Aftermath (Invasion of the Dead) - Part I (12 page)

“
Good idea.”

He too
k the axe from the storage area in the back.  It was a familiar tool.  He had spent countless hours splitting timber for his parents’ wood fire.  Out camping, they had shared a roster for the essential jobs: firewood, clean water, dishes and washing.  He had grown to know the axe like a friend and it felt comfortable, but he prayed he would not have to use it. 

“Be careful,” Kristy said, placing
her hand on his arm.  “I couldn’t deal with it if…”

He though
t about kissing her for good luck.  A peck on the cheek or maybe the lips.  What if he never got the chance?  What if he was killed or maimed so badly he couldn’t function? 
You’d be a zombie then, and wouldn’t remember anything. 
He knew Callan would be pissed though, and Greg would be heartbroken.  “Thanks.”

“You wanna co-pilot?”  Greg said from the front seat.

Yes,
he thought. 
That would be fucking great. 
Greg
was
a good guy.  If Dylan had learned one thing on this trip, it was that.  It sucked that he liked Kristy too.  He wouldn’t risk anyone else though.  “Thanks man, but I’ll take this one.”

Sherry said, “
Hurry, I hate being out here exposed.”

Stepping outsid
e, he closed the door.  The day’s heat remained like a warm blanket.  The ground was dry, as though it hadn’t even rained in Albury.  He inhaled through his mouth, bunched his nose in disgust at the rotten scent. 
Death.
  It was close.

Dylan
hurried to the fixed section of the gate where the sliding part closed.  The lever sat on the other side, and he needed to lean through the bars and pull it to release the connection.  He turned in a circle, widening his eyes and tuning his ears to the night.

The town was dark, except for the odd lick of orange flame. 
He heard them, far off, goring and grunting, feeding, killing. 
We can’t stay here. 
It wouldn’t be long before they overtook the town, if they hadn’t already.  They would find them up here on the hill, eventually.

He leant the axe
against the fence and squatted, reaching through the railings.  His fingers groped, finding weeds and the bulky motor casing.  He felt around, but couldn’t find the lever. 
Damn. 
He didn’t want to have to climb over.  It was too high for him to scale without a boost from one of the others. 

With a final
push, he reached between the bars, and touched a thin, flat metal rod.  He clasped his fingers around it and pulled, feeling the mechanism dislodge.  He took the axe and walked to the heavy gate, then leant into it, pushing with his thighs.

The gate moved a couple of inches and stopped.

Once it gathered momentum it would roll all the way to the other side, but he didn’t have the strength in one arm.  He would have to put the axe down.

His heart
skipped.  He looked around once more just to be sure they weren’t waiting for him inside the property.  He laid the axe on the ground and stood at the end of the gate, then pushed, getting his shoulders and legs behind it.

The gate
slid open, picking up momentum.  He gave it a final shove and it coasted to the other side, leaving space for the Jeep and trailer to enter.  He heard the muted sounds of clapping from inside the car and gave a thin smile.

Picking up the axe, he
stepped aside and waved them through.

The
Jeep spun its wheels on the gravel, found traction, and then rolled past, rising slightly as it crossed raised ground under which a concrete pipe ran ferrying rainwater from the roadside gutter.  The brake lights on the boat glowed as he stepped into the gateway, preparing to pull the barrier shut.

The boat cover
was partially off.  Dylan halted. 

The shadows moved and two zombies
sat up from the bottom of the boat, sniffing the air with vigour, chunks of animal flesh hanging from their mouths. 

The rabbits
.

The
y were eating the meat Callan had stored in the boat fridge.  The smell must have lured them.  The zombies dismissed their curiosity and returned to the feast.  With their heads down, it was impossible to see them in the dark.

Dylan’s
guts shrivelled and he fought the urge to run.  He had known such a fight was coming, eventually.  Did he call the others?  No, it would alert the zombies.  He had the surprise advantage, and might be able to kill one easily.

  Holding his breath, he stepped towards the boat. 
Could he really do this? 
What if it was someone he knew, one of his parents, or a neighbour?  They were no longer who they had been in their previous life though, and they would kill
him
without hesitation.  If the town was as bad as they thought, killing these things would become normal.  He considered what would happen if he didn’t kill them.  No kiss with Kristy, or death.

H
e tightened his grip around the axe handle, and raised it.

The first zombie
looked up.  Dylan swung sideways as if cutting into a tree.  The blade dug into the soft flesh of its neck and its head jerked sideways.  Blood exploded in jets, and Dylan felt wetness on his shirt.  The zombie fell out of the boat with a thump.  He pulled the axe loose and stepped back for another swing as the other monster slid over the edge.

As it
attacked, a third zombie feeding in the bottom of the boat stood up grunting and started climbing out of the boat.  Dylan watch horrified. 
I can’t beat three of them.

The distraction c
ost his advantage, and the second undead closed, sticking out its arms, clutching with curling, bloody fingers.  Dylan felt slimy hands and swung the axe, breaking its grip and slicing its arm.  The zombie shrieked, but didn’t halt.  Dylan jumped back, and turned to face them on a steeper downward slope, gagging at their stinking smell, fear tugging at the stability of his mind.

They lurched at him and h
e raised his weapon, securing his footing for a powerful swing, but his left foot slipped on the loose gravel and he lost balance.  They were on him in a moment, scratching at his clothes, and he felt their hot breath on the back of his neck. 
I’m dead,
he thought. 
I’m going to die. 
He couldn’t believe this is how it would end. 

