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White Night (or where do I get my 30 + from now?)

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Moderator: wa5

Re: White Night (or where do I get my 30 + from now?)

Postby wa5 » Tue Aug 09, 2016 10:58 am

I was planning to stay in my tin fortress / prison for another few days. Apart from the undesirable neighbours, it was very well found. safe and secure.

I had only 600 rounds of .22 ammunition, I didn't want to waste it on tilting at windmills, I was only prepared to use a small amount to clear the bad neighbours. I would use no more than 50 rounds. I hoped to repeat this mornings performance, and let them do most of the killing.

I sat observing "them" while the water for my lunch boiled. Country Chicken Tikka Masala. A really nice meal. I was concentrating on using dehydrated meals as I had a fair amount of water available. that may not be the case later.

More wandered down from the sand. sporting really bad sunburns. There had been no noise that I was aware of, yet they had apparently been arriving all morning, About one hundred of them now surrounded the pond, could they smell water, like cattle?

I never could satisfactorily answer that, but it seemed likely.
Posts: 381
Joined: Mon Mar 24, 2008 6:53 am

Re: White Night (or where do I get my 30 + from now?)

Postby wa5 » Tue Aug 09, 2016 11:21 am

Over the next three days, The numbers at the pond doubled, Poor dehydrated creatures wandered, and sometimes crawled in from the beach. By the afternoon of the fifth of January, The number of newcomers wandering in had dried up.

Almost every one that came in on that last day probably would have died anyway. They looked terrible, Some of the worst sunburn I'd ever seen, Skin red raw, huge blisters. They'd been without shade or water for days. They must have been in terrible pain. They came for the cool water but never made it.

The poor bedraggled creatures were set upon as they shambled toward the pond. There were now 200 hungry mouths to feed.

I had lost practically every modern convenience, yet the monsters could still get a fresh cooked home delivered meal. There's that gallows humour again.

I had spent the last few days going over some more of the material that Bill had sent me. There weren't just books, but a few movies as well, They were entertaining, but not really helpful. The star was never going to die in the middle of the show, so there was always going to be a convenient bolt hole, weapon or getaway car. Some of the books were ok, but none came close to the ones by J L Bourne.. I wonder if his first name was Jason? Still sounded like a pen name to me.

Fortunately there was a bathroom located next to the lunch room. The temperature had not dropped below 30 degrees for the entire year, The shed would have been a very unpleasant place by now without the WC.

One small hiccup, The toilets used underground water. Without power, they were dry after the first flush. I hated wasting good fresh water, to wash away my waste. The alternative seemed worse, I wish I knew how much water was in that tank.

Another thing I'd forgotten, Toilet Paper. fortunately there was a big box in the bathroom.

As I was packing several rolls into the Territory, along with all of the things I'd found in the lunch room, I realised, I had decided it was almost time to leave this place.

There was no rush, I didn't really have a firm idea where to go. But sitting here wasn't achieving anything. But there were plans to be made. I wanted to start doing things the right way.

My watch said it was 5pm. Thursday 5th January 2012 (I probably would have got the day wrong without my ever faithful Casio). The monsters were fairly well fed, having been getting their "home delivery". I wanted them really well fed. so they would sleep soundly throughout the night, and give me time to get away cleanly.

The group must have still been pretty hungry. Two ten shot magazines of .22 ammunition resulted in around twenty five fewer hungry mouths to feed. Ironically they were turned to feed for hungry mouths.
Well fed monsters. Check.

I didn't want to lose this shed as a safe haven, I might need to return to it as some point. Simply opening the doors and driving out, leaving the shed to its fate, was not something I was prepared to do, if there was another option.

The double doors I had driven the car through almost a week before were old noisy creaky things located on the North side of the building, that could only be locked from inside the building. Only the personal access door on the East side of the shed could be locked from outside.

The shed is shaped like a stubby "L", The workshop located at the Northern end, the lunch room at the south western corner and the toilets jutting out beside the lunchroom to the south east.

I should be able to get the car and myself out of the building without being seen. Whether I could pull it off without being heard was the million dollar question.

Being a workshop, a can of WD40 was pretty easy to find. I drenched the hinges of the large doors and of the small personal door. I would empty the can over those hinges throughout the evening. The sun was almost gone. As my final "shed meal" cooled, I sat and watched the monsters, they were quiet, settled in for the evening. I was about to turn back to my spaghetti bolognaise when it hit me. The RAAF base was in darkness. Had that only occurred today? or had I simply not noticed previously?

My meal, was very good, but they did take a lot of water to prepare. Another reason to try and preserve this place, its clean water source was worth more than all the gold in the world to me.

I topped off my water bottle, cleaned and packed my kit in the car.

In one of those rare moments when my brain was ahead of the game, I thought of the Loaders. A sand pit could not operate without them. Owens had four large Volvo loaders, big yellow machines weighing 25 odd tonnes, able to lift 60 percent of their own weight in their big hungry buckets, all less than three years old, the manager liked to keep all their gear up to date. And I knew where the keys were.

I picked the keys for unit number four, the newest in the fleet, less than six months old, I'd noticed it sitting with its older brothers on the way in. Parked under now dead spotlights and cameras, The fuel tanks should be full, policy had always been to top off the tanks at the end of the day. A ten thousand litre gravity feed diesel tank sat next to the loaders, no use with monsters so close unfortunately.

The loaders windows were all covered with Vandal covers, Heavy mesh grates, designed to save the windows of the machines from being smashed by vandals ...... or monsters. I'd been in one the machines with the covers on, it was possible to drive, but was difficult, you couldn't see out very well.

Number fours' key ring had four keys, one for the entry gate (the one I had used on my last trip home from Newcastle), one for the fuel tank, the vandal covers and the machine itself.

I spent the final hours counting down to midnight, the time I had chosen to leave, reading from Bills Zombie library. and thinking on where I was going to go.

Yep, way to leave these decisions to the last minute. I wanted to return to my home, the majority of my supplies were there, plus my quad, and a few drums of fuel, the Territory was between half and three quarters full. I also wanted to take a closer look at Newcastle. Last time I saw it, it was in darkness, yet I couldn't believe that everybody was gone. The RAAF base and Army encampment outside of it also piqued my interest.

Midnight came around too quickly, butterflies were doing loop de loops in my stomach.

One last look at the group. No movement, they were down for the evening, illuminated by the half moon.

Shotgun in one hand (was it fully loaded? yes), Ease open one of the swinging doors with the other. The door was much quieter than usual, but not exactly quiet. My ears heard every creak as a roar, every squeak as a scream.

From my current position, I was blind to the movements of the group. It took five minutes to open that one door, it would usually take five seconds.

I locked it open and prepared to move the car out. Pushing two tonnes of car and supplies even on hard concrete is a chore when the vehicle has half flat tyres. Past the arc of the door, un hitch it, and another five minutes to close and lock it. Felt like five hours.

Now was the most dangerous time, I was inside, all my supplies were in the car. I crept to window, the group hadn't moved.

Time to go.

There was no way to close the door quietly from the outside of the workshop, To lock it, you had to slam it. BAM. Run.

As I reached the safety of the car, I could hear the growls and screams, They would be coming.

Clunk, activate the central locking and start the car. As the key swung round to "On", the headlights illuminated, turning the area ahead of the car from night to day, lighting up the track into the bush that I had taken a little over a week ago.

Turn the key to start. She's winding over a little slow, battery is a bit on the low side. Oh no, all those laptop recharges, they'd taken their toll. Why didn't I start it up earlier today?

Flick the headlight switch from "Auto" to "Off". Pray to any and every God that might be looking my way.

She turns over a little faster, I can hear them screaming louder now, they are close. Winding, starting to slow, My left hand patting her dashboard, cajoling, pleading, "Come on baby, you can do it"

First one careers round the corner of the shed, searching for its prey, followed closely by two and three.

She fires. No time for Jims well practiced warming procedure ("She's a high performance Turbo son, you've got to treat her right"). Headlights on, into drive and hammer down.

