by West, Mark
The entire scene has my stomach doing flips. I want to help, but I know the risk is high. I can hear the Infected breathing. It’s the sound of pleasure – hunger being satisfied.
The other Infected goes for the man again and grips onto his shirt. It begins pulling at his sleeve, causing the crowbar to fall from his grip with the frantic movements.
Shit! I need to at least try.
I adjust my rifle, aiming for the Infected. It takes only seconds to line up and I pull the trigger. Its head explodes and showers the man’s face in blood. I catch only a moment of pure bewilderment before I’m up on my feet, bag slung over one shoulder, rapidly checking around me. Eight Infected are staring at me in surprise.
I give a faint smile before I take off running, arrogantly enjoying their astonishment. One of them screams for my blood. It’s a sound like nails down a chalkboard and makes me run faster. I won’t let them win today.
Skipping over kids play equipment, I chance a glance behind. Four runners are after me. They are quick, but I am faster. Behind them, the others seem slow. They stagger as if wrapped in heavy chains. They don’t stand a chance of catching me.
I sprint towards a bridge in the distance. The runners are just twenty metres behind. I need to figure out my next move. Shooting that Infected was dumb. I should have never intervened. Victoria will be furious at my recklessness.
When I reach the centre of the bridge, I remove my gun from my shoulder and drop my bag. I’m feeling tired and can sense cramps building in my legs. I have but seconds to decide what I’ll do. I have two choices: fight or dive into the river twenty metres below. Peering over the bridge, I take in the crystal blue water as it flows underneath. It’s inviting, however, below those mesmerising waters could be bull sharks. It’s not worth the risk, and I’ll probably sink from the weight of my bag. I decide to stay and fight.
I’ve lost valuable ground now. I draw my gun and shoot at the closest Infected. It’s a rushed shot, but luckily I hit its neck, removing half its jugular. The Infected falls to the ground, clipping a young boy Infected’s leg and knocking it down also. The pair behind lunge over the fallen bodies and come charging towards me. One is a girl in her teens, another a man around my age, early thirties, muscled. Half of his clothes are torn off, revealing a chest covered in welts and dried blood. It must have fed recently.
I don’t have time to shoot. They are too close. I spin my gun around, gripping the barrel firmly like the handle of a bat. I take an aggressive swing towards the man and hit him in the side of the face, before turning to the girl and doing the same. In the year we survived in this unpredictable world, we learned quickly how to fight. My skills came naturally.
I back up as the pair regain their footing and slowly approach me. The young boy joins the couple. All three advance cautiously, eyes lingering on my gun. I have noticed over the past year that some Infected are beginning to become aware that us “humans” may not be an easy kill. Most Infected charge aimlessly into an attack, a few are more strategic – like the ones at the house. It’s as if they are beginning to learn, coordinate and use their numbers as an advantage. I hate to think of how they could evolve in a few years.
I take another step back towards the railing, contemplating turning my gun around and shooting. But they follow my movements one for one. I decide not to turn my gun; it would be suicide at this point.
Saliva drips from cracked lips as all three bare their teeth. I’m outnumbered and feel that the second choice is about to happen. I approach the metal railing. I spot my bag on the road and curse myself for not holding onto it. It has everything that I have worked so hard to find in the past months. I can come back.
I step backwards and up onto the curb. My butt touches against the metal rail. It’s rounded and low, just below waist height. I just need enough time to turn and jump. Beyond that is unfamiliar territory. But I’m sure I will figure something out.
I sense the trio know what I’m about to do. The woman takes a swing at me. I block it with the gun, and she takes a step back.
It’s now or never.
Before another Infected can act, I throw my gun at them. It spins like a boomerang and hits two of them with as much force as a child’s kick. The gun will be useless in the water and will more than likely sink – not worth the risk.
I turn and jump.
Chapter 4
Sink or swim
Rushing air whistles past my body as I fall. I turn myself into a pin and brace. A second later, my feet hit the water and I plunge deep under the surface.
Salty seawater engulfs my nasal cavities, causing my nose to burn. I begin frantically pulling upwards with my arms. I feel disorientated and kick madly, hoping I’m heading towards the sky and not deeper into the depths of the river. A moment later, sunlight strikes my face and I suck in the fresh air.
I’m alive.
I peer up at the bridge as I bob in the water. The Infected are lingering beside the railing. I’m trying to work out what they are doing when an Infected awkwardly throws itself over the side. The woman tumbles like a pinwheel, snarling, before landing headfirst just metres away.
I begin frantically trying to swim backwards when there is another splash to my right and see a man sink below the water. Something grabs my leg. I call out in fright and kick madly. A bony hand has a hold of my calf and I feel its nails digging through the fabric of my pants. I wince in pain, gulping in a mouthful of seawater.
The salt stings my throat and I start to cough, spitting out the salty water as I try and pull away. ‘Let go of me!’
Its grip tightens and I get pulled under. I peer at the Infected holding my leg, the salt stinging my eyes. It looks like a shadowy blur. It’s not swimming or moving, just latching on like a dead weight, pulling us deeper, submerging us. I kick with my free leg and connect with its face. It doesn’t react. I begin trying to swim upwards with my arms, but it’s useless. My wet clothes are dragging me down; I’m sinking.
