The next bit happened with unnatural speed. It was as though he’d been walking in a daze, unaware of what was happening around him.
He heard footsteps, like a long line of people moving along the street towards him. He slowed, contemplating returning the way he’d come. Gunfire exploded, lighting up the road ahead with flashes on both sides of the street. A scream sounded over the gunfire unlike anything Dylan had ever heard. More movement. The distant sound of a car engine and squealing tires. He began to backtrack. It was ahead, whatever it might be, and Dylan knew that way was no longer an option. He turned and sprinted, poking the torch into the darkness, searching for a way out. The intersection was still too far ahead. Heavy footsteps, shouting, followed by rapid gunfire. He heard noises all around, like a stampede. He’d inadvertently walked into some chaos.
And then it was on him, a car or truck, maybe more than one, the noise crashing in like a wave through the darkness, screeching from around the corner, tires fighting for grip on the road, the gunfire all round. He swung the torch but lost it in his panic. He tried to get out of the way, but then it was too late and the last thing he remembered was spinning as something struck him from behind.
Dylan woke in the blue light of pre-dawn. His skin was cold and his head ached. It took him half a dozen seconds to realize where he was and what had happened. He climbed to his feet through a blanket of rubbish, knocking a garbage bin over as he staggered for balance. Where was the torch? His gun? He dropped to his knees and searched the ground. The gun was snuggled under a plastic bag, and the torch had rolled past the bin.
How long had he been out? Hours at least. Dawn was coming. He wondered how Gallagher was doing, and if Lauren and the others back at the apartment were safe. He walked along the street, keeping close to the buildings, using them for cover. He had to get back to Queen Street. He checked the next sign and found he was on William. What had Julie said about the way the streets were named? King, William, Queen, Elizabeth. That meant Queen should be the next one parallel. He took a left onto Lonsdale, hurrying along the pavement as the early morning light pried away the darkness,
As he passed an odd-looking building, he glanced in through the dark windows and saw movement. Unconsciously, he slowed to a stop, feeling the pull of
something,
some unidentifiable darkness.
Run.
He heard the whisper of Gallagher’s voice in his mind, telling him similar.
Dylan ran. He glanced back once as he approached the corner and saw shadows spilling out of the building.
Threes,
like black oil from a drum, pouring out over the streets. He didn’t know what was going on there, but there were more of them than he had ever imagined.
By the time he made it onto Queen and sprinted the last two blocks to the apartment building, he was gasping for air. He raced in through the entrance, broken glass crunching under his feet. He threw the fire stairs door open and climbed with the torch beam bouncing in one hand and the 9mm in the other. On the second level, the shadows unfolded and a clumsy feeder came at him. Dylan shoved it backwards and shot it in the face. The noise stung his ears.
He slowed outside Lauren’s apartment. Again, despite the risk, he’d somehow managed to avoid dying.
One day, your luck will run out
. He tried the door and found it locked. Good sign. He knocked three times and shortly heard the sound of footsteps. The door swung open and Lauren stood there.
“You asshole!” she yelled, pulling him to her with a heavy embrace.
“I’m okay,” Dylan said. He stepped inside and shut the door. “We need to go now though.”
Lauren said, “But we’re not ready.”
Greg put a hand on Dylan’s shoulder. “Glad you made it back, mate.”
Dylan thought of his conversation with Gallagher.
Make a choice.
“Thanks, mate.”
“Where’s Gallagher?”
“We found a ship. A big bastard. Gallagher stayed there to get it ready. He should have it going by now. But we have to move. Something is happening with the type threes. I saw them in large numbers coming out of a building. Like an army of them. I think they’ve started moving.” His throat was parched and sore. “Water, please.” Lauren handed him a fresh bottle of water and he drank, the back of his throat singing with delight at the coolness.
“I’ve found a couple of cars in the underground lot,” Greg said. “A red Commodore and the white Toyota Ute—it’s a quad cab.”
“Great. We
have
to go now though. Let’s move.”
The others hurried about, drawing half-packed bags and baby items into a pile. Evelyn had packed two boxes of non-perishable food, and Dylan carried one to the door. Lauren returned from the bedroom with a bag in each arm.
