“Culprit,” Dodson muttered.
“Too right,” she said, first pushing, then kicking the door open, before dragging herself outside.
Where the Hawkei had landed on its wheels, the dune buggy hadn’t. It was almost upright, balanced on engine and roll-bars, with the wheels in the air.
“Good things come to those who wait,” Tess said. It wasn’t the expression she meant, but her brain was slowing down as her knees seized up and the old stab-wound above her left hip began to scream. She didn’t think anything was broken, but everything was bruised.
Far too slowly, her brain processed what she was seeing, and what was missing. The driver wasn’t in the buggy. Her hand went to her holster, but her fingers were slow at finding the button. She heard movement, dropping to a knee as she spun around. The gangster was five metres away, a gold-plated revolver in his hand. He fired first, but he’d been aiming at where her head had been. He dragged his hand down even as he pulled the trigger, but the bullet whistled over her head as she raised her Glock-22, firing three shots. Two hit his chest, one his neck. He fell and she, wearily, achingly, pushed herself to her feet. Keeping her weapon trained on him, she walked slowly over to the body. But it was a body, unblinking and unmoving. She kicked the gun from his hand.
“Gold plated. Not a thirty-eight, something bigger. A gun as ostentatious as that, does that mean you’re the boss? Are you Mikko?”
She holstered her weapon, and began to bend down to pick up the gun, but heard a footstep crunch on the dirt. She turned, and saw the barrel of a compact pistol in the hand of the dune-buggy’s passenger. His blond hair was plastered across his face by the same blood and dirt that covered his crash-shredded jeans. His left arm hung loose by his side, but his right was steady, and there was a calm madness behind his eyes.
Her gun was holstered. She’d have no chance of reaching for it. At that range, he’d have no chance of missing.
“It’s over,” Tess said. “Your mate’s dead. Your buggy’s wrecked. The army is on its way. You can run, but you won’t run far. Turn evidence. Tell us everything you know, and I’ll get you immunity. Tell us who you were working for.”
He took a faltering step towards her. “I work for no one,” he said.
The shot echoed across the outback. Nothing had ever been so loud in her life. She barely heard the second and third shots, but waited for her life to flash before her eyes.
It didn’t.
The gangster staggered sideways. Doctor Dodson’s fourth shot took him in the head. The thug collapsed.
Dodson leaned against the smoking Hawkei. “You okay, Tess?”
“No worries,” Tess muttered. “You?”
“Alive,” he said. “And shouldn’t be standing here.” He pushed himself away from the smoking vehicle. “Which of these blokes is Mikko?”
“Probably the one you shot,” Tess said. “This gold-plated revolver is too showy for a bloke who preferred knives.” She reached down to pick it up, but stopped halfway, clutching her hip.
“You sure you’re okay?” Dodson asked.
“It’s just a memory of Sydney,” she said. She reached into her pocket and took out her phone.
“Do you have a signal?” he asked.
“Not since last week,” she said. She took a photograph of the man’s face, then staggered over to the other man to take a photo of him. “Didn’t get a description from Corrie or Pete,” she said. “But when they land, I’ll get the picture to them, get them to confirm that one of these blokes is Mikko.”
“When they land?” Dodson asked. “You might have a long time to wait.”
“I might,” Tess said. “You okay walking?”
“Better than you.”
“Our town’s on fire,” she said. “We better go help put it out.”
Chapter 28 - Halfway Around the World
Above Australia
As the plane levelled out, Pete finally opened his eyes.
“We’re alive,” he whispered, but too loudly.
“What do you mean?” Bobby asked.
“Just that I hate flying,” Pete said quickly. What he’d meant, what had been going around his brain since the plane began accelerating along the runway, was that the fear of being blown up had been replaced by the burning question of whether Liu could actually fly the plane.
“Why don’t you two look for treasure?” Corrie said.
“Treasure?” Bobby asked.
