Jackson Kidd (Book 1): Surviving Read online

  Copyright © 2020 Mark West

  SURVIVING

  ISBN: 978-0-6487972-0-3 – (Paperback)

  ISBN: 978-0-6487972-1-0 – (Ebook)

  Editing: Editing Plus

  Cover design: Deranged Doctor Design

  Typeset: Seymour Design

  Except as permitted under the Australian Copyright Act 1968, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters in the book are products of the imagination of the author. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Find out more about the author and his books:

  www.markwestauthor.com

  For quantity sales or media enquiries, please contact:

  [email protected]

  For Maddie – Take that first step and never look back

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 FEAR

  Chapter 2 GETTING OUT

  Chapter 3 AMY

  Chapter 4 MICHELAGO

  Chapter 5 ROHAN

  Chapter 6 COOMA

  Chapter 7 LINCOLN

  Chapter 8 THE BLOCK

  Chapter 9 THE ARRIVAL

  Chapter 10 THE REALITY

  Chapter 11 PREPARATION

  Chapter 12 THE BOX

  Chapter 13 RISE AND SHINE

  Chapter 14 THE HARDWARE STORE

  Chapter 15 VICTORIA

  Chapter 16 THE GATHERING

  Chapter 17 HELP

  Chapter 18 THE ASSAULT

  Chapter 19 HATE

  Chapter 20 LOAD AND LEAVE

  Chapter 21 DOUG

  Chapter 22 HOME

  Chapter 23 ABANDON SHIP

  Chapter 24 HOSTILES

  Chapter 25 TRAPPED

  Chapter 26 SLIPPING OUT

  Chapter 27 PINK SHOES

  Chapter 28 THE PLAN

  Chapter 29 ACTION

  Chapter 30 RUN

  Chapter 31 DECEMBER

  Chapter 32 PRESENT DAY

  Chapter 33 THE BEAST

  Chapter 34 REGRET

  Chapter 35 KEEPING WATCH

  Chapter 36 THEY ARE COMING

  Chapter 37 THE HATCH

  Chapter 38 SURROUNDED

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  PROLOGUE

  Jamie waits anxiously for her name to be called, fingers twitching. She inspects the room with curious eyes. It’s white: white walls, white ceiling and a white floor that has small dots of black through it. There are a few people sitting in grey chairs around the room, and a desk at the front where a lady, hidden behind a screen, is tapping at a computer. Nothing in the room seems friendly to Jamie, especially the posters on the walls that show pictures of little green monsters and strange bugs.

  She adjusts herself awkwardly on the chair. Her thin legs hang freely from the edge and she wiggles her feet up and down, watching her sparkly pink shoes flicker in the bright fluorescent light. She takes in a nervous breath, clutching tightly to her Barbie doll. ‘I’m glad you’re here with me Polly,’ she whispers in the doll’s ear.

  There is a cough a few seats over and Jamie spots an elderly man wiping a hanky across his mouth and blowing his nose. When he is finished, he peers around the room. He catches Jamie’s eye and smiles. Jamie’s cheeks go pink and she swiftly turns away, burying her face into her mummy’s side. ‘Can we go home?’

  ‘It’s okay sweetie,’ her mummy says, placing the magazine down on the empty seat next to her. ‘It won’t be long now.’ She pulls Jamie in tightly, resting an arm across her shoulders and giving her arm a rub.

  A door opens at the front of the room and a man steps out wearing a checked grey shirt that reminds Jamie of her grandpa. He has a blue tie; it’s her favourite colour.

  ‘Jamie? … Is Jamie here?’ The man inspects the room, stopping his gaze when he locks eyes on Jamie.

  ‘Come on Jamie.’ Mummy’s hand tightens her shoulder. ‘This is us.’

  Jamie slides off her seat and reluctantly follows Mummy and the man through the door.

  The man leans forward in his chair, just centimetres from Jamie who is holding onto her Mummy’s arm. Polly is clutched tightly in her other hand.

  ‘So young lady.’

  Jamie can see lines along his cheeks. His teeth are all yellow and crooked.

  ‘A flu shot today is it?’

