Invasion of the Dead (Book 3): Escape (20 page)

THIRTY-THREE

Callan awoke in the middle of the night from a dream about Klaus. They were back in the defense facility in Canberra, and the scientist was trying to tell him something, but Callan couldn’t make out the words. He kept moving down a long tunnel. Klaus wouldn’t follow, despite Callan calling out for him. Afterwards, he lay there for a long time, searching for sleep again. He called Blue Boy close and found comfort in the dog’s warmth.

After a time, he sat up. They were in the largest room of the station, with a high ceiling and strong, concrete walls. The main door leading out on the street had been bolted shut. Candles sat in all corners and on benches once utilized by people waiting for trains to transport them about their daily lives. Callan stood, stepped over the others on the floor, and went outside into the darkness, Blue at his heel. Rain still fell in heavy sheets, pounding on the tin awning. Callan strolled along the platform and tried to distinguish the outline of the vehicle. It was still there. He peered along the tracks in both directions, looking for signs of movement, but there were none. Should they post a sentry? After what had happened at Campbelltown, it might be an idea, but Blue was there, and he tended to sense things early. Besides, what could the four of them do against an Army like that? He wondered when their time would be up. How long would they survive by the skin of their teeth? They needed a place to go where they could barricade themselves in, like a prison.

It would do for tonight, but tomorrow they would need to move again. He had a rough idea where Dylan and the others were going and beyond that, they had agreed to meet at Station Pier. Whilst their latest rest had been recuperating, he felt guilty for not pushing on. What were the others doing? Were they in trouble, or worse, dead? There was a high chance, he supposed, and that left him with a feeling of underlying dread. Every day was another in risk to all their lives. Callan wondered if Dylan could handle any more loss. At the moment, he thought Kristy was dead. If his sister had passed, too, it might tip him over the edge.

He had thought Kristy was gone. If it hadn’t been for Blue Boy, he might never have found her. Callan reached out and scratched Blue’s neck. He squinted with pleasure, his pink tongue hanging out. He’d disappeared for a little bit earlier, probably off scavenging. All the dog food they’d collected at Yass was in the camper. Callan hadn’t thought of that, but he hadn’t thought he’d find Blue, either. He had to admit they were in a better position now, if they were able to regroup. Blue hadn’t shown any symptoms, and even if Klaus was right and the dog was immune, Callan would feel better if he had a shot.

Callan thought of Klaus, the plucky little scientist. What a man to have come up with medicine to halt the destructive virus. One day, if any of them survived this, he would ensure Klaus’ name was known in recognition for all he had done. Klaus had saved Dylan’s life. He might have ended up like Johnny. He thought of Ahmed, the Muslim man who had essentially saved Kristy. He owed the man a life debt. Ahmed was the first Muslim he had ever met—Christianity was the major religion in Albury, although religion on the whole was dying. Callan had been baptized as a child at his mother’s insistence, but beyond that, he had never attended church outside a wedding or funeral. Had leaving Ahmed behind been the best option? He couldn’t have forced him to come. Grief was powerful, and not to be challenged. Callan didn’t hold much hope for Ahmed, though. He was stuck in the middle of an area full of zombies and men who wanted to kill everyone they found.

The shadows moved, and he recognized the pale color of his sister’s hair in the darkness. She sat beside him. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nah. You too?”

“I didn’t really thank you for coming after me.” She squeezed his shoulder.

“To be honest, I thought you’d been killed. Blue though, he knew. He ran off and led me to you. He’s a smart dog.” Kristy put her face to his nose and rubbed his neck, making soft cooing noises. “Imagine where we’d be without him? He’s saved us all at least once.”

“I wonder where he came from? I don’t recall ever seeing him in town.”

“Doesn’t matter. He’s one of us now. He’s our dog.”

“He’s
your
dog, Callan. He lives for you. He does what you ask.”

Callan laughed. “Unless you’re missing. Then he won’t obey me.”

Kristy was right though. He’d loved his other dogs, but in only a week or so, this dog had wriggled its way into his heart like no other. From his courage, to his charm, it was impossible not to love him. It made Callan vulnerable though. Such vulnerability was a worry in a world like this. What if Blue didn’t make it? The thought struck ice into Callan’s heart. He wouldn’t let that happen.

The rain eased, and they returned to the station room soon after. This time Callan found sleep easier, and there were no more dreams.

THIRTY-FOUR

Lauren woke on top of her bed in the clothes she had worn outside the previous night. Bright light bled in around the edges of the curtains, but most of the room was still in shadow. She guessed it must have been around nine. Harvey was gone, but her panic fled when she heard his cry from the kitchen.
Claire.
She couldn’t recall waking once in the night to tend him. Had her friend taken care of her son while she slept? She had been tired. It was as though weeks of sleep deprivation from all the anxiety about Todd and Lenny and about not having sufficient food to feed the group had caught up to her. Now they had enough to last a little longer. She and Steve and… the mystery man who had saved them, had done what Todd and Lenny could not.

