Dead Tropics (9 page)

The small, normally cosy, kitchen stood empty and chilly. I touched the kettle. Cold. My tension immediately ratcheted up several knots. Emma's parents drank tea like it was water, yet this kettle hadn't been used in hours.

Don't be ridiculous,
I scolded myself,
you're letting Emma's anxiety affect you.
Her parents may be visiting friends for the afternoon or something.
I didn't succeed in convincing myself one little bit.

As I passed the sink, I saw the steel parang sitting in its block. Emma and I had bought one each four years ago on a trip to Malaysia. The heavy hatchet favoured by the infamous headhunters of Borneo worked a treat cutting through boney pieces of meat, like chicken. Quietly, I slipped it out and grasped it firmly.
It might come in use later,
I assured myself, but I was careful to keep it behind my back and out of sight of Emma.

We headed for the bedrooms, placing our feet carefully on the hallway's wooden floorboards. My heart started pounding like a drum as we neared the master bedroom.
Please, please let there be no one there
, I prayed fervently. Emma's hands were shaking as she slowly pushed open the door.

The room appeared empty, but before I could breathe a sigh of relief, I heard a familiar sound that sent a knife through my gut. It was the sound my old dog used to make as he gnawed on a bone.

5

I pushed past a suddenly frozen Emma and moved silently around the large four-poster bed. Stepping past the bed, I saw the back of a woman kneeling before another body on the floor. The body's top half was blocked by the woman but I had no doubt who lay there.

"Mum?" Emma choked, moving up beside me. The kneeling figure slowly turned. Emma's mother looked indifferently at us as blood trickled down her chin. Something was clenched in her bloody hand but I avoided looking too closely at it. One look at Emma's father's ashen face made it clear that he was close to death as his eyes fluttered continuously in blood loss shock. "Daddy?"

As Emma reached for her father, I flung out an arm to block her.

"Emma, you need to leave." I pleaded, my heart going out to her. "I'll ...deal with this."
I didn't want to deal with this.

Emma wrenched her eyes away from the ghastly scene. "What are you going to do?" She whispered, eyes glazed with shock.

Looking at the kneeling woman as she placed something red and raw in her mouth, I swallowed an urge to retch. "Your mother is already gone, Emma, but if we hurry, maybe we can save your father. But I need you to go and let me handle this."

Emma bit her lip and nodded slowly. Taking a step back, she took one last look at her mother kneeling in a pool of her father's blood, her face an agony of love and despair. "I love you, mummy. I love you, daddy." Turning, she stumbled out of the room.

Emma's mum watched me as I approached her carefully. Although there was no sign of intelligent thought or fear in her eyes, she followed my movements closely. For some reason she reminded me of a cornered dog. I shifted the parang back to gain some momentum. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Jones."

As I swung the parang down, the creature that had once been Emma's mum launched herself forward, knocking me right off my feet. The machete flew out of my hand. Stupefied, I looked up to see the zombie lowering its mouth to take a bite out of me.

"No!" Panicked, I pressed my hands against her chest and, with desperate strength, pushed her up and off me. She gnashed her teeth and flung her head from side to side, trying to reach me. Gone was the endearingly plump and kind face I'd seen smiling at me for years. Now she stared at me through dispassionate eyes even as she tried to savage my body with her bloodstained teeth.

My arms already shaking from the strain of holding her body away from me, I pulled my right leg up and positioned my foot at her hip. With an almighty
heave
, I shoved the zombie to the side. It rolled away, giving me time to scramble up, grasp the nearby parang and swing around again to face her.

The zombie hurled itself at me again. I met her with all the ferocity I could muster, burying the parang deep in her neck, feeling it sever bone and sinew with the same ease it cut through chicken carcasses. To my horror, she continued to move forward until she stood face to face with me. I stopped breathing as the diminutive Mrs. Jones gazed coldly into my eyes, so close our noses could have touched. Tremors ran continuously through my body as I stood frozen in my tracks.

With infinite slowness, her head tilted to the side and then, finally, rolled completely off her neck, remaining attached to the body by one remaining tendon.

Collapsing on the floor, I gulped in huge, sobbing breaths. I couldn't quite believe I was still alive. The memory of how cocky I had been, just a short time ago, about dealing with one or two zombies made me cringe inside. It was a real wake-up call, and I was grateful to still be alive to appreciate it.

As I sat there shaking my head, some sixth sense made me look up. Mr. Jones, a gaping hole where his jaw should have been, lumbered towards me, hands reaching hungrily forward.

Throwing myself forward, I struggled to tug the parang out from under Mrs. Jones' body. Grasping it tightly, I turned around to see legs looming beside me. Instinctively, I rolled sideways and jumped to my feet, heart pounding and parang held at the ready.

Emma's father slowly turned to face me, and the reality of the situation hit me. A big man, Emma's father towered over me by a good foot and a half. How the hell was I supposed to bring him down? I couldn't
reach
to cut his head off. I glanced sideways, calculating my chances of just making a dash for it.

Too late. The huge zombie staggered forward, his long arms bringing him within reach in a second. I tried to duck under his arm but it closed around me and pulled me into a horrible caricature of an embrace. Frantically, I struggled to free myself but his superior strength, even in death, kept me pinned against his body as his teeth lowered to my neck. The parang struck futilely against his arm and shoulders but I just couldn't get enough momentum to make a difference.

As I felt his teeth pressing on my neck, I closed my eyes in defeat.
I'm sorry, babies.
A second later, my eyes shot open as his teeth slid off.
He can't bite me without his lower jaw
! The knowledge filled me with adrenaline. Swinging my legs up, I planted them against the bed's side table and pushed backwards with all my strength.

