by West, Mark
I place Isabelle on a mat covered in cartoon farm animals.
‘It’s good to be home,’ I lie.
I would much rather be out and about than being trapped in a house like a prisoner. Not that Victoria makes me feel like one, I just hate not being able to roam free. It’s a feeling that grows in me every day.
Victoria gives me a concerned look. ‘Will you go back tomorrow to try and find him?’
I shrug. ‘Not sure yet. I doubt he will still be there.’
I watch Isabelle for a moment before turning back to Victoria. She’s studying me.
‘They were waiting for them,’ I say calmly.
‘Who? The Infected?’
I nod. ‘Yep.’
I explain about the attack and how I think they planned the entire thing.
Victoria’s eyes grow wide with fear. ‘Oh god, Jackson.’
‘We need to be careful; doors locked at all times. I’m going to stay up and keep watch tonight in case I was followed.’
Victoria shakes her head. ‘You need to rest. I’ll take watch. I managed to get a few hours rest today while Isabelle slept.’
I peer down at Isabelle and watch as she kicks wildly in the air. I can’t believe she is almost six months. It’s more than either of us had hoped.
‘Are you sure? I just need a few hours and I should be good to take over.’
I think back to the horrific birth, remembering the anxiety I felt as Isabelle was squeezed out on the back seat of a limousine. It was scary as hell. We didn’t expect her to come so quickly. How naive we were.
Victoria smiles and takes my hands. ‘You do enough for this family. Let me do something.’ She looks down at her stomach. ‘The baby bump is gone, Jackson. I’m not as useless as you may think.’
I don’t think that at all, in fact, my biggest fear is that I may lose her – Isabelle too. That’s why I keep them both cooped up in this place twenty-four-seven. If Isabelle is to grow up without a mother because of me, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, let alone keep her alive.
‘I don’t think you’re useless. I just worry about your safety, that’s all.’
Victoria abruptly pulls away. ‘Well, you need to stop worrying. I have been through just as much as you, Jackson.’
She walks over and tickles Isabelle’s belly, seemingly distracting herself from saying anything further. I watch the pair, wondering what I would do if I lost them, wondering who I would become. If Victoria knew my secret, what would she think of me? Would she allow me near our daughter?
I wonder if Isabelle is like me?
So far, Isabelle hasn’t bled, and I don’t plan to hurt her to solve my curiosity. I’ll wait, and when she does, I’ll look for that black swirl.
‘Are you hungry? Shall I get dinner started?’ I ask and crouch down next to Victoria, place a hand on her back and rub it gently. ‘I don’t think you’re useless,’ I whisper.
Victoria turns to me with glassy eyes. ‘What if we lost her, Jackson?’
‘I won’t let that happen. We won’t let that happen,’ I say.
But in my mind, that’s my biggest fear.
Chapter 10
Peekaboo!
The relentless moaning and banging on the door is driving Amy nuts. She knows she can’t delay the inevitable forever. Plus the temperature is rising as light pours in and the room feels like a sauna.
Amy scoops the last remains from a tin of beans, tosses the can on the floor and stands, body tense and sweaty.
Time I left this dump.
A search of the two-bedroom place had produced another spare knife and some fresh underwear. She stuffed them both into her backpack. She could never have enough undies.
With no balcony, Amy knows the only way to escape is back from where she has come. The unknown is how many are waiting for her. She peers at the gun holstered to the side of her jeans. Fortunately, she has enough rounds left to shoot her way through, that’s if she aims well. But it’s not just that she is concerned about, it’s the noise the gun will make. She hopes it doesn’t attract more Infected than she can handle.
Amy moves towards the door reciting the plan in her head, body shaking. ‘You got this, Amy,’ she says sternly and holds the gun out in front of her. Breathing in deeply, she reaches for the handle: stance rigid and ready for whatever comes next. In a swift motion, she turns the handle and pulls the door, allowing it to swing freely open. Three Infected are waiting. They lunge at the sight of fresh meat. Amy doesn’t hesitate and opens fire.