  He touches her knee and Jamie pulls back.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Mummy answers, giving Jamie a nudge. ‘We’ve been advised to get one every year because of her asthma.’

  The man’s chair squeaks when he leans back and swivels it around towards his computer. ‘You’re in luck; a new batch came in today. A new serum, apparently.’

  He taps at a few keys and the printer at the back of the room begins to vibrate and spits out a sheet of paper.

  ‘New serum?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ The man waves his hand about. ‘New strain this year. A nasty one.’ He shakes his head and frowns. ‘I’ve been inoculating first responders all morning. We need our emergency services in top shape, don’t we?’

  Jamie looks around the room and notices a skeleton on a stand. It peers back at her, bony body and hollow eyes like something out of a nightmare.

  ‘I want to go home.’ Jamie tries to hold on to Mummy, but Mummy brushes her hands away, ignoring Jamie and waits for the man to continue.

  The man taps a few more keys on his computer before excusing himself and leaving the room, returning minutes later with a plastic sleeve.

  Jamie spots a shiny, stinging needle inside as he opens it up on the table, removing the plastic wrapping and holding it up to his eyes to inspect.

  ‘Please Mummy.’ Jamie grabs hold of her mummy’s flowery shirt.

  ‘It’s okay Jamie,’ the man says. ‘You’ll hardly feel a thing … Now, which arm?’

  Jamie wakes. The room is dark, and her arm is hot where she got the stingy needle. Her pyjamas are all wet and her head hurts really bad. She touches her arm gingerly. Jerking her hand back she cries out in pain, ‘Mummy!’

  Jamie gets out of her bed, knocking Polly to the floor. She stares at the doll for a moment with a glazed expression, before leaving the room without it. Her pink shoes are still tightly secured to her feet from the day before and they tap away on the wooden floor as she walks down the hall to Mummy’s bedroom. She is completely unaware something black and sticky is oozing from her arm.

  Mummy is fast asleep; a doona is draped over her legs, and an arm is hanging over the side of the bed. Jamie climbs in beside her, mouth now dripping with saliva. She sniffs the air like a dog searching for food. Mummy smells good. Jamie growls and shakes her head like something is bothering her. A spider-like hand lightly brushes down Mummy’s face, stopping when it lands on a pulsing artery on her neck. She leans in closer, teeth bared, and lowers a flicking tongue that licks the throbbing skin. Jamie’s body jerks awkwardly, the movements erratic, and in seconds both her hands are gripping Mummy’s neck as she goes in for another taste.

  Chapter 1

  FEAR

  I feel horrendous. I’m sweating like I’ve run a race, and sit on the toilet because I can hardly stand. I check my arm again; it’s swollen almost twice its normal size and looks almost green in the dim light coming through the bathroom window. And there’s something else, it’s leaking from around the bandaid. I remove the tiny circular plaster and a black discharge oozes from the wound. Worryingly it looks like car oil. I bet it’s infected. I get down on my knees and pull out a tube of
antiseptic from the drawer in the vanity.

  I hadn’t wanted a flu shot, but it’s company policy. Halfway through the procedure the nurse’s phone went off and she jumped, snapping the needle off at the hub and leaving the shaft lodged in my arm. Silly old bag. She had to pull the damned thing out with a pair of forceps.

  My arm throbs, and I struggle to apply the cream because every time I touch the wound it makes me wince. When I finally finish, I lean over the toilet and vomit. The smell is overpowering and it makes me feel worse. I’m a mess and my arm feels like it’s being continually punched.

  I reach up, searching for the button on the cistern and press down firmly. In seconds a rush of water fills the bowl, taking away my stomach contents and most of the smell. I push away from the bowl and sprawl onto the floor, closing my eyes in defeat and willing myself to just let go. I am tired and have had enough.

  When I wake it’s still dark. I’m unsure of the time or how long I have been on the floor. Somehow, I have managed to grab a bath towel and wrap it around my body. It’s damp, probably from sweat but maybe from the shower the night before. I honestly don’t care; it kept me warm.

