Jackson Kidd | Book 2 | Evolving

by West, Mark

  But where can I go?

  Small shrubs create a barrier between road and sand. Towering hotels run the line of beach, commercialising the views. It’s the closest humans can get without building in the ocean.

  In the distance, about two hundred metres away, Amy spots a walkway leading away from the beach – timber railings creating a path through the dense undergrowth. She glances back. If she can run quickly enough, maybe, just maybe, she can lose the mob.

  Chapter 28

  Shadows in an elegant place

  White curtains drape the windows in a silky mesh. On the walls, a pattern of blue flowers expands in all directions, stopping at the ornamental cornice that frames the high ceilings. It’s a dream home. One that Victoria knows someone has spent countless hours renovating to ensure its elegance and maintain its original heritage.

  She smiles, enjoying the room while methodically packing her bag. It turns out the occupant also has a fine taste in clothing, not to mention other exciting treats.

  Victoria neatly squeezes in the last pair of socks, filling the small void in her bag. She checks the time. A little past 10.00 am. Jackson might begin to worry if she doesn’t get back soon.

  Something rattles outside, breaking her concentration. Grabbing her gun and moving stealthily to the window, she checks the front of the house. The wind is picking up, blowing leaves and debris down the street. She sees nothing and goes out on to the verandah. The air is like warm soup. She turns to go back in, but there is that distinctive rattle again. She looks around.

  ‘Found you.’

  The latch on the gate is unhitched and is tapping at the metal clasp in the wind. Had she forgotten to shut the gate? Relieved it isn’t an Infected, she resumes packing her new belongings.

  Shouldering her pack, she catches sight of her reflection in the mirror. She is much thinner since having the baby. She never really gained any ‘baby weight’ and has since lost even more. As the days stretch on, nutritious food is getting harder to find: used by dates are rapidly coming to an end and packaged goods have often been attacked by rodents. She doesn’t know what they will do in the future. Perhaps move to a farm and grow their own food.

  Victoria shrugs and shoves the inevitable to the back of her mind. No use worrying about that now. She has bigger things to worry about, like what Jackson is up to. He had mentioned people capturing one another.

  What’s that all about?

  During her short trip, Victoria has seen no such thing, in fact, the opposite. The place is practically deserted, except for a few Infected roaming about. She had encountered five today. The shock of seeing them again had sent chills through her skin. She hasn’t killed any since The Block, allowing Jackson to perform that ghastly duty. Coping with pregnancy was her main concern, not slashing away at blood-crazed Infected.

  She is reaching for the handle on the bedroom door when something breaks downstairs – glass shattering, noisy and forced. Victoria listens, body stiff with fear. The wind has strengthened, slamming in waves against the side of the house.

  Did I leave a window open?

  Slowly she opens the door, gun at the ready, listening for any signs of movement. But, except for the wind, there is only silence. Victoria tiptoes into the hallway. There is a sound like broken glass being pushed aside. She pauses at the top of the stairs, heart thumping, and cautiously peers over the railing but is unable to see anything.

  ‘Hello?’ She barely recognises her voice, it sounds so weak and nervous.

  There is no answer and relief washes over her. Most likely it’s a feral cat looking for food. She walks down the stairs until she can see the entry. The front door is open. She had definitely closed it. She pulls back the bolt on her gun and aims it in the direction of the door, expecting the worst, and descends the stairs slowly, alert for danger. The moment she reaches the bottom, she has to run and get the hell out of there – don’t look back or stop for anything. She isn’t ready to face an Infected just yet.

  Victoria has almost reached the entry when there is a thump from the room to her right, like something heavy being dropped or moved. Victoria swings the gun in the direction of the sound, unable to see inside the room because the door is half-closed. But she can hear movement – a kind of dragging sound, as if the occupant is injured. Alarm sets in.

  As her foot hits the entry floor, Victoria takes a glance down the hall towards the kitchen. Muddy prints track from the kitchen down towards the laundry, disappearing into the darkness of a corridor. The prints are large, distorted, but distinctively human.