One by one, heads explode in flashes of red, bodies falling in a tangle. Amy shuts her eyes as the last collapses to the ground. It never gets any easier. Trying to ignore the mutilated skulls, she cautiously steps over the Infected and peers down the long corridor. Empty. Before any more arrive, drawn to the sound, Amy grabs her bag and runs down the stairs. As she reaches the last step, a figure jumps out on her. It’s a woman, middle-aged, sour-faced and ugly as hell. Amy raises her gun, but it’s knocked out of her hand, causing it to spin across the floor.
‘Shit!’
The woman slaps Amy across the face and attempts to pull her in. Her eyes water and the woman snarls in delight. Amy wipes her eyes on her sleeve and draws her knife.
‘Get out of my way!’
Lunging forward, she stabs the knife into the woman’s chest and pushes her out through the open door and into the sunlight. She pulls the blade free and stabs again, slashing the woman in the neck and slicing it open. Blood flows from the wound like a waterfall, spilling out onto the concrete pavement. The red and black fluid bubbles in the heat.
The woman grasps her wounds, eyes locked on Amy. She tries to stand up straight, her legs wobbly, but Amy raises her boot and kicks her chest, sending her tumbling onto the bloodied pavement where she bucks on the ground.
In the distance, Amy can hear heavy footsteps. More are coming. She looks back at the open door and spots her gun lying on the ground. It’s impossible to find a gun in Australia, let alone ammo. This one still has bullets left. To abandon it now is stupidity, even if she can see shadows emerging from down the road.
Quickly she runs back inside the building, ignoring the moaning woman spitting blood. She snatches up the gun and runs back outside. Over a dozen Infected are coming towards her: legs stamping furiously, mouths foaming.
‘Shit!’
Amy turns and runs in the opposite direction with only one plan on her mind – find Jackson and Victoria.
Chapter 11
The return of no one
A black dog circles curiously around a clump of grass, sniffing before deciding to cock its leg and urinate. Behind, footsteps approach, prompting the dog to pause and turn its square head. A six-foot man is staring down at it with glassy eyes, muscles tense. The man is wearing a grey jacket and jeans, both of which are torn and covered in dried blood.
The dog snorts, recognising the man to be its Master, and continues with its business. The Master gives no response. He turns from the animal and begins walking along a cracked pavement, stopping a moment later to peer into the sky. The sun is high and there is not a wisp of cloud. It seems like a perfect day. The Master closes his eyes, basking in the sunlight, as if recalling a distant memory.
The dog barks moments later, breaking the Master’s concentration. The Master looks over, noticing the animal is scratching furiously at the side of an abandoned car, begging for his attention. He grunts and walks towards the vehicle.
Inside, the Master spots a woman and her son cowering on the back seat of an old Honda Accord. They are softly pleading at the dog to leave, but as the Master comes into view, the woman’s face drains of colour.
The Master peers into the rear window, watching the terrified woman; her child buried under her arm. The dog continues to scrape at the door, barking madly and jumping about trying to get at what is on the other side. The Master takes no notice as if hypnotised by what he sees. He runs his fingers along the edge of the vehicle, tapping the glass,
captivated by the occupants. He makes a long, low groan, as if battling some infernal demon in his head, before clenching his fist and punching the side of the car, leaving a dent in the panelling as he withdraws his hand. Blood drips from his cracked knuckles. But the injury doesn’t stop him; he repeats the action several more times. The occupants remain silent.
The woman begins shaking uncontrollably, raising her hands in submission, begging for him to go away. But he does not listen and remains watching. The child releases its bladder, staining the seat. It begins crying hysterically. The mother places a hand over its mouth in an attempt to keep it quiet, but the child wriggles free.
‘Mummy please!’ the child whimpers.
