only feet away and felt almost overwhelmed by the futility of what he was trying to beat. He frantically felt around for his hockey stick, but it had fallen frustratingly out of reach.
Just as the zombie was preparing to take a chunk out of Evan’s leg, an axe butchered its way through its head, smashing onto the tarmac road, taking the old man’s face off in one clean slice. The death grip on his legs disappeared, and with nothing holding him down, Evan scrambled to his feet. Amane grabbed him and with the axe in her other hand, ran to the van dragging Evan along with her.
“Come on, hurry!”
With no time to thank her, they both jumped into the van that roared off, leaving a trail of bloodthirsty, dissatisfied zombies stumbling after them. From the safety of the van, George watched the crowd of zombies. One little girl, throat ripped out, stumbled after them on stiff legs, her arms outstretched. One hand still held tightly onto a ragged doll and George watched her until she disappeared from sight.
Joe drove as fast as he could, knocking down anyone, or anything that got in his way. Zombies bounced off the van, spinning and bouncing away onto the verge, sometimes careening right under the van. Joe felt them crunch satisfactorily.
Leaving the hungry zombies behind him, Joe picked his way carefully through the city. George was strapped into the passenger seat beside him staring at the foot-well, purposefully avoiding looking at what was in front of him through the windshield. The others rolled around in the back of the van, trying to steady themselves as Joe lurched and swerved down the road. It was a small van with small seats and even smaller windows on the side. It did not offer much of a view.