“I’d just started going through those storage boxes when we had to leave,” Corrie said. “There’s some cool stuff in there.”
“But not actual treasure,” Bobby said.
“I don’t know,” Corrie said. “This is a billionaire’s plane. Who knows what we might find?” She gave Pete a meaningful look.
“There was food in the galley kitchen,” Pete said. “Some nuts and things. Maybe even a steak.”
“What about cereal?” Bobby asked.
“Maybe,” Pete said. “After all, even billionaires eat breakfast.”
As Corrie went into the cockpit, Pete and Bobby began their search of the small kitchen between the cabin and the door leading to the rear of the plane. They found food, but most was of the dried fruit, pulse, and grain variety, each in individual pouches.
“I don’t think we should touch anything that was in the fridge,” Pete said. “I’m not sure whether the plane had power while it was on stand. We could make some muesli with this stuff. There’s oats, apricots, and, here, there’s sugar packets.”
“It wouldn’t be the same,” Bobby said. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not hungry, anyway.”
Pete opened the door behind the bathroom. It led to a space a little smaller than the cabin. Again, windowless, though almost chair-less. Rows of jump seats lined either side, but all were folded back. Strapped to rails in floor and ceiling were more of the white coffin-shaped boxes. He closed the door.
“Let’s start with these two storage boxes in here,” he said. He opened the lid, and examined the neat trays, more interested in what was missing than what was still there.
“This is food, I think,” Bobby said, picking up a silver-foil pouch. “Just add water. It’s vitamins and fibre and stuff. Doesn’t say what it actually is. Like what flavour, or anything.”
“Maybe it doesn’t have a flavour,” Pete said. He lifted the tray. Beneath were zip-locked plastic bags, each marked with a size. “Clothes,” he said. “I wore one of these when I left the plane.”
Bobby opened one, pulling out a tunic and pair of trousers. “You really wore this?”
“They sort of took my other clothes,” Pete said. “I think it’s the uniform Kempton had her people wear.”
“Yeah, because you’d have to pay me before I’d wear anything like that,” Bobby said.
“Let’s call that rule thirteen,” Pete said.
“Rule thirteen is always light the fire before you go to fetch water,” Bobby said. “That way you can follow the smoke back to your camp. We can call this rule forty-five.”
“Forty-five? Doctor Dodson has a lot of rules. Ah, there’s more clothes here. And more normal ones. I wondered if there might be. The pilots were in suits. So was the chauffeur. Let’s see… we’ve got waterproof windbreakers. Some headscarves. And what I think is a dress.”
“It’s weird stuff to pack on a plane,” Bobby said. “And everything is blue and gold. Hey, look at this,” he added, tugging a foot-long hunting knife out from the tray beneath. “You’re not allowed knives on planes. Everyone knows that.”
“I guess it’s different rules for private jets,” Pete said, taking the knife from Bobby. “Or maybe it’s just that billionaires don’t think the rules apply to them.”
“Doctor Dodson says the same rules apply to everyone,” Bobby said. “And anyone who thinks they don’t, who thinks they’re special, they’re the ones who end up needing rescuing by the rest of us.”
“Sounds about right,” Pete said. “Shall we see what’s in the other bo
x?”
It was more of the same, a mix of survival equipment and high-end women’s fashion. He was about to suggest they continue the search in the storage area at the rear of the plane when Corrie came through.
“Bobby,” she said, “your mom wants to show you how to navigate. You’re to go up front.”
“That sounds like a lesson,” Bobby said.
“A fun one, though,” Corrie said. “How many other ten-year-olds have ever flown a private jet?”
“There’s a lot of weird stuff here,” Pete said after Bobby had trudged through to the front of the plane. “Hunting knives and ballgowns, and take a look at these.” He held out a pair of four-inch heels. “I think this is real gold on the buckle.”
Corrie took it. “I think you’re right. Shame.”
“Why?”
“Gold is heavy and these are useless,” she said. “The extra weight means we’re wasting fuel just carrying it.”
