A silhouette appeared in the doorway. It might have been another one of them, come to join the feast. But the shape moved quickly, skating over the rubble towards the zombie. A blade flashed, and blood sprayed outwards from the zombie’s neck. It slumped to the floor. The man—she saw him, now, cloaked in a hooded jacket, his baby face and pale eyes staring back at her from above average height. He tossed the body aside, then put out a hand for Steve and lifted the older man to his feet.
“We have to leave,” the stranger said. “Now.”
He led them out of the store and stopped on the pavement, glancing in the opposite direction from the way they had come, as though he was expecting to find somebody.
“This way,” Lauren said, not waiting for him to follow. She was grateful for his rescue, but they had to get back to the apartment.
She pushed on the glass entrance and stepped inside, holding it open for Steve, and it appeared, the stranger. After he passed her, she swung the heavy door shut with a thud and locked it, unable to believe they were safe.
They began their trek as the morning sun cast its orange light from the eastern horizon, pulling out onto the wide rolling flats of the Hume Highway. The morning was clear, bright, and promised another long day of scorching heat that would further desiccate the thirsty ground of the northeast region of the state.
Dylan had suffered through the night beside Kristy. Their contact had been minimal, and despite the heat, he had worn a t-shirt with a collar, afraid that if he was naked, she might see the patch with which Klaus had dressed the bite. Twice she had put an arm over him, a potential precursor to more, but he ignored it. She rolled over in a huff, and Dylan cursed himself, sure tomorrow would be the day that he died—or worse, something happened to her; he would rue himself forever for wasting precious moments.
The serum had calmed his agitation, but not his paranoia about the bite and its consequences. He was still reluctant for her to know, despite understanding somewhere, deep in his increasingly paranoid mind, that it hurt her. He was changing too, serum, or not. It was as though the virus dulled certain feelings and intensified others.
They were cordial in the morning, hugging briefly, but the hurt on her face—the soft shadow of her dark eyes that told him she had barely slept—broke his heart. She probably thought his feelings had changed. A deep part of him knew he should say something, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“Are we good?” she asked in a hopeful voice.
He nodded. “Yeah.” But they went no further. It was as though a wall had suddenly gone up between them, and they had nothing left to discuss. Others stirred from sleep. Kristy left the camper and Dylan despised himself for not chasing.
The group prepared to leave quickly, packing and eating without much word. Klaus signaled Dylan and he made for the scrub, away from the rest. Klaus checked Dylan’s bite and administered more serum.
“Is this stuff working?” Dylan asked.
“You tell me,” Klaus said. “I can’t be sure without blood work. Your symptoms don’t seem to be getting any worse. How do you feel?”
“Different, I suppose. I bit calmer, but I still feel like I might lose it at any time.”
Klaus wiped a sleeve across his nose. His voice sounded odd, as if he was congested. “That’s probably normal. I’d like to be able to give you more, but we don’t have much left, and besides, there may still be some side effects. Each of you will process the virus and the serum differently. Just keep me abreast of any significant changes.” Klaus broke into a coughing fit, his face turning a fierce red, spittle flying from his lips.
“Geez, mate, that doesn’t sound too good.” Klaus waved him away. “You sure you’re getting enough of that serum?”
“Forget about that,” Klaus snapped. “Let me worry about the medicine.”
Dylan bit down on a response as Klaus walked away. It was most unlike the scientist to respond in such an aggressive manner, and he wondered whether the pressure of it all was beginning to take its toll.
Blue Boy sat near his feet as they took their places in the van. Greg and Gallagher agreed to drive in the Toyota. The admiral was a good influence on Greg. Dylan hadn’t seen either of them take a drink in days. He was laughing more, and clearer of mind.
Dylan tried to be optimistic as they drove out from underneath the low hanging gum trees. Two kangaroos bounded past and he hoped it was a positive omen. They had still not observed one sick animal.
Two things sat at the horizon of the day—the extra serum they needed, and his sister. Whatever happened after their first stop, Dylan was going to the city, even if he went alone. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Lauren was still alive.
