Invasion of the Dead (Book 3): Escape (4 page)

Jacob saw the hospital in the distance and wondered whether they should go there, but recalled Callan’s story about the one in Albury and decided to pass.

As they approached the first section of shops, worry stirred in his gut. The buildings on either side of the road had their windows smashed. Glass lay in a spattering on the pavement outside, and a wispy trail of smoke swirled from one. He spied movement inside what looked like some sort of hotel and slowed the car.    

Rebecca sat up. “What are you doing?”

“I just wanna—”

And there they were, scratching about the rubble inside the building, pushing past each other in pursuit of some unseen food. Tables and chairs had been smashed up and overturned. Bodies lay at irregular angles. Something caught Jacob’s attention on the left, and he saw a similar scene in another building. And then another and another. It was as though someone had pushed a button and let them all out of their cage. He gave up after that.

“Can we turn around?”

What would they find beyond here, though? Every other town was going to be in a similar state. Supplies and weapons were what they needed. But Seymour contained everything they needed amongst its zombie population. If they left now, there would be nothing between here and Melbourne. They had no choice.

“A bit further. There’ll be a safe place here. We just have to find it.”

Jacob guided the car to avoid the same old abandoned stuff on the road—vehicles, rubbish, even bodies. In the mirror, he saw that feeders had wandered onto the street beyond the other car, drawn by the sound of automotive engines. More appeared from shop fronts.

They approached the intersection of Emily Street and the Goulburn Valley Highway. On the right lay a smoking pile of rubble, a blue sign poking up through the bricks like the arm of a zombie. POLICE. Jacob followed the road around the corner, peering into the debris, looking for signs of life. He knew there would be none.

Jacob moved slowly. Behind them, the four-wheel beeped its horn. Phil stuck a finger up from behind the front window. Jacob supressed a curse. They were idiots, he decided.

They followed the street around the corner to the left. On their right, the shady umbrellas of a dozen oak trees spread across the scruffy lawn of a sizeable park.

They took the corner and almost slammed into a vehicle stuck in the middle of the road. Zombies surrounded it, attempting to get at something through the passenger door. Jacob braked and swivelled around, looking behind, looking for a way back. But the red four-wheel drive had pulled in close behind them and there was no way out.

FIVE

Dylan sat at the kitchen table watching them talking about him. Listening to their whispers and accusations. Maybe they already knew. Maybe they were plotting against him. Why didn’t they come and talk to him? They were staying away. Greg refused to look at him. He knew what he’d done. He’d left Dylan to die, turning his back on him.

The bite on his neck. The wound throbbed. He needed to have it washed and cleaned. More importantly, he was infected with the zombie virus and needed treatment. Dylan knew the outcome of
no
treatment as well as anyone else. At that moment, the virus worked its way through his blood, changing his cells, changing
him
. His skin was hot and itchy. He wanted to scratch it away, but didn’t dare look too obvious to the others.

Kristy was already suspicious. He didn’t want her to find out yet; he wasn’t prepared to face the fact she knew he was going to die. He needed to talk to Klaus, the scientist. He’d know what to do. Once it was out though, he worried they would all know. Klaus and the admiral were dealing with the same situation and they had managed to keep functioning.
Toughen up,
Dylan told himself. The buzz though. The buzz in his blood, the buzz in his head. He could feel it. Johnny all over. It had driven him mad. He killed himself in the end, unable to handle the thought of becoming one of them. Dylan closed his eyes. If he didn’t get a grip, they’d work it out soon. Greg probably suspected and was telling Callan now. Two days. That’s all he had. Two days and he’d end up like Johnny. He should check on the bite and at least make sure it was clean so it didn’t get infected.
Infected.
You are, fool.

He sat pondering his short future, feeling as though he was gradually going mad. Eventually, the van slowed and pulled over to the roadside at the top of a hill where a corrugated tin shed doubled as a toilet block. They were near Yass, and soon they would be battling their way into another town. They would need him, and he wouldn’t be able to avoid that. The others began leaving the vehicle. Kristy looked his way and signaled with a nod of her head.
Get moving.
He waited for the kids to go, then slid out from behind the table and followed.

“You okay?” Kristy asked, taking him by the hand.