  I slip it off, placing it onto the ground and stumble to my feet. I wobble a few times, grabbing hold of the vanity for balance before standing upright. I check my arm and notice the swelling around the needle mark has subsided. The green colouring has faded and the black fluid has been replaced by a white residue from the cream. I touch the area lightly and I’m relieved when there’s no pain, just a slight tingle like termites crawling under my skin.

  My mouth feels crusty. I can taste the foul layer of vomit coating the surface of my tongue. I turn on the tap, sticking my mouth under the icy water and rinse a few times before taking a mouthful and swallowing it. My stomach gurgles when the liquid enters it. I splash water over my face, then dry off with the towel from the floor, putting it back on the rack when I’m done. I feel much better and whatever the injection did to me seems to have more or less worn off.

  I stumble my way back to the bedroom, fumbling through the doorway. It’s dark, and even though my eyes have adjusted, I still need to be careful of any obstacles hiding in the shadows. Feeling about, I locate the edge of the bed and follow it around until I get to my side. I pull back the covers, turn my body and flop backwards, my head hitting the pillow softly. With a sigh of relief, I close my eyes.

  Boom!

  ‘Holy shit.’ I open my eyes. I can feel the room shaking from vibrations travelling through the house like an earthquake.

  ‘Christ, Jackson. What was that?’

  Victoria stirs under the covers next to me. I sit up with a groan. My body feels sore from the night I’ve just endured.

  ‘Not sure.’

  The moon is shining through a gap in the curtain and I can see long, dark hair sprawled across the pillow next to me. My wife’s wide eyes meet mine. ‘It’s been a rough night,’ I say.

  She stares back at me with confusion. I lean across to the bedside table and check the time on my phone. It’s nearly half-past five. I place it back, letting out a disgruntled sigh. My stomach gurgles so I gently rub it, praying I’m not going to be sick again.

  Another explosion shakes the house. It’s followed by a bright yellow light that travels across the bed from the slit in the curtains.

  ‘Did you see that?’ Victoria asks, sitting up and looking towards the window.

  I don’t get a chance to reply. There are more explosions. I jump from the bed and run to the window, grabbing the curtains and flinging them open, just in time to see a fireball fizzle out a few kilometres away. It’s still dark outside and the ball of flames lights up the area like sunlight, only to die to a small glowing mass on the ground.

  Situated just below the peak of a hill in the suburb of Ngunnawal in Canberra, we have a perfect vantage point from our bedroom window. That’s the reason we brought the land. The house was designed and built to capture almost two hundred degree views that sweep across the suburbs, right up to the peaks of the hills far in the distance. To our left is the city. It’s about a thirty-minute drive, but if you look closely from the bathroom window on the other side of the house, you can just make the tall buildings poking through the surrounding gum trees.

  ‘What is it?’ Victoria wriggles her body forward, and wraps the doona tightly round her as she sits on the edge of the bed.

  I’m fixated on the outside world, but manage to spit out a few words. ‘Looks like a factory explosion in the distance.’ But its more than that and I know it. There are fires scattered all around the suburbs of Casey and Nichols, like small glowing stadiums.

  Victoria walks over and stands by my side; dressing-gown draped around her slim figure.

  There is another explosion, further in the distance this time. I can’t feel a shockwave, only see a small fireball float into the air like a balloon. ‘Jesus!’ I exclaim. ‘It’s like a war zone out there.’ I feel a wave of uncertainty creep beneath my skin.

  Victoria reaches down and squeezes my hand: petite fingers intertwining with mine. I squeeze back.

  ‘What’s happening Jackson?’ In the glow from the streetlights I can just make out the freckles on the tip of her cute button nose. She’s biting her lip with concern.

  ‘I really don’t know,’ I answer, watching the blue and red lights weave in and out amongst the houses as they head towards the flames.

  ‘Something’s going on!’ Victoria pulls at my arm and points to something closer to the house. I follow her gaze. There’s a group of people milling about by the roundabout a few hundred metres away. If it wasn’t for the streetlights illuminating them in the hazy mist, they would be shadows.

  ‘What are they doing?’ Victoria has her face to the glass.

