Invasion of the Dead (Book 3): Escape (13 page)

“We need to move,” Ahmed said. “Drive up to the gate and ask to be let in. After they reject you, keep driving along this road and take the left turn. The street runs along the fence line of the facility. We’ll meet you there.”

“How long do you think it will take?” Callan asked.

Klaus scratched his head. “I have no idea. Could be thirty minutes. Could be four hours.”

It felt like déjà vu to Dylan, as so much of their lives had lately. He didn’t want a grand goodbye with Kristy. It was as though the sentimental part of him had been supressed by the virus. But she probably didn’t understand why he had requested to go into the facility. He didn’t want to hang around this place too long. He would keep them moving and hurry their progress towards the city. He had a fleeting thought of telling Kristy all of this, but decided dropping that on her and running off wouldn’t be fair. He would do it immediately upon his return.

Her eyes were glassy as he they hugged. “Be careful,” she said.

“You too.” He kissed her softly on the mouth, lingering a moment. He knew he should say more; tell her how much he still loved her, but instead, he turned away and considered what lay ahead. 

Inside the perimeter, Ahmed walked parallel to them as they followed the footpath away from the campervan. Dylan turned back once. Callan stood at the door, squatting beside Blue Boy, a hand around his neck. Kristy had disappeared inside the van. They passed another fence and came to an overgrown block where snarling weeds and blackberries covered the fence line. Ahmed could go no further. Another chain-link fence ran at right angles from the road. “There’s a cut in the wire up a little way. Go through it, and then walk diagonally to this fence.”

They found the inconspicuous opening in the weeds and wriggled through it, Klaus catching his shirt on the sharp wire ends. Dylan couldn’t shake the feeling that they were walking into danger, and as they crossed the heavy undergrowth, he posed the question to the others. Klaus couldn’t keep pace though. Dylan slowed, waiting for the scientist. Sweat ran down his face with the exertion under the hot sun.

“What choice do we have?” Klaus asked, still agitated.

They reached Ahmed and he pulled the flap back to allow them easier pass, then led the three of them through a tangle of brush, ducking behind an old shed. Was this crazy? Who was this guy and why did they trust him so quickly? Through the fence, they watched as the campervan and Toyota drove off towards the gate.

“We wait here a moment,” Ahmed said, peering around the corner of the shed. Dylan stood behind.

Fifty yards away, near the entrance, several men patrolled with machine guns. If Ahmed had wanted, he could call out to the men and they would probably be shot. Suddenly Dylan didn’t want to be there, regardless of whether he was getting serum or not. He considered returning to the street and waiting for the campervan. He stepped out from behind the shed. A hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back.

“What are you doing?” Ahmed’s brows angled down sharply.

“I—”

“They’ll
kill
you if they find you in here.”

A noise sounded from the gatehouse. Another vehicle had pulled up in front of the gates. The men patrolling the grounds hurried towards the entrance, leaving them unobserved.

“Now,” Ahmed said. They ran.

TWENTY

As they pulled away from the curb, a black BMW turned into the entrance of the facility from the other direction. The men standing outside the gates flocked to it, guns drawn.

“Keep going,” Callan said, standing beside Evelyn. “Drive slowly. And be ready to speed off.”

Evelyn feathered the accelerator, watching with a cautious eye. Her stomach fluttered, but not in the way she would have liked. Men and guns were not her favorite thing of late. They were driving into a potential situation, and the group had split. They all mattered to her now. Each of them had contributed to her and Jake’s survival in some way. “How close?”

“Just pull into the turning lane, but don’t drive up to the entrance.”

She glanced back to make sure Jake was seated, and saw Greg standing behind Callan with a rifle.
She guided the camper left into the turning lane and pulled up. Ahead, the black sedan was parked at right angles in front of the gatehouse. Six men, some wearing bandanas, others ponytails, stood around it, holding machine guns and pistols. Two were close to the sedan, talking to the occupants. Despite the strong feeling, Evelyn resisted driving away. “I don’t like this.”

Greg stepped closer to the front window. “Yeah, me neither.”

“Hold on,” Callan said. “Let’s see what happens. Based on what Ahmed said, they should turn the BMW away.”

One of the gunmen noticed them and started towards the campervan. He said something to the others, and laughed. The driver of the black sedan became vocal. The door opened and a man climbed out of the passenger side. A ponytailed gunman barked a command at him. The man kept coming. Ponytail raised his pistol and shot the passenger. Blood exploded from the back of his head and he crumpled to the ground.

“Go. Go!” Callan screamed.