The Hume Highway continued in long, straight runs through lightly scrubbed bushland. As they approached the northern towns of Beveridge and Broadford just beyond Melbourne’s outskirts, the chatter died down. They were closing in on a broader urban area comprising four million people, and nobody knew what to expect.
Craigieburn arrived, the tip of Melbourne’s north, and on their right side, they watched silent houses spreading away from the highway against the backdrop of a low hill. When they hit Somerton, an industrial suburb full of caravan manufacturers, transport companies, and a multitude of large warehouses, more vehicles began to appear on the opposite road going north. Most were abandoned. Occasionally, they saw a lifeless corpse sitting behind the wheel.
It only got a little worse. Cars had stalled going towards the city, and many more heading north in the opposite bearing. As they approached the major intersection with Camp Road, dozens of cars were scattered about the roadway, pointing in every direction. On their left, vehicles littered the parking area outside the K-Mart store. Zombies floated about the lot at their slow, bumbling speed. Bodies lay on the ground, some alone, others being feasted on by their brothers and sisters. And like the large shopping complexes in Albury, a smoke column reached high into the blue morning sky.
Evelyn guided the car into the right turning lane, following the folded map Callan had set before her on the dashboard. Ahead, further down Sydney Road towards the city, the route was a parking lot. When the time came to go further south, he would have to find another pathway to find Lauren.
They crept along Camp Road, crossing a train line, the boom gates ripped from their posts and shattered into countless pieces.
“It’s just up ahead,” Klaus said as the van climbed a slight rise. On their right, a green lake sat nestled between various small warehouses. A sign pointed north suggesting
Saturday Night Greyhound Racing.
They drove over the slope and onto a flatter section of road. On the right, a series of wide squat buildings peered out at them from behind a high fence topped with barbed wire. Rolling green lawns in need of mowing surrounded the structure. A cannon, once used in some distant war, sat in the middle of the lawn.
“Maygar Army Barracks,” Gallagher said. “No good.”
Evelyn slowed the van. Gallagher pointed them out in the dark windows, standing behind the glass, stumbling around. It wasn’t a place they might stop and get help.
They left the barracks behind. Three hundred yards ahead, behind another fence and a row of tall conifer trees, they saw the top of a large building with the words CSL in red letters.
“Pull up,” Callan said. Evelyn did, braking hard and pulling in behind a small truck parked up on the curb. Abandoned road works signs lay flat in the curbside grass. Another hundred yards along, a group of five or six people stood at a set of traffic lights outside what appeared to be the entrance, dressed in Army clothing and holding machine guns. He didn’t like it. He had expected they would simply drive up, enter the building, and collect what they needed.
The others joined them in the camper, and Gallagher stood behind the driver with a rifle and scope at his eye. “They’re guarding the facility,” he said. “Waiting for people to approach the gate. But I don’t think they’re military.”
Klaus stood beside him. “Under such circumstances where a virus has affected the population, this sort of facility becomes very valuable. In all likelihood, they have taken over the facility.”
“What sort of value?” Evelyn asked.
“Vaccines. Antibiotics. It doesn’t matter. Men always find the tradable currency, and this—a place that manufactured medicine in a world where such no longer exists—has a high currency. I’m surprised the government didn’t try to lock it down.” Klaus turned away and sneezed twice. He groaned. “Summer cold.”
“So does that mean we won’t be able to get in?” Dylan was already thinking ahead.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Klaus said in an unconvincing tone. “It will just be more difficult.”
Evelyn turned off the campervan and they sat watching the men outside the entrance, careful not to show excessive movement, although Gallagher was certain they were hidden behind the abandoned truck.
Shortly, a man appeared out of the bushes behind the fence. He was medium height, with a Middle Eastern complexion. He wore jeans, runners, and plain green t-shirt. He had short black hair, and a scruffy beard. Gallagher pointed the rifle. The man put up his hands.
“Who the hell is that?” Callan asked.
Kristy went to the window. “He looks friendly. Maybe we should talk to him. He might know something about the facility.”
“What if he’s one of them?”
Gallagher said, “I don’t think so.”