  ‘Not sure.’ I study the group. About ten people are wandering around. They bunch, separate, then bunch again, as if conducting a mindless dance. Lights appear up the road, shining on the group. Blue and red lights start to flash; it’s a police car. It comes to a halt less than ten metres away, flashing its headlights and giving a few short bursts of its siren. The group’s attention is quickly drawn to the noise. They turn and split from formation then head towards the vehicle.

  Victoria points at the police car. Her dressing-gown slips down her shoulder, exposing her skin. ‘They’re getting out.’

  The car door opens and an officer steps out. He’s tall and bulky, and is wearing a chunky vest. He waves his arms at the group, signalling them to stop. We watch as the group continues to approach, now only a few metres from the officer.

  The officer keeps trying to get them to stop, but they don’t slow. He draws out his gun and begins slowly walking backwards towards the car, but stumbles and trips, falling onto the ground and dropping his weapon. A young guy races out from the group and jumps onto the officer, who begins thrashing around trying to throw him off. This rest of the group dives on top of the pair, stacking on them as if it’s a rugby match.

  Victoria gasps in horror, her hand gripping firmly onto mine in distress. I can feel my blood pulse under the crushing grip.

  ‘O dear Lord!’ she shrieks.

  In a matter of seconds, it’s all over, and one by one the group slowly remove themselves from the officer, continuing their dance as they stumble back down the road and become lost amongst the houses. We watch the body, praying the officer gets up, but he remains sprawled on the bitumen. We have just witnessed something horrible.

  ‘Jackson, what the hell’s going on?’

  I can feel Victoria’s body shaking. I shake my head. ‘I wish I knew.’ I can’t take my eyes off the body.

  ‘We should call an ambulance,’ she presses, nudging me to get my attention.

  ‘Um…Yeah, yeah. And the police.’ I drag my eyes away.

  Victoria grabs her phone from the bedside table and dials triple zero. I listen as it beeps a few times before cutting out. She lowers the phone.

  ‘It’s not connecting.’

  The
re’s a low rumble in the distance, like a vibrating washing machine on a timber floor, but louder, more intense. I search the sky and spot a searchlight in the distance. ‘Helicopter!’

  The helicopter emerges from the direction of the mountains. It’s long, too big to be transferring a patient to the hospital. It roars in, clearly on a mission, with flashing lights on the tail and a big spotlight searching the ground. The area below us lights up as it swoops over, coming in close to the houses before rearing up into the air and circling.

  ‘Military,’ Victoria cries out. ‘Check out the tail.’

  I spot a small Australian flag painted on the tail and some letters and numbers. On the side of the rounded body a large gun dangles from the open door and large pods the size of jet skis are on the underside: perhaps bombs or missiles, I can’t be sure.

  ‘Wonder what it’s searching for.’ Victoria mutters, and we continue to watch it until our attention is drawn away by distant shots.

  ‘Gunfire, Jackson.’

  I peer out; it could have come from anywhere. I search the surrounding suburbs, afraid of what I might see. My heart pounds in my chest.

  Victoria is on her phone reading a news article. ‘What’s it say?’ I ask, and turn back to the window to see the sun creeping over the hills and the helicopter floating off into the distance.

  ‘Reports are saying it’s not just Canberra. It’s all over the country. They think it’s a massive terrorist attack.’ She continues to read, occasionally blurting out a few lines. ‘Lots of attacks, people turning violent.’

  I shake my head and place an arm around Victoria’s shoulders. She feels warm to touch and quivers slightly when I stroke the skin on her neck with my rough fingers. She’s on edge, we both are. The phone lines are still down, and we can’t get answers about what’s happening.

  ‘We need to leave.’ More people are gathering in the streets. There’s an orange glow from the sun as it peeks over the top of the hills. ‘It’s morning; we don’t have long. The streets will be packed at this rate.’

  The people gathering on the streets look confused. No one seems to know where to go and they stagger around like they’re searching for something. ‘We need to go somewhere where we can ride out this mess and wait for answers.’ I add, trying to pull Victoria away from the window. But she’s drawn to the flames and the thick smoke that hovers over the suburbs like gloomy storm clouds. ‘But where?’ She asks.