Evelyn released the brakes and chirped rubber as they leapt away from the curb, pulling back out onto Camp Road. As they passed the gatehouse, gunfire chattered, clunking into the van. Sarah screamed. Evelyn screamed. The men dropped.

“GET DOWN, JAKE!”

Evelyn couldn’t get down. She wanted to; she felt her limbs and body pulling at her to drop, but she held tight to the wheel. The thud of bullets and the sound of ripping metal echoed through the inside. She should have been protecting her son. She risked a glance back; Julie had both Jake and Sarah lying down on the seats, her ample body covering them. A feeling of deep gratitude washed over Evelyn.

She slowed the camper as they approached the first left turn, crunching the curb with the rear wheel. Instinct told her to keep going, to drive straight on, but Dylan and the others were inside, and the man had said to meet them down the side—

“There’s a man chasing us,” Kristy called out. She stood at the back window.

Evelyn took the first street, running parallel with the boundary of the CSL site. Trees lined the road, providing shade from the incessant sun. “Goodie or baddie?” Evelyn asked. 

“I don’t know. I think it was one of the men from the sedan.”

“Where do I go?” Evelyn asked.

Callan dropped into the front seat. “Keep going for a bit.”

“Are you okay, Jake?” she called out.

“Yes, Mom.” Julie still had both the kids under one arm.

On their left, heavy foliage filled the inside perimeter of the facility grounds, towering above the barbed wire fence. On the right, the snarling gardens of abandoned houses peered at them. They reached a bend in the road, away from the CSL grounds and deeper into the suburban folds. Evelyn didn’t think they wanted to go that way, and Callan confirmed her thinking.

“Pull up here,” Callan said. “At the corner.”

Evelyn climbed the gutter and parked on the grassy curbside behind a red sedan with weeds growing around flat tires, a relic of the street’s former inhabitants. Armed with rifles, Callan and Greg moved towards the back of the van, checking the view from each window. In the distance, gunfire popped and cracked.

Kristy stood at the side window. “I don’t think it’s safe to wait here.”

Callan rubbed his temples. “Let me think.” He started pacing.

Evelyn had never witnessed him so stressed. Usually, his calm demeanor prevailed. She supposed this was different though. He couldn’t influence the outcome. He had to wait, dependant on the others.       

“He’s coming,” Kristy said. “The man who was chasing us.”

Callan opened the side door and stepped out, followed by Greg and Kristy. Evelyn left the driver’s seat and went to Jake, who hugged her tightly around the waist. He was okay. That was her number one concern. Through the back window, Evelyn saw man approach the van. Greg and Callan were walking towards him with their rifles pointed, Kristy trailing just behind.

In a loud screech, the black car that had been parked at the gate rounded the corner and drove directly at them. The others halted. The man kept running, screaming words Evelyn couldn’t understand. She fought the urge to start the engine, drive them away, and return later for Dylan and the others. Her instinct burned like a bad tummy ache. Whilst zombies were their main enemy, people were just as dangerous. Greed and brutality seemed to have infused the psyche of those who remained. It reinforced the luck she and Jake had in finding this group. She pulled Jake closer.

The man had almost reached them. Callan put up a hand, signaling for him to stop. Greg held his aim tight, looking down the line of the gun. Beyond, the car slowed, pulling into the curb.

The man reached Callan and slumped over, hands on knees. His big stomach drooped, and his wrinkled face was flushed with exertion. He stood up and brushed his thinning blonde hair askew. They began an exchange that Evelyn couldn’t hear. The black sedan stopped, and two men leapt out—one tall in a t-shirt and jeans, the other shorter, in similar attire, brandishing a gun. Evelyn had a fleeting moment of panic when she thought the gunman might start trouble, but he put a hand on the running man’s shoulder as if to check his condition.

Shouts sounded from the other side of the fence. Gunfire exploded. Bullets clunked into metal. And then everybody was running.

TWENTY-ONE

Dylan and the others reached the closest building in a fifty-yard run by following Ahmed in a squat line. They fell against the wall and peered out at the grounds, expecting gunmen to be on their tails. Klaus stood bent over, hands on his knees, coughing and spluttering as though he had just run the fastest mile of his life.

Gallagher put a hand on his shoulder. “Klaus, what’s the matter?”

The scientist shrugged off the hand. “Nothing. I’m just not used to it.” He stood tall, adjusting his glasses. “Let’s go.”

Ahmed signaled for them to follow and they rounded a corner into a rectangular cove with three sides. A number of large, aluminium shafts covered by grates exited the building horizontally. Dylan searched for a door, or some other opening, but the walls were vertical, towering above them two or three stories high into the cloudless blue sky. “Tell me we’re not going into them,” he said.