"Our lady of blessed acceleration don't fail me now"

"They don't make em like they useta" the line oft repeated by old car enthusiasts around the world. All I can say to that is. "Thank God". Any muscle car from the 60s to the 80s that could match the performance of my big black ride, would be back there, stalled, its carburettor flooded, its windows broken and its driver making a tasty midnight snack for the hungry beasts. Thank God for Bosch Fuel Injection. When its absolutely gotta go, first go, nothing else comes close.

If by some miracle, a member of Ford Australia's Engine tuning team should somehow survive this whole mess, please accept my humble thanks for getting the Cold Start tuning on the Territory Turbo Just Right. You Aced it..

The tachometer needle swung hard over, four wheels spinning on the gravel, throwing rocks behind, ricocheting off the shed doors. No hesitation, no missing or backfiring. Just that big six growl, rising to a howl, turbo whistle and a serious punch in the back, as I shot forward.

No choice but to head North on the same bush track I'd taken last week, I was blocked from the beach access by my angry neighbours. At Robs Pit (now deserted) , I decided to turn onto the beach, rather than take the track through the burnt forest to the North, There would probably be trees down in there, I didn't fancy being stuck on a narrow track, in the bush, in the dark.

Carefully I drove along the back hills, The big turbo Ford now sufficiently warmed, taking the tall hills in her stride.

I parked on the sand, above the tank trap track. deciding to wait for daylight before tackling the burnt bush track.

No lights on the beach, but one Coal carrier still lit up, the other two that were lit a few days ago, still at anchor, with the rest, in darkness.

Not a light in my monoculars field of vision, not anywhere.

I settled down to sleep the rest of the morning away. Seat laid back, windows and sunroof cracked an inch against the heat.

I tried the radio both AM & FM bands and also my phone before I tried to sleep. No service on the phone, but, Something at the bottom of the AM band, there was definitely somebody talking, it must have been a long way away, I could make out one word in ten. I listened for an hour, only succeeding in frustrating myself. It disappeared in static and didn't return. I set the station and would try again tomorrow night.

"Pilot of the airwaves
Here is my request
You don't have to play it
But I hope you'll do your best
I've been listening to your show
On the radio
And you seem like a friend to me

Or a record of your choice
I don't mind, I'd be happy just to hear your voice
Saying this is for the girl
Who didn't sign her name
Yes, she needs a dedication just the same

Late at night I'm still listening
Don't waste my time chasing sleep
People say I look weary
But that's just the company I keep
Ooooh, you make the nighttime race
Ooooh, I don't need to see your face
You're sounding good (Sounding good)
Sounding good to me"

Pilot of the Airwaves. Charlie Dore.
Posts: 381
Joined: Mon Mar 24, 2008 6:53 am

Re: White Night (or where do I get my 30 + from now?)

Postby wa5 » Wed Aug 10, 2016 8:08 am

I awoke, just before sunrise to the sound of a small plane. It was circling, obviously searching for the unlit airport.

I fired up the car. Battery fully charged, she turned and fired almost instantly. Headlights on high beams, the plane changed course towards me almost instantly.

I drove faster than I should, south along the dunes, as the plane circled overhead. Determined to point the pilot to the landing strip, and safety.

Parking with my nose toward the Base, I took Jims Mag Lite, and signalled the flyer. That way.

He waggled his wings "thank you" and was gone.

The dawn was just breaking, hopefully there would be enough light for the pilot to make a safe landing. The little planes nose light seemed inadequate.

The plane was soon back, waggling again. A problem? I could only guess that the RAAF Base, now gone dark, was over run.

Just for a moment, the plane cut its throttle, then resumed, twice more he did that. Another signal? guessing that he was perhaps running low on fuel. I raced for the waters edge.

We were just South of the main entrance, All the four wheel drives had gone North. The beach was clear for over a mile, The Sygna standing guard over the surf like a rusty knight.

A gentle wind from the south, the sky getting a bit brighter. I pulled off my T shirt and held it high, there wasn't enough breeze to show the pilot a direction.

I threw the shirt back on, and drew a big "S" in the sand. With my hand raising and falling to try and let the pilot know the ground wasn't as smooth as it looked, He came in for a landing.

The planes single engine spluttered and died while it was still above the ground.

For better or for worse, he was committed.

Why could this one simple thing not go right?

It landed on the two rear wheels, the pilot kept the nose up as long as he could. He was probably aware of what was going to happen. He'd scrubbed off some speed, but not enough. The nose came down, the nose wheel dug into the sand.

From the rear, I saw the tail start to rise, faster and faster, it was only as the plane was vertical that I noticed the trough cut into the sand by the front wheel.

To me, planes appear to hang in the sky, I know they are moving fast, but when you see them from some distance away, especially from the side, they just don't look to be going that fast. That illusion was shattered as the plane started to flip. Everything went into fast motion. Like Lego, bits flew off as it gyrated over the bumpy sand. I felt every gruesome impact.

I was in the car, speeding towards the still fairly complete fuselage before it stopped moving. The cockpit stopped right way up, As I came to a halt, a beautiful blond half climbed, half fell out of the right door. She landed in a heap beside what was left of the plane.

As I approached, I saw there were others inside, not moving. Tearing off what remained of the left window, looked like his neck was broken, he was gone.

Behind him lay two small children, Girls, if their pretty dresses were anything to go by. They had both been too small for the seat belts. Thrown about in the crash, Their little heads resting at obscene angles.

Neither breathed, neither moved

The kids appeared to be maybe 1 and 4 years old, Pilot was probably Dad. How would I break the news to Mum, sobbing quietly at the far side of the plane.

Even sobbing over her dead family, she looked familiar. Her face kept on nearly ringing a bell.
I was lousy on picking peoples faces, In time, it would come to me where I knew her from.

No monsters came as we buried her family in shallow sandy graves.

The pistol she took from the interior of the wrecked plane caught my attention. A small gun 9mm perhaps, it fitted nicely in her clutch bag. She picked up a dainty duffle bag and we were gone.

She cried quietly as I drove North. I kept up a running commentary, telling her where I was going and what I hoped to find, where I'd been staying. The condition of the local area, or at least the little I knew, or surmised. Just white noise, normally at a time like this, an army of professionals would be looking to the needs of my weeping friend. At the very least she would be able to get some privacy and mourn alone.

Neither of those options were available, So I kept up a steady banter.

Excluding the terrible circumstances, it was nice to have somebody to talk to. I'd been talking to myself a bit too much over the last few days. But, who else had there been to share my thoughts with?

As we rolled into the tank trap track and were surrounded by burnt forest, a little alarmed she asked "where are we going"? So again, I explained.

Even from a distance, I could see the house was done for. A burnt out collapsed shell stood where my home had once been. I kind of hoped that somebody had eaten my Sausages and Eggs before the house went up.
The entire two acres of my property was burnt black, surrounding properties were similarly blackened. Only five cars sat on my grass, burnt out, I thought the yard would have been packed. Perhaps the fire had moved too quickly for that too happen?

My sturdy shed stood firm and secure.

There were no monsters in sight, the fire and lack of local water must have driven them to other areas, could some of them have travelled as far as Owens pit?

I backed the Territory into the shed and closed the door.

I indicated the grubby lounge in front of the now dead big screen TV (My shed doubled as a "Man Cave"). She demurely sat. "Now lets have a look at those cuts" I said, as I retrieved the sheds first aid kit.

She sat, distracted whilst I disinfected and covered her many small cuts, better safe than sorry.

I asked if she would like a drink or something to eat? "Yes please, we haven't had a meal in two..... I haven't eaten since Wednesday" she said hollowly.

The man cave section of my shed had a BBQ, more suited to cooking Steaks, sausages, eggs, bacon. but just as useful to warm up some water for lunch.

Turned out she was a vegetarian, fortunately some of the dehydrated meals I'd picked up when stripping Anacondas supply were too.
Vegetarian stir fry for her, Beef and pasta hot pot for me. Washed down with a couple of bottles of water from my now dead beer fridge.