“You got a pen and some paper?” Dylan asked.
“What for?”
“I want to leave a note for Callan telling him where we’re going, just in case.” Evelyn stopped at the sound of Callan’s name. Dylan reached out and squeezed her hand. “Don’t give up on him yet.”
Greg said, “We’ve got nine people. That’s two cars, plus space for luggage.”
“Nine? What about Lorraine?”
“She won’t leave Steve.”
Dylan understood. “She’ll die if she stays though.”
“I don’t think she cares.”
Dylan slung one of the packs over his shoulder. He replaced the almost empty magazine in his gun and then stood before their assembly, feeling the weight of leadership rest uneasily on his shoulders. This had always been Callan’s role, and more recently, Gallagher’s. He peered around at their faces, full of fear, and expectation, with a shadow of hope: Julie holding Sarah’s hand, Evelyn holding Jake’s. Greg and Alexander had their guns, and Lauren cradled Harvey. Claire stood on the end.
“If one of the cars gets into trouble, the other one has to keep going. Just drive for Station Pier, understand?” They nodded. “We can’t get sentimental about this. It’s do or die now.” He considered what to say next, losing focus in his desire to be away, but he found nothing inspirational. “Let’s move out. Good luck, everyone.” They began to disband. “Wait. Just… just don’t give up, no matter what. Even if you think you’re not going to make it.” He looked at Greg and smiled. “One of us will have your back.” Greg smiled and stuck out his hand. Dylan gripped it firmly and they shook.
They left the apartment in a line, Dylan leading the way, Greg bringing up the rear. On the ground floor level, Dylan jogged to the front entrance and secured the note to the doorway with electrician’s tape he’d found in one of the other apartments. Even if Callan reached the building, it would be a minor miracle if the note were still attached.
The underground car park lay silent. Outside, beyond the concrete barriers and thick metal roller door, the sounds of the growing horde made Dylan uneasy.
You’ll have to deal with that soon.
Greg led them to the two vehicles he had chosen for their escape.
“I checked almost every car,” he said. “These were the only ones with a spare set of keys hidden inside.”
“Any sign of zombies?” Dylan asked.
“Not that I saw. But be prepared.”
Dylan led Lauren, Harvey, Claire, and Alexander to the red Commodore sedan. Evelyn, Jake, Julie, and Sarah followed Greg to the Toyota quad cab. They stopped at the tail as Greg scratched around in his pockets for the keys. Dylan heard the noise from the other car—a slobbery crunch that sounded like a dog eating its dinner.
“Back,” Greg said, shifting his body in front of them. He moved slowly towards the front of the vehicle, gun pointed, searching the undercarriage.
Dylan drew his handgun and walked near them. “I thought you said you checked?”
A hissing woman with bloody jeans and gooey tendrils of long hair shuffled out from the other side of the vehicle and went for the closest person: Sarah. It was faster than they expected, as if accruing all its energy for the moment an unsuspecting victim wandered too close.
“Get back,” Greg called out. He hurried along the opposite side, striking his hip on the mirror.
It’s going to get her,
Dylan thought. He and Alexander were too far away; too many people in between. It grabbed hold of Sarah’s arm, slobbering and growling.
But there was Julie, the portly, middle-aged woman who had once been afraid to leave her house. She seized Sarah’s other arm and yanked her away. The feeder lost its hold. Julie stepped around Sarah, protecting the younger girl with her girth, and swung the pack she was holding. “Get away from her!” The bag struck the zombie in the side of the head, knocking it off balance and onto the concrete. Julie pulled Sarah aside as Greg arrived and stuck the muzzle of the handgun in its ear. The thing mewled, bulging eyes rolling in their sockets. He blew away the side of its head and the thing slumped to the concrete in a bloody heap.
Greg circled both cars to ensure they were clear and then helped the others into the back of the quad cab. Evelyn would drive and Greg would shoot, where required. Alexander was the designated sniper from the back seat of the red Commodore; Dylan had allocated himself driving duties. Lauren sat in the front seat holding Harvey tightly.