A shadow flashes to my right. At first I think it’s the woman. But then I see the flash again. It’s moving through the water like an arrow moves through the air. My insides liquify when I see the fin. It’s a damn shark. Two metres from the surface and my lungs are burning; the shark is nowhere to be seen. I don’t know how much longer before I involuntary suck in water. I'm freaking out.
Is this the end?
They say drowning is the worst way to die. I disagree. The worst way to die is with an Infected latched on to your leg with a shark circling you. But the absolute worst part about all of this is that Victoria and Isabelle won’t know. I will disappear without a trace. No answers.
I kick some more as we continue to sink. The Infected’s grip is causing my leg to throb. I look around, hoping for an opportunity to fight, but all I see is the shadow of the shark whoosh past. It’s a big one, perhaps a few metres – enough to eat us both.
I remember the knife strapped to the back of my pants and reach around, cursing myself for forgetting about it. It’s awkward to grab. My body is beginning to go numb. It won't be long before I pass out.
I unsheathe the blade, jam it into the Infected’s wrist and twist. Blood fills my vision in an angry swirl of black and red.
‘Let go!’ I scream in bubbles. But its grip doesn’t loosen.
I start stabbing blindly and hit flesh a few times, but it does nothing. I let out a gush of bubbles and taste the metallic tinge in the water. It’s awful.
The water begins to churn as I continue to stab blindly. Black spots are filling my vision. I have but seconds before I pass out.
Suddenly I feel a surge of water push me back and I let go of the knife, catching it before it sinks to the floor of the river.
What the hell?
Another wave rocks me to the side. I feel the grip on my leg being released. I instinctively swim upwards. Something clips my face as I pull through the bloody water with the last of my energy. I don’t care. I thrust harder until I break the surface and I’
m free.
The sun is shining like an angel above, masking the horrors below. I’m spluttering, struggling to stay afloat while trying to breathe. The black spots in my vision start to fade, but the silver stars continue to twirl like buzzing flies. I know I must keep swimming. I could have seconds before the shark comes for me. I glance towards the bank. It seems miles away.
Using every and any stroke I can think of, I struggle towards the riverbank. I cover the twenty metres and arrive in one piece. Dragging myself up onto the rocky shore, I collapse on my back gasping for air. I look over to the bridge. Beside the railing is the last Infected staring back at me incredulously. It knows I won.
‘I’m still alive you prick!’ I yell. It causes me to cough and I roll to my side and vomit in the sand.
Body parts are floating to the surface of the river, and the water is stained red and black. Small bubbles float up through the water, reach the air and pop. I wonder what battle is going on underneath?
Sharks are my biggest fear; they scare me more than Infecteds. I was told a story a few years ago about the Brisbane River. It was late at night when a woman saw a man enter the water alone. The river is around three hundred metres wide – a leisurely swim for those who are competent, a little trickier for others. The woman saw the man dive headfirst and disappear into the night. She told the police she thought he was a foreigner. Little do many people know, let alone tourists, that the river holds over 3000 bull sharks. Rivers like this are the same. The sharks swim in from the ocean and feed on the smaller fish before heading back out again. Some stay. That man who jumped into the river was never seen again, and to this day it’s not known if he made it out alive. My guess is he is dead.
Those kinds of stories freak the crap out of me. It’s the not knowing I hate, the “what if”, where you never get the answers. That was almost me.
Eventually, I stand and notice the Infected has disappeared. I’m not too worried about it and know I’ll be long gone before it gets over to this side. Yet a part of me wants it to come. I want revenge.
I leave the pebble shore and walk towards a set of concrete stairs running up through a retaining wall along the river. There is a line of big houses. It seems this is the Richie Rich side of the river.
I stop by the fence of one of the houses and check my surroundings. The grass is long in the backyard, about knee height, with weeds protruding above the grass like mountains. I can’t see clearly into the house because the curtains are drawn, but by the looks of the place it’s abandoned.
I push through the fence and dart quickly behind a pillar by the outdoor pool. I block my nose because the pool smells like sewage; the water is green, and something round is floating in it. I peer through the glass doors. Everything seems normal – untouched.
I look back towards the bridge in the distance and then inside the house. I am eager to return to Victoria but want to have something to bring back after losing my rifle, knife and bag.
To my surprise, I find the back door unlocked and it squeaks irritably as dirt grinds against the rollers. I step inside. My heart is thumping with anticipation that something might jump out, but I know nothing will because my spider senses aren’t tingling. I hold my breath and scan the room, knife lingering by my side.
The first thing I do is make a little noise. Nothing too loud, but enough to bring the unsuspected out from behind a lounge or in a bedroom. I do this for every place I enter. It’s become a kind of ritual. I find the place empty and head for the windows.
I flick back a few curtains, allowing light to pour into the room. Light bounces off marble tiles, stainless steel appliances and stone countertops, turning the room into something magical. The place is in mint condition. It’s a dream home for anyone with a few million bucks, however not as flash as the one we are staying in.