After lunch she shared some of her story, between the tears.

Her name was Mary, she and her family had been staying with a friend at Byron Bay. A rich friend it seemed, they had been staying on an "Estate" (Byron Bay was a favourite amongst the Hollywood set). They had quarantined themselves inside the Estate at the end of October. Their host had the foresight to see what was coming, bring in supplies and lock the gates.

Turns out the Estate had fallen for the same reason my home had. Electric light. As the outside world died, The estates generator had been running flat out. Lights shone out, fountains flowed, music played. The party went on. Right to the bitter end.

Infected started to surround the estate fence on Tuesday evening. The fence was tall and sturdy, they wouldn't have got in, but for the one semi infected in the car who rammed the gate. The monsters started steaming in.

Mary's husband was ready, He herded his family into one of the light planes on the grass landing strip (as I said, rich estate owner). They flow their stolen piper from Byron Bay to Armidale. Mary's Husband had flown there before, and reasoned that being situated a little out of town, it might be a safe haven.

As they landed, Monsters streamed from the terminal, They taxied to a hanger and locked themselves in.

With no food or water in the hanger, and dangerous creatures out side, they decided to leave after midnight, figuring, like me, that the creatures were quietest at night. About the same time I left Owens, they were leaving Armidale. They were gambling on the RAAF Base being a safe haven.

With no lights to show landmarks in the dark, they got a little lost and simply flew east til they found the coast, then turned South. Mary correctly assumed that the lit coal carrier was anchored near Newcastle. With no lights they still couldn't find the airport. Until I pointed them toward it.

As I guessed, it was overrun and they were flying on fumes.

She didn't blame me for the crash, I gave them the best chance I could in a desperate situation.

Her Husbands' name was Keith, the Children Rose and Margaret.

With her story told, she burst into tears, not a quiet ladylike sob into a handkerchief, Huge braying sobs that racked her body.

Mary was inconsolable.

I timidly moved closer and took her in my arms. Good manners and old habits dictated that grabbing hold of a beautiful stranger was not exactly the done thing. She clung to me. I held her, sobbing, for hours
Mary quieted and slept, just after sunset.

I disentangled myself from her and grabbed a bottle of water, it had been a long hot day. Leaving a bottle near the now sleeping Woman, I heated a can of stew.

Unrolling my sleeping bag, I sacked out on the floor. Mary could have the lounge, it may have been grubby, but it was very comfortable, I'd fallen asleep on it more than once.

I turned the battery lantern to its lowest setting, I didn't want Mary to wake up disorientated.

She woke around midnight, I heard her rise, drain the water bottle and pick up the lantern. "You OK, want something to eat"? I asked. "No thanks, just popping to the loo" she answered.

My man cave toilet walls were plastered with a few pictures of cars, and lots of pin up girls. Not too many ladies visited the man cave, obviously.

I heard her crying again, it went on for a couple of minutes. If grabbing hold of a stranger while she was crying went against the grain, Walking into a bathroom was a taboo that was a lot harder to get past.

I really with I'd barged in there, no matter what she may have been doing, and held her, talked to her, listened, whatever it took.

As I dithered, uncomfortable, wondering if I should call to her. The toilet flushed, The crying was muffled a little.

A moment later the shot rang out.

I found her sitting on the throne (fully dressed, Thank God, I don't think I could have faced the prospect of her with her pants down), The pistol still clutched in her left hand. Dark blood running from her mouth, a little leaking from her left ear. But no exit wound. Apparently small calibre bullets would sometimes simply bounce around inside the skull.

Her pulse fluttered and disappeared, no point trying CPR, she was gone.

The lantern shone up from its place on the floor and picked out her pretty dying features. It hit me like a sledgehammer, I recognised her, I knew who she was.

Better to dig the grave in the dark. Cooler and no chance of adding to the sunburn on my hands, arms, face and neck sustained while I was burying this poor broken Woman's family. I knew I was getting burned as I interred the three of them, but I felt it was terribly disrespectful to lather sun screen over myself during that sombre task.

Digging the grave took almost four hours, I was far more adept at handling Falcon mirrors and windows than picks and shovels.

I wrapped her in an old blanket and placed her in the grave with as much dignity as I was able. Checking in her bag, I found a small picture of the family (I also confirmed the spelling of her full name), I put that back in the bag, along with a hand written note detailing the location of the rest of her family, it went into the grave with her.

After filling the grave I returned to the shed, found a sturdy piece of hardwood. My engraver was sitting in its charger, fully charged. I engraved her name and the date on the marker.

As I hammered it into the softened dirt, I thought and mourned for this poor Woman. A month ago, she had it all, Family, Fame & Fortune.

By the time I met her this morning, Her Family was gone, the Fortune meant less than nothing, and the Fame? She hadn't even been able to introduce herself with her given name. Was that force of habit, or was she past caring?


"She came without a farthing
A babe without a name
So much ado about nothing
Is what she'd try to say
So much ado my lover
So many games we played
Through every fleeted summer
Through every precious day
All Dead All Dead
All the dreams we had
And I wonder why I still live on
All Dead All Dead
And alone I'm spared
My sweeter half instead
All Dead
And Gone
All Dead..."

All Dead All Dead, Queen (May).
Posts: 381
Joined: Mon Mar 24, 2008 6:53 am

Re: White Night (or where do I get my 30 + from now?)

Postby wa5 » Sat Aug 13, 2016 11:06 am

Jan. 7.
I climbed onto the roof of the shed, to get away from the ashen grass and burnt smell.

Just waiting for the dawn to come, I tried not to think of her. The roof was the farthest safe place from the bottle of Glenmorangie Scotch that sat on top of my fridge.

If I took one wee dram of the Highlanders favourite tipple, I'd follow that by the up ended bottle. If I lived in a world without man eating monsters, the bottle would, by now, be half empty. Freddie Mercury would be singing about "Just one year of Love", and I'd be well on my way to a monumental hangover (or death by alcoholic poisoning).

But there were monsters, and they might hear Messrs Bulsara, May, Deacon and Taylor's brilliant vocal harmonies, as I drunkenly cranked the stereo up to eleven and tried to sing along. They might find the door open, after I'd forgotten to close it when I went outside to "water the grass". They might find the slightly overweight bloke passed out on the same lounge "she" slept on earlier.

Best to not open that bottle.

To the East, the first hint of light touched the base of the dark sky. Not a cloud in sight, eventually the Sun rose through the trees and overpowered the almost full moon.

By seven am the sun was aggravating my sunburn, and doing more damage to my skin. Time to get into the shade. Another Scorcher.

I lazed for most of the day. dozing fitfully, waking to the sound of imaginary shots. My thoughts turning to dreams when I slept. Confused nightmares in truth. Everybody I knew or had met in the last week had a starring role. I can recall flashes of faces, marked, bitten, bloody. Cries for help, cries of terror, Agony, and most vividly, cries of loss.
I gave up trying to sleep at 5pm, My fragile psyche's method of coping (or had it just thrown up its hands, said "**** it" and walked away from the pain) with the terrible things I had witnessed, left me sad and depressed.

Idle hands are the devils work, I decided to check on my burned home, and the gate smashed by the mad Volvo driver.

Still three hours to sunset, the sun burned my already red skin as I carefully exited the shed. Back inside, lather on the lotion and good to go.

The gate was kaput, As the road was blocked, it served no purpose now. I discarded the gate and strung four strands of barbed wire instead.

The area was still clear of my bitey friends. I kept the shotgun close none the less. As I worked on blocking gate, I took a look at the big limo stuck in the drain a dozen steps from my mail box (no mail, I checked). I was right, it was a Cadillac, said so on the boot lid, also still had the dealers sticker on the intact rear window. "Dolans Cadillac - Las Vegas". Thankfully the window was black, either from the fire or heavy tint, I didn't look too hard.

