by West, Mark
I thought about getting a pet to keep us company. I spot a few stray dogs roaming the streets. A few seem friendly, that is until I get up close and notice the patches of bare skin, indicating a flea infestation. No way I'm risking a friendship for that.
I don’t bother to wake Victoria and set Isabelle up in her cot with a few soft toys. Victoria looks tired, dark rings visible under her eyes and I kiss her on the forehead before leaving the house. She will be pissed I left without saying goodbye, but I know she will get over it. I had explained to her I wanted to check out the house where the couple was attacked. There is something about them that is niggling at me. I grab my gun and bag and head through the front gate, locking it behind me and hiding the key as usual. I scan the street, cautious because someone might be watching, and begin moving at a slow jog.
It doesn’t take me long to arrive at the house. Birds are bouncing from tree to tree, and I spot a group of kangaroos huddled in the park across the road. Nature is reclaiming what was taken many years ago. I have also noticed the air is much cleaner these days, and the canals are an opaque blue instead of a dull brown. Perhaps it was mother nature who created the disease?
I watch the house for a solid twenty minutes from behind a parked car across the road, wary of the last attack. I see no Infected, nor do I see the Ford in the driveway. I creep into the yard. The woman’s corpse is still resting in the grass – what’s left of it. Her raw bones are now sprawled across the stained ground, picked clean as if eaten by a pack of vultures. I grimace, knowing I could have possibly saved her.
I approach the front steps slowly and check for any booby traps, wary because a couple of places I have visited had them. I have discovered trip wires connected to swinging logs, tins of nails hanging from doors and other spiked objects intended to kill. People can get creative in a world of devastation.
I spot none, not even a warning sign, and move up towards the front door, gun at the ready in case someone decides to jump out. I knock on the front door. It seems stupid, but it’s a hell of a lot better than getting a shotgun to the belly.
My knock is loud. I listen for footsteps before calling out.
‘Hello?’
There is no answer. I turn the handle, surprised to find it’s unlocked, and point my gun into the room. The first thing I notice is the smell. It’s putrid – worse than an Infected – like rotting fruit and sour milk. It doesn’t take me long to find the source – a room being used as a rubbish tip. Scraps of food, tins, bottles and food containers, and are littered across every surface. Dozens of rats are scurrying amongst the detritus. I shut the door, holding back vomit. At least it explains the rubbish out the front.
I spend the next ten minutes checking the house. It’s empty. All I find are a few clothes strewn on the floor in one of the bedrooms and some cash on the floor in the bathroom, that someone has been using as toilet paper – how ironic. The place has been picked clean of anything useful.
I leave the house and make my way to the backyard, finding little indication of who lived there except that they were animals. I can’t get my head around it. Why didn’t they just relocate? Unless that’s what they had been doing: trash one place and move on. It saves cleaning.
The backyard is very private and cut off from the outside world. A two-metre timber fence surrounds the sides, with a big gumtree smack bang in the middle. I spot another rubbish pile in the corner. The volume of rubbish indicates they have been here a while. But what catches my eye is the large barbecue situated just under the back deck. It seems out of place, as if brought here recently. I examine the yard, find it’s clear and wander over to it. It’s about three metres in length and has three sections, all with stainless steel lids.
Twelve burner – nice.
I’m impressed and can’t believe how much effort went into building the thing.
Something rattles behind me, and I turn to see a pair of closed doors. I raise my gun, ready and step forward. I hadn’t checked the rooms under the house yet, and a noise is emanating from one. I approach the left door cautiously, expecting someone to rush out.
‘Anyone inside?’
I hear the rattling again. It sounds like metal hitting metal, not a usual trapped Infected rattle.
‘Hello? I have a gun.’
I feel stupid for saying that, but you never know. There is more rattling, then something thumps against the door.
Is someone trapped?
I pull back the bolt on my rifle and hover a finger over the trigger, moving the other hand slowly towards the handle. I twist it.
‘Door’s locked,’ I call out.
Confident whoever or whatever is inside won’t come running out any time soon, I place the gun back over my shoulder and check for a window. I find one around the side, but something is covering it on the inside, blocking my view.
There has to be a key around here somewhere.
I check the room next door and discover it’s a laundry. It’s a decent size and runs about a quarter of the length of the house. Inside are three large tubs and a long timber bench. Red stains cover every surface. The room is disgusting, and I leave after discovering nothing but a pair of butchers knives.
Where is that key?
Just as I'm about to give up and kick the door down, I spot something silver hanging from under one of the joists to the above deck. Bingo. I unhook the key from a nail and withdraw my gun.
‘I’m coming in!’ I yell out. ‘If you run at me, I will shoot … Okay?’
The thing inside doesn’t respond so I take that as a yes. I ready myself and turn the handle, pushing the door inwards, quickly. The room is pitch black and it takes my eyes a second to adjust.
‘What the fuck?’
Chapter 14
Hope
Amy pulls a map from her pocket and begins tracing a finger over the roads, plotting her location. Large canals run through the city like veins, breaking off into smaller ones to form tiny islands. It’s a fascinating layout. She peers towards the tall buildings in the distance, smelling the salt-filled air.
