CHAPTER 4

Craig felt slightly uncomfortable in the leather and wood grain of Julia's silver Audi. It was quiet and disconnected compared to the grumbling vibrations he was used to in his old Toyota now sitting empty and idle back in the hotel car park in Frankston, over 50 kilometres away

It wasn't long before they passed through a small town. It was a bit of a stretch to call it a town, Craig thought. It was one of those place where if you didn't see a sign specifically identifying the area as a town with a name you would have just assumed the solitary general store and houses dotted here and there wasn't even on the map.

Still, they approach cautiously, eyeballing every direction on the look out for stray zombies or survivors.

They found none.

The landscape seemed so empty, even for this part of the world.

As they left the 'town' a sign showed more places neither of them had heard of before and a place called "Inverloch" which Julia had been to before for a New Year's celebration with her friends once. A holiday spot, known primarily for it's beaches, which, given it was Autumn now and Winter was approaching quickly, would likely be quiet this time of year.

Julia switched on the radio to listen for further news and only one station was still available. The others were either out of range (which was very possible) or shut down (also very possible). The reports were depressing, but neither of them wanted to switch it off. It was more of the same, but everything seemed somehow worse. The current death toll was estimated to be over 2 million in Melbourne alone. Both of them baulked at the ridiculousness of the number. It comprised almost a third of the population and it was only 10am. How the fuck can that happen?

As though sensing the disbelief, the calm newsreader man offered to explain. The vast bulk of deaths it seemed was due to the seemingly co-ordinated culmination of the blood flu. It seemed as though every second person had mysteriously died during the night and re-animated. It was only a fraction of the total death toll, it was estimated, that were the result of violent attacks. Nevertheless, a fraction of a big number is still a big number, Craig shrugged.

But like a rollercoaster ride, the shock of the report was only a precursor for a bigger one. Reports were flooding in that similar situations were permeating throughout the entire country and indeed the rest of the world.

It had been reported throughout the preceding week that the blood flu epidemic was sweeping across the civilised world, but now the connection was being made and pandemonium was breaking out. Destruction, murder, devastation. At first hard to fathom locally, it was now emerging on a global scale.

Unable to listen to more, Julia switched the radio off, but couldn't escape the topic. "Craig, did you have to leave a family behind?"

Craig feigned a hurtful frown. "Yeah. I tried to contact them, but I couldn't get through. They moved interstate about a year ago." He shifted in his seat and looked out of the window to his left to avoid eye contact. "Wife… well ex-wife and 3 kids. Girl and two boys….. I just have to pray they're OK."

"I'm sure they are." Julia replied sympathetically. His lie was obviously working. "By the time I ran off and heard the reports on the radio, I was, like, more than 100 kilometres away from where my Mom and Dad live. I tried to call, but I couldn't get through. The phone wouldn't ring."

"Where do they live?"

"Ivanhoe."

A relatively rich suburb, leafy and green about 15 kilometres north east of the city. Busy roads would have made it extremely difficult to escape by car, he noted grimly. There was no doubt, they were dead or soon would be.

"Well, I'm sure they-"

"I had enough time to cry for them before you showed up." She interrupted, her voice tinged with frustration and anger, before she quickly calmed. "I just hope they're…. not one of them. I couldn't bear the thought." Julia tightened her grip on the wheel as her voice trailed off, welling emotion constricting her throat.

"Same here." Craig nibbled one of his fingers as he watched clumps of wispy grass zoom by on the roadside. "I mean, my guys. My family… 'cept for Kathy. Bitch can rot for all I care."

Both Julia and Craig flinched at the comment; Julia because she was disturbed by his callousness, Craig for realizing he shouldn't have said it. If I'm was going to win some of her trust, I have to be more… caring, he surmised, berating himself quietly.

"I shouldn't say things like tha-"

"No, you shouldn't."

He had to change the subject. Searching for a new topic, he was suddenly aware of the vacuum that had crept into his stomach. He hadn't noticed it before, and he suddenly realised he was starving.

"Hey, it's almost 10. I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. I haven't eaten properly since… well not yet today."