Maybe she didn’t know. Her concern was heartbreaking. Part of him wanted to tell her, but the words stuck in his throat. It would kill everything they managed to forge over the last weeks. He would rather suffer the knowledge of his imminent death for a day or two longer than have her look at him with pity. “Dylan?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just a little tired. And I’ve got a headache.”

Kristy rubbed a hand on the back of his neck and he stiffened. She noticed it and pulled it away as though touching a hot stove. “You’re warm. How long have you been feeling like that?”

“Couple of days,” he lied.

“I’ll get some paracetamol.”

“Okay. But I gotta pee first.” He walked quickly towards the toilets.

“Come and see me when you’re done.”

The door opened with a squeal and he slipped inside, feeling safe again. He slipped off his shirt and tried to assess the bite, twisting and turning. It was impossible to examine from any angle, and there were no mirrors. His fingers touched the wound, and when he pulled them away, sticky blood covered the tips. Dylan shuddered.

He emptied his bladder, left the cubicle, and headed towards the others standing on a gravel mound at the edge of the clearing. Kristy stood beside Greg with her arms folded. Dylan recalled the incident back at the base that would eventually cost his life. Had Greg deliberately left him to die? Had his act caused Dylan to get bitten? They were questions to which answers, at this point, were impossible. Dylan’s gut told him there was something in it, but when he considered all Greg had done for them, saving their lives on multiple occasions, it didn’t make sense. It was difficult, though, to shrug off the image of Greg’s face as he turned for the door, leaving Dylan to die.

But he came back.

He reached the group and stood amongst the long weeds beside Callan. They were looking down at a panoramic view of the Yass Township. The structure of the settlement was spread across several miles, dotted by trees, and flanked by a golf course in the distance. The Yass River cut through like a python, its body thick on the outskirts of town and thinning to a narrow tail beyond the spillway as it wound its way through the center of town. Smoky columns rose from several buildings. The occasional crash or boom floated to them. There was no movement of cars or people. The main street wasn’t visible, but there were plenty of stalled vehicles on the outskirts. The most obvious thing was the smell, the slow decay of the dead and rotting food almost unbearable.

“Seems quiet,” Greg said.

Callan shuffled. “Yeah. But the bastards are down there.” He looked up at the sky. “I still think we can make it in and out before dark.”

“No,” Kristy said. “Not tonight. We have one torch. If we get stuck …”

“I’m with Kristy,” Evelyn said. “I think we stay here and go in the morning. We’ve got enough to get us through the night. Who has the energy to do anymore today?”

Callan considered this. “I suppose.”

Sarah called out from the van. Kristy left and Dylan relaxed, as though she couldn’t discover his secret. A day ago, he’d have never dreamed of such a thing. The notion stung him with sadness, and he doubted keeping it from her. Holding onto secrets was poison. Eventually, it caught up to you. He learned that with Johnny and Sherry, who had betrayed Callan with their affair in the most deceitful way. The truth had been revealed in the end, and to what good? As he moved away, leaving the others to continue their discussion, a voice stopped him.

“Hold up.” Klaus approached, adjusting his glasses. “I’ve been watching you since we left the facility. Is everything okay? You don’t seem your usual self.”

Dylan started to respond. Did the scientist know something? Were the symptoms that obvious? Maybe he was changing quicker than Johnny did. Perhaps he should tell Klaus. He could help. He’d keep the secret. He needed to be alone, to collect his thoughts, and decide what to do next. He turned for the camper. “I’m fine.”

Klaus jogged after him. Dylan stopped, and Klaus pulled in close. “No you’re not. Agitation. Reticence. Irritability. They’re all sym—”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Dylan snapped. Klaus raised his eyebrows. Dylan cursed himself for endorsing Klaus’ suggestion.

Klaus reached out and took Dylan’s hand. “Your capillaries are enlarged.” Dylan pulled away. “Tell me what happened before it’s too late.”

That was it. He knew. Somehow, he knew. Dylan glanced around to make sure the others weren’t watching. “I’ve been bitten.”