I begin my search downstairs and spot dozens of photographs of a couple in their thirties lining the walls. They are smiling in every photo. Shame they are likely dead; they seemed nice.
Avoiding the fridge, I pack tins of beans, corn and tomatoes into a shopping bag from the kitchen. I remove a butcher’s knife from the drawer and stuff it into my belt, before slipping another shorter blade down the side of my sock. My clothes are dripping wet and I grimace at the uncomfortable feeling of everything sticking to me like glue. By the time I make it to the stairs, muddy footprints pattern the floor. I’m thinking about the life this house once had. It depresses me. I still have no idea if it’s just Australia that has been affected. My guess is it isn’t, because if it was, why hasn’t anyone come to help?
I stop halfway up the stairs and listen. I can hear a low thumping noise and feel the strange tingle under my skin. Someone is home. I reach the top and stare down the long hallway. Doors line either side and each one is eerily shut, reminding me of a unit complex.
I remove the butcher’s knife and angle it in front. The blade is flat and used for one thing – chopping meat. I move cautiously. I feel like Freddy as I creep towards the back room, knife ready to strike. I can hear the thumping more clearly now.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
It’s easy to guess which door the Infected is behind, because it rattles violently as I approach. I bet it can smell me.
‘What you are doing in there?’ I ask smugly.
The Infected growls and I rap my knuckles on the door. I hate all of them, every one of them, for taking away everything I love.
I rap on the door again. ‘I bet you’d like to come out, wouldn’t you?’ I taunt. It continues to snarl, the door shaking harder.
‘You can rot in there!’ I yell.
I turn my back and move towards another closed room. This one isn’t worth the risk.
Chapter 5
The escape
William reaches the other side of the barn, stops and peers at the Infected standing by the doorway, skin blistered and bloodstained. They are watching him closely. They lurch into the room, hands outstretched like monsters from hell. They are terrifying.
William glances at the girls on the opposite wall. Both are clutching the rope, stretching it tight and lifting it off the ground. They seem more frightened than he is.
‘Ready?’ William calls out, unsure why on earth he is doing this.
He is not one to think of others, to risk his own life to help those in need. William has acted alone since day one. But there is something about the pair he likes. Perhaps it’s their age. Perhaps it’s because they make him feel wanted. Or maybe it’s because blue-eyed girl is pretty. Who knows? He just hopes his stupidity doesn’t get him killed.
The blue-eyed girl nods and calls back, ‘Ready!’
William doesn’t wait another moment and starts running. The girls follow suit and run along on the opposite wall. He can feel the rope strain against his skinny arms. His muscles burn, but he doesn’t let go. The Infected do as he has anticipated and move into the middle of the room in confusion.
That’s it, stay still. You’re right where I need you.
He pumps his legs.
Stay still …
The rope pulls at his arms as it hits the first Infected, then again with the other two, tripping them up and knocking them to the ground. William grunts at the pain in his arms but continues running, the rope still in his hand. He gets to the other end of the barn and glances back at the Infected. All three are sprawled out on the ground but are beginning to stand again, saliva dripping from their mouths.
William yells at the girls who are staring in disbelief. ‘Quick, to the door!’
The girls drop the rope and run to the massive barn doors, panting with exhaustion. The Infected catch wind of their escape and are back on their feet, teeth bared and pissed off.
William and the girls run through the doors. Outside, the sun is warm and the air smells clean. No more rotting straw and dreary light. When you don’t have a choice, you deal with it, but boy is he glad to be out, even if they are running for their lives.
William looks around fo
r a safe route, thankful he is unable to spot the hulking giant or any other Infected but fearful of where they might be hiding. On either side are open fields and in front, bushland less than twenty metres away. Behind the barn he spots a house, white with a grey tin roof, seemingly abandoned. But it’s too far to run, and potentially a trap.
He points towards the trees. ‘The bush!’
The girls say nothing and follow, wide-eyed with panic. When they reach the trees, William stops and looks behind, catching his breath. Two Infected are now standing by the porch of the house, a woman, and a child. They seem almost normal, except for the fact the smaller girl is covered in what William can only assume is blood splattered on her clothes.
What are they doing?
The brown-haired girl nudges him in the ribs. ‘Runners!’
She is pointing towards three Infected coming from the barn. It’s the ones they had tripped up.
‘Run!’ he screams, turning back to the bush.
The trio run, ducking and twisting through the scrub like kangaroos escaping a fire. The surface is rocky and full of loose sticks, causing his feet to trip and slip every few steps. But to William’s surprise, the girls keep pace. After ten minutes they stop, sweat pouring from their red faces.
‘Can … you … see … them?’ William pants, one hand resting on a gum tree as he desperately draws in air.
‘Nothing,’ the blue-eyed girl whispers, peering back through the thicket of trees.
‘I … think … we lost … them.’
The brown-haired girl is puffing as much as William, but he can hear the relief in her voice. He listens carefully, but all he can hear is the rustle of leaves in the breeze and their own panting.
‘They must have given up,’ he declares, arching his back, satisfied with his plan.