Stringing the wire took about half an hour, time to check my ex home, Glad I'd never have to fill in the insurance claim, who'd believe it?

The house was totalled, Being of wooden construction it went up like a torch, I found nothing worth saving, except, amazingly, the crappy old generator. Apart from a few singe marks on the paint, it was as crappy as ever. I felt sure it would run, but I dared not try it. too loud.

Old habits die hard, I unchained "genny" and bought her with me back to her spot on the shelf in the shed. Presumably to sit until the end of time, or the shed collapsed.

Tin of stew and one of peas for tea. washed down with a bottle of beer. just one. I was part way through another book, one of the characters had set some bottles of beer in a stream. I put mine in a bucket of water, Wasteful, yes, but I knew my tank was full. I could afford to do such things once in a while.

Jan. 8. Sunday.
Slept the night through. Woke after nine. I felt a bit happier than I had the day before, I felt like I'd had some bad dreams, but couldn't actually remember them. It was a little cooler, felt like high twenties, still hot, bot bearable.

I carelessly threw open the shed door, needing to relieve myself.

As I strode out into the sun, I heard a scream from the road.

The glimpse I caught of them, before fleeing back inside and slamming the door behind me, showed hundreds heading south.

There were no windows in my shed, one less entry point for thieves, and monsters. There were some gaps around the sturdy doors, I could peek through.

My view of the road was partially blocked by my fried house. They were heading south, Probably out of Nelson Bay and its surrounds. Nelson Bay is on a peninsula, surrounded by salt water. Not a lot of easily accessible fresh water, They were thirsty.

My appearance had caused some excitement, My front fence (four strands of barbed wire strung on wooden posts) was separated from the road by the drain the Cadillac had fallen into. The only entry point was where my gate used to be.

a lot of them just stepped straight into the drain, trying to get at me, I'd guess they weren't the first to fall into it on the groups journey south. I'd been in there once or twice retrieving items that had fallen in. It was an "8 foot drain" IE 8 feet wide (about three metres) and about 5 feet deep. The sides were just vertical grassy soil, I always had a hard time climbing out of it. generally getting a boost from the pipe that ran under my driveway. I wondered how the monsters would go at the same task.

Some found my entry and tried to get past the recently strung wire, recoiling in pain when it bit them. The crowd spread out along my fence, between it and the drain. More were pushing from the rear.

The ones closest to the wire at my front gate were forced onto it, as the group behind pushed forward.

Why did those behind push? they couldn't have seen me, I was outside, in view for less than 5 seconds. was it some pack instinct? "Follow the group, that's where the yummy food is"?

What ever the reason, They pushed. Those trapped on the gate wire, yowled in pain, the constant shoving and jostling from those behind, forced them ever more onto the painful bards, also moving them left and right, tearing at their skin.

Bloody and torn from the wire, several of the front runners were attacked by those caught behind them. It seemed to happen when the injured managed to free an arm from the crush, and raise it away from the cruel barbs. Those behind must have seen the blood, sensed the weakness and attacked. pinned to the wire and being bitten and torn at from behind, the victims could do little to defend themselves.

The lifeless bodies remained on the fence, their attackers could only bite their heads and shoulders, maybe an arm if it was free from the fence..

TWANG, the top strand could not take the strain any longer and snapped. They'd be inside soon. Stay, or Go?

I was leaning toward stay and be quiet, when the choice was made for me. The third strand failed, signalling its' defeat loudly just like its' recently departed brother.

Those at the front tumbled over the bottom two strands, making a nice safe ramp for those that marched straight over the top of them, never knowing the pain of being pricked by a barbed wire fence.

The crowd started streaming in. wandering all over my property, but paying no special attention to the shed. I was safe for now, but trapped.

I'd chosen to stay because the shed held the majority of my food supplies, I would not have had time to lock the shed up, had I chosen to leave. I didn't want to lose what was close to six months worth of supplies.

My trailer and the Ford were both pretty full with things I'd need. time to make a plan. A quiet plan.

I chanced a peek through the door gap, it was dark in the shed, but sunny and bright outside, I didn't think they'd see me. I was in a worse position than at Owens Pit, At least five hundred in my yard, wandering around, looking, listening.

The only open water within a mile of my home, was in cattle troughs, all of them were fed by electrically driven pumps. Most of them were behind closed gates and more barbed wire. Would the beasts try as hard to get to them as they did to get to food (Me)?

It wouldn't matter, the troughs, no longer being replenished would not last long.

I wondered what happened to the cattle caught in the fire, I'd left the gates open through to the tank traps tack, perhaps they'd stampeded ahead of the fire front? I resolved to try to release any that I saw still locked in their paddocks. I like cows, especially well done, but I don't like to see them suffer. I also thought of the local Farm / Zoo, about a mile south of me, and wondered how those poor creatures were coping. Another promise made to myself to help them if I could. Thankfully they didn't have anything too exotic, I'm not sure what I'd do if I were faced with a caged elephant or Lion. Meeting a large group of their offspring in another thirty years didnt seem appealing, If I survived that long. Given how poorly I was managing so far, that didn't seem very likely.

Way to go with the positive thinking......

Porridge for breakfast, washed down with some long life orange juice.

After eating, I hung an old ground sheet behind the door, so no light or movement would be visible from outside. Time to get to work. Quietly.
Posts: 381
Joined: Mon Mar 24, 2008 6:53 am

Re: White Night (or where do I get my 30 + from now?)

Postby wa5 » Sat Aug 13, 2016 1:09 pm

I topped off the tank of the car, then got to work figuring out how to carry a lot of food and some other stuff, with the car and trailer already full.

I had a few days to kill, and needed to keep my mind active, so as not to think of "other things".. so I unloaded and re packed the car and trailer. Sacrificing my Honda Quad would give me most of the room I required, but I really thought the bike would pay its way, So I wasn't prepared to give it up.

My food supplies were split pretty evenly between dehydrated meals in foil packs and cans. with some other incidentals.

The Dehydrated meals were more compact, but did require water. I made them my main priority, because of the packaging, it wouldn't stand up to rodents, if they were tipped out of their plastic storage boxes. Tiny teeth would tear through the packaging in no time. Cans of food would last for years... inside the shed, so they would be last to be packed.

I carefully repacked the car first, go to gear, like guns, water, food and cooking utensils went in the passengers seat. I removed the centre and rear seats, giving the car a few more cubic feet of capacity. I agonised over the spare wheel, jack and Jims tool kit, but I chose to keep them, just in case.

After repacking all the gear in the back, I still had a fair bit of space, removing the seats had been a good idea. I placed the loose dehydrated packets into every nook and cranny. about half my supply fitted in the car. It was packed tight in the back, Nothing in that area could be easily accessed, I'd need to unpack and repack to get the simplest item.

Attaching the scruffy looking trailer, I started repacking it. I'd done a pretty good job the first time around, with the quad and camping gear and the small amount of food already in the trailer, there wasn't much more room available. Anything I added would just fall off the side.

Time to make some hungry boards. The term came from the trucking industry I believe. Tip truck drivers would ad boards to the sides of their trucks tipping bodies, to increase the amount of product they could carry.

I could only use what was inside the shed, My neighbours didn't want to share apparently. Pity, there was probably enough material in the house to knock something up inside an hour. I'd have to get creative.

The Toilet door made one of the side boards. My workbench made the other. The heavy plyboard unscrewed easily enough, but it was a little too long, as was the door, I had to slowly shorten them to fit in the sides of the trailer. Each movement of the saw went at a snails pace. Both of the flat panels magnified any noise. as darkness fell outside, I gave up for the day, The toiled door finished, the bench top locked in the vice, the cut half completed.

A can of soup and another of beans heated on the bbq, a couple of bottles of beer cooling in the bucket of water. I made the decision to eat only canned food until I left here. Why carry the bulky cans when I could eat them?

before going to bed, I scanned the cars radio again. No luck, even if there was a signal, it wouldn't through the sturdy building.