As the zombie stumbled backwards, his grip weakened for a moment. I wrenched myself away. Then, taking a running leap, I launched myself on his unbalanced body and rode him down to the ground. Swinging the parang down with force, I buried it several inches deep in the skull.

The zombie blinked slowly.
Shit
! I pulled the stake out of my belt and plunged it through his eye. Or at least I tried to. In my frantic haste, I missed, bouncing off bone instead. The zombie's arm shot up and grabbed my hand. Inexorably, he drew it towards his teeth. I didn't know if he would have more luck this time but I knew I couldn't take the chance. My suspicion that the zombie virus was transmitted through the zombie's blood or saliva meant that even the smallest break in the skin could be fatal.

I struggled to pull my hand free but his grip was unbreakable. Twisting the stake, I managed to plant it against his upper jaw and momentarily halt the downwards journey of my hand. With my left hand, I wiggled the parang out of the skull with some difficulty. The zombie's other arm reached up and knocked the stake out of the way. As he brought my hand to his teeth, I slammed the parang down on his arm with all my left-handed strength. Again. Again.

Finally, the arm fell away from the body and I suddenly had control of the stake again. This time, I quickly but carefully placed it against the eyeball. As the zombie started to raise his head, I positioned the heavy parang as a hammer above the stake and, with one massive swing, drove it right through the creature's brain.

As the body stilled, I rolled off the body and lay on the floor for several long minutes.

Eventually, I dragged myself to my feet, feeling drained and numb. Passing the dressing table, I caught a glimpse of my bloodstained uniform. The up close and personal fights with Emma's parents had resulted in an appearance more suited to an extra in a horror movie than to a nurse. I couldn't face Emma as I was, not drenched in her parents' blood.

A quick search through Mrs. Jones' cupboard unearthed a worn grey tracksuit. After stripping off my disgusting uniform and changing, I checked my appearance in the mirror. The tracksuit was a bit loose but it would do. I rinsed the weapons, tucked the stake in my waistband and wrapped the parang in a towel. Taking a deep breath, I prepared to face Emma.

She was waiting by the ambulance. Her eyes skimmed over my change of outfit without expression but I saw her shoulders stiffen.

"So it's over?" She asked softly. I nodded wordlessly.

"Dad?" Her voice sounded hopeless but I knew she had to ask. I shook my head. She closed her eyes and turned away. I looked at her helplessly and hoped that she could forgive me one day. Maybe she would always see her parents' murderer whenever she looked at me.

Roy interrupted the moment. "We should go. If it's reached here, we're not safe."

Emma swung around, her blue eyes hard and determined. "We have to pick up Lucas first." Lucas was her younger brother, the last sibling still living at home. She also had two sisters but one was working in Brisbane and the other was at uni in Townsville. Lucas was pretty much the baby of the family at fifteen and coddled by all of them.

I saw Roy roll his eyes in frustration but, for once, he held his tongue.

"Of course." I agreed. "We're only a few minutes away. He's bound to be okay, Emma."

She nodded and climbed into the car. As I clambered in after her, she reached over to touch my arm. When I looked at her, surprised, she said, simply, "Thank you."

6

The school looked peaceful and inviting, sprawled over a couple of acres of lush greenness.
So did their home
, the unwanted thought popped into my head. The mid-morning break bell must have just gone as the high school kids could be seen eating and strolling in groups around the school. The realisation that it wasn't even noon stunned me like a bucket of cold water in the face.

"Can I come, mum?" Michele piped up from behind.

I snorted, "Not a hope in hell."

I looked hard at Roy. "You keep the car ready to go and you keep these kids safe, Roy, or you'd better pray the zombies get to you first."

He blinked and then grinned widely. "You got it, Lady KillBill!" I scowled at him but didn't deign to respond.

"What do we do first?" I asked Emma as we crossed the car park, my weapons discreetly tucked away under my loose sweatshirt. I had offered the parang to Emma, reluctant to part with my trusty stake, but she had refused it. Maybe the thought of the part it might have played in her parents' death was too much for her. "Do we go to the office and warn the school or go straight to his classroom? Do you even know what class he is in?"

"I guess we could cover both options." She answered slowly, thinking aloud. "How about you tackle the principal and I'll find Lucas. We'll meet you back in the office."

I sighed.
Great
. "Let's hope the principal had an open mind and is prepared to put his students' safety above his scepticism. But make it quick, okay? We don't know how far ahead of the zombies we are."

Emma nodded and headed left while I pulled open the office door. Two minutes later, I was talking to the principal, a smartly dressed fortyish woman with sleek brown hair, who introduced herself as Principal Davies. She listened to my edited version of the truth with an ever-increasing frown.

"Let me get this right. You're saying that we've possibly got a crowd of infected and highly dangerous patients headed our way. And the reason we haven't received any warning from authorities is - according to you - because they are overwhelmed? Is that correct?"

I nodded vigorously. "I know I must sound like a lunatic but, Mrs. Lynch, if I'm telling the truth, you have a chance to save a school full of children. If I'm not, all you risk by listening to me is some egg on the face."

"And my career, credibility and the parents' trust." She added drily.

I held my peace, and resisted the urge to tap my foot impatiently, as she sat in deep thought. Coming to a decision, Mrs. Lynch reached for the phone. As she dialed, she answered my unspoken question. "I have a friend in the State Emergency Services. I'm sure she'll have some answers."

I crossed my fingers but, as I expected, the phone rang out. The principal slowly returned the phone to its stand.

I sighed, my heart sinking. "She would have confirmed my story, I assure you."

The dark-haired woman glanced distractedly at me as her fingers tapping on her table, obviously wrestling with her thoughts.

"Actually, the fact that she is too busy dealing with an emergency to answer her mobile, lends
some
credence to your incredible story." She answered slowly.