Crap, this place is big.
She loves the Gold Coast or rather, loved it. She used to come here twice a year with her family for holidays, enjoying the Vegas atmosphere. They made it a habit to stay right in the heart of Surfers Paradise, soaking in the beach aromas, living life to the fullest. That was until everything changed.
After the narrow escape from the Block, Amy had searched the Snowy region for months, eventually giving up and assuming Jackson and Victoria had left or been killed. Then she remembered Jackson talking about moving north if things went bad in the hope that the infection might die out in the warmer climate. How wrong he was. He had mentioned it to the group a few times that he would go to the Gold Coast because he loved the area and knew it reasonably well. Amy held onto this hope, believing she would see Victoria again one day. But as the weeks passed her hopes diminished. That was until she stumbled upon a clue.
A few months into the treacherous journey north, she was trying to find shelter from a storm when she came across an abandoned service station off the main highway north of Sydney. She had approached the station cautiously, as she always does, checking her surrounds and finding it clear before moving inside. The place was empty and picked clean of anything worth salvaging, but it was what she uncovered in the back room that sent chills down her spine – a holy shit moment. On the floor were two makeshift beds made from cardboard mattress with stuffed shopping bags for pillows. Empty tins, drink bottles and wrappers littered the floor. The room was a mess, and Amy thought the room had been used by a survivor, moving about the land as she was. It wasn’t uncommon to stumble across places like this, often with the occupant dead. It was when Amy pushed aside the trash to sleep that she discovered the clue.
At first, she didn’t believe what she was seeing and turned away, rubbing her eyes and muttering to herself about how tired she was, how the room was dark and she was seeing things. But then she moved in clo
ser, angling her torch for a better look. On the wall were two names scratched into the concrete surface – Victoria and Jackson. Excitement filled Amy, as hope returned. She danced about the room for nearly ten minutes before searching for more clues. But there was nothing, not even a note.
Now she is heading north to find her friends and reconnect, even if it is a long shot. They could be dead for all she knows.
Chapter 15
Captive
Another wave of that awful stench smacks me, causing my eyes to water. I blink rapidly and draw back at the sight before me. I can’t believe it. In the whole time we’ve been running, I have never come across such brutality. It must be a nightmare.
Along the brick wall, dozens of chains fall like vines from steel bolts. On the ends of each chain is a shackle, rusted and bloodstained. Clamped in the shackles are bodies: six in total, all apparently dead except one, a woman, not an Infected, a fully human woman. It’s a scene from hell.
I look at her in shock and wait for answers. But all she can do is look back at me with pain in her eyes.
‘What the fuck is this?’ I ask.
She barely reacts. It’s as if she has already given up. One hand is shackled, the other missing below the elbow, the stump wrapped in a bloodstained bandage.
‘Who did this?’ I ask, taking a step into the room. But the woman stays silent and closes her eyes.
I scan the five bodies, each slumped on the ground, a single clamp around the neck tethering them to the wall. Stumpy limbs protrude from withered bodies, skin crawling with maggots and alive with flies. The faces are caved in, bashed beyond recognition.
I think back to the room next door. The blood. The knives. And then to the barbecue. It’s all starting to make sense.
The woman moans, attracting my attention.
I need to help her before anyone comes.
I go to her, now knowing we are both in mortal danger, and place a finger on her neck to check her pulse. It’s weak. She can barely lift her head. I brush the hair from her face. She could be forty or sixty; it’s impossible to tell, she is so thin and covered in grime.
‘What’s your name?’ I ask soothingly.
Her eyes remain closed, her lips still. I check the restraint on her hand. The shackle is clasped tight, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t slip her hand through, even though there’s no flesh left on her bones.
I need more light. I hurry towards the window. A sheet of ply covers the frame. I yank it off in one go and toss it onto the floor. I lift the sash, allowing air to circulate into the room. It tastes wonderful. But suddenly the shock of it all hits me as I turn and see the bodies in the light. It reminds me of a ‘Saw’ movie – brutal beyond comprehension.
I focus my attention on the woman and her restraints. They obviously need a key.
‘I need to break the lock,’ I say, hoping she can hear me. ‘I’ll be back.’
I run out, gun over my shoulder and search the backyard, noticing a shovel by the pile of rubbish. I pick it up and return to the woman. I don’t want to linger knowing an Infected could come at any moment. Who knows if they are still watching the house.
Did they smell the bodies? Is that why they attacked?
I swing repetitively at the chain. Sparks fly in all directions and the sound of metal on metal echoes through the room. A cloth is now wrapped over my mouth and nose, but it makes little difference. After five minutes, I’m sweating like a mad man and left barely a dent in the metal. I feel deflated.
‘It’s no use. The metal’s too thick.’ I drop the shovel, panting with exhaustion. My shoulders slump. ‘I’m sorry.’
The woman begins to groan. ‘The key …’ Her voice is raspy. ‘Barbeque.’
It doesn’t take long to find the key hooked under the side cupboard. It’s small, silver and fits the lock perfectly. She collapses to the floor as I toss the shackle away.