She slid off the bed and passed water, then went out into the kitchen where the others were standing at the bench and gazing out the window. Her corner apartment had never been more important, providing multiple views out onto the street. 

“Morning,” she said, putting her arms out to Harvey, whose tiny face peered back at her. Claire smiled, passing him over. “You’re a darl. Thank you. Did he wake in the night?”

“Yeah. You were snoring.”

Lauren made an apologetic face. “What are we looking at?”

“There’s a group of men wandering about down there,” Steve said, holding a mug of steaming coffee. “Want a brew?” She said she did.
Thank God for the generator,
Lauren thought. Finding diesel fuel to power it had been a stroke of luck. “Alexander says they’ve been following him around the city for two days.”

Alexander.
The tall, underfed man—barely—that had saved her and Steve the previous night. Now, minus the hoodie, his long blonde fringe fell over his face, and she recognized the misfortune in the sharp angles of his features. He hadn’t spoken much since arriving—not that Lauren had heard, anyway. But she might just owe him her life, so she wasn’t going to rush into judgment or make it difficult for him just yet. 

“Sorry. If I hadn’t shacked up with you lot last night, I reckon they might have found me.”

“Who are they?”

Alexander shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably just a bunch of assholes that get their kicks out of killing people—and zombies—and taking whatever they can for themselves.” Lauren followed his gaze out onto the street. On the opposite side, a man with a ponytail and a sleeveless shirt poked a pile of refuse with the tip of his gun. Dark tattoos snaked down both arms. He had a beard and wore dark sunglasses. “I tracked them a week ago. They generally stay closer to Punt Road and pick about Richmond and Collingwood. I reckon they’re only this far west because of me.”

Lauren shifted Harvey to her other arm. Steve handed her a coffee and she sipped, savoring the smell. “What do they want with you?”

“I sort of found a stash of food. Apparently, they considered it theirs. It might have been, but I didn’t know.” He brushed the fringe from his face, revealing eyes as blue as the Caribbean. “I thought they’d leave me alone if I came over this way.”

“How bad are they?” Steve asked.

“Bad. I’ve seen them kill men in cold blood, cut their throats, or shoot them at point blank range. If you’ve got something of value, they’ll take it.”

Claire said, “The city’s a big place. Maybe they won’t hang around long.”

Alexander shook his head. “They don’t go further into the city.” There was a quiver in his voice. “Nobody does.”

“Why?”

“That’s where the bad ones are.”

Lauren had a terrible feeling she knew what he meant. “The smart ones?”

“Yeah. They’re smart. And fast. And they’re building an army, changing all the slow and stupid ones into whatever it is they are.”   

“I don’t like the sound of that.” The man disappeared from view and the group dispersed from the window.

Lauren fed Harvey, changed his nappy, and put him down for a sleep. She led a tidy up of the apartment, and Steve took Alexander to refill the fuel drum for the generator from the supplies room on the level below. While they were gone, Lauren locked the door and checked the street from the window for signs of the men. A single zombie wandered along the road picking through the rubbish.

She sorted the packs of supplies into meals, rationing the quantity by weight. Steve and Alexander reappeared with fuel, batteries, and nappies. Lauren found herself drifting past the window often, looking down onto the street. Their existence frightened her. Zombies were one thing, but humans causing trouble were more unpredictable.

By late afternoon, the men had returned, meeting in a group at the intersection of Queen and Franklin Street. There were six of them, all wielding long barrelled weapons, firing them into the sky like firecrackers. The people in the apartment crowded around the window, but when one of the men looked up towards them, they fled from view.

Lauren wouldn’t let anybody approach for another ten minutes. She crawled to it on her hands and knees, peeking over the skirting board. The group had disbanded, but she saw two groups of two walking down the street searching each building. She knew it was only a matter of time before they reached her apartment block. After that, the countdown would be on and she was helpless to stop it.

THIRTY-FIVE

Julie woke to light coming in through the high windows of the church. At first, before the fog had cleared from her mind, she forgot where they were; she even forgot that Eric was dead and that her life had been completely destroyed. She lay there staring up at the high roof of the nave, ignoring the hard wooden floor biting into her hip, and waited. She had followed a similar process each morning since Eric’s death. The tears would come and she would lie there a while longer and let them. It was cathartic. But on this morning, there were no tears. She lingered, thinking of her day ahead without him, but still she did not cry. Confused, Julie slipped out from under the blankets. 

She left the nave and followed the small passageway towards the back of the church. The clatter of movement sounded from the kitchen. She found Harlan, the minister, pottering about, assembling supplies on a small table. There were several bags of flour and a carton of eggs. Maybe she could make pancakes for the children; they always seemed to cheer them up.

“Good morning,” she said, greeting him in a soft whisper.

“Morning.” Harlan offered a toothy smile. “How are you feeling after a nice rest?”

“Better.”

“The rain has passed. There’s no sunshine, but it’s warming up again.”

“It’ll be hot soon.”