Her face brightened at the suggestion. Obviously she hadn't eaten either and relished the opportunity to take a moment and have some breakfast. "Yeah, OK. Should I just pull over here?"

Craig scanned the road ahead, his gaze drifting right. "Hey, there's a house all by itself in that field over there. Maybe it's empty."

"You think?"

"Well, if there's a zombie we'll just keep driving, but, who knows, there might be people."

"Alright." She disengaged the cruise control and let the car roll along, slowly losing speed. Her heart rate climbed as they approached the roadside entrance and slowly pulled into the driveway. Dust wafted up behind them as they left the asphalt and crept down towards the small house.

Craig readied his pistol, but was wary of Julia eyeing nervously. She had probably never seen a real one before, let alone fired one.

"Don't worry. We shouldn't need to use this, whatever the case may be."

The farmhouse was an old white weather board single story house, devoid of any garden. Water restrictions in recent times had likely necessitated the thirst-driven death of whatever flowers and shrubs that might have brightened the place up. Now it just looked dreary and somewhat run down, but very much clean enough to abide by and live in. It looked like it did the job it was supposed to.

Chicken wire and wooden posts lined the boundary of the front and side yards, but they were token fences. A halfway decent cough of wind likely would blow the whole apparatus over.

A recent model Holden Commodore, a generation or too newer than John's, and an older looking utility were parked across the front yard.

No movement.

Julia pulled to a stop a few metres away from the other parked cars, her hands trembling nervously on the steering wheel. Both of them jolted as she clumsily shoved the gear lever to P. Apologising with a small shrug, she killed the engine and they both sat in silence, eyeing the front looking for movement, or some other indication someone might be home.

Craig broke the silence in a half-whisper, "You wait here. I'll check the front door." He lifted the pistol up, showing it off for Julia as a reminder of his capability.

Her fear started rising at the prospect of being left alone, but she swallowed it down, "OK, just be careful."

"Don't worry." He slipped his fingers over the door latch and tugged lightly. The passenger door popped ajar and he carefully pushed it all the way open, stepping out slowly and easing his shoe down on the driveway gravel.

He paused midway through the door opening and waited a few seconds before he pulled his other foot out from the front seat, also placing it carefully on the gravel. A small voice in the back of his mind berated him for being so cautious and nervous, but it was quickly drowned out by his quickening heartbeat.

A quick nod back to Julia to reassure her signalled the end of his hesitation and he moved to step forward. However, he was so focused on watching the front door of the farmhouse that he caught his leg on the edge of the door and stumbled forward, stepping loudly into the gravelled ground, breaking the nervous silence.

He froze.

Images of bloodthirsty zombies streaming out through the front door like a black wave of water threatened to panic him, but he managed to see through the flashing illusion and eyed the front door, still innocently closed.

Nothing.

Relieved, he sucked in a deep breath to remedy the burning sensation in his lungs, before pulling his pistol up and in front of him, enclosed in a two handed grip, mimicking what he saw the cops do on TV. He stepped further towards the house, trying to minimize the sound of the gravel scraping against his footfalls.

Step after step he slowly approached the house until he reached the wooden front porch, quickly checking left and right. He looked for the front windows, but they were draped with curtains and he could see nothing.

Finally, the front door came within reach and he quietly grasped the handle, turning slowly.

Unlocked.

Many country houses were. Possibly, it was a mixture of a trusting country nature and the distinct possibility that there might not be much to steal anyway.

Flinching slightly as the door knob squeaked in his grip, it finally reached the end of its rotation and the door slackened in his hand. Thankfully, the door did not squeak like the handle did as it slowly swung open. He had to suddenly stifle the instinct to pull the door closed and run away, as though fearful a zombie was perversely waiting right behind the door just for him. A torn and demonic hand might reach out and clutch him, he supposed, pulling him into a hellish darkness from which he could never hope to escape.

Angry for his childish fear, he cursed softly and shoved the door open, determined to prove his irrational fears wrong.