A shriek sounded from the van. A zombie, its skin paper-thin and gaping with sores, shuffled out of the bushes, hooked hands clawing at the air. Jake was closest, standing by the doorway. He didn’t make a sound, but bumbled backwards and fell onto the gravel. The thing staggered forward to within a few feet. Blue ran at it, barking. Dylan moved, catching Callan and Greg from the corner of his eye with the same intention. They were too far away though. Kristy leapt out of the van and landed near it, a kitchen knife in her hand.

There was no hesitation. She swiped the blade at the zombie’s neck, opening a wound that sprayed blood over the gravel. It made a desperate lunge at her, not quite finished, and hooked its fingers onto her black leathers, drawing her close. Kristy hesitated—or waited, Dylan thought, then swung the knife in a roundhouse arc and jammed it into the side of its head. Blood jetted out. Its hand fell away, and it slumped to the dusty earth with a thud. Kristy helped Jake up, then walked over to a clump of grass and wiped the blade clean. The others stood back, watching. Kristy disappeared inside the van with Jake.

“Let’s sweep the area to make sure there are no more,” Callan said. Gallagher dragged the zombie off into the bushes.

Dylan wanted to finish the conversation with Klaus, but the scientist followed Kristy inside, and Callan seconded Dylan for the scout. The discussion would have to wait, although he was worried now because Klaus knew his secret.

Callan led Greg, Dylan, and Gallagher through a wall of brush at the edge of the parking area with hand weapons and one of the gunman’s discarded pistols from the defense facility. The land dipped and rose; shallow gullies filled with bushy saplings and monstrous logs covered in moss, leading into rough, rocky ridges. They spread out and weaved between gum trees and eucalyptus, through tangled brush, until they hit the highway again. Gallagher suggested the zombie had probably wandered from town, so they doubled back beyond the camp, checking to make sure no others had stopped for a visit, and cleared an area of equal size on the west side, too. They scared a wombat and two kangaroos, but saw no zombies. Blue disappeared for a time in chase, but reappeared shortly after, panting. Satisfied, Callan led them back, Dylan eager to find Klaus, hopeful the scientist had thought of a way to help.

Dylan found him sorting through supplies in a storage compartment at the back of the camper. “What can I do?” he asked, startling Klaus.

For a moment, he thought Klaus was going to say nothing. “Are you sure about the bite?”

Dylan leaned his head forward. Klaus pulled the collar of his jacket down. “Is it bad?”

He let the jacket go and stepped around to face Dylan. “It’s a bite. Similar to mine. Telling me earlier would have been more helpful. What were you thinking back at the defense facility? If you’d spoken up when Callan was arguing for the dog, you might have been better off. We can’t reverse the degeneration, only halt it.”

It did seem irrational now, and Dylan struggled to explain it. His emotions were turbo-charged, rolling on a wave of sentiment. In the moment, it had made sense, but now he saw Klaus’ logic. Dylan shook his head. “It just felt like the right thing to do at the time.”

“How do you feel? I’ve noticed contrasting moods.”

“Yeah. I feel okay at the moment. Was feeling crazy before though. I couldn’t concentrate when Callan was arguing about the dog.”

“There are varying symptoms—the admiral said he initially felt like he was going mad, and that his skin itched as though his blood was burning.”

Going mad.
Maybe that’s what was happening to him. “I haven’t had that yet. Just a bit… strange.”

Klaus nodded. “What’s done is done. I need to get you some of that serum.”

“Is there enough? I mean…”

“There’s some. We’re not out yet, but one more person will reduce the quantity for the others.”

“I don’t want—”

“You have no
choice
, if you want to live. I can’t believe Kristy is let—”

“She doesn’t know.” Klaus raised his eyebrows. “I haven’t found the right time, and I’m worried she’ll …”

“You’re risking trouble there.”

“I know. I’ll deal with that later. How long have we got if there’s four of us using it?” Callan appeared outside the camper, talking through the entrance. He glanced their way and headed towards them. Dylan thought of Johnny, and the pity they had all had for him. “I don’t want anybody else to know yet.”

Klaus considered the answer. “Don’t worry about it. That’s my problem.”

“How do we do this then?”

Callan had almost reached them. “I’ll get the serum. If you’re adamant you don’t want the others to know, then we need to find a quiet spot. I only need a moment.”

“Let’s go.”