“Where’d you get the phone?” Olivia asked.
“Oh, one of the tank drivers is collecting them,” Corrie said. “He’s putting together a database of every song ever made with a plan of launching a streaming service just as soon as normality is restored. I got ten phones from him, and a promise he’ll store all the clips I record if I promise to use his music service on our radio station.”
“What radio station?” Olivia asked.
“I might have implied we’re going to launch one,” Corrie said. “Just as soon as things settle down.”
“You’re telling me there are people who still think it will?” Olivia asked. “I’m not saying I don’t like the idea. I think… yeah, I could see myself as a D.J.”
“I don’t know if it ever will settle down,” Corrie said. “But it might settle into a new normal. Did you see the judge?”
“Saw her, yes,” Olivia said. “Spoke to her, no. She was too busy repairing the returning tanks. What about you did— Wait, is that still recording?”
Corrie checked the phone. “No. And no, I didn’t see Kempton. She was gone. They all were.”
“You mean Trowbridge and Winters?” Olivia asked.
“Yep,” Corrie said. “I looked in the cell to see if Kempton had left a note for us, but no.”
“Huh. That’s a shame,” Pete said.
“You looked inside the cell?” Olivia asked. “Do you mean you picked the locks?”
Corrie shrugged. “I blew the cylinders in the lock-barrel. It’s quicker than picking a lock.”
“If she’d been there, were you going to break her out?” Olivia asked.
Corrie pressed the phone’s power key again, triple-checking it was no longer recording before answering. “Yes. Winters, and Trowbridge and Kempton, are driving to Vancouver Island where a plane will transport them to Guam. Maybe that’ll be Liu’s jet, or maybe that’ll be waiting on the runway, in which case they are bound to ask how Kempton’s private jet is now part of our fleet. Even if they don’t see the plane, in Guam they’ll ask about comms and transport links, and they’ll learn about Liu and the plane, and about us. They’ll want to ask us questions. Canberra won’t refuse. Nor will the general, or whoever’s running Canada. At which point, we’ll be in as much trouble as Kempton.”
“Ah,” Pete said. “Oh.” His shoulders slumped. “So… I mean…” He gave up.
“So if she escaped, we’d be safe,” Olivia asked. “And by we, I really mean Pete.”
“Partly,” Corrie said. “But it’s also the cartel. Tess Qwong will deal with the gangsters we left behind in Broken Hill, but they never had much of an operation down in Australia. Here, it was different. They’re a group that revels in chaos. Forget Trowbridge. Forget that it’s pretty damn obvious the new U.S. government is going to be run by Winters and the CIA. The cartel has an entire continent as their playground. Kempton knows who they are, where they are. She could have slowed them down. I wonder if that’s what she was doing when they caught her.”
“Where did they catch her?” Pete asked. “And how did Trowbridge end up in Canada?”
“I don’t know why,” Corrie said. “But I can guess where. Kempton was building a radio telescope a few hundred kilometres north of here.”
“The ten billion dollar telescope?” Olivia asked. “That’s here?”
“You’ve heard of it?” Pete asked.
“I’d heard of it even before she bought the carpet store,” Olivia said. “It was all over the news.”
“The ten billion price tag included the cost of some new satellites, which is why I paid attention,” Corrie said. “Or as much attention as could be paid out in the bush.”
“You mean it wasn’t actually a telescope?” Pete asked. “It had something to do with that code, and stopping a nuclear war?”
“I don’t think construction had begun,” Corrie said. “But maybe Kempton had people there she thought she could trust. Since she got caught, it hardly matters now.”
“You should have told us,” Pete said.
“About the telescope?” Corrie asked.
“I mean that you were going to try to break her out of jail,” Pete said.
“So you could help, or so you could stop me?” Corrie asked.
“I… yeah, I don’t know,” Pete said.
“The CIA won’t want cartel thugs running loose over America any more than we do,” Olivia said. “And they’re better placed to do something about it than Kempton. In the long run, I think this has worked out for the best.”
“Leaving us to do what?” Pete asked.
