Dead Tropics (27 page)

With a splash, I suddenly found myself floundering in waist high water. We had found the river. In alarm, I tried to scramble back onto the bank. Mike grabbed me around the waist.

"We have to swim across the river."

"Are you crazy?" I hissed, my eyes widening with panic. "There are crocs in here!"

The mangroves here were home to some of the world's biggest and most dangerous crocodiles in the world. On my occasional fishing trips, I had seen some enormous ones sunning themselves on the banks. The thought of swimming across the river...surely he couldn't be serious.

"If we stay here, we're done for." He reminded me grimly. "And so is Sarah."

Sarah
. The reminder cleared the panic from my thoughts. I had to get the medicine to my little girl.
Thank God the bottles are waterproof.

"Okay." My voice trembled. "God. Okay."

"Keep your movements smooth and minimise any splashing." Mike said with calm practicality.

"Don't you ever get scared?" I asked, incredulous.

"All the frigging time." He replied drily. "Let's go. The noise is attracting the corpses."

I realised that he was right as I registered the moaning of many dulled voices nearing us.

Through the cool, dark waters, we breaststroked quietly away from the bank. I thought that I could never be more frightened than I had been, facing zombies on that first day. I was wrong. Swimming into pitch-black water, knowing there were crocodiles present, required every bit of will power that I had. At any moment, I expected to feel steel jaws clamping around me.

I heard splashing behind me as bodies fell into the water.

"You don't think they can swim, do you?" I whispered.

"Nope."

More splashes.

"But as they don't breathe, I can't see anything stopping them
walking
across the riverbed."

Shit

17

"How much further do you think it is?" I hissed, trying to resist the urge to break into a faster stroke and get the hell out of here.

"We should be about half way across by now."

God.
Please let us be faster swimmers than they were walkers.
I tried to remember how deep the river was. I was pretty sure that it went as deep as fifteen meters in part but I had a sinking feeling that the area around the airport was considerably shallower, as only dinghies usually travelled along it.

About thirty feet behind us, the water erupted into a flurry of splashes. Fear gripped me like a vice as I realised that a croc must have taken one of the zombies.
Oh God, oh God.

"Keep it together, Lori." Mike's soothing voice floated back over the light breeze. "If the corpses are keeping the crocs preoccupied, all the better for us. Just keep going."

Slowly, I took a stroke and then another. I couldn't think, my mind was frozen with fear. I just kept moving, focusing on keeping my strokes smooth and quiet.

An interminable time later, my hands touched the mud bank on the other side of the river. With a sob of relief, I allowed Mike to pull me out of the water and into his arms.

He held me tightly as I shivered uncontrollably. I felt him stroke my hair tentatively. His touch felt so comforting and calming that I felt my heart slow down straight away. Feeling almost calm again, I stepped back, out of the reassuring circle of his arms.

"Please tell me we won't have to do that again. Because frankly, I would rather cut my way through a horde of walking corpses."

Mike laughed softly in response, and the intimacy of the moment disappeared.

"Let's head down the river. There is a shanty village not far from here. We should be able to pick up a dinghy there."

Once again, we trudged through the mangroves, keeping to the mud bank. At least on this side of the river, there was little chance of running into zombies. The area here was protected and therefore free from urban development. Thank God for small mercies.

I wondered about the shanties. Of course, I'd heard rumors about the makeshift homes in the mangroves which provided shelter to the dispossessed. That was pretty much the extent of my knowledge. I couldn't imagine anyone
choosing
to make a home in a mosquito-plagued, muddy, humid environment like this. Hell, if I never set foot in this place again, it would be too soon.

The moon decided to make an appearance. I felt like shouting 'hallelujah' as its light illuminated the banks along which we were proceeding. Suddenly we could see where we were placing our feet, instead of having to feel our way through roots and mud.

For another fifteen minutes, we fought our way through the mangrove edge. A gleam ahead caught my eye. I was looking at a piece of corrugated iron which formed a rough roof over a sleeping figure. Behind it, I spotted a blue tarp strung up between trees and some figures snuggled together beneath it. Scanning the area, I counted another four rough shelters.

Mike caught my eye and gestured to the bank ahead of us. I saw a metal dinghy loosely tied up. Stealthily, we skulked past the sleeping figures and knelt beside the boat. Mike untied it and gestured for me to get it. As quietly as I could, I stepped into the small boat and sat down carefully.

Mike pushed the boat quietly away from the bank as he stepped in. We let the boat just drift down the river for several minutes, ears pricked for any noise from the camp. Finally, Mike picked up the oars and started rowing smoothly. I felt bad for taking the camp's little fishing boat - but not bad enough.

From within the safety of the boat, the river looked beautiful in the glow of the moonlight. Occasionally, a fish jumped out of the water and splashed back in. A bird cried hauntingly from a nearby branch. Then as we rounded a bend, the airport came into view.

Brightly lit, the grounds were full of moving figures. Not living people, I realised with a sinking feeling as I noted the staccato jerkiness of their movements. Nothing appeared to be moving on the fields except dead people. The vehicles were stationary, the helicopters were gone and I could not hear the sound of any gunfire. Mike pulled out his binoculars and scanned the airport for several minutes before silently putting the binoculars away again.

"Anything?" I asked, afraid of his answer. He shook his head mutely. We sat in silence for several minutes as we passed the remains of the airport camp. I wondered sadly how many had made it out.

Mike pulled the oars through the water with practiced ease. "We should reach the highway in thirty minutes or so. Hopefully, we won't have a welcoming party."