Ahmed looked apologetic. “There used to be a door on the western side they sometimes left open, but it’s locked today. I already checked earlier, on the way past.” He took hold of a grate attached to the front of one shaft and yanked it off.

“You’ve done this before?” Dylan asked.

“I’ve crawled around in them for a little way, but that’s all.”

Dylan didn’t like confined spaces himself, and thought about whether he absolutely had to be here. Perhaps he could wait outside for the others to return. He imagined being stuck out there for hours. He was there to keep them on schedule.

“You don’t know where the shafts lead?”

“Everywhere. It’s a maze. There’s an entry point into most rooms though. I’ve looked down into a few. I was too scared to try anything else. But I did see one of the gunmen poking around.”

Gallagher approached the shaft, holding the pistol. Klaus still wasn’t armed, refusing to hold a weapon. Dylan slotted the handgun into his waistband and double-checked the extra cartridges in his pockets. Ahmed moved aside, holding the grate. “Are you coming with us?” Dylan asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll meet your friends on the other side. I’ll keep them concealed until you return. Just follow the perimeter of this building south,” he pointed, “and I’ll be waiting at the fence.”

Dylan studied Ahmed, wondering what it was about the Middle Eastern man he didn’t like. Was it his appearance? No. He’d had friends over the years from all different backgrounds. Ahmed was too convenient. He was
too
helpful, too keen to get them inside the facility. It was almost as if he’d been waiting for them. Dylan wondered if he even had a wife. Ahmed returned his gaze. 

“I’ve dealt with that sort of scrutiny all my life. You don’t trust me. I understand. But you still have a choice. Find your own way into the facility. See how far you get.”

“If you’re lying and we survive this, I’ll kill you myself.”

Ahmed‘s hard expression softened. “There won’t be any need for that, I promise.”

After they had piled into the air-conditioning shaft, Ahmed resecured the grate, filling the space with shadow. “Good luck.”

They worked their way forward at slow pace. None of them had any idea where they were going, but Klaus had a sixth sense for directions. But he appeared to be sicker, coughing regularly into his arm to stifle the sound. Dylan was certain somebody would hear them. The darkness between rooms made them move faster, but light from the ceiling openings guided them, and they were able to study the contents of each area from high above.

The first time Klaus suggested they might try and drop down, Gallagher had removed the ceiling grate before he realized there was a gunman in the room. Dylan couldn’t see, but he watched Gallagher’s head disappear into a hole in the shaft floor. Moments later, he shot back up. Somehow, he managed to refit the grate without alerting the man. They waited another ten minutes for him to leave before moving on.   

Three rooms and a lot of crawling later, they gave it another shot. This time they made it down onto a desk before a man entered. He looked strikingly similar to Klaus—average height, white lab coat, glasses—although he was mostly bald. He stumbled back against the wall, dropping his clipboard when Gallagher levelled a gun at him.

“Who… are you?” the man asked, his face twisted into a look of terror.

“Shhh,” Gallagher said, dropping onto the tiles. He approached, keeping the gun trained on the man. “Help us find what we’re looking for, and you won’t get hurt.”

His voice quivered. “Are you part of the men out front?”

“No. We’ve come a long way. We’re looking for some medicine.” Gallagher closed the door. “Who are you?”

The man explained that he was a lab assistant who had worked for CSL, and had initially been tasked with compiling information about the virus from sources around the world. He lived near the facility, but as the pandemic progressed he did not bother going home, sleeping in the first aid room and eating from the cafeteria. He’d kept to himself, working at night mostly, following social media and using electronic communications to gather information. Slowly, people stopped coming to the facility, until eventually, he was the last. He’d begun tampering with influenza vaccines in hope of creating an inoculation, but he didn’t have the training or expertise, and mostly just wasted samples. When he finished speaking, Klaus explained the results of his research, and the man became animated.

“We have supplies of interferons here. They’re used in the treatment of MS, leukaemia, hepatitis, and autoimmune disorder.”

“You have stock?” Klaus asked. Dylan read the eagerness in his face.
No,
it was more than eagerness. It was desperation. A sudden, shocking thought entered Dylan’s mind. He didn’t know whether he had guessed or if his instinct was somehow more receptive. He backtracked, reflecting on Klaus’ behavior of the last few days. It all made sense.  

“You haven’t been taking the serum,” Dylan cut in.

Klaus’ face went blank. He searched for a response. In the end, his shoulders sagged. “So what?”

Gallagher said, “Holy shit, Klaus, have you lost your senses?”