I found myself wishing for an old Australian car, from the 60s or 70s. The big mechanical Chrome plated monsters in the dashboards of those models could pull in an AM signal from amazing distances, with the help of their shiny telescopic ariels. The Territory's modern digital radio just didn't do as good a job, its radio antenna was embedded in the tail gate glass, It just couldn't get the signal that the older cars could. One area where they really "Don't make em like they useta". For the most part, I'd still pick the 6 disc stacker in the Territory over the AM single speaker unit in cars 40 years older. Funny, I hadn't listened to any music since every thing came crashing down.

"I'd sit alone and watch your light
My only friend through teenage night
And everything I had to know
I heard it on my radio"

Radio Ga Ga. Queen.
Posts: 381
Joined: Mon Mar 24, 2008 6:53 am

Re: White Night (or where do I get my 30 + from now?)

Postby wa5 » Sun Aug 14, 2016 2:12 pm

Jan 9. Monday.

As soon as I got into a deep sleep, another one of them would bump into the door, or there would be an attack and feeding frenzy. I dozed between bumps and screams. By day break, I was over trying to rest, the sooner I finished, the sooner I could be ready to leave.

Their stink permeated the shed. this was the closest I had been to them, blood, sweat, **** and piss combined to form a desperate stink. Eau de Extinction.

A can of Golden Circle fruit salad, some long life orange juice and to work.

By 7 am it was obviously going to be another very hot day, The heatwave would have to break soon.

Confident that I wouldn't be invaded by the others, I stripped down to my underwear. I must have looked a sight, sawing at a snails pace, sweat pouring off me. The bench top was far more solid than the door, I finished it around 11. time for an early lunch.

some peaches out of the can, way to hot to cook. Looked longingly at the beer cooling in the barrel, picked the can of lemonade beside it, had to stay sharp while working, an accidental loud noise would bring..... "problems".

Side boards sorted, front and rears to come.

I didn't want to do it, I looked over every inch of that shed, but could find nothing that would work. Then I searched again. Nothing, damn it.

My Grandfathers last car, A 1979 Chrysler Regal SE. Top of the line, built a year before Chrysler quit Australia. 318 V8, Electronic Lean Burn, Air, Steer, Metallic green (Crystal Turquoise) with cream leather. Pop loved that old car, I kept it registered, it came out of the shed once or twice a year.

It was so damn hot, sweat running into my eyes the whole time I was removing the bonnet and boot lid from that lovely old car.

I wrapped both panels in the carpet from my man cave, hoping to protect the shiny paint, and one day, return the panels to their rightful home.

They gave me the space I needed to get everything into the trailer, even a few extras, all my fuel, only about forty litres, some extra water containers, a tarpaulin and rope, shovel, tie wire, that kind of stuff.

The poor trailer was massively over loaded, sitting very low on her springs. The extensions were held together with wire, tape and prayer. I very slowly and very quietly released air from its tyres.

I hadn't bothered looking out all day, what was the point? I knew who was out there.

While my chicken soup came to a boil on the BBQ, I snuck a look out, at the evening.

It hadn't really occurred to me that it was cooling down, I just subconsciously wanted soup, Earlier in the day, it would have been too hot. Now there was a decided chill in the air.

As I peeked out of the crack, I noticed the reason, it was much darker than it should have been. Black clouds, pregnant with rain and possibly hail hung low.

As I watched, the crowd, much thinned since yesterday, were startled into frenzied roaring and yelping by the appearance of a distant flash of lightning, and a few seconds later the rumble of thunder.

The heatwave was almost broken. before dark, the heavens would open. Bringing enough standing water to sustain my nasty neighbours for longer than I'd like, but also bringing biting rain and perhaps hail. Along with a sound and light show. It was almost time to go.
I wasn't planning to go tonight, Lots to do. Wolf down the soup. forego the beer (and it was calling to me so). Drain a cool can of Coke in under ten seconds. My extremely loud belch covered by a fortuitous clap of thunder. And to work.

I wouldn't be able to secure my shed during my retreat (lets be honest, I was fleeing in abject fear). I had to do the best I could to secure my possessions in the open building.

The Fords removed seats went inside My Grandfathers Chrysler. My precious Raptor sat behind it. I gave my 700cc horse an affectionate pat on the seat and threw the dust cover back over her, Spreading a full box of poison rat pellets around both vehicles.

All my tools went into their lockers, covered with a liberal coating of WD40.

Just one more task, as the first fat drops blatted on the tin roof, Send her down Hughie.

I strung the remains of my barbed wire between the Chrysler and the rest of the shed. I managed ten strands before the spool was empty.

The daylight was waning as the hail began. Using the hamming on the tin roof as a cover, I tried the big Ford, she started without an issue. After running for less than half a minute, I shut her down, My shed was a little draughty, but running any internal comubstion engine in a confined space, was not a good idea.

After setting Jims lantern at its dimmest, I transferred the ground sheet from its position in front of the doors, to its new position covering the trailer. As I finished tying it down, the hail slackened before stopping altogether. The heavy rain continued.

I looked out between the doors, The critters were crowding in my broken home. Some inside, where the roof hadn't collapsed, some on the verandah disappearing round the side of my blackened abode.

I wondered if I would ever again see my shed. The rain was still teaming down. Unlocking and pushing open the double doors quickly, I sprinted back to the car. She fired quickly, I pulled her into drive and slowly rolled into the beating rain and fading light. Feeling guilty about not following Jims warming schedule, I resolved to be very gentle on the throttle until the temperature gauge reached normal.

I broke that resolution within five seconds, as they saw me, sprinting from their shelter (MY shelter) to try and catch me.

Splashing through the already forming puddles, I had to slow to walking pace to squeeze past the bent Volvo half blocking the gate.

As the light faded away to darkness, I saw them in the mirrors, turning back toward the house, and my shed, keep out of there you bastards.

I slowed, mindful of the car being cold, but more importantly, I was thinking of my jury rigged trailer modifications. I only needed it to hold together until I reached the sand. I had a plan.

The powder dry sand present when I last used the ramp onto the sand would have seen the territory caught, bogged on the ramp, trapped, unable to proceed up the ramp, unable to reverse down (the trailer would soon jack knife trapping both). The heavy rain had dumped enough water onto the area to firm the sand up just enough for the car and trailer to crest the hill.

I came to a halt in my usual position, ready to survey the horizon as I had done on all of my previous visits to this hill. The rain was coming down too hard. I couldn't much past the beach, less than a mile East.

Distant thunder rumbled, its power now gone. Seeming to say "and another thing", twenty minutes after the argument was over.

Kicking off my boots, I exited the car. instantly I was drenched. Washing their stink and that of my exertions from me. I disrobed, awkwardly stepping out of my soaked jeans laying them on the bonnet, with my shirt and underwear to soak.

I danced around in that pouring stinging cleansing rain for almost half an hour. Overjoyed to be outside, free to jump and whoop, like an overgrown puppy, let off the leash to rip.

The rain washed away more than my sweat, It washed my desperation, my tears.

Drenched, My skin stinging and chilled to the bone, I had to retreat to the car.

Starting the engine and selecting "High" on the climate control, I sat shivering until the heater warmed me. I ran it until I was dry. Several times throughout the night, I had to restart the car to get warm, all my spare clothes were somewhere in the back. My sleeping bag was deep in the passengers foot well, the only way I could access it would be to walk around to the passengers door, in the pouring rain.

So I slept naked, my still damp bum squeaking against the leather seat.

"Well I love a rainy night; I love a rainy night.
I love to hear the thunder;
watch the lightning when it lights up the sky.
You know it makes me feel good.
Well, I love a rainy night; it's such a beautiful sight.
I love to feel the rain on my face;
taste the rain on my lips,
in the moonlight shadows.
Showers wash all my cares away;
I wake up to a sunny day,
'cause I love a rainy night.
Yeah, I love a rainy night.
Well, I love a rainy night.
Well, I love a rainy night, ooh, ooh."