A dull thud sounded
and one of the zombies fell aside, grunting. 
Move,
he demanded. 
Do something! 
Dylan thrust upwards with the thick back section of the axe, connecting with a head.  He swung again, and hit the monsters torso, knocking it backwards onto its ass.

Greg stood to the side with the shotgun
turned upside down, drawn back as if waiting for a pitch.  The zombie crawled towards him begging for more and he swung again with one of the sweetest actions Dylan had ever seen.  The sound made a thump, like striking leather. The side of the monster’s head caved and it folded to the gravel.

Two
down. 

Dylan
stood, drawing the axe into position.  “Thanks,” he said, breathing heavy.  He had thought he was dead, writing off Kristy, making it home, and finding his parents.  Euphoric joy flooded him and he wanted to shout, but he knew they weren’t finished.

 
The monster Dylan had knocked over looked from one to the other, hissing.  It chose Dylan and lumbered towards him.  Invigorated, he re-enacted his first swing and the axe dug into its bony neck, but still did not severe the head.  The undead staggered, and Dylan swung again, this time knocking it to the rocky patch as stones kicked up.  It lay with savage wounds to the neck and shoulder, its mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.  He thought of how close he had come to dying, and he raised the axe and thrust it down, tearing through the zombie’s neck in a clean cut, separating its head.  Inky blood spurted onto the gravel in short sprays, and then the walking dead fell forward and lay still.

The
zombie with the crushed head kept trying to stand, but the damage had ruined its balance and one leg kept failing.  Dylan passed the weapon to Greg, and in one motion, he spun around, and drove the axe through the meaty neck and into the gravel with a clunk.  The body twitched once, then stopped moving.              

They stood watching the
ir effort, breathing heavy.  Dark stains covered the gravel in random splashes.

“I’m
glad I can’t tell who they were,” Dylan said.  “I don’t think I could kill one of my old school teachers.”

“You might have to soon. 
Don’t think about it though.  I didn’t kill a soldier at the checkpoint.  I killed a fucking animal trying to hurt Kristy.”  He paused, considering.  “Think of it like this.  If you don’t kill it, you will end up one of them.”

He couldn’t stop himself thinking that he would, eventually.  The others, too. 
“Thanks man.  For helping.  Again.”

“S
ure,” Greg said, touching one of the heads with the toe of his boot.  “Any time.”

Greg raised the
axe again and detached the first zombie’s head.  “Just to be safe.”  Together, they drew the gate across, and Dylan locked it in place, securing them inside the perimeter.

Back in
the Jeep, Callan said, “Where did they come from?”

“
They tore the cover back and climbed into the boat probably when we stopped on Main Street.  They were after the rabbit meat.”

“
We have to be more careful,” Kristy said.  “These things are everywhere.”

The car edged up the wind
ing incline.  The broad yellow beams revealed a large, two level house, with surrounding rock gardens and manicured lawns. 

“Greg saved me
,” Dylan said.  “I slipped on the gravel.  I must have walked over it a thousand times before, half the time blind drunk.  Without him, I’d probably be dead.”

“I think Greg gets the ‘Zombie killer of the day award’”, Callan said.  “I’d be scared if I was one of them.”  He put up the palm of his hand and Greg slapped it lightly.

Kristy smiled, and squeezed his hand.  “I’m glad you’re okay.” 

Dylan
felt stirrings of desire.  He
had
fallen for her.  He took her hand, lifted it to his mouth and pressed his lips against the velvet skin, feeling electricity suffuse his limbs and torso.  Kristy’s eyes widened, then her face softened and she smiled.  They looked at each other for a long time and then lay back in their seats, their bodies close and comfortable.

6.
        
The House

Callan guided the
Jeep onto a flat area covered in crushed rock beside the main veranda, and followed the path in a circle until it pointed away from the house.  He cut the lights and darkness filled the place, except for a sliver of moon.

“Torches?” 

“In the boat.  Pink bag,” Kristy said
.  “With the batteries and rope.”

The day had been an emotional
roller coaster.  If she thought about the dead, she lost control and cried, wondering if it would ever end.  She couldn’t recall shedding tears at so many different times.  She wished she were emotionally stronger, able to deal with it the way Sherry had, even if it meant being a bitch.  With Dylan beside her though, it all disappeared into another time.   

The fingers of her left hand
remained entwined with his.  She wanted to prolong it, sit there all night.  Until now, he had been coy, at times removed.  The odd instant had kindled the flame, but beyond a few words or the briefest touch, she had made all the investment.  What had changed his mind?  Right now, she didn’t care.

“Let’s move then,” Callan said
, turning to Dylan.  “Which way into the house?”

Dylan
snatched his hand away.  “Front veranda.  If it’s locked, there’ll be a spare key hidden.”

“Good.  Greg, you get the torches, Dylan, lead t
he way, and you girls go straight into the house, just to be safe.”

With the exception of Greg, t
hey walked across the gravel parking area.  A giant gumtree stood beside the house and for a moment, its strong smell of eucalypt took Kristy back up to the lake and she felt a pang of longing.  Four wooden steps preceded a long merbau veranda edged by a three-tiered rail.  Dylan led them down the decking to a set of wide glass sliding doors reflecting the sparse moonlight.  He paused, and turned the handle. 

Locked.

“I’ll find the key,” he said, squatting to feel the underside of a pot plant.

The garden’s silhouette bubbled
; the grass long and scruffy.  Kristy had visited Dylan’s house before, and it had always been pristine.  She doubted the gardener had been around of late.  A moving shadow caught her attention further off in the darkness.

“What’s that?
”