And so they were. The open space revealed a bare hallway, strangely clean and shining against the sunshine that dribbled in from behind him. The smooth walls were a soft glow of peach, matching nicely with the rustic, but polished floorboards. It was an inviting country feel and at odds with the near dilapidation of the exterior. Maybe that was the intention. To trick outsiders into thinking the place was a dump to prevent unwanted attention. Obviously the ploy hadn't quite worked in this case, as Craig brought his attention back to the task at hand.

A closed white door on each wall preceded the end of the hallway a few metres down that branched left and right in a T junction. He couldn't see any further into the house, but hurriedly stepped forward and inside before his mind had a chance to play further tricks on him. Hunched over and looking down the sights of the pistol, he crept up and fingered the handle of the door on the left. With a quick count, he shoved the door open and stepped into the open doorway, pistol trained up in front and darting back and forth looking for potential targets.

All was still. It looked like a lounge room with a large Arabic rug carpeting the boarded floor, protecting it from a couple of brown leather couches sitting below a large landscape painting on the wall. The set up would otherwise have radiated calm and relaxation, but Craig was simply thankful it was empty.

Suddenly aware of an icy cold touch on the back of his neck, he snapped around and faced down the hallway, gun up and nervous. Scanning the empty space, he could feel the cool air wafting in through the still open front doorway, soothing as it tickled the beads of hot sweat gathering on his brow.

Just the wind, he sighed and settled on the other door a couple of steps away. Tensing for a moment and counting to three again, he shoved the door open to see a neat and made up double bed and closed wardrobe.

Nothing again.

Relaxing slightly, he back tracked out into the hallway and eyed the T-junction up ahead. Thank god I'm wearing old sneakers and not my heavy orchard boots, he mumbled as he stepped quietly over the wooden floor.

As he approached, he stole glimpses of light and open space beyond and nervously adjusted his sweaty grip in the pistol. Licking his dry and cracking lips, he was suddenly and achingly aware of how thirsty he was.

Nearing the end of the hallway, he gripped the gun again and side stepped off to the left, catching a fleeting glimpse of another hallway leading outside and lined with two more doors, both closed. Snapping around to the right, he swept his gun sights over a kitchen and lounge area. Scanning intently and finding no movement, he relaxed his shoulders.

Much like the rest of the house, the area exuded a luxury and cleanliness that belied the house's peeling shell. It was like stepping into the TARDIS from Doctor Who.

It was an open plan area taking advantage of the light that streamed in through a skylight, giving it all a sharp and bright glow, amplified by the sparkling stainless steel sink. Whilst the room was warm and inviting, Craig noticed the light had a converse effect on the TV parked across the kitchen. Any program would have been rendered invisible under the glare short of closing all windows and covering the skylight.

Obviously the room was set up so anyone preparing dinner could watch the TV at the same time. Paradoxically Craig noticed, if you had to close the blinds to watch the TV, then you couldn't rightly see what you were chopping on the bench top.

Enjoying an inward chuckle at the thought, his eyes settled in a piece of paper lying on the kitchen bench. It seemed out of place with the rest of the room's neatness. He stepped over to read it:

"Dear Alice,

If you are reading this it means we are in Rome having a great time and you have the house to yourself. Some meals are in the fridge for you.

Have fun!

Mum and Dad"

Taking a moment to mull over the letter's contents, he adjusted his loose grip on the pistol. Either Alice hasn't come here yet, or she's hiding somewhere, he concluded.

From what he could make out, the two doors in the hallway behind him were the only places he hadn't properly checked yet. Wiping away an encroaching beat of sweat that dribbled out of the tangled confines of his eye brows, he raised the gun up again and crept down towards the first door.

His shoulders were starting to ache from the weight of the pistol and the tension in his muscles, but he ignored it as best he could as he reached for the door and he thrust it open. An empty laundry presented itself, clean with a distinct odour of bleach and detergents. Forget clean, it was nearly immaculate, he murmured to himself quietly.

Satisfied, he walked on towards the last door, supposing it must be the bathroom. With another shove, the door opened and confirmed his suspicion. Pearly white purity and cleanliness almost blinded him as sunshine tore through another skylight and reflected everywhere.