Corrie fished out a pair of phones. “Leaving us to let other people talk, and in return, get a fish supper.”
6th March
Chapter 32 - Unhappy Endings
Wawa
“I was looking for you lot last night,” Judge Benton said, wiping her grease-stained hands on an equally greasy rag. “I had three bunks and a nice basket waiting.” She pointed towards the dark office at the back of the workshop.
“Sorry,” Olivia said. “We got talking to some tank drivers up by the lake about the battle. When it got dark, we stuck with them, and did a stint on guard duty to the north. Do you know where we can find Corporal Lacoona?”
“Sergeant Lacoona,” the judge said. “And she left, about an hour before dawn.”
“She’s already gone?” Pete asked.
“Back to Marathon with the next batch of refugees for the ferry,” the judge said. “You’ve missed your ride. And let me save you the trouble of asking if I have a vehicle to spare, because every last one is playing ambulance. All being well, they, and the other vehicles down in Marathon, will return here tomorrow. Until then, if you want to get back to Australia, it’ll be on foot.”
“Actually, we had a different idea,” Corrie said. “We wanted Corporal, I mean Sergeant Lacoona, to take a message back to Thunder Bay for us, to be sent on to Canberra, but we didn’t want to go with her. We would like some paint if you can spare it.”
“Paint? Help yourself to any you can find,” Benton said, waving at the shelves. “What for?”
“I’ll show you,” Corrie said. She crossed to the shelves bracketed to the wall, quickly scanning them until she found a small jar of white primer and a rag to use as a brush. “Perfect. Pete, you first.”
A minute later, she’d painted a word on the front and back of his body armour.
“Press?” Benton asked. “You’ve appointed yourselves as journalists?”
“It’s shorter than camera crew,” Olivia said. “And aren’t we all self-appointed now?”
“Not all of us,” Judge Benton said. “I was very definitely appointed. I remember the ceremony quite clearly.”
“Fair dinkum,” Corrie said. “But you’ve acquired the status of Canada’s, maybe the world’s, most senior judge because there’s no one else. There don’t seem to be any other journalists. Not here, or in Thunder Bay, or Nanaimo, South Bend, or even Broken Hill. Nowhere we’ve travelled.”
“There’s no news outlets, either,” the judge said. “Not unless you count a few remote radio stations broadcasting conspiracy theories and warnings to stay away. Of course, if they really wanted people to stay away, they’d stop broadcasting. How do you intend to disseminate the news you’re creating?”
“We haven’t figured that out yet,” Olivia said. “But there should be a record of all of this. Trowbridge, the general, the battle, the war, you, us. All of this is history, and I want there to be a future, a time when we look back at this past and are thankful it’s no longer the present.”
“Now that’s a notion I can get my head around and my shoulder behind,” the judge said. “I’ll officially authorise you, for all that’s worth. I take it that means you want to come with us today, rather than wait for the next convoy back to Marathon?”
“Go with you where?” Olivia asked.
“To continue the war,” the judge said.
Half an hour later, they were
ready to leave. Corrie had been recruited as the judge’s driver, with Pete and Olivia following behind. With only a single APC at their backs, they were travelling aboard two tow trucks at the very rear of the convoy. Far ahead were the tanks and construction equipment turned into mobile fighting platforms. And far, far ahead were the helicopters, scouting for the next battlefield.
Due to the sheer size of the advancing column, different vehicles had been given different routes and waypoints. Theirs, and the judge’s, were North Bay, and then Whitney, some eight hundred kilometres east-southeast. But everyone’s final destination was similarly vague. They were aiming for the Saint Lawrence. Where, precisely, and whether it was closer to Quebec or Toronto, depended as much on the undead as the living. Ultimately, the river would become a defensive line. The cities would be evacuated, while the towns would be fortified, the civilians enlisted and prepared for an assault south to liberate the United States.
“This isn’t bad,” Pete said.
“A drive through Canada? I can think of worse ways to spend the day.” Olivia grinned. “Am I being super-naive, or does it really seem like the worst is over?”
“The war’s only just begun, hasn’t it?” Pete said.