  Oh god!

  Prudently, Victoria creeps across the gap between the stairs and the front door, eyes focused on the room next door. Whoever or whatever is in there is still moving around. They could dash out at any moment. The flitting of a shadow catches her attention. Victoria turns in fright, gun waving about, the bulging bag throwing her off balance.

  ‘Who’s there?’ she calls out, backing towards the exit.

  A hazy shadow is creeping along the dark corridor. The outline grows – a monster coming from the depths of hell.

  ‘I have a gun. I’ll use it,’ Victoria cries.

  Her heel hits the door jamb. She’s at the exit. Her mind pleads for her to run, but she can’t take her eyes off the growing shadow. She takes a step back over the threshold, unsure if the thing will rush her if she moves any faster.

  One foot lands unsteadily on the tiled porch, followed by the other. The thing is still approaching at the same speed. She is about ten metres from the front gate, twenty from the road, more than two kilometres from the safety of home.

  Will I make it?

  Her feet edge closer to the front steps. The wind is slamming into her, catching at the bag on her back and blustering her hair about. It’s almost impossible to keep the gun steady in her hand. Her foot lands on the top step just as there is a loud bang inside. It snaps Victoria out of her fear induced inertia and gives her the boost she needs.

  Screw it!

  She turns and runs.

  Chapter 29

  The note

  I wake to find a note from Victoria by the side of my bed. I’m a bit pissed off. It’s fear; I know the risks she is facing. I can understand why she left. I just wished she had asked so I could have stopped her.

  I know Victoria is her own woman, but to go out and explore seems reckless. And now I’m left waiting, not knowing where she is – Isabelle my ball and chain.

  Isabelle is staring up at me from the cot with her wide eyes. I stare back, trying to decide if I can see that hint of red or yellow in them. But she looks away and picks up her baby elephant.

  Yesterday is playing on my mind. My belly is okay, and I didn’t wake in the night vomiting. I’m surprised, considering the amount that I ate. But I can’t get over the fact I did what I did. I know it’s going to haunt me for weeks, months – years, if I live that long. But what next? Will it happen again?

  I try to remind myself it was the infection taking control. But a small part of me knows I had a little bit to do with it. I wanted Vivian out of the picture. Perhaps not dead, but I didn’t want her speaking with Victoria about what she had seen. Hell, I don’t even know what happened. Anyway, what if I had taken Vivian home with me? Would she have told Victoria about my little secret? I’m not even sure I know what my secret is.

  The way the Infected looked at me was … strange. It was as if he was waiting for something – an order or direction? Can I boss them around? None of it is making sense because the other two still attacked me. Why had they not acted like the other? Is it because I didn’t give them a choice? I gave the Infected a choice to leave and he did. Should I have given Vivian the same choice?

  I roll back the covers with an exhausted sigh. Thinking this hard is hurting my brain. Or maybe it’s the infection taking over again. Whatever is wrong with me I intend to find out. I give Isabelle a reassuring smile. And no more unwanted meals, I remind myself.

  I leave the room, my t
houghts one big blur, and get a bottle for Isabelle. I can smell the contents of her nappy the moment I step back into the room. I quickly exit. I’ll give it five before I tackle that beast.

  I’m not a bad parent, well I don’t think I am. I’m just not very well trained, is what Victoria says. I’ve had little time to learn with all the running around I do. Perhaps now is a good time to train myself – enjoy the break from running around while I can.

  I head outside onto the second-floor balcony and check for any signs of Victoria. It’s 8.00 am and judging by the time on her note, she left a little over two hours ago. The street is empty – the only signs of movement are the bending of the trees in the wind. I shut the door, trying to preserve the coolness in the house and make my way to the back.

  It’s high tide and the water is rippling from the wind, causing boats to rock in the water. I shake my head, catch my hair together and knot it. It’s time for a haircut.

