stop in the first town they came to and start raving, or if they’d make it all the way back to Sydney. How long would it take before the police arrived? Could the hippies explain where this place was, or did they only know the menu plan?
Q’s brain caught up with what her eyes were reading.
An unexplained head shot during a military exercise. Visa refusals for North American tourists on health grounds. A series of homicides at a scout camp in the Snowies. High absenteeism at Saint Cedric’s. The unseasonal pandemic plan requested by the government.
A few months ago, events were listed weeks apart. Over the last few pages, there was an entry every day.
Cluster!
Apocalypse Z had warned her about this. Her little black book had prepared her for this. And she’d missed it! Maybe her crew was already in trouble, or already gone? She’d been so busy waiting for the main event she hadn’t recognized it when it came. How?
Too busy chasing Rabbit, that’s how. Idiot! “I gotta go talk to creepy old caretaker guy,” Q said.
“Don’t leave!” Angela said.
“What do we do?” Rabbit asked.
“Check the huts. Get everyone together who’s left.” They had plenty of clubbing weapons and kitchen knives, but no guns, and Q had brought their only large blades. It wasn’t promising. “When you’ve got everyone together, build a big fire. Make sure there’s plenty of wood. Get more if you need it but don’t go far and stay in pairs.”
“Why do we need a fire?” Rabbit asked.
“It’ll get chilly soon,” Q lied. Fire was good for morale and meals and it would give them something to do. She doubted it would keep the monsters at bay.
“You’re not going back out there?” Angela said.
“Be careful,” Rabbit said.
Chapter Fifteen
Q stalked, pressing down the outside of each foot before rolling onto the ball. She was quiet, but not silent. She hoped the background screech of birds would cover her.
She moved uphill toward the cabin, shivering in the chill shade. The sun had already slid past the peak of the mountain and breakfast seemed long ago.
Q slowed when she neared the cabin, then stopped behind a large trunk. There were sounds inside – the steady murmur of a single voice. Was the man talking to himself? Princess Starla had died horribly in the bush. This freak had been nearby. Every time Q saw him, he had a gun, and the last time she saw him, he’d pointed it at her. What if the only dangerous thing out here was the fat man?
She pictured the cabin’s configuration. There were two windows at the front and one door. Another window lay on the west wall and two on the east. She didn’t know about the rear. There might be another door. She would have to make sure he didn’t escape through an unseen exit and double around to surprise her. Q didn’t know if she was here to talk, raid supplies or fight, but she was ready for all three. She’d find out soon enough.
Left foot, right foot, left foot, pause. Drop below the line of the windows. Creep forward. Pause.
She was below the window at the front of the cabin now. The monologue continued but no longer sounded like a man talking to himself – it was a radio. That was good, because it meant he might not be insane, and she might get to listen to the news. It was also bad. If he wasn’t in there talking to himself, he might not be in there at all. He could be anywhere. Hiding in the trees. Lining her up in his sights right now.
The back of Q’s neck itched.
Ignoring it, she crept over to the door and tested the handle. It turned. She slid it open and slipped inside.
*
Q was so overwhelmed by the smell of stale cigarette smoke that at first she couldn’t pick out the details in the dark interior. When her eyes adjusted, she saw a table, a one-burner gas cooker on the floor, a mattress in one corner. A man sat on the only chair, a lit cigarette between two fingers. He wasn’t listening to his radio any more – all his attention was on
Q’s brain caught up with what her eyes were reading.
An unexplained head shot during a military exercise. Visa refusals for North American tourists on health grounds. A series of homicides at a scout camp in the Snowies. High absenteeism at Saint Cedric’s. The unseasonal pandemic plan requested by the government.
A few months ago, events were listed weeks apart. Over the last few pages, there was an entry every day.
Cluster!
Apocalypse Z had warned her about this. Her little black book had prepared her for this. And she’d missed it! Maybe her crew was already in trouble, or already gone? She’d been so busy waiting for the main event she hadn’t recognized it when it came. How?
Too busy chasing Rabbit, that’s how. Idiot! “I gotta go talk to creepy old caretaker guy,” Q said.
“Don’t leave!” Angela said.
“What do we do?” Rabbit asked.
“Check the huts. Get everyone together who’s left.” They had plenty of clubbing weapons and kitchen knives, but no guns, and Q had brought their only large blades. It wasn’t promising. “When you’ve got everyone together, build a big fire. Make sure there’s plenty of wood. Get more if you need it but don’t go far and stay in pairs.”
“Why do we need a fire?” Rabbit asked.
“It’ll get chilly soon,” Q lied. Fire was good for morale and meals and it would give them something to do. She doubted it would keep the monsters at bay.
“You’re not going back out there?” Angela said.
“Be careful,” Rabbit said.
Chapter Fifteen
Q stalked, pressing down the outside of each foot before rolling onto the ball. She was quiet, but not silent. She hoped the background screech of birds would cover her.
She moved uphill toward the cabin, shivering in the chill shade. The sun had already slid past the peak of the mountain and breakfast seemed long ago.
Q slowed when she neared the cabin, then stopped behind a large trunk. There were sounds inside – the steady murmur of a single voice. Was the man talking to himself? Princess Starla had died horribly in the bush. This freak had been nearby. Every time Q saw him, he had a gun, and the last time she saw him, he’d pointed it at her. What if the only dangerous thing out here was the fat man?
She pictured the cabin’s configuration. There were two windows at the front and one door. Another window lay on the west wall and two on the east. She didn’t know about the rear. There might be another door. She would have to make sure he didn’t escape through an unseen exit and double around to surprise her. Q didn’t know if she was here to talk, raid supplies or fight, but she was ready for all three. She’d find out soon enough.
Left foot, right foot, left foot, pause. Drop below the line of the windows. Creep forward. Pause.
She was below the window at the front of the cabin now. The monologue continued but no longer sounded like a man talking to himself – it was a radio. That was good, because it meant he might not be insane, and she might get to listen to the news. It was also bad. If he wasn’t in there talking to himself, he might not be in there at all. He could be anywhere. Hiding in the trees. Lining her up in his sights right now.
The back of Q’s neck itched.
Ignoring it, she crept over to the door and tested the handle. It turned. She slid it open and slipped inside.
*
Q was so overwhelmed by the smell of stale cigarette smoke that at first she couldn’t pick out the details in the dark interior. When her eyes adjusted, she saw a table, a one-burner gas cooker on the floor, a mattress in one corner. A man sat on the only chair, a lit cigarette between two fingers. He wasn’t listening to his radio any more – all his attention was on
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