Callan led them in a bent-over sprint across the footpath to the fence protected by the road works equipment.
The man greeted them with a friendly tone. He’d been returning home after scouting for supplies, walking through the hedge at the edge of the site. He wasn’t part of the group. He lived on the other side of the facility. All of his friends and relatives had died, except for his wife, who was back at the house. Mobs of people patrolled the area, fighting for control of the facility. Each day he went out alone checking houses, looking for supplies and things that might have been left behind.
Dylan said, “We’re trying to get into that building.”
The man shook his head. “You can’t. I’ve been trying for a week. Those men have taken it over, and they kill anyone who tries to get in.”
Gallagher crept up behind the tip truck and peered along the street through the scope of the rifle.
Callan hooked fingers into the chain link fence. “Have you tried talking to them?” The man raised his t-shirt and revealed a bandage over his right shoulder. “They shot you?”
He nodded, smiling. “They’ve taken many shots at me. I’ve found a way in, but I’m afraid if I go in there alone, I’ll get caught, and die. There was another man who lives nearby that I was working with, but I haven’t seen him lately.”
Dylan wasn’t sure he liked the man, but he couldn’t put his finger on why.
“Why do
you
want to get
inside?” Kristy asked.
For a long moment, Dylan thought he wasn’t going to answer. “To find some medicine.” The smile faltered for the first time. “My wife is sick.”
“The virus?” Kristy asked. The man nodded. “What happened? Was she bitten?”
“I don’t know. She came down with a head cold. She was acting peculiar—kept saying we were going to get killed, very paranoid, and angry all the time. It was most unlike her.”
Dylan looked away.
Sounded familiar.
He wondered whether Kristy would put two and two together. He glanced up to check she was looking at him. She was, and his face filled with heat.
“We need to get into that building,” Kristy said. “Can you help us?”
Callan said, “We might be able to help her.
If
we can get inside and find what we need.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Really? I can get you in.” He pointed back along the road. “There’s a small cut in the fence in the next property. You crawl through there, and then do the same again into this facility. They’ve been there for years.”
“But how do we get inside the building?”
“I’ll show you. Do you have weapons?”
“Yes,” Callan said. “Enough to put up a fight. What’s your name?”
“Ahmed.”
Callan asked, “Who’s going with Ahmed?”
“Me,” Dylan said. Kristy shot him an icy glare. He frowned back at her, and she turned away.
“I’ll go, too,” Gallagher said.
“Klaus,” Callan said. “Nobody else knows what they’re looking for.” Callan put a hand over his eyes to shield the sunlight, and waved Klaus from the camper.
“We need to distract them,” Ahmed said. “Whoever is coming into the facility will need to follow me. The rest will need to drive the van further up to the gate as if you’re trying to get in. They will engage you. Tell them you’re looking for help. Medicine. They won’t hurt you but will tell you to leave. That will take their focus away.”
“Are you sure?” Kristy asked.
“I’ve seen it done before several times.”
Klaus stepped gingerly from the van and shuffled across the curb to the fence. He wasn’t moving well, Dylan thought. Something wasn’t right with the scientist. Blue Boy followed. Dylan wondered whether the dog would growl at the man, but he sat patiently on his haunches beside Callan, who explained the plan, guiding them away from Ahmed. “What do you think, Klaus? We’re placing a lot of trust in this man.”
“Yes, we are, but I don’t see we have a choice. Without him, our chances of getting in are minimal.”
Dylan shielded his eyes from the sun. “Couldn’t we approach the gate and ask them to let us inside?”
“He told us to do that, so I guess we’ll find out if it works or not.”
“How much serum is left?” Dylan asked.
“Not much. We need to get in that building.”
“But if we’re careful with the ser—”
“No!” Klaus said. Dylan stepped back. “There won’t be
enough
. There isn’t enough now.” He massaged his temples. “We need to get in that facility or those of us infected won’t be going much further.”
“I think that makes it pretty clear,” Callan said.
In the end, after a little more gentle persuasion, they all agreed that Gallagher and Dylan would accompany Klaus and Ahmed.