  Across the river, a tattered Australian flag is blowing at half-mast. It’s not the first flag I have seen flying in this area – perhaps one of a dozen. I trace my eyes down the pole and along the front deck, taking in the grandeur of the home. It’s one I have yet to explore, an extravagant house with rendered brick walls, a colorbond roof and a balcony that extends across the entire front.

  Something moves behind one of the windows and I retrieve the binoculars and take a closer look.

  The glass is tinted, but I can just make out the kitchen area and what looks like a lounge off to the side. I see no signs of life inside. I lower the binoculars. The hot, humid wind is making me sweat. It’s getting into my eyes. I wipe the back of my hand across my brow and try the binoculars again, but see nothing.

  Perhaps I’m seeing things?

  Cries from baby Isabelle break my concentration. She wants her nappy changed and wants it now.

  ‘Argh. Isabelle.’

  Her crying intensifies.

  ‘Far out!’

  I toss the binoculars on a chair and head inside.

  ‘I’m coming. I’m coming.’

  Now I know how Victoria feels. But I wish she would get home.

  Chapter 30

  A tight squeeze

  Victoria rounds yet another corner, ducks off to the side and shoves past a low branch, wriggling through a tiny gap between two industrial buildings. She is hopeful it will lead to another side of the block – a safe one, one she is vaguely familiar with.

  Three men have been chasing her for the last ten minutes, seemingly uninfected humans. She has no idea who they are, but they carry guns and machetes and resemble characters in a video game Jackson used to play – Doom.

  Victoria’s bag scrapes against the sides of the walls as she squirms further in, slowing her speed until she comes to a complete stop.

  Come on.

  She pushes hard with her legs, gritting her teeth in frustration as her shoes lose traction on the loose surface. The bag unsnags, hurtling her forward. She lands face first on the gravel and drops her gun in pain. She lifts herself up, perspiration and tears streaming down her face, and into the cuts that now riddle her face.

  Why the hell did I come out today?

  She looks for her gun in the gloom and retrieves it. The leaves on the branch rustle as one of the men pushes it aside and peers into the gap between the buildings. His face is in sunshine, but Victoria is almost in darkness, about ten metres into the gap, with high walls on either side. She hopes he can’t see her silhouetted against the light at the other end. She holds her breath and waits.

  ‘I think she went this way,’ the man calls out.

  A chill of dread passes through Victoria’s body. The man moves into the entrance, his hulking shadow blocking most of the light. There is a click and the beam of a torch lights up the passageway.

  ‘I see her!’

  The light passes over, illuminating the spider-infested walls. Victoria shrieks inside and bites her lip hard, trying not to scream as she scrambles to her feet. Ignoring her fear of arachnids, she pushes through the cobwebs. Threads of web catch in her hair and cover her face. She swats at a spider crawling on her arm, feeling wetness as it bursts against her skin, and prays that none of the creatures are venomous.

  The man follows her. Victoria can almost feel the beam of his torch pressing on her back. She is amazed he hasn’t shot at her yet. But if they wanted her dead, they would have killed her back at the house.

  ‘Go away!’ she yells, hoping her pleading might make them leave. ‘I’m not infected!’

  The man laughs, continuing his chase.

  ‘It’s too narrow for me,’ another calls out. ‘I’ll meet you around the other side with the truck.’

  The man with the torch grunts in response.

  Victoria glances behind and realises he is gaining on her. The walls are too close together for her to turn and fight. She angles her gun awkwardly over her shoulder.

  ‘I’ll shoot!’ she screams, but the man doesn’t slow.

  She fires off a round, not aiming to kill but hoping it will make him back away. The man doesn’t react except to force his way towards her faster.

  ‘Please, go away! Leave me alone!’

  But he doesn’t slow.

  The exit is near, a narrow strip of orange light no more than ten metres away. Victoria knows what’s on the other side. She has been here before – once. She had visited the industrial area with Jackson when they first came to the Gold Coast, staying in one of the abandoned buildings for a few nights until they found somewhere nicer for her and the baby. Victoria remembers Jackson's smile when he returned with good news that he had found a house and things might just be okay.