‘Can you walk?’ I ask.
‘Water.’
‘Of course.’
I remove a bottle from my pack and put it to her lips, slowly tilting it as she drinks.
‘Thank you.’
‘What is this place?’
The woman looks at her amputated arm. Pity hits me like a wave. ‘We need to go,’ she says, showing more sign of life.
I lift her up, careful not to touch her wounded arm. She shakes, but after a moment she is standing on her own and takes another sip of the water.
‘Any food?’
I slip a muesli bar from my pocket and she snatches it from my hand, taking a bite.
‘Is it safe?’ she asks between ravenous chewing.
‘I don’t know, but we can’t hang around for much longer.’
I glance at the bodies on the floor. Ants have formed a conga line to one of the decapitated limbs.
‘Did you know them?’
She shakes her head. ‘No. But they were alive when I got here.’
I shudder. ‘Let’s go outside.’ I can’t stand the smell for another moment.
The woman’s eyes blink rapidly as the sun falls across her face. She seems younger than I thought, perhaps early thirties. Caucasian. Someone too innocent to be trapped in a place like this. She wipes at the grime on her face using the sleeve of her shirt.
‘I didn’t think I would get out alive,’ she says.
‘Do you have anywhere to go?’
I’m surprised at how quickly she is recovering. She still seems weak, but hopefully she can walk until I find transportation. She shakes her head.
‘Everyone I know is dead. I was passing through when …’ She chokes up and has to wipe at her eyes. ‘You?’
I nod. ‘I’ve got a wife waiting for me. We need to get moving before someone comes back.’
I check the sides for any access to the front, finding they are barred with stacks of pallets.
‘We need to go through the house,’ I tell her.
Back inside the house, I find the smell somewhat less disturbing than when I entered twenty minutes before. I notice more evidence, confirming my suspicions about the kind of people living there. I feel sick with rage, but also fear. How can anyone do that?
I approach the front door and pause. I can hear a faint rumbling sound in the distance.
I take a knee. ‘Get back. Someone is coming.’
‘It’s them!’
Chapter 16
Hostiles
We watch as the vehicle approaches from the end of the street, lights on. It doesn’t take long before I see it’s the old Ford that was parked in the driveway, its faded green paintwork a dead giveaway. It pulls up just short of the house and the doors open. Two men exit the vehicle.
‘It’s him,’ the woman says anxiously.
I recognise the man with the goatee from the day before, but not the second man. He is much bigger than the other guy, chubby, gold chains around his neck. His hair is balding and he has on a tight singlet, reminding me of Tony from the Sopranos.
‘Who is he?’ I ask.
The woman begins to shake, eyes fixed on the men. ‘The one who … who…’
I place a hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s okay. I won’t let them harm you.’
I withdraw my gun, checking the magazine before sliding back the bolt.
The woman stares at the gun. ‘What are you going to do?’
I pat the stock. ‘Whatever I have to.’
I turn my attention back to the window. Revenge is swirling through my thoughts. It is my most common emotion these days. The pair round the front of the Ford and look towards the house. We are hidden behind a torn curtain. I doubt they can see us, but we stay low just in case.
The large man pulls a gun from his belt. It’s silver with a long barrel. He holds it as if used to carrying the thing around every day. The goatee man takes out a shotgun from the truck. It’s the one I saw the other day: double barrel and packed with a punch.
‘They’ve got guns,’ I whisper.
I contemplate shooting the men where
they stand, but hold off because my gut says no. It says to run, and when it speaks to me, I listen. It’s what has got me this far already.
‘We need to go,’ I say calmly. ‘Quick. Out the back.’
‘There’s no escape down there. The gates are locked.’
I pause and glance back out the window. The men are at the front gate. We’re trapped.
‘Shit.’ Another wave of stench pricks at my nose. ‘Damn this place stinks.’ I look around in frustration. ‘Wait. The rubbish.’
I grab the woman’s arm and begin dragging her to the other side of the house. I open the door to the room full of rubbish. The woman shrugs off my hand.
‘What the hell are we doing in here?’ she says in a panic. ‘They are in the driveway!’
‘Quick, find a place to hide. They won’t look for us in here.’
The woman catches on and we both start scrambling into the room, searching for a place to hide.
‘The cupboard,’ I say urgently, spotting a wardrobe at the back of the room.
Rats and cockroaches scatter as we kick our way through the rubbish. The doors are on tracks and I slide one back cautiously in case something is hiding inside.
‘Get in,’ I demand.
The woman squeezes past and steps inside. I follow and slide the door closed just as the front door begins to rattle.
‘We forgot to close the bedroom door,’ the woman whispers.
‘Hopefully, they won’t notice.’
The woman’s breath is fishy and makes me feel queasy. I block my nose with my free hand, trying to listen over the sound of her wheezing. I hear the front door creak open, followed by muffled voices.
‘What d’ya think, Jake?’ says one of the men. ‘They all gone?’
‘Keep it down, Roger. They could be hiding.’
I can hear footsteps on the timber boards as they move down the hallway. I wait until I sense they are down the other side of the house before sliding back the door.