“It’s not really a war, though,” Olivia said. “I mean, yes, there’ll be fighting and danger, but it’s mostly logistics.” She pulled out a road map, turning to the back, which had a miniature map of Canada. “Secure Quebec, Montreal, Ottawa, Toronto, then Detroit. Then we sweep across Michigan and Indiana, curving back up towards the border.”
“The old border,” Pete said. “You notice how that’s what the judge called it.”
“Hey, if she wants to call this an invasion, I’m fine with that,” Olivia said. “We can worry about a Canadian land-grab after we’ve dealt with the zombies. I suppose we’ll be heading back through South Bend.”
“Are you okay with that?” Pete asked.
“It doesn’t really matter if I’m not,” Olivia said. “But I’m travelling with an army this time. I wish the plans were a bit more developed after we reach Indiana. I suppose they can’t be until they know how many troops can be gathered in Nova Scotia and British Columbia, and whether those planes can be salvaged.”
“That’s something good that came out of yesterday,” Pete said. “Those flight attendants telling us about all those hundreds of planes in Atlanta.”
“There’ll be other airports like that,” Olivia said. “And if we can get the planes, and secure the runways, we can fly the troops in from British Columbia. From the Pacific. From Australia. That’s what I mean, it feels like we’re at a turning point.”
“Yeah, but we’re not actually taking back the cities,” Pete said. “We’re just trying to get the civilians out. Did you notice that? And did you notice the plan is to take control of the Great Plains? There’s no plan for retaking the East Coast, or California, Texas, or most of the South.”
“Because it’s not a plan to save America,” Olivia said. “Secure the farmland, secure the people, and then send them overseas. The general isn’t just talking about survival, she’s trying to save the entire world.”
“And that’s why you’re optimistic? This army is big, sure, but it’s not big enough to take one city, let alone an entire continent.”
“Most of a continent,” Olivia said. “And only by area, but it won’t just be the general. It’ll be everywhere else. I know the U.S. is a mess. But even if Winters and the CIA are now in charge, that’s better than chaos. There’ll be other people like the general, all over the world. Like in Australia, right? And the Pacific. We’re not doing this alone. That’s why I’m… no, I won’t say optimistic. Not exactly. Everything has been so bleak over the last few weeks. Each day, things got worse. But I think, now, they’re going to get better.”
It was nearing midday when the tow truck in front abruptly swerved, and just as abruptly braked.
Olivia jumped out before Pete had stopped. A second later, rifle in hand, he was following her over to the truck. The door opened, and Rufus jumped down, angrily shaking his coat as he turned a quick circle.
“It’s fine,” Corrie said waving her hands as, behind them, the soldiers in the APC also jumped down. “Just a flat.”
The tow truck’s front right tyre had blown.
“I should have thought of this,” the judge said, eyeing the three spares balanced in the back, secured to the truck’s tow cable. “I planned for us having to repair the military vehicles, not each other.”
“The tyres won’t fit?” Pete asked.
“Far too large,” the judge said. “Same as the tyres you’ve got. The spares for the civilian vehicles are on the flatbed up ahead.”
They all turned to stare at the empty road.
“We could tow one truck with the other?” Pete said.
“Which would defeat the point of having the tow trucks in the first place,” the judge said. “And we can’t afford to leave one of these behind. It’s not just the tyres. I’ve got the actuators aboard. We’ll have to go ahead, get a spare, and come back. Pile in, then,” she added, making for the second tow truck. “Wait, no, that won’t work. If we’ve got to tow someone else, further ahead, we can’t leave their passengers by the roadside, and there’s no space in the APC. I should have considered this.”
“But people would be safe in a vehicle,” Olivia said. “We can wait here. It’s only for a few hours, and it seems quiet enough. If we have to, we’ll hide inside.”
“Fine, yes, good,” the judge said. “I’m sorry about this. But I’ll be back soon. Or someone will. Before nightfall. Almost certainly. But… ah… yes. Sergeant, do you have the spare machine gun? And the ammunition? In case we’re not back before dark.”