I love a rainy night. Eddie Rabbitt.
Posts: 381
Joined: Mon Mar 24, 2008 6:53 am

Re: White Night (or where do I get my 30 + from now?)

Postby wa5 » Mon Aug 15, 2016 2:58 pm

Jan 10.

I woke to a mild summers day, fluffy, friendly white clouds looking down at me. By 7am, I could tell it was going to be a lovely day.

The damp spot I created on the sand didn't really stand out from the others created by the rain, already drying in the morning sun.

Also drying, were my clothes, they would take a little more time before I could wear them. I moved them into a position where they would get the full force of the sun.

Already my back (and a few other places that never saw the sun) were feeling the sting as the UV light launched another in its never ending attacks on my biggest organ (My skin, get your mind out of the gutter).

Sitting, shaded in the car, I glassed the beach, there were a lot of abandoned cars down there. But not a man or monster to be seen, though from this distance, with only my small scope, I couldn't be sure. Mental Note, find some powerful binoculars.

Nothing on the radio, I tried both bands. I also tried my phone, expecting nothing, I wasn't disappointed.

I couldn't be sure, it was a fair way out, but I thought I saw a few wisps of black smoke from the funnel of the last living coal carrier. Was her generator still running? I hoped so, I'd try and find a way to communicate with them, if I could.

My clothes were dry. I felt a little more normal with them on, still warm from soaking up the sun. I felt pretty good, even eating another tin of baked beans from my grab bag. The bottle of water helped them go down a little easier.

Did the rain wash away my worries, was the opportunity to run around like a crazy person good for my soul? Perhaps it helped, getting away from locations where I had witnessed bad things would have helped also. I was under no illusions that my broken soul was good as new, but I felt good at this point and at this place, I'd take what I could get.

Time to unhook the Trailer. A two minute job that took an hour. Flicking the hitch I tried to live the trailer off the towbar, Way to heavy, I couldn't shift it.

The cars jack was located under the rear cargo area. After almost an hour of unpacking, I had the jack. Five minutes later, the car and trailer were separated.

I left most of the gear on the sand.

Finally I had a chance to warm the Territory properly, I raised my water bottle silently to Jim, hoping that, if he was watching from somewhere, he would approve. I hope he was somewhere good.

5 minutes later I was on the move, heading towards the beach.

The first car I passed was no use, The pungent smell of burnt clutch hung around it. It took four more before I found one that wasn't irretrievably bogged.

20 year old Nissan Patrol Long wheel base wagon.
Drivers door open, keys in the ignition, give it a try, nothing, dead battery, of course.

Jims tool kit included a pretty good set of jumper leads. After ten minutes with them attached, I tried it.

Key to on. Red dash lights, fuel gauge swings to just over half. Click, glow plugs switch off. cycle them again twice. then try turning her over. She fires as the semi charged battery is about to fail.

I keep my foot on the throttle, the old girl runs a little rough, but settles down to a smoother beat after about a minute.

Let the big wagon run for about ten minutes to warm, no alarming smells or warning lights. No smoke or rattles. Check the tyres, they are bagged out, who ever owned this 4by knew enough to drop the pressures. I locked the Territory (no idea why) and got the Patrol rolling. As I travelled back to the trailer, I noticed the Nissan was fitted with a UHF radio. Scanning through all the channels, They were silent. Arriving, I'd have to remember to have a more in depth fiddle later.

I left it idling, charging the battery, while I checked the cargo area. A big Engel fridge and a large solar cell. I regretted opening the fridge, the stench almost knocked me off my feet.

I cleared around the closed fridge, normal camping gear, a box full of tin and dehydrated food, probably about a weeks worth. Two 24 packs of no name bottled water, carton of beer and a nice hand held spotlight, almost blinded me when I tried it, obviously its internal battery held a good charge, a car charger was sitting beside it.

Under the folded rear seat, I found a gun bag, with an ancient looking double barrel shot gun, It didn't really excite me, but a spare shot gun was always handy. The two hundred shells I also found under the seat made me happier.

after emptying everything except the fridge I moved the big Datsun back to the water. I dragged the fridge, with its lid locked closed down to the water, careful to stand up wind, I opened the lid and upended the unit.

I still almost lost my breakfast (would have been a real tragedy to lose those beans) as the smell rolled back to me, and I saw the rancid mess at my feet. Setting the heavy thing down above the tide line, I returned to the idling 4x4 and found an empty soft drink bottle and stripped one of the seat covers.
It took about half an hour to clean the Engle by filling with salt water, between gagging. I drained it and repeated three times. wiping the inside with the wadded seat cover. returning to my sandy lookout.

The mighty Patrol had been running for over an hour, I shut it down, it turned over quickly and fired straight up.

Mobile storage unit number one appeared to be a satisfactory machine.

I emptied the trailer, transferring all I could into the Patrol, the rest sat in a friendly little pile beside it..

I slid the Chrysler panels under the four wheel drive. to protect them, from what, I couldn't say.

The unladen trailer easily hitched to the quad. I retrieved the Territory, returning with the Quad in the trailer coming along behind.

Dumping the Honda, I went in search of Storage unit number two.

Delighted with the shot gun shells, I decided to try and search as many of the vehicles as I could, in the weeks to come.

Two hundred metres past the Nissans location, I saw the ideal vehicle, A Land Cruiser Troop Carrier. Alas, No keys. keep rolling North. A shiny Land Cruiser wagon, about 5 years old. Bogged, but not badly, Keys in the ignition. Bingo.

Door open, flat battery. Sidle up with the Ford, attach the leads and wait for the battery to come back.

Tyres were had as a rock. I dropped them down til they were really bellying, probably no more than 10 psi. Over the last week, sand had blown in around the wheels leaving them half buried. I used my hands to scoop sand away from the tyres, both ahead and behind. The battery got a good charge, it took me longer than ten minutes. The big 4.7 V8 fired quickly. I disconnected my car and moved it out of the way. The Cruiser almost rolled out of the hole on the first try. Into reverse, almost roll out the back, but not quite. Before it stops rolling backward, pull her into drive and feed in a good amount of power. She jumps out of the holes, I keep the power on as the back wheels fall into the holes just vacated by the fronts and out again.

Tins of food, but nothing else.

after retrieving the Ford, I distributed the supplies between the three vehicles, trying to make them three self contained life boats.

One more car required. Another Land cruiser. A troop carrier. abandoned, door open, battery flat.

Usual process. hook up the leads, key already on. Fuel gauge below empty, angry orange light glowing.

I guessed the owner had wandered away, half crazy, leaving the car idling.

Back to the first vehicle, the one with the burnt clutch. turn on the key, tanks full. Insert hose, siphon twenty litres.

Back to the troopie, and give her a drink.

wait for the battery to wake up. After a lot of winding, she fires on one, then two... runs like that for about a minute, one more comes on line, half her cylinders are working for a living, the other half still have air in the lines. I know that I should have bled the fuel lines, but its a messy pain of a job, I hate getting diesel all over my hands, if I had to go to that much trouble, there were plenty of other cars to try.

I moved the Ford, and returned to the roughly idling Toyota. Its 4.2 litre Diesel not very happy. Tyres were bellied, another good operator. He'd be rather unhappy if he saw how I was treating his car.

Into Low Range 4 wheel drive. Select first gear. She starts rolling, making a chugging noise like a sick old VW beetle. Low 3 was the most the sick engine would pull on the flat beach, getting up onto the hills at the rear of the beach would be an exercise in planning and patience. Number 4 kicked in stuttered, went away and came back to stay. She picked up speed.

Bouncing over my own tyre tracks, number 5 woke up. Followed in quick succession by number 6.

I easily made it up the sand hill, and parked beside the other cars.

Just before I exited the cruiser, I checked the switch near my left knee. Sub tank. I pressed it, without missing a beat, it switched to the smaller tank and the fuel gauge swung to full. Got to use my head and stop missing those kinds of things.