Through the glare, he confirmed it was empty save for another closed door in the corner. The toilet.

His bladder eagerly reminded him he hadn't relieved himself for a long while and pleaded for the chance to do so. Afraid of pissing himself on the stop he lurched for the door, pushing it open.

He had only a moment to register the hands that suddenly shot out through the open doorway and reached for him. Taken completely by surprise, he tumbled backwards into a tiled wall and coughed and choked as the breath was rudely forced out of his lungs.

Through the blur of hands and fingers trying to tear at his face, he saw the bed sheet white face of a young woman, her eyes wide open like an owl's. They seemed impossibly huge and grey. There was no doubt she was undead.

Desperately trying to slap her hands away, he managed to snake his foot up and into her stomach. With a heave, he kicked her away, yelping as her hands tore away strands of his hair in a deathly grip.

Before he had a chance to get to his feet, she already seemed to rebound back and was on top of him again. Exasperated and tired, he tried to keep her face at bay without letting a finger slip between her teeth. Almost crying and begging as she pulled herself down to him with inhuman strength, he tried to scream for Julia but his lungs refused to co-operate.

As though sensing her prey's fear, she reached her mouth towards one of his exposed wrists, causing Craig to flinch his hand away in alarm.

It was his saving grace as his eyes finally drew away from the ghostly visage of his attacker to the gun still clutched in his palm right in front of his face. Even the undead woman stared at the weapon for a moment before she pressed on and attacked again, clawing and pulling mercilessly.

The scene at the hardware store flashed before him and he knew instantly what to do. New strength finding its way into his arms, he adjusted his other hand and clutched it around her throat, ignoring the freed arms that stabbed down at him. In a smooth and quick motion, he lifted her head up and shoved the pistol into her face, missing her mouth but finding one of her nostrils. Unaware of the skewed aim, he pulled the trigger and closed up in anticipation of the loud discharge and the coming mess.

The sharp crack of the weapon seemed much louder than last time and everything disappeared in a mute blackness. Slowly he opened his eyes and saw the broken and bleeding face of the ghastly monster still clutched in his left hand. She didn't look real. She was more like a mannequin, limp and white as he let her fall out of his grip and tumble back on the floor under the basin.

Only now he saw the lumpy spray of blood and flesh that coated the previously spotless tiled wall across the way. Chunks of flesh and thick blood dribbled down the smooth surface, steadily gathering into a puddle on the floor.

A sudden blur of movement in his deaf world back out into the hallway caused him to snap the gun over to shoot it down, but he thankfully recognised it was only Julia. He couldn't hear her screaming, but he could see her recoil in shock at the scene before her, turning away to vomit on the wooden floor in great heaves.

Like a tired old man, he simply sat in the floor, not bothering to pull his legs out from under the dead woman's slumped body. He just wanted to sleep. It was calm here. No noise, he smiled as though in a dream.

An intense ringing in his ears painfully wrenched him out of the reverie. Through the high pitched whine, which was already receding, he could hear Julia's faint choking. It grew louder like a crescendo as though someone was very slowly turning the volume knob up until his hearing returned.

"Julia." He mumbled.

Warm.

Something felt warm, he noticed.

He looked himself over, trying to find where the sensation was coming from, but froze up in disgust when he found it.

He had pissed himself.

Strangely the sight of the dark stain of his pants and the sickly warm feeling in his crotch disgusted and reviled him more than the bloody mess next to him. He turned over and retched onto the floor. There was nothing to vomit as he hadn't eaten since last night. Water filled his eyes as soft and gentle fingers massaging his scalp and ran through his hair.

It felt nice. It felt like cold streaks of icy water on his burning head, cooling his writhing scalp.

"Craig, are you OK?" Julia's soft voice help calm the wracking spasms, halting the flow of hot bile that dribbled down on the floor.

Finally the heaving receded, replaced by sharp and painful coughs. He looked up at her, but she was blurred through his tears, making her seem ethereal.

"I'm OK." He coughed. "I got her. I got Alice."