“But it’s got to be worth something,” Pete said. “Maybe not as much as before, but someone will want to buy it.”
“Not where we’re going,” Corrie said.
“Where’s that?”
“Vancouver,” Corrie said.
“Seriously? To get her daughter?”
“Liu says she’s still thinking about it, that she can’t make a final decision for another half hour, until she’s sure of our fuel consumption, but I think she’s decided.”
“We were meant to have soldiers with us. Pilots. Marines,” Pete said.
“Yep, and it’s more complicated than that,” Corrie said. “The radio doesn’t work. I think it was shut down when the code to the door was changed. I might be able to fix it, but not while we’re in the air.”
“That sounds like a reason to set down as soon as we can,” Pete said.
“Not exactly. There’s going to be danger in landing. In the air, as long as we have fuel, the autopilot is doing all the work. Before we set off, Liu asked for alternate landing sites if we had problems in the air, and for where we could return to after Canada. The airports at Cairns and Brisbane have been shut. So has Adelaide. Too many planes had come in. The runways weren’t clear. Cairns and Brisbane are in the north. Adelaide the south. They’ve been redirecting flights to Melbourne and Sydney.”
“What does that mean?”
“Two things. First, we don’t know of a clear runway, and since we can’t use the radio, we’ll have to find it visually. I’ll come back to that. The other, and more important point is really more of a question. If those runways are full, where did the planes come from? They’re refugees, clearly, and probably from overseas, but where overseas? Were they fleeing the airport, or the entire country? There’s no way of knowing, but it adds a shadow of danger to everything beyond the Australian coast.”
“When Liu asked for an alternate runway, what did they say?”
“Guam,” Corrie said. “And that they would try to ensure it was clear by the time we were scheduled to fly.”
“Meaning it’s not clear now?”
“Or they don’t know,” Corrie said. “Without radio, we can’t confirm it. I’m more worried about what’s happening in Northern Australia, but again, there’s no way of finding out unless we set down. And that brings me back to problem number one. Even if the runway there is clear, I don’t know if we can find Guam. We’ve no beacons, no satellites. We’re navigating based on a compass, a clock, and speed.”
“Then we should set down now,” Pete said.
“Which we’d have to do by finding a runway visually. That means finding a landmark, like a city, then following a river or road until we saw the airfield. If the runway is full, we’ll have to look for another.”
“Which will be easy to do with a plane full of fuel,” he said.
“But other than the amount of fuel left, it will be the same in Canada as here. That’s the dilemma facing Liu. The danger comes if we can’t find a runway and have to set down on a road or in a field. That’s when we might crash, when her son might die. But if that’s the same risk in Australia and Canada, why not use the opportunity to find her daughter?”
“Because we’re alone on this plane,” Pete said.
“There’s no point getting angry with me,” Corrie said. “This isn’t my decision to make. It’s Liu’s, and I’m just explaining her logic. She says that there are two runways in Canada, in British Columbia, where there are soldiers waiting for us. One’s to the west of Vancouver, the other is to the east. We might not be able to find Guam, but we can find North America. Portland, Seattle, then Vancouver, then the runways.”
“I bet Guam is bigger than Portland,” Pete said. “And are there really soldiers at these airfields?”
“I hope so. Now we’re in the air, Tess or Doctor Dodson will call Canberra and tell them we’ve left, so hopefully they’ll pass the message north, however they’re managing that.”
“If there are empty airfields at all,” Pete said.
“I think there are,” Corrie said. “If Bobby wasn’t aboard, I might say differently, but I don’t think Liu would risk her son’s life. Anyway, it’s out of our hands. I can’t fly, and I don’t think you’ve learned in the last few days. The plane did most of the work during take-off, and it’s doing it all now, but we’ll need Liu for the landing.”
“Fair enough,” Pete said. He sat in the nearest seat. “So we’re going to Canada. Then Indiana, I guess.”
“If you want to,” Corrie said.