Lots of food in the back, a month at least. Some heavy duty rocket fuel, Vodka, Bourbon, Scotch. A big bag of green clippings, obviously Marijuana, never tried it, but didn't throw it away.

Also some serious tablets, I recognised Valium, the names on the other bottles meant nothing to me, I kept those too.

The bags of brownish powder and small packages of a lumpy white substance went into the garbage pile.

Under the owners Swag, was a nice little semi automatic .22. They would have gone straight to gaol if they'd been caught with this one. The gun had been shortened and the butt had been shaped into a pistol grip. Three spare 12 shot magazines and a several blocks of ammunition.

On the passengers seat I found a leather vest, plastered with the insignia of a fairly well known group of "motorcycle riding enthusiasts".

My precious Chrysler panels went into the back of the bikies Land Cruiser. Protected from the elements, Hopefully they wouldn't deteriorate before I could get them back to where they belonged.

The Fancy Valiant (as he called it) had been my Grandfathers' "retirement car", He was fairly well off, and had bought himself something nice. He'd never been much into cars, but the Regal must have reached something inside the old fella, he kept it neat as a pin, polished and shining. He stopped driving at the turn of the century, but would not be talked into getting rid of the car.

Every second weekend, he'd carefully back it out of the shed, Wash it, polish when it needed it. At the end of the day, he'd wheel it back in.

I was eleven when he got it, and had many happy hours travelling in it. When Pop passed in 05, it came to me.

Despite several rumblings from some others in the family, The will was very specific. it was mine. The same family members that had whined about him keeping "that big ugly gas guzzler" threatened to contest the will. The car was immaculate, There had been several very generous offers to buy it from enthusiasts. The old fella had often boasted that he had knocked back offers of over twenty five thousand dollars. The vultures saw only the dollar value, they went so fart as to instruct their solicitors to proceed.

A friend I'd went through school with, had risen to the top ranks of the legal profession. One letter from the desk of Ralfed Jones Q.C. convinced the money hungry bastards to respect the family Patriarch's wishes. I would never have been able to afford his normal rates, even to pen that one letter, He reported that the bottles of Scotch I sent to him went down very well.

The Valiant would get its panels back.

A quick lunch of spaghetti and meat balls, with water and I was ready to find new digs.

The trip South was quicker on the quad. It was good to be back in the saddle. The old Honda felt fairly nimble, the camping gear and supplies left at my "storage area".

Robs pit was over run, probably 200 centred on the settling dam. Owens group was still there, near the water at the back of the pit. Owens was one of the oldest sand pits in the area, The sand washing plant and associated facilities had been built adjacent to the sand around 35 years ago. The sand pit face was over 300 metres from that area now. I turned back to the sand as soon as the group came into my view.

I kept ahead of the group. carefully scanning areas left and right, looking for strays. None came from the sides, The group seemed to be sticking together. It took almost a minute for them to get to the sand.

I ascended the ramp and waited, The rain and cooler temperatures had re invigorated the beasts, half of them continued slogging up the ramp.

Finding a gear, I rolled forward, The monsters were exhausted from their sandy climb. Three or four continued to shadow me for another minute or two. Dropping exhausted onto the sand, I rode away, observing them from atop a nearby hill, the eventually arose and trudged back to their oasis.
Owens workshop was still out of bounds, but there was a good chance of getting something else there I thought I could use. I would be back.

South, to Pages. I stopped on the same hill above the traffic jam. The cars sat there, silent. The four caravans, unharmed, their tow cars ruined. The owners of those vehicles still laying in the same places, the torn rags that covered them fluttering in the gentle wind. Why did the crowd attack the cars and not the trailers? No living thing moved.

Those four comfy looking caravans were in the back of my head, as I headed further South and turned into the bush track that would lead me to the base of the big hill.

The went from close quartered bush track, to an old mine road and back to a twisting, turning bush track, probably less than a mile as the crow flies, two or three times that far with all its twists and turns.

The bike shuddered about a third of the way in. Not slowing, I glanced over my shoulder. one of them getting up, after diving for me and barely missing.

Four more pounding up the track behind him.

Terror gripped me. I wasn't carrying a weapon. Stupidly confident of the bikes ability to escape trouble, I'd left my guns locked in the Ford. I didn't have anywhere to safely stow them on the bike. I thought they might have presented their own dangers if I'd tried to carry any of them.

My Idiotic over confidence, placing all my faith in the bike, might just kill me. Fighting to keep the rising panic at bay, My right thumb pushed harder on the throttle as my left selected a higher gear.

The bike surged forward, away from my pursuers. onto the wider smother section of long unused mine road, I bought the Honda up to its top speed. There ware a few of them on the track ahead, I successfully swerved around them and sped on. In another two hundred metres, I need to turn into the small unmarked twisting track that led me to the lagoons, to the base of Pages. Up on top, I'd be safe.

It was no use following the mine road, it had been cut off by thick trees two decades before, the bit that was left kept clear only by motorcycle traffic.

As I began slowing for the turn, a scrawny girl dived out of the bush ahead of me and started sprinting straight at me.

A sane person would not try to take on 300kg of rugged Honda Quadracycle. This wasn't a sane person.

I hit the throttle, trying for as much speed as I could get before we hit. Crunch, she impacted just right of centre. The bulk of the bike threw here off to the side of the road. I would guess the heavy front rack broke her legs. I tried to hold the bike as it was knocked off line by the impact. No use, the bike and I leaned to the left, I jumped away. The bike skidded on its side for a while before catching on a pothole and righting itself, it rolled to a halt. Still idling, its centrifugal clutch not engaged at that engine speed.

My left arm and shoulder hurt, a lot, running on pure fear now, I was on my feet as soon as I skidded to a halt. Onto the patiently idling bike. push the throttle, its very sluggish not wanting to move. Hit the shift button on the left handle bar. down, down, down, down. A similar number of clunks from the innards of the gearbox, as the electronics obediently shifted down from top to first gear. Agony from my left shoulder as I pulled on the handlebars. The back of the bike spinning and scrabbling as I powerslid it through a half turn.

Reaching the recently overshot turn, again I reefed left on the bars and prepared for five minuted of torture as I pushed the bike through the tight turns at a pace usually reserved for the Raptor.

Four more attacks through the thick scrub, more pain as the closest of them grabbed my left arm. Tears running down my face as I exited the track onto the clear sand of the Lagoons.

My relief was short lived. One of the reasons I had chosen this area for my bolt hole, was its privacy, it was common knowledge to bike riders, but not a lot of others, the other reason was the fresh water lagoons near the base of the sand hills.

Of course, they had found it. Hard to give an accurate number, they were spread out around the large lagoons and surrounds. At least five or six hundred, maybe two or three times that amount. At any rate, it was over run.

Not a healthy environment, time to go.

I was baulked on my run up to climb the hill by a chaser. Swing around and lead the blood covered trotting nightmare image away from my intended course. More coming, not really enough run up, lets hope the rain came down here as well. The sand felt pretty well packed down.

Top of fourth gear as I hit the long climb. The Raptor would easily accelerate from the bottom and jump over the crest. The poor old heavy slow Honda wouldn't. Losing speed, engine straining, back to third, almost there, back to second, last of the "climbing gears", If I have to use first, she'll just spin on the spot. So close, engine revs still dropping, centrifugal clutch starts slipping, just as its supposed to at low speeds. Engine starts to pick up revs and make a little more power.

Barely moving, I crested the tipping point, the bike started moving slightly faster as the hill turned to the flat peak.

I stopped in the little clearing atop the hill. Waiting, bike idling in first, ready to speed down the north side of the hill at the first site of movement. As I expected at this hight point, nothing.

After a few minutes, I was confident enough to shift to neutral and shut the bike down. It made ticking sounds as the hot metal cooled and contracted, A sure sign it had just endured a sound thrashing.

My left shoulder aching, I walked back to the crest and looked down at my pursuers. Most just wandered round the base, two were trying to scale the hill, they didn't appear to be very successful from my vantage point.