"God, I hope not. Right now I would be hard pressed to give anyone a good talking to, let alone fight."

He grinned. "So you don't want a go at rowing, then?"

I smiled weakly at him. Just the thought of rowing or even having to walk filled me with dismay. Watching Mike, I marveled at his composure and strength. Pull back his skin, I thought drily, and there was probably a hyper alloy combat chassis underneath.

"You're doing a great job, Mike, pal, mate." I wheedled. He mimed retching in response.

***

We sat quietly for a long time, lost in our own thoughts. I was desperate to hear my family's voices, see their faces, and know for sure that they were all okay. The memory of the look on Michele's face, the way she had begged me to stay home...remorse filled me at my selfish need to be in control, even at my family's expense.

I looked over at Mike as he pulled strongly on the oars. The moonlight played across his strong jaw, dimpled chin and the curve of his lips as he gazed pensively across the water. I hastily redirected my thoughts. Clearing my throat, I offered a penny for his thoughts.

Mike shrugged his shoulders. "Making plans."

He raised a brow at me. "You?"

"Wondering about you." The heat rose in my cheeks as his brows rose. "I mean, how is it that you only have a dog to come home to? You seem...nice."

"Thank you - I think." He shrugged. "Spent several years caring for the old folks after they were injured in a car accident. Since, well, I guess I haven't found the right person yet."

"You must be pretty picky." An attractive man like that would have women throwing themselves at him.

"Guess so."

"So what are you looking for in a woman?" I knew I was straying into dangerous territory but curiosity drove me on. What made him tick, this enigmatic man before me?

"Right now?" He grinned. "Still breathing would do."

I rolled my eyes. "Come on. I'm serious. What are you looking for in a woman that you haven't managed to find in forty years?"

He sighed. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Probably not. Beats thinking about everything else right now."

He dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Well, I've met a lot of fine women, just not the right one."

As I opened my mouth, he continued. "When I meet her, I'll know it."

I looked at him wonderingly. "You're looking for a soul mate."

He winced.

I laughed. "No, it's sweet that you are still a romantic. I hope you find her, your soul mate, one day."

He smiled without comment. But there was a look in his eyes, an intensity, that made my heart start to race. Heat rose in my cheeks as our eyes met and held for a long moment. Looking away, I suddenly found a newfound fascination with the moonlit river.

As we rounded a bend, a houseboat moored by the bank of the river appeared. I could see some lights in the distance, indicating the presence of homes on the beaches - and people.
And where there were people, there were zombies
, I thought nervously. The lights in the houseboat were on but I couldn't see any movement. Mike angled the dinghy to take us safely past the houseboat. As we drifted slowly by, I scanned the houseboat for signs of life. The decks were bare and the large open windows revealed a table set for dinner but no people. My unease increased.

I glanced at Mike. He was carefully examining the river and surrounding mangrove. At this time of night, the tide was going out. Zombies could have reached the houseboat, moored as it was at the shallow end of the river. Putting the oars back in the water, Mike started to pull strongly through the water towards the middle of the river. I felt the sudden urgency in him.

The dinghy suddenly dipped on one side. I gasped and clutched the sides of the little boat. It dipped again like a fishing rod with a large fish on the end.

"Grab your knife, Lori." Mike spoke coolly, eyes alert. I pulled the parang out, feeling adrenaline pumping through my veins.

A grey hand appeared over the edge of the dinghy, making the boat tip to the side. Stepping forward, I swung the parang down and severed the hand at the wrist. More hands reached up. I could see the pale gleam of eyes just beneath the surface of the water. Faint with horror, I chopped off the fingers creeping over the side.

A sudden vicious lurch.

"If the boat tips over, dive for the middle of the river, Lori." Mike spoke grimly.

I nodded, trembling. Mike heaved with the oars but it was like trying to move through jelly. The boat swung sluggishly to the side. Mike stood up slowly and moved to the middle of the boat, oar in hand. A wet, pale dead corpse suddenly dragged itself over the side of the dinghy. Mike shoved the oar viciously into the creature's face and pushed him off. To my horror, I could see the gleam of pale eyes just below the surface of the water all around us.

"We're going to have to go for it, Lori." Mike said quietly. "Dive right over their heads and then swim like hell for the middle of the river."

"Oh, dear God." I groaned, my whole body shaking with fear. "This night
really
sucks."

18

The boat lurched as many hands pulled at it. I propelled myself forward as hard as I could, over those pale eyes in the water, and hit the water a good six feet away. Immediately, I kicked my feet and surged away as fast as I could. Desperation leant strength to my arms and legs and within seconds, I had reached the cooler dark channel in the middle.

Mike passed me with a glance and headed downstream. Even knowing that the river in the middle was too deep for the zombies, I expected to feel a hand or teeth on my legs at any moment.

We stayed in the river for several more minutes until we reached a dense stretch of mangroves unlikely to be accessible to humans - and, hopefully, zombies. We swum to the side of the bank and heaved our wet, bedraggled bodies out of the water.

I collapsed on the bank, panting. Just when it seemed I could not be more frightened, life seemed to be determined to prove otherwise.

"Come on." Mike said, readjusting his wet pack. "We haven't got far to go." Yeah, right.

We struggled through the mangroves until we reached the creek leading into Redlynch. Staying low, we made our way along the riverbank.

The highway bridge stood empty and silent. As we drew parallel to the shopping centre where our bike was parked, we crawled to the top of the bank and peered across the road. The field still crawled with corpses. They staggered and bumped against each other as they wandered aimlessly across the grass and along the road.