The mother shakes her head, trying to cover the child with her body.
‘Leave us alone!’
But the Master doesn’t back away. The dog eventually goes silent. No one is making a sound, except for the soft sobbing of the child. The Master reaches towards the handle. The woman realises the door is unlocked and dives to lock it. But she’s too late; the latch is released.
She backs away, shrieking in terror.
The Master opens the door slowly and stares at the pair with a blank expression. Both woman and child are sobbing, tears streaming down their faces. The woman reaches down and pulls a blanket from a bag, lifting it over them as if trying to create a shield.
‘Focus on me sweetie. I love you,’ she says, trying unsuccessfully to keep the tremor out of her voice.
The Master takes a step back from the open door. The woman peers over the blanket as he turns his back and begins to walk away. She leans forward towards the open door, hand shaking, but then pauses when the Master stops, unsure whether to continue or wait to see what happens next.
The Master looks down at the Rottweiler by his side. Its sturdy hind legs bulge with muscle. It stares right back. The Master clicks his tongue and the pair walk away.
Chapter 12
The watch
It’s dark outside, the air brisk and the wind just a whisper. Victoria is sitting alone, a woollen jacket hugging her shoulders. It’s her turn to keep watch while Jackson sleeps.
She leans towards a wicker basket beside her and removes a knitted blanket, draping it across her legs, grateful it’s not raining. She peers up at the twinkling stars and smiles. They are beautiful tonight, not a dapple of unnatural light to interfere with the magic.
Victoria is sitting on the second-floor balcony at the front of their extravagant mansion. She has a clear view of the road. They have been living here for a few weeks now and everything seems to be going smoothly. No Infected yet. However, she knows it’s only temporary and deep down wishes she could stay forever.
If only …
She lets out another sigh, remembering the shower she had that evening: a luxury that was all too hard to find while on the move. Here, they have enough food, water and power to last a lifetime. Plus, the boundary fence is a barrier to the wandering Infected. So is the canal, which they are unlikely to swim.
Victoria removes a pair of binoculars from the armrest and scans the street. There is a full moon above providing plenty of light. Everything seems clear. She checks her watch. It’s 9.16 pm. Jackson has been asleep for a little over an hour now, Isabelle roughly the same. They all sleep in the same room: master bedroom, second floor. Downstairs, Jackson has barricaded the front and rear doors with furniture. He does that every night. If the Infected attack, they are to head for the back dock where a boat is waiting to haul arse down the river, all the way to the ocean. If that fails, and they come from the water, a Range Rover is waiting out front. Unfortunately, heading out front is full risks, and with fuel turning bad by the day, who knows how long until cars are obsolete.
Victoria chuckles and rolls her eyes, remembering the Christmas, pre-Infected, when Jackson had blown the engine of a boat. He had taken it no more than a hundred metres up stream when it began to smoke and he found himself bobbing along on the canal, alone. He made it home hours later using a single paddle, tired, hungry and in a bad mood. He calmed down later after a few drinks. It made a good story for a while.
At least if the engine on the boat doesn’t work we can row.
Another uneventful hour passes and Victoria decides to check the back. She heads inside quietly and takes a seat on the rear balcony overlooking the river. She prefers this side and admires the blanket of diamonds in the sky. The moon is prominent, round and bright, shining on the houses across the canal, which are mirrored in the water creating the illusion of an underwater city.
Most of the properties have small pontoons extending from lavish backyards: expensive small boats docked and bobbing in the water. Their house isn’t the biggest in the area, but it is one of the safest, allowing them to see in all directions until the canal twists away through the suburb like a winding snake.
Victoria removes the binoculars from her jacket and scans the area. Again, she sees nothing. ‘Pointless,’ she grumbles but understands Jackson wouldn’t have her doing this if something wasn’t troubling him.
What is he hiding?