  Now look at me – stupidly running around outside because I want to prove a point.

  Victoria angles the gun back over her shoulder again, rage filling her. How dare these people take her freedom away. She closes an eye, bracing for the sound, and pulls the trigger.

  The sound reverberates through the enclosed space, hitting her like a slap in the face. She stumbles, tripping but not falling. She hears a gut-wrenching scream and realises she has hit the man. He falls to the ground, the torch goes out and everything goes dark.

  Victoria stops, unsure of what to do. She cranes her neck uncomfortably and peers behind her into the blackness. A groan comes from the darkness and she can just make out some movement on the ground between the walls. He’s alive.

  The sound of a distant engine reminds Victoria of the conversation the men had. It’s the others coming to block off her escape.

  Panic floods her woozy body, dehydration increasing her fatigue. With no other choice, Victoria starts moving forward again. If the man behind her is alive, he may attack the moment she tries to get past.

  The closer she gets to the exit, the warmer the air, until the passageway feels like an oven. Her body is saturated, her clothes clinging like a wet towel. She imagines how nice the bath will be when she gets home – if she gets home.

  When Victoria arrives at the exit, she realises a barrier is blocking her escape. Victoria kicks at it with her boot. It shakes but doesn’t move.

  Shit, shit, shit!

  The sound of the engine is growing louder. She can hear the vehicle picking up speed. ‘What is this bloody thing!’ She shoulders the board in frustration. This time it shifts a little. She takes a few steps back, drops her pack and then charges as best she can, hitting the object with the side of her body. It bounces more, shifting slightly, a gap appearing. Through the gap Victoria can see an open car park filled with yellow construction vehicles. She recognises one of the surrounding buildings, the one they had stayed in.

  If I can get in there, I can lose them.

  Confident the barrier will shift, Victoria begins to back up again, but stops when she hears movement behind her. There is a low moan, deep and full of phlegm.

  No!

  An Infected in the passageway calling for blood, the gunshot no doubt drawing it to her location. If it stops to att
ack the man on the ground she might get out in time. She charges at the barrier again, striking it with everything she has. It shifts, but still not enough. She rams it two more times, her shoulder throbbing in pain. She can hear the groaning of the Infected closing in.

  Just one more time.

  With all her strength, she hurtles into the barrier, knocking it to the ground. The heavy board skids across the gravel, kicking up dust that blows into the opening. Victoria closes her eyes, until the dust settles and she can see back down the passageway. The Infected is crawling over the man on the ground. Her bag is a few metres back from the entrance. She dashes back to get it, snatching up the strap just as the Infected’s hand lunges for the bag. It grips the canvas and pulls. Victoria frantically tries to pull it from the Infected’s grasp, but her grip is slipping, her strength no match for its thick arms.

  The Infected unexpectedly lets go of the bag. Victoria stumbles backwards and falls to the ground, the bag slamming into her face. Blood trickles into her mouth from her pulsating nose, and tiny stars dance in her vision. The smell of blood sends the Infected into a frenzy. It scrambles towards her. Victoria shrieks and pushes her bag away, searching for her gun. But it’s back at the exit.

  ‘Oh god!’

  A ravaged hand reaches for her leg. Victoria kicks at it, snapping the extended fingers. She begins shuffling back towards the exit, pushing the bag ahead of her, feeling every rock that tears viciously at her jeans. The Infected is snapping at her and foaming at the mouth. She is living in a nightmare.

  Sunlight hits her; she has reached the exit. The gun is waiting for her. She reaches for it, not daring to turn her back on the Infected, and then pulls it to her side and fires. The Infected’s head jerks back as the bullet penetrates its mouth, causing its face to fall. A visible hole is in the back of its skull. She reloads the bolt quickly and fires again – just to be sure – then lowers the gun, her breath ragged. Sweat is falling off her face, landing on her torn jeans that are now bloody from ripped flesh. She is a mess, tired and close to passing out. But she knows it’s far from over because the vehicle is rapidly approaching. She stands, picks up her bag and reloads her gun.