“It was an idea,” Pete said. “One I hadn’t really thought through. One I didn’t really think would come true. Like ever seeing you again.”
“But you did see me. You found me. We can find Olivia. There’ll be vehicles at an airfield. Soldiers, too, hopefully. So it’s not like we’ll be setting out completely alone.”
“We’ll be unarmed,” Pete said. He reached for his pocket. “I’ve got the pistol. Do you still have the shotgun?”
“Just the assault rifle,” she said. “But I’ve only got one spare magazine.”
“How many zombies do you think there are in America?”
“That’s a sum I don’t want to calculate,” she said. “When we land, we can get a car and enough gas to reach Indiana and return. It sounds crazy, but I think we can do it. We can try.”
“Yeah. We can try.”
“And we’ll bring back real intel on what’s going on in America,” Corrie said. “That’s what the Marines were meant to do. That should buy us enough goodwill to cancel out the fact that some gangsters were blowing up Broken Hill to get to us and this plane.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” He stood and walked back to the boxes. “Give me a hand.”
“What with?”
“It’s going to be cold in Canada,” he said. “We’re going to need some of those coats.”
Epilogue - Hello and Bonjour
Nanaimo Airport, British Columbia
26th February
“It’s a five-hour time-difference, and a thirteen-hour flight,” Pete said. “So are we eighteen hours ahead, or does that mean we’ve travelled back in time?”
“Time zones aren’t the same as time travel,” Bobby said.
“Hey, but imagine if they were,” Pete said. The further they’d travelled, the increasingly grumpy the boy had become. Both boys, if Pete was being truthful, but he was feeling too tetchy to be honest with himself.
The decision to continue north-northeast up across the Pacific to Canada had been inevitable, made swiftly, and, ultimately, anticlimactic. The lack of windows in the cabin masked the true passage of time and distance. Bobby had spent some time up in the cockpit, but there was little for Liu to do but hope the autopilot didn’t break and so less for her to teach her son. Corrie had spent more time up there, calculating and recalculating a course that was surely little more than a guess. Pete had taken one look at the wide blue ocean, another at the wider blue sky, and retreated back into the windowless chamber, where he’d distracted himself as best
he could, and entertained Bobby as best he knew how.
“We’ve crossed the international date line,” Pete said. “So I think that means it’s tomorrow. Corrie’s good at math. Always was. I’m terrible.”
“What are you good at?” Bobby asked. “I mean… I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you mean, and I don’t know,” Pete said. “I stopped asking myself that a few years ago. I don’t think it matters whether you’re good at one thing or another, just that you enjoy what you do.”
“Like selling carpets?” Bobby asked. “Did you really enjoy that?”
“Honestly, yes. Some days I worked sales, some days I did fittings, so there was variety, but not too much unfamiliarity. The pay was okay, which, compared to some places I worked, was pretty good. I was tired when I went home, but not exhausted, and the people I worked with made it a place I didn’t mind going back to the next day.”
“Oh.” Bobby mulled that over. “And is that what you want to do… you know, after?”
“If that’s what I end up doing, I’d be more than happy,” Pete said. “Shall we watch another movie? Kempton seems to have everything that’s just been released. What about Race Against Time Two?”
“I haven’t seen the first one,” Bobby said. “I suppose I can when we get back to Australia, but it was meant to be a big trilogy. They’ll never make the final film, will they?”
“Why couldn’t they? One day.”
Bobby didn’t reply, and Pete didn’t press. He wasn’t in the mood to watch a movie either.
“What about something to eat?” Pete said.
“Not hungry,” Bobby said.
“Me neither,” Pete said, and he’d run out of ways to entertain the boy, or distract himself. So, it was a welcome relief when Corrie came through from the cockpit.
“Still can’t figure out how the intercom works,” she said with forced cheer. “But good news, we’ve got land ahead of us.”
Surviving the Evacuation (Book 16): Outback Outbreak Page 26