He has changed over the last months, becoming silent, stubborn and a little untrustworthy. She knows him well enough to know he is hiding something – something she will need to carefully discover. He used to be so open, but now he shuts her out like a child. And he observes Isabelle intently, as if he is concerned.
Is something wrong with her?
Victoria shakes the thoughts away.
Get a grip. You’re just tired.
If something was wrong with Isabelle, she’d be the first to see it.
A fish jumps from the water, startling Victoria and causing circular ripples to travel across the surface. Victoria watches the reflection of the houses twist as tiny waves follow one another. It’s hypnotising, making her eyelids sink.
Suddenly, a movement catches her eye in the reflection of a house on the other side of the canal. Victoria peers across the water, but sees nothing but a shadowy building. Everything is still. No movement. Silence.
She peers down at the reflection again and then back up at the house.
Could it be?
The last ripple leaves the water and the reflection becomes still again. Victoria fixes her eyes on the house, heart thumping. Nothing is moving, not even the breeze, which died over an hour ago. Another splash in the water causes her attention to turn back to the river. The reflection is shimmering again. Victoria spots more movement, this time in the reflection of another house. She jerks upright and peers through moonlit night towards the property. A shadow moves along the balcony and disappears.
What was that?
Victoria doesn’t want to wake Jackson if it’s nothing but a cat and spends the next hour intently watching the houses across the river, catching sight of nothing unusual. The area is full of them. They are turning feral and breeding like rabbits. She has lost count of how many have come to the house searching for food. Dogs aren’t so lucky. Many have been trapped in their house or yard and have starved to death. It’s a horrible sight finding bones attached to a chain or rope. Occasionally they spot one wandering the streets. But they keep their distance for fear the dogs have contracted rabies or, worse, the infection.
Victoria leans back in her chair, eyes tired, bored stiff. What is the infection? A mistake? Biological warfare? She knows none of these questions will likely ever be answered, because they were yet to come across anyone civil enough to ask. Trust no one. Treat everyone as if they are Infected – Jackson’s constant reminder. It pisses her off how controlling he is. But the truth is he has gotten them this far.
Victoria’s mind drifts back to her best friend, Amy, remembering how she was the true hero, the one who saved them both. Victoria wonders if she is still out there somewhere, walking the streets as an Infected. Would Amy be a runner, or would she be a mindless walker?
That girl has attitude – definitely a runner.
Thinking about Amy cheers Victoria up. The cloc
k ticks to 2.00 am. It’s time to wake Jackson. She decides not to tell him what she saw or thinks she saw. It would only worry him more, and besides, she wants to stay a little longer in paradise.
Chapter 13
The return visit
I yawn loudly and rub my eyes as I watch the sun break over the water. It’s almost 5.00 am – an uneventful night of guard duty, but thank God it’s over.
I make my way downstairs and take a pop-tart out the cupboard and pull it out of its wrapper. It feels stale, so I drop it in the toaster to try and hide the fact it’s four months out of date.
Go preservatives!
Once breakfast is finished, I go upstairs and hand a bottle of formula to a crying Isabelle. Breastfeeding wasn’t an option. Victoria’s body was rake thin and mentally she really struggled. I know she feels like a failure. I remind her about our apocalyptic world – that infected humans are trying to kill us – and that Isabelle is a miracle. I think it helps.
Our relationship is still strong, but we have our rocky moments. It’s tough only having each other to talk to. I can’t risk us being shot trying to make friends. I miss my mates, and to be honest, I miss the company of a guy. Not that I don’t appreciate Victoria’s ear, but sometimes it’s nice to talk rubbish and throw back a few beers. I miss Lincoln. His raw humour was what I loved most. The way he could turn any situation into a laughing matter. It infuriated me at times, but then again, aren’t they the best memories?
I also wonder what happened to his dog, Koda. His black Rottweiler ran off shortly after the attack on the Block. Perhaps he is still out there. More likely he was killed when the horde wiped us out. He was a good loyal dog and I miss him.
