Surviving the Evacuation Read online

  Surviving the Evacuation:

  Outback Outbreak

  Frank Tayell

  Dedication

  It can’t be truly apocalyptic if you’ve the wherewithal to make tea.

  Published by Frank Tayell

  Copyright 2019

  All rights reserved

  All people, places, and (especially) events are fictional.

  Post-Apocalyptic Detective Novels

  Strike a Match 1. Serious Crimes

  Strike a Match 2. Counterfeit Conspiracy

  Strike a Match 3. Endangered Nation

  Work. Rest. Repeat.

  Surviving The Evacuation/Here We Stand

  Outback Outbreak

  Book 1: London

  Book 2: Wasteland

  Zombies vs The Living Dead

  Book 3: Family

  Book 4: Unsafe Haven

  Book 5: Reunion

  Book 6: Harvest

  Book 7: Home

  Here We Stand 1: Infected

  Here We Stand 2: Divided

  Book 8: Anglesey

  Book 9: Ireland

  Book 10: The Last Candidate

  Book 11: Search and Rescue

  Book 12: Britain’s End

  Book 13: Future’s Beginning

  Book 14: Mort Vivant

  Book 15: Where There’s Hope

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  Synopsis

  The outbreak changed everything, but there are some bonds even the undead can’t break.

  It’s been six years since Pete Guinn last saw his sister, Corrie. He always hoped to see her again, but feared she was dead. When an elusive billionaire reveals Corrie is living under an assumed name in the Australian outback, Pete unquestioningly jumps at the chance of a reunion. But you can’t win the lottery without buying a ticket, and billionaires don’t do favours for free. Corrie is in hiding from her old employer, and from the Rosewood Cartel. Now that they’ve both found her, only a miracle can save the two siblings, and what happens in Manhattan can’t be described as miraculous.

  What begins as a viral outbreak soon turns into an impossible horror. People are infected and die, only to rise up and continue transmitting the infection. Even as the army is mobilised, the virus spreads beyond the borders of the United States. Nowhere is safe from the living dead.

  As Australia is quarantined, the mining town of Broken Hill becomes a transit hub for the relief effort. Tourists are evacuated while civilians are conscripted, Pete and Corrie among them. Together with a bush pilot, a flying doctor, and an outback cop, the struggle to maintain civilisation begins. Supplies run low. Looting is rampant. Laws are forgotten, especially by the cartel who haven’t abandoned their search for Corrie and their quest for revenge.

  Set in Broken Hill and beyond as the Australian quarantine begins.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue - A Nameless Terror

  Chapter 1 - A Billionaire’s Gamble

  Chapter 2 - Where the Outback Begins

  Chapter 3 - Cornelia

  Chapter 4 - A Conspiracy to Destroy the World

  Chapter 5 - Outbreak

  Chapter 6 - The Phony Apocalypse

  Chapter 7 - Grey Nomads

  Chapter 8 - The Nightmare Begins

  Chapter 9 - A Compound Doesn’t Make a Castle

  Chapter 10 - Their First Last Stand

  Chapter 11 - Where the Quarantine Begins

  Chapter 12 - Countess Qwong

  Chapter 13 - Unwelcome at the End of the World

  Chapter 14 - The Higsons

  Chapter 15 - Only a Corpse

  Chapter 16 - The Briefest Investigation

  Chapter 17 - Highway to Hell

  Chapter 18 - The Rosewood Cartel

  Chapter 19 - Missing Guests

  Chapter 20 - Prayer on a Wing

  Chapter 21 - The Road to Menindee

  Chapter 22 - Ghost Town

  Chapter 23 - Sanctioned Looting

  Chapter 24 - Too Late for Reinforcements

  Chapter 25 - Joining the SASR

  Chapter 26 - Fire From Above

  Chapter 27 - Road Warrior

  Chapter 28 - Halfway Around the World

  Epilogue - Hello and Bonjour

  Prologue - A Nameless Terror

  Braybrook, Melbourne

  18th February, Two Days Before the Outbreak

  A bitter tang lay heavy over the derelict warehouse, a ghost of the spices packaged there before one loan too many had sent the owners into bankruptcy, but the fragrant scent couldn’t hide the smell of blood.