“Yes. I certainly have.”

“How long since you took any?” Dylan asked.

Klaus closed his eyes, exhaling a long breath, as if gathering control of his aggravations. Then he shifted his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“I stopped taking it when I started administering it to you.”

“He’s bitten, too?” Gallagher asked.

“At the defense facility,” Dylan said. He supposed it no longer mattered who knew about his infection. He would tell Kristy when they returned.

“There wouldn’t have been enough. I’ve had to reduce both of your dosages. In fact I doubt whether it’s doing much good at all.”

Dylan and Gallagher passed a look.
That
made sense, Dylan thought. He had begun to feel better yesterday, but the feeling had diminished overnight. His paranoia and angst had returned. 

“That’s noble, Klaus, but a little short-sighted,” Gallagher said. “If you die, we’ll never produce any more of the serum.”

“I thought I’d be capable enough to make more before that happened.”

Dylan understood. The virus clouded your judgment and created delusions. Despite knowing this, though, Dylan was powerless to stop his own destructive reactions.

“We have inventory,” the lab assistant said.

“There is a particular type I need. Not the standard variants used to treat the illnesses you mentioned. These are special. I’ll need to see the stock.”

“I can take you there.”

“What about the militia?” Gallagher asked. “I’m surprised they’ve kept you alive.”

“Thankfully, they leave me alone. Probably because there’s nobody else to provide them basic medicines when they need it. And…” He gave a false smile. “I told them I was close to making a vaccine. I think they believe they can sell it off to the highest bidder.”

Gallagher circled the room, picking through various items atop the benches. “What about zombies? Any inside the facility?”

“No. The militia killed them all off. We never had many to begin with. The facility held well.”

Klaus said, “Take me to the stock.”

The man, whose name was Mitchell, led them quietly along the corridors, pausing at corners, opening doors that seemed to appear from nowhere. It reminded Dylan of the defense facility, only without the zombies. They covered long hallways with darkened rooms full of benches, cupboards, and unused apparatus. Several sets of stairs at the end of hallways went both up and down. Dylan recalled the detail of the base in Canberra. He was glad Greg wasn’t there; otherwise, his paranoia would have been through the roof. Mitchell explained that this section of the building housed the laboratory and testing areas, and further back, towards the rear of the facility, were the manufacturing and blending services.

“There are a couple of other small ingredients I’ll need to blend with the interferons,” Klaus said as they passed through another door. “They’re not unique, but they increase the longevity of the interferons when the mix is dosed correctly.”

They reached a set of stairs. Mitchell stopped at the bottom. “Actually, I don’t think it’s a good idea you come with me to the stores.”

Klaus adjusted his glasses. “Why?”

“Because if the men catch us they’ll shoot us all dead on the spot. They don’t get down here much, but up there…” He let the thought sink in. “Me, alone? They won’t say much. They’ll let me go about my business. They know I’m working for them—I mean, working on something for them. They won’t interfere.”

Klaus ground his jaw in thought. He studied the man’s face.
I’m working for them.
Had that been a slip of the tongue? Either way, a nagging suspicion surfaced. He couldn’t pinpoint it—all Mitchell’s actions so far had been positive, but it was too easy. They found the one man in the whole facility that could take them directly to the drugs they required. Dylan didn’t like it.

“It makes sense,” Gallagher said. “How far is it from here?”

“Not far,” Mitchell said. “I—”

“But how will you know what to bring back?” Klaus asked.

“Write them down.” Gallagher turned to Mitchell. “You got a pen and a piece of paper?”

“Great idea.” He slipped a ballpoint and a small spiral notepad from his top pocket and handed them to Klaus.

“Hold on,” the scientist said. “Can I talk to you two for a moment?” The three of them huddled off to the side.

“Don’t take too long,” Mitchell said. “I detest being out in the open like this. I like to keep moving. I normally just get my stuff and hurry back to the lab.”

“You’re agreeing with everything he’s saying,” Klaus said to Gallagher. “Why?”

“Because he’s bullshitting. But how else are we going to get the ingredients?”

Klaus’ brow twisted in thought. Dylan saw the cogs in his mind working at rapid speed. Sweat still beaded on his scalp. He removed his glasses and wiped his face with the back of his forearm. “We leave him now, or disengage him from the current course, and we don’t get the interferons. We let him go, he comes back with it. They need the serum blended and produced as much as we do.”

Gallagher nodded. “He tries any funny stuff and we’ll deal with that.”

Dylan supposed it made sense. He was almost certain Mitchell wasn’t telling them the truth. Just how that played out was yet to be seen.