Dylan started the engine, reversed out of the car park, and rolled slowly towards the door. Evelyn shadowed his trail. As he pulled within a car length of the exit, he braked and climbed out, listening for the slithering and groping outside. There was no option but to raise the roller door manually. He took hold of the chain and pulled, using his body weight. The gate began to rise. Bright sunlight shot under the gap. He expected to see legs scurrying toward the opening, but the roadway appeared to be clear. He raised the door high enough for both cars to pass through, and then hurried back to the driver’s seat.
As he pulled the door closed, a type three strolled into the doorway.
FIFTY-TWO
Dylan punched the accelerator and thrust the Commodore through the exit and into the zombie. It hit the windscreen with a crunch, rolled up over the car and bounced off the side, landing inside the car park. The red sedan screeched as it sped left into the laneway and disappeared.
“Go!” Greg screamed.
Evelyn floored the Toyota, felt the clunk and bump as she drove over the feeder, then passed under the roller door and out into bright sunshine. She spied the campervan on her right, tires flat and windows smashed. Useless. There was movement near it and then something crashed into the side of the vehicle with a heavy thud, rocking the car.
“Keep going!” She pulled on the wheel, hurting her wrist, glimpsing the end of the Commodore as it disappeared onto Franklin Street. “Follow him.”
She did, the engine screaming. The vehicle raced down the laneway and leapt over the shallow cobblestone gutter with a thud. There were zombies everywhere: a plague, some quick, others sluggish, the crazy ones tossing the slow ones out of the way, racing after the car from all sides of the street. It was as though an army had been unleashed, an invasion from a conquering land.
“Greg?” Evelyn asked. She heard her voice tremble. She suddenly wanted to be back inside the apartment. Anywhere but here.
“I know. I don’t know what the fuck’s happening.”
The raced up the slope to the intersection of Queen and Franklin. The Commodore disappeared around the left bend, knocking the attacking feeders to the side. That was the key, Evelyn thought. Drive fast and the crazies couldn’t get to them.
“Don’t stop. Whatever you do, don’t stop.”
She had no intention of doing that. The sound of a chopper floated to them from overhead. Greg moved about in his seat trying to find it. “Where is it?” Evelyn asked.
“I’m not sure. Let me worry about that. You follow Dylan.”
She glanced back and saw the same mask of terror on the faces of Julie, Sarah, and her beloved Jake. She hated putting him in such danger. He should have been somewhere safe, out of harm’s way. She had failed in her duties as a mother to protect him time and again. She promised herself that if they made it through this, she would prioritize his welfare over everything else.
They pushed on down Queen Street, chasing the flashing brake lights of the Commodore as it flew beneath shadowy oak trees and alongside towering buildings. Evelyn surpassed her previous driving efforts, switching between brake and accelerator, rolling the steering wheel in both directions.
You can do this.
She glanced over at Greg, stiff-faced, hands holding on tight to the door handle.
Queen Street came to an end as the red Commodore skidded right, wheels smoking. Evelyn followed its line, passing an empty tram, and beyond the rail yards, where trains stood motionless. They raced along parallel to the Yarra River and made a sharp left, crossing the slow-moving body of brown water littered with a swathe of floating debris.
More cars, pile-ups, even a bus tipped onto its side. Dylan was driving like a genius maniac, swerving, braking, skidding, and speeding. Somehow she kept up, thankful for the Toyota’s more powerful engine, but the next rear-view mirror look chilled her heart. “Oh, Jesus, Greg. What the hell is that?”
Greg rotated in his seat, as did Julie and the children. A crowd of zombies was chasing them in the distance—not the slow type ones, but type threes. Evelyn had no idea from where they had come, but there were more than she had ever seen in one place running along the street after them.
Dylan slowed so suddenly that Evelyn almost rammed into the red sedan. The tires screeched, the seatbelt pulling across her chest. She
was
going to hit them. To avoid it, she pulled the wheel right at the last moment and crashed into the dented side of another vehicle. Dylan and the others disappeared through a narrow gap between two towering piles of rubble.
“Hurry!” Greg screamed.
Evelyn yanked the gear stick into reverse, but when she put her foot down on the pedal, the engine groaned and the twisted squeal of metal on metal sounded. The car wouldn’t budge. The bumper guard was caught on the other vehicle.