I had an easy ten minutes before they reached me, they would be in no condition to be a threat to me if they made it to the top. I re mounted the bike and took the side track to my camping hideaway.

The camping gear and small amount of supplies could stay, it was still a fairly good spot for a refuge, if you could get to it. But I wanted the inflatable boat I had secreted there. Digging it out of its shallow grave took little time, I secured the box to the bike and returned to the clearing and checked on the climbers. They had abandoned their attempt, some milling at the base of the hill, others making their way back to the water.

The ride down the hill and back to my base was memorable only for the pain in my left shoulder.

A day that had started on a fairly positive note ended with me constantly hearing non existent footsteps of monsters charging, as I dealt with my badly scraped left hand (I'd torn the skin on my palm when it impacted the gravel track during my fall). I swallowed a few aspirin and retired wounded to the seat of the car before the sun went down. Laying down I discovered the pain in my ribs, probably bruised, not broken. Resignedly I adjusted the seat to a more upright position to take my weight off them.

Looking back, I see the painful ribs, the aching shoulder and the throbbing hand as a very gentle reminder to think things through and never be over confident. That evening being roused every time I shifter my weight, or breathed to heavily, I had a slightly different view.
Posts: 381
Joined: Mon Mar 24, 2008 6:53 am

Re: White Night (or where do I get my 30 + from now?)

Postby wa5 » Tue Aug 16, 2016 12:07 pm

Wednesday 11th January. 2012.

On the run for eleven days, For all my planning, I was in a worse position now than I was at the end of 2011.

I woke up stiff and sore. Shoulder still paining, ribs a little better. On the bright side, my hand felt better.

I didn't want to sleep in the car seat any more. Porridge again then off to find a sleeping car.

Another Land Cruiser Troop Carrier fit the bill, they had a lot of space in the back and had the longest load area (important with my 6'3 frame). The abandoned cars got thicker, the further North I travelled. I journeyed about five miles north, The Anna Bay headland coming into ever sharper focus, still no one on the beach however. Less then two miles from the rocky outcrop I finally found the right ride. I'd passed five similar vehicles, but they were all unsuitable. Two had no keys, one was bogged, down to the floorboards with the keys hanging in the ignition, taunting me.
The final two had stopped below the high tide mark, the surf had torn them apart over the last two weeks. They were barely recognisable, in another week, there would be nothing left but the engine block.

The Cruiser sat above the water line, in a group of 6 other cars, some bogged, some simply abandoned.

Keys in the ignition, it fired up easily and settled down to a friendly grumbling diesel idle. Full tank, Nice to finally find one that wasn't a pain to get running.

All I had to do was drop the tyre pressures and trundle the mobile bedroom back to my personal lookout.

After I retrieved the Ford, I set up my bedroom. Firstly cataloguing the cars supplies, mostly canned food, lots of baked beans... yay, there was also a cool little stove that ran on petrol. Might be handy when propane gets harder to find.

The Cruiser even had curtains in the back, and a nice mattress on the floor, it would be comfortable enough.

Next item on the agenda was a gun holder on the quad, with one, it was useless to me. For something that I thought would be my main form of transport, it turned out to be way to compromised to be used anywhere but open ground. I'd have to be beyond desperate to venture into closed quarters on it again.

Back to my waterfront car lot. I removed a rocket launcher from the bull bar of an old Land Rover (A fancy name for a piece of PVC pipe, so named because the sat at an angle on the bull bar and resembled, well you can guess). Cut some seat vinyl and foam from the inside of the Rover. Toss the old Landy while I'm there. Flat battery and It stunk of seafood, it was obviously some old blokes fishing wagon. Full of fishing gear and two cases of bottled water, He must have been planning to catch his dinner. I took the water.

I used the same clamps that had held the pipe to the bull bar, to attach it to my quads front rack. stuffing the inside of the pipe with foam and vinyl, I made a snug holder that would grab onto the shortened barrel of the pistollised .22.

As I ate my lunch, Chicken Pasta, I surveyed my handy work. Secure weather proof storage for my growing list of supplies, 6 separate modes of transport and a comfortable place to rest my head. I would finish my day in a far better position than I started it.

A better position, but not ideal. I thought back to those big caravans, bogged and useless in their current location, they were about half a mile from the lagoons, The access track passed that area slightly to the west, the tall hill lowering to an easy ridge as that point. Too much noise and the nosey neighbours would show up wanting to borrow some sugar, or chew my ear off, or my face, or my.......

The day was clear and bright, Time for another ride south. I waited til a little after four PM, a little shadow on the sand made it easier to see those pesky drop offs.

The area in front of the four car and van combos, was clear. I sat idling, in gear, ready to sprint away at the first sign of movement, my bandits pistol in my hand ( the holder had worked great). After a few minutes, it seemed nothing was coming to meet me (or meat me). Bike to neutral, switch it off, but leave the key on, just in case I need to go in a hurry. The huge traffic jam would be excellent cover for them.

Checked all four cars, no glass, not a straight panel, everything that could be smashed had been. the mob had not touched three of the vans. The rear most unit was damaged, not from violence, but from a Ford Ranger falling on it. The rear half was crushed, hadn't notice that before. All four of the combos had their keys still in the ignition, The key rings fat with extra keys, caravan keys I hoped.

Feeling more and more nervous to be so close to an area that would be an easy ambush, I hooked my arm under the destroyed roof, that was crushed down to the door line and removed the keys from the lead car. selected a likely key and tried it in the van door. It opened. Inside looked and smelled fresh and clean, protective plastic covered the seats, it looked brand new.

Tired of pushing my luck, I mounted the quad and trundled north.

With less than a minutes safety margin, I flew down the ramp, made a beeline for loader number four and killed the quad and climbed the ladder to the cab. Third key on the ring opened the door and I flew inside. locking the heavily grilled door behind me.

I knew they could not get at me inside the big Swedish shovel and relaxed a little. Right up to the moment they showed up about twenty seconds later. They swarmed around the bike and the big machine, but must not have seen me get in.

Having them so close made me sick to the stomach, fortunately, I was sitting down, as my legs went to jelly. A tightness across the chest and I felt a little light headed. It was just like standing on the edge of a huge precipice for me. but multitudes worse. I was back on that bush track again, with them chasing me.

Intellectually I "knew" they couldn't get me, the caveman cowering from the sabre toothed tiger in my head had not heard of case hardened steel grilles.

I could have simply started the Volvo and driven away, I sat and watched them. they circled the loader, clearly stirred up, some of them touched the quad, the hot parts of the bike, the exhaust and the engine bit them and they drew back, squealing and howling.

I observed for about half an hour, my breathing going from rapid and shaky to fairly normal. The tightness and sick feeling disappearing, the wobbly legs never quite going away.

Most of them lost interest and peeled away from the shrinking group, heading back to the pond. Two of them stayed, The bike smelled of man made things I suppose. I turned the key on, a multitude of buzzers sounded, They would be silenced as pressures, levels and temperatures were confirmed to be correct after the engine started. The dim cab lit up with warning lights.

The two beasts went wild, beating on the huge tyres, clawing at the bright yellow paint, hammering on it. Neither tried to climb up to the cab, I was invisible to them. Looking through the grilles towards the pond, the others had heard the disturbance and were galloping back.

Turn the key to start. Nothing. That's not good, I had no idea how long they would remain interested in the loader. if the battery was flat and I couldn't get it to go.

Warning lights and sirens all working as they should, Battery seemed ok, so what's the trouble?

Park brake on, good, transmission in Neutral, good. It should start. Maybe the brake pedal. Stand on the brake, turn the key. The big 18 litre diesel wound over and fired. Its grumbling idle drowning out most of the screams of the returning group.

Oil pressure built up quickly, Air pressure was next, the warning lights were falling like dominos. After less then three minutes the engine temp light extinguished. As expected, the tanks read full.

Ready to go. First I wanted to do a little house keeping. Pull back on the two tiny joystick that my right hand naturally fell to. The bucket rose and tilted. Push the dