Tankbread 02 Immortal (26 page)

“Get out of the truck!” one boy yelled.

“We can take them,” Rache said from the back seat.

“No,” Else said. “They haven’t attacked us. We don’t kill them unless they do.”

“Yeah?” Eric did not look convinced. “Who’s volunteering to die so we can get the green light?”

“No one dies,” Else said and opened the SUV door. She slid out onto the driveway. Laying her son on the cushion of the car seat, she wrapped him up tight in a blanket and kissed his warm head.

“We didn’t know this was your place,” Else called out to the boys, her hands open and at shoulder height. “We were just looking for a place to stay the night. We can move on. We don’t want anything from you.” Else walked forward, her hands open, a calm expression on her face.

“Everybody get out!” the boy yelled again. His companion jerked his rifle from the SUV to the truck and back again. Else could see how wound up they were. They looked like they might start shooting at the slightest provocation.

“Everyone, move slowly and climb down. Leave any weapons where they are,” Else called over her shoulder.

They moved slowly on legs made stiff from long hours sitting on the cramped truck bed. People climbed down and stood in a loose group at the rear of the vehicle.

Eric, Rache, and Cassie emerged from the SUV. “Hey guys,” Eric said. “Sorry we rolled on up your driveway. We didn’t know there was anyone living here.”

“Keep your hands up!” the older boy yelled as Else let her hands lower. She hesitated but did not raise her hands again.

“You need to keep calm,” Eric said. “We’re not your enemy. If you would just open the gate, we’ll be on our way.”

The older boy said something to the younger, then leaned his rifle against the fence and climbed over the gate. Reaching back through the rails, he dragged his rifle through and resumed covering the travelers.

While the two boys were occupied, Else lowered her hands even more. The revolver she had taken from the farm lay tucked into the back of her jeans. She stood there, still smiling, and curled her hand around the gun butt.

“What would you like us to do?” Eric asked.

“I want you to start—” he began. Else’s arm flew up, the gun level in her outstretched hand. She fired once, the heavy boom of the revolver echoing around the yard.

The older boy ducked, screaming for the other boy to get down. Everyone else hit the ground, mothers covering children with their own bodies. The younger boy screamed, an evol slumping over him, the oozing bullet hole in its forehead marking where Else’s bullet had found a home.

Else lowered the gun. “You should bring your brother inside the gate, where it is safe.”

“Michael!” the older boy scrambled to the gate latch. Yanking it open, he kicked the limp corpse off the younger boy and dragged him up.

The younger boy sobbed in terror, his face the color of milk. He clung to the older boy, crying into his embrace.

Else walked over to them. “I’m sorry I frightened you,” she said. “There was no time to shout a warning; I saw her about to grab him.”

“How did you know he is my brother?” the older boy asked.

“You smell the same,” Else said.

Michael sniffled and lifted his head. “You’re weird,” he said.

Else grinned, “Yes, yes I suppose so.”

Michael and his brother, Sam, had lived in relative safety with their parents during the Great Panic. They told their story to the survivors who settled in their house, sharing their food and the warmth of the fire.

“We did okay,” Sam told them. “Dad kept us safe. We had everything, we grew all the food we could want. Dad taught us to shoot, and the fences kept the bad people away.”

“Where are your parents now?” Else asked.

“Mum . . .” Sam started, then swallowed hard. “Mum died, she was having a baby. Dad had to lay them both to rest.”

Michael crossed himself and Sam continued. “Dad cut his hand on some wire. He got real sick, and he died.”

“When was that?” Eric asked.

“Dunno, I lost count of the days after that. Before the rains started, though.”

“Did you take care of him? After he died?” Else asked.

“Yes . . .” Sam whispered.

“You’re a brave lad,” Eric said. “You’re doing the right thing. Staying here, looking after your brother.”

“There were others,” Michael piped up. “The Alsops and the Delrays. They’d come and help us with harvest and we would go and help them. When Dad was here.”

“They still on their farms?” Else asked.

“No,” Michael said. “We haven’t seen them in a while. I took Chopper, that’s my horse, and went over to tell Mr. Delray that Dad had died. The bad men had come and made the Delrays like them.”

“Did you lay them to rest too?” Else asked.

“No, ma’am. I rode out of there and came home. We’ve stayed on the place ever since.”

Else asked more questions: Was there anyone else living here? Did they know of any settlements? Michael and Sam shook their heads to all the questions. Finally Else asked, “Who was at the window?”

“That was me,” Michael admitted. “When we saw you coming, we thought you might be the bad men. So we sneaked out and came around by the gate.”

“Do you want to stay here?” Rache asked.

“We don’t have anywhere else to go,” Sam replied.

“You could come with us,” Rache said. “We’re going to a safe place. There will be other kids your age and you would be welcome there.”

“This is our farm now,” Michael declared. “We have to stay and work the land.”

“What happens if one of you gets a cut hand from some wire? Do you know what tetanus is?” Else asked. The boys shook their heads.

“It’s probably what killed your father. He had bad spasms? His jaw locked up and he had a high fever?”

Michael nodded, reliving the horror of the terrible days when his father was dying.

“We can take you somewhere you can be safe. There’s a doctor there who can treat diseases and infections.”

“Sleep on it,” Rache said. “We’ll stay here with you tonight, and tomorrow we will be on our way. If you want to come with us, you can.”

Michael and Sam didn’t look convinced.

The survivors settled down to sleep and the two boys retreated to their rooms upstairs. Else followed them, the baby cradled in her arms.

“Michael, Sam,” she said, catching up with them at the top of the stairs. “You are two of the bravest boys I have ever met. Your father and your mother would be so proud of you. They would also want to know that you are safe.”