  Sergeant Michael Grobotnik pulled a rolled pair of latex gloves from his pocket, carefully donning them as he examined the building. The windows were sealed, the electricity long since disconnected. Nothing left behind was worth vandalising, let alone stealing. According to court documents, and the local press, the warehouse had been scheduled for demolition until a group of law students had petitioned for an injunction, arguing the new development would sap the soul from the local community. From the creeping damp and creaking joists, the current owners were hoping the building would collapse before the case was heard. In short, it was the perfect place to dump a corpse.

  “Not the most salubrious of surroundings, is it?” Sergeant Grobotnik said. “I’ll have to send my suit to the drycleaners when we’re done. Which, I’ll admit, is a small inconvenience compared to your problems.”

  Careful not to let his gloved hands touch the bloodstain, he picked up the damp wallet.

  “The driver’s licence says you’re Wang Min Soo,” Grobotnik said. “Wang is usually a surname, isn’t it? It’s listed here as your first name. You’re from Taiwan?”

  There was no reply from the blood-covered man in the chair.

  “Growing up, my parents called me Mikko,” Grobotnik said. “It’s not the name on my birth certificate, but my parents wanted me to have a name from the old country. Did your parents do the same? I ask because this is an Australian licence. Are you naturalised? Or is the licence a fake?” He held it up to the flickering light. “No, look. It is a fake, but it’s a good one. So does that mean Wang Min Soo isn’t your real name?”

  There was no reply, but it would have been a miracle if there had been.

  “What else do we have in here?” Grobotnik asked himself. “Some cash. Non-sequential bills, so that’s not indicative of anything. Speak to me, mate. Tell me something useful.”

  But there were no answers in the wallet. He carefully placed it next to the small collection of items taken from Wang Min Soo’s person.

  “I think I know who you really are,” Grobotnik said. “And I think I know why you came here, but I—”

  He was interrupted by a beep from his pocket. He reached into his pocket, took out his phone, and stared at the screen. It was an incoming voice-call over a secure-messaging app, and he knew full well who would be on the other end. He froze, filled with fear.

  Grobotnik was ex-military. He’d seen combat. He’d seen even more during the two years he’d spent as a euphemistically named contractor before he’d become a civilian and then a police officer. He’d seen action. He’d seen violence. He’d seen the worst people could be and the worst the best could become. Nothing he’d experienced, and no one he’d met, terrified him more than the soft-spoken woman he knew was on the other end of the call. And he knew he had no choice but to answer.

  “G’day, boss,” he said.

  “Where are you?” the woman asked. She spoke English, but with a t
race of a South American accent. Colombian, Grobotnik thought, but he’d never dared ask.

  “At work,” he said. In case that wasn’t enough, he added “Melbourne. A suburb called Braybrook. In an abandoned warehouse.”

  “Are you alone?”

  He glanced at the broken figure in the chair. “Yes.”

  “Good. You have a new assignment. She is sending her plane to Australia. She wishes to make contact with an old asset. One who disappeared some years ago. You are to meet the plane. Do you have a team?”

  “A team? Do I need one?” he asked. He didn’t need to ask who she was. It could only be Lisa Kempton, the elusive billionaire.

  “Failure is not an option,” the woman said.

  “I know some officers who can be trusted,” he said. “Where am I going?”

  “A place called Broken Hill.”

  “Oh.”

  “Is that a problem?” the woman asked.

  “No, no worries. Of course not. I know who to call,” he said, desperately trying to think who might be available. “How long do I have?”

  “You will leave immediately. More information will be given to you when you arrive.”

  “No worries,” Grobotnik said. “I’ll get it done.”

  “I never worry,” she said, and hung up.