“Yes,” he chuckled. “I suppose it will. Although this building keeps quite cool.” He rearranged the stash of food, adding salt and a packet of teddy bear biscuits. “Would you like a tea, or some coffee?”

“I’d love a tea, please.”

“We still have bottled gas.”

He filled the kettle and ignited the gas hot plate. The tin began to whir. Harlan washed two mugs, glancing at her from time to time with a smile, as if reading her posture and expression. Julie tried to remain impassive. She thought about her inability to cry, and wondered what it meant. Of course the lump of sickly lead in her stomach was still there, but it was as though she had run out of tears. She felt a stirring of guilt and tried to push the thoughts away.

“Are you alright?” Harlan asked as the water warmed.

No,
she thought,
I’m not.
Was she ready to have this discussion? He would pry it all out of her, no doubt. She supposed he was better than any of her traveling companions. She had been more religious as a child, attending services each week, but it had drifted with her marriage and children. Eric had never been one for faith. Julie supposed that if she were truthful, she didn’t know if she still believed. But Harlan had a kind, gentle way about him, and before she debated her action any longer, the words rolled off her tongue. “My husband died a few days ago. I’m still … struggling with it all.”  

“Oh.” His eyes averted, his lips pouted. “I am sorry.” He put two tea bags into the mugs decorated with fading flowers. “Do you find strength in God?”

“Once. A long time ago.” She waited for him to show scorn, but he did not look up. Did she go further and tell him how she really felt? She wanted to hold it in, but she had in truth been seeking such a discussion with somebody of an older vintage. “I’m not sure I believe anymore.”

This time he would yell and order her from the church. He took the lid off the sugar bowl and scooped two spoons into his own mug then raised his eyebrows to Julie. She nodded. “One please.” She waited for him to finish, still expecting his wrath. When he didn’t speak, she said, “You’re not going to say anything to that?”

He smiled. “Our beliefs as an individual are our most important right. Nobody should tell another what to believe in. No religion enforces this. You’ve seen things, experienced them, and consequently, they have altered your belief. My job is not to make a believer out of you, but to put your circumstances in the light of God and let you make your own decision.”

She was taken aback by his acceptance and logic. “Why do you think he died?”

“Sometimes there is randomness in the world. People’s actions create circumstances. Their decisions. We can say God did this to punish us, or to test us, or any of that, but the truth is, I don’t know why He did it. I can’t always find an explanation. But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in Him. Maybe there was a reason your husband died. Maybe you just don’t know it yet.”

Harlan continued. “My view is that God, and through his son, Jesus Christ, has provided us a set of beliefs and values to which we can uphold ourselves. If everybody did that, the world would be a much better place. People don’t though. They have their own moral compasses and from this they make decisions and take actions, and as a result of these, there are consequences for all of us.”

Julie thought that was a fair and reasonable way to put it. God was not responsible for everybody’s actions. He set an expectation and it was up to people to live to that. She wanted to tell him about the way she had been feeling and what it all meant. He had put in her in a comfortable space because he had not forced his religion on her. He accepted her beliefs as her own, and she knew he would not judge her now. She could tell him the rest. They sat, sipping at the steaming brown liquid. He was patient, as though he knew her pain was coming.

“I’ve been thinking about killing myself. Since Eric died, I’ve wondered about the point of going on. My life has always revolved around him. What will become of me? What will I do?”

“What has stopped you carrying out these thoughts?” The question shocked her. She stared at him. “It’s a fair question. It must be something important. Your grief is palpable—from the moment I saw you, I knew you had recently lost someone close. Part of you aches to leave this world, but there are reasons keeping you here.”

Julie felt dumbstruck. “I don’t know.”

“Are you still considering it?”

“Not as strongly.”

“Why?”

She lacked the emotional stability to consider this before, and knew it was only with Harlan’s presence and support that she could do so. If she loved and missed her husband so much, what was keeping her alive?

Harlan went on. “Suicide is never the answer. I believe we all have a part to play, and sometimes it takes us a while to understand it. You’ve found your place in the group.”

“It’s my camper—Eric’s and mine—perhaps they are keeping me around for it.”

“I’ll warrant that’s not it. You don’t notice it because you’re too humble, and you’ve done the same thing all your life. I’ll argue that Eric relied on you more than you him, and I’ll go further and say these people rely heavily on you, too, and will more so in the future.” Julie blew air as if he was making it up. “We all need leaders—every one of us—and leaders come in different forms. Some are physical; others are emotional. Leadership is not always about standing at the front with a gun and shooting dead your enemies. Leadership is about
stability
and
direction.
You feed them, you organize them, and you comfort them. They drive the van, but you decide where they go.”

A sharp thought struck Julie. She couldn’t recall when, but at some point yesterday, she thought they might have asked for her approval to do something. “I think the suicidal thoughts have passed. You’re finding your place in this world and you are
essential
to the ongoing survival of this group. You just need to understand your purpose and hone in on that.” Harlan lifted the cup of tea to his lips. “It will get easier. You’ll never get over it, but eventually you’ll learn to live with it.”