“We talk to them, up in heaven,” Sam said.

“So if they are looking down on you, the best you can do is listen when God brings help.”

“God sent you?” Sam’s eyes went wide.

“Sure,” Else said. “He works in mysterious ways, right?”

“We’ll see,” Michael said and took Sam by the arm. “Go and wash up for bed, Sam.”

Else left them to it. She didn’t believe in any kind of god, but faith seemed to have helped these boys through a living hell. She wasn’t about to throw stones at the glass house of their belief system.

In the morning Michael announced they would come with Else’s people. They took Else, Rache, and Eric on a tour of the farm, showing them the vehicles, still in excellent running order.

“I ride the quad bike,” Sam said.

“Mostly we use a horse, or just walk. The engine noise tells the bad men where we are,” Michael said.

“Would it be okay if we took the farm truck?” Else asked.

“Sure, I guess,” Michael nodded.

The truck was smaller than the three-ton flat deck they already had, and the farm’s diesel tank was almost empty. Eric and Rache agreed to load it up with supplies.

Michael and Sam had a locked cabinet filled with well-maintained guns and plenty of ammunition.

Their food supplies were mostly fresh fruit, vegetables, and eggs. Else and Michael went and opened the field gates so the remaining livestock could get out and take their chances.

With most of the supplies loaded on the second truck, the boys crammed into the back of the SUV. They looked close to tears as they drove away from the only home they had ever known, but Else kept them focused with stories of the wonders that would await them at Mildura.

There was still no sign of Joel and Lowanna’s people. Else feared that driving had taken them beyond their reach. Expecting them to make their way to Mildura overland might be too much.

* * *

The highway rolled out in a black strip that was steadily disappearing under the relentless action of windblown dust, water, and weeds that took root in the unrepaired cracks.

Eric chewed his lip every time they topped up the fuel tanks. With three thirsty engines gulping down their supplies, he spent his evenings chewing on a pencil and scribbling calculations on a map.

“How far?” Else asked during one of their nightly council meetings around the campfire.

“Not far enough.”

“How far?” Else repeated.

“Unless we find more fuel, we’d be two . . . maybe three hundred klicks short.”

“Is that far?” Rache asked, frowning at the map.

“Far enough,” Eric said.

Rache frowned at him. “And what does that mean?”

“It means we need to find more fuel or we are going to run out of food, water, and people by the time we get to Mildura.”

“So we go somewhere else, somewhere closer,” Rache said, her practical mind identifying the obvious solution.

“We go to Mildura,” Else said. There was no room for compromise in her tone.

“Well, we’d better keep searching for diesel fuel.”

“Where?” Rache asked, throwing her hands up in frustration. “Every tank we find is empty.”

“I can make explosives, I don’t know shit about making diesel.”

“We need a refinery,” Else said.

“Sure, there are refineries. But who is left to run them? What about shifting the oil to the refinery? What about drilling for oil and maintaining the equipment and machines?” Eric ticked items off on his fingers. “There’s no fuckin’ way we can continue to live in the old world. The oil barons of the future are going to be the guys with horse studs.”

Else stood up, her body tense and quivering in the darkness.

“Evols,” she said. It had been three days since they saw any new zombies. Each abandoned town they drove through gathered more of them. The slow-moving feral dead would turn in the direction of the engines and start following. Most of them got lost, or distracted by some other stimulus. A sizeable group continued to follow.

“Arm yourselves,” Else said, marching out into the camp. The survivors scrambled up, snatching up guns, blades, and anything else they had scavenged.

“Get up, Hob,” Else said, kicking him as she strode past.

“Fuck off,” he muttered but climbed to his feet.

The walkers came out of the darkness, a ragged mix of men, women, and children. The children were the most disturbing. To the survivors, children were precious things. To see them decaying and monstrous brought suffering home.

Else commanded her people to use only blades and clubs, as the noise of firearms would attract more dead. They came in waves, slow moving, determined, and almost unstoppable waves.

Rache gave orders and the survivors spread out. Engineers stood with fishermen and holders, their weapons at the ready. They struck the first line of zombies down, and the next wave washed over them—dead flesh as dry and brittle as parchment, the tears and open wounds of a thousand blundered injuries, ropes of intestines dragged in the dirt.

Else waved her hand and the line of armed survivors plunged into battle. They hacked off limbs, crushed skulls, and kicked gnashing jaws hard enough to shatter blackened teeth.

Rache yelled a wordless battle cry. It was taken up by the others, a rhythmic howling that drowned out the hissing and moaning of the advancing dead.

Else hung back, watching and protecting the babies who cried from the safety of the SUV. The evols pressed harder against the defensive line. The noise and the smell of fear pushed them into a feeding frenzy. Zombies snarled and swiped at the living meat just in front of them. One of the holders swung her blade; the wooden handle snapped when it struck against the peeling skull of a dead man. She tried to step back, slipped in the gore underfoot, and three evols fell on her. Else tensed and yelled a warning to the others, but her shout went unheard in the heat of battle.

More evols tumbled across the defensive line. They slithered over the squirming mass of feeding dead before climbing to their feet and staggering towards the firelight. Else leapt the campfire, her twin blades reflecting the yellow flames. She crashed down on the first of the evols, her weapons slicing deep into the chests of two zombies. Yanking the blades free, she ducked a swinging arm and spun in a circle, the momentum of her blades cutting through the spine of another evol.

She killed in silence. There were no words or battle cries that could truly express her hatred for the dead. The fury she felt could only be eased by seeing them topple, brains destroyed, free to rot at last.