  Grobotnik sat on the battered edge of a rusted steel drip-tray. “Do you have a boss like that? The woman terrifies me.”

  He knew what he’d be expected to do; he was a specialist, after all. Upon whom could he rely to assist? Broken Hill was a small town eight hundred and fifty kilometres north of Melbourne, in the outback, and in a different state. Flashing his badge would open more dialogue than it would doors. There were four police officers he trusted, and another two he’d been cultivating who he could lean on in a pinch. But so many asking for immediate leave would be answered with questions that would only raise suspicions. No, better to take professionals. There was Rogers, of course, not that that was the man’s real name. They’d met when both had been mercenaries, and worked together on assignments a few times since. Grobotnik opened the secure phone-app, and dialled.

  “Rogers, it’s Mikko. Had a call. Got a job in the outback. No, don’t ask questions. We’ll need a small team, ready to leave in an hour.” He glanced at the blood-soaked figure tied to the chair. “Make it two hours, I’ve got some paperwork to finish.”

  He hung up.

  “Well, Mr Wang, I am sorry about this,” Grobotnik said. “I really am. I was contracted to do a job, and now I’ll have to renege on that. So it goes.” He opened his coat, and drew a long, thin knife from a sheath hidden in the lining. “A paper-knife, we call it, because it can shave a layer of skin paper-thin. Got it from my boss. She taught me how to use it. Believe me, that’s not a lesson I want to remember. I was going to take your toes first, then your feet, then the fingers from your right hand. But I’d leave the left while I began on your skin. You leave a man a hand, he still has hope, you see? I can make this last days. Four is my record, but I’ve booked an entire week’s leave. Thought I might see if we could top my best. But duty calls, and I’ve got to leave. Good news for you, I suppose.” He pulled the gag from the bloody man’s mouth.

  Wang spat, then glared, but he didn’t scream or shout for help.

  “Who supplied you with that cocaine?” Grobotnik asked. “Were those twenty kilos the entire shipment? How did it get into Oz?”

  Wang’s face was emotionless.

  “Do you even speak English? You don’t, do you? Oh, that’s a neat trick. Well, there we go, I’m off the hook. They should have told me that when they hired me. Not your fault, of course, but I’d say that’s grounds for me to call the contract void.”

  He re-sheathed the blade. There was a fractional relaxation in Wang’s shoulders. They tightened again as Grobotnik withdrew a small pistol from his pocket onto which he attached a suppressor. He raised the gun, aimed between Wang’s eyes, and fired. He detached the suppressor and pocketed the weapon. He’d have to get rid of the gun, of course. Plant it on someone who could be found dead and plausibly be blamed for the murder. Rogers? Why not? After all, Sergeant Grobotnik prided himself on his ability to close a case.

  Chapter 1 - A Billionaire’s Gamble

  Wall-to-Wall Carpets, South Bend, Indiana, USA

  18th February; Thirty-Six Hours Before the Outbreak

  Pete Guinn’s eyes followed the clock’s second hand as it ticked towards twelve. “One minute to go,” he said. He weighed the worn keys in his hand, and turned away from the equally aged set of doors towards the ancient registers lurking in the shadows cast by stacks of unsold carpets. Only the signs proclaiming the Closing Down Sale were new. For the pitiful custom they’d generated, they’d been a waste of money.

  “Lock up so we can leave,” Olivia Preston said. “Neither of us is being paid right now.”

  “Hang on, not yet,” Pete said. Of average height and average looks, he carried above average weight on a frame that bore an echo of the high school football receiver he’d been a decade before. A high school not ten miles from the Indiana store in which he now worked. “The store doesn’t finally close until seven o’clock. We’ve got another thirty seconds.”

  “You really want to do this by the book, don’t you?” Olivia said. A year younger than him, at least according to her social media profile. Single, too, according to that same profile which Pete checked at least once a day. A foot shorter, and a good deal more athletic since she’d taken up jogging on New Year’s Day in a resolution she’d failed to persuade Pete to join her in.

  “With everything finally looking up, I don’t want to jinx it,” he said.

  “Ten seconds,” she said. “And perhaps you’re right. We should mark the occasion.” She raised her phone. As she tapped the screen, a fanfare erupted from the small speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,” she announced in a stentorian bark. “Before you stands a lowly retail clerk, beaten down by the vicissitudes of our century. On the cusp of abandoning all hope—”

  “I wasn’t,” Pete cut in.

  “Shush. On the cusp of abandoning all hope for a better future, but fate had other plans. Until now he has only been accustomed to the gloomy depths of our stockroom, but he is beginning his quest to the headiest heights of corporate America—”

  “Regional management,” Pete cut in.

  “He leaves here a sales assistant, but will return as a junior executive of the Claverton Group, our regional manager, and my boss. Raise your voices.” Her voice grew louder as she increased the volume on her phone. “Acclaim and cheer the one we shall all soon call our Granter-of-Overtime, Defender-of-the-Sick-Day, and Awarder-of-the-Bonus, Mister Pete Guinn.” She tapped her phone, and the music was replaced by the sound of a cheering crowd.

  “You worked on that all afternoon, didn’t you?” he said.

  “All week,” she said. “What else was there to do? Like Mrs Mathers says, no one buys carpet in February.”

  The cheering finished as a guitar began a stadium-rock version of the national anthem. Pete reached for the lock.

  “No, wait,” Olivia said. “It’s the national anthem, you have to wait until it’s finished.”

  “Right. Sorry.” He stood, waiting. “It’s a long version. This guitar solo seems to be going on forever. And like you said, we’re not being paid.”

  “Good point.” She tapped the screen. “Land of the free, home of the brave,” she added quickly. “Now, close the store.”

  And so, finally, and for the final time, Pete turned the ancient lock, before swinging the equally ancient sign from open to closed.

  “And now it’s done,” Olivia said. “Wall-to-Wall Carpets is no more, and you are no longer a sales clerk. Do you feel any different?”

  “Not yet,” Pete said. “Give me time. No, give me a paycheck, then I’ll feel different.”

  “I can’t give you any more time,” she said. “Us not being paid bothers me a lot more than it does
you. I can’t believe your new salary. From minimum wage plus commission, which usually meant just minimum wage, all the way up to a six-figure salary? Wow.”

  “Yeah, I don’t get why a billionaire would want to buy this store,” he said.

  “For the real estate,” Olivia said, voicing her favourite of the theories they’d developed since Mrs Mathers had announced she’d sold the store to Lisa Kempton just before Christmas. “Someone’s about to begin a massive redevelopment of the entire block, and this plot is key to the plan. Lisa Kempton will flip it for twice what she paid.”

  “Maybe,” Pete said. “But that doesn’t explain why she’s refitting and re-opening the store in two weeks, or why I got promoted to regional management.”

  “Yep, why anyone would want to promote you is a mystery,” Olivia said, grinning.

  “Hey!” Pete said, with mock outrage.

  Together, they headed toward the rear of the store, the stockroom, and the back door. “You should have called them and asked,” Olivia said.

  “I did,” Pete said.

  “No way,” she said.

  “At lunchtime,” he said.

  “And?”

  “I spoke to a woman in HR, Sorcha Locke,” Pete said.

  “The Irishwoman who interviewed you? Why didn’t you tell me? What did she say?”

  “That Lisa Kempton already owns a furniture store in Wisconsin, a plumbers and contractors in Iowa, and a prefab-housing manufactory in Michigan. This completes the set.”

  “Surely she didn’t say that?”

  “She did,” Pete said. “Those were her exact words.”

  “She was obviously joking,” Olivia said. “She must have been. Not even a billionaire buys a carpet store like it was a collectible figurine. Right?”

  “Why not?” he said. “But, yeah, probably not. Probably it’s because of the real estate or something.”

  “What did Sorcha Locke say about why you were being promoted?”