Pete took the machine gun uncertainly, but before he could ask how to operate it, the judge had boarded the APC. The soldiers climbed aboard, and before Pete could properly frame the question, they’d driven off.
“Nightfall,” he said, glancing up at the sky. Clouds were slowly gathering, but it didn’t feel like rain. Not yet. “At least there are no zombies,” he said. “Why do you think he gave us this machine gun?”
“In case more zombies follow the sound of the engines to the road, and so are now behind us,” Corrie said.
“More zombies?” Pete asked. “I didn’t see any.”
“You didn’t see the corpses by the roadside?” Corrie asked. “Must have been killed by people further ahead in the column.”
“Oh,” Pete said. “Right.” He carried the machine gun over to the tow truck. “I think I might wait inside the cab. What do you say, Rufus?”
But the dog was staring at the trees.
“What is it, Rufus?” Olivia asked. She sniffed. “Is that smoke?”
“Wood smoke? From a campfire?” Corrie asked.
“Maybe from a cooking fire,” Olivia said. “What do you say, Pete?”
“You mean do I think we should walk randomly through this forest? Yeah, no.”
“There’s a track up there,” Olivia said. “A logging track, I suppose.”
“It’s just wood smoke,” Corrie said, walking back to the tow truck. She leaned up, peering at the gear inside. “So, either it’s a campfire, or it’s a forest fire. Yep, thought I saw one.” She jumped back down, but now holding a fire extinguisher.
“I don’t think that’d put out a forest fire,” Pete said.
“Nope,” Corrie said. “But if that’s what’s burning, the extinguisher will help us get back to the road. We’d need to get out of here, on foot, and the firebreak is about five kilometres back that way. But I don’t think it is a forest fire. I think it’s a cook-fire. Rufus?”
Rufus fell into step next to Corrie as she walked towards the overgrown track.
Pete sighed.
“Oh, don’t be so glum,” Olivia said. “Think of this as a news story.”
“A forest fire?” Pete asked.
“No, a city guy fighting a forest fire with a fire extingu
isher. I bet that would make some of the Canadians smile.”
“You’re not helping, Livy,” he said.
From the frost-coated tyre marks and snapped low branches, someone had recently driven down the track, though it was in such bad repair, it couldn’t have had much traffic since the summer. When Pete saw the rickety cabin, he revised his opinion. Few people had been this way since the turn of the millennium.
The house itself, a compact two-storey chalet, would have been at home in any suburb, and looked out of place here in the woods. For fifty metres around the house, the ground had been partially cleared, and long ago. Trees had been felled, though their stumps remained, and around them, grass had been left to grow. In the very recent past, someone had inexpertly hacked furrows in the frozen soil. The pick they’d used had been left discarded in the dirt. The smoke tumbling from the tall metal chimney bolted to the side of the house said the wannabe-farmer hadn’t fled far.
“Hiya? Anyone home?” Olivia called. No reply came. The smoke trail came from a thin metal chimney bolted to the side of the house, emerging from the wall in the upper floor.
“We best ring the bell,” Pete said.
“I’ll keep watch,” Corrie said. “Something’s spooked Rufus.”
“I always wanted a garden like this,” Olivia said as they walked over to the small house.
“You mean full of tree stumps?” Pete said.
“Like how this place will be after another month of work,” Olivia said. “I never understood the point of lawns. I wanted a garden for growing food.”
“Maybe somewhere not as remote as this,” Pete said. “I want people around me. Now more than ever.”
“Me, too,” Olivia said. “So somewhere like this, but in town? I like how you described Broken Hill, but Thunder Bay wouldn’t be too bad. Definitely not South Bend.”
“Nope. Not South Bend,” Pete agreed. “The door’s blocked. And the windows are all covered.”
“There must be a way in, though,” Olivia said. Slowly, they walked the house’s perimeter, keeping close to the wall as they tried to peer through the covered windows. Beneath their feet, the ground was made uneven by the discarded dirt from the shallow trenches dug for vegetable plots.
Surviving The Evacuation | Life Goes On (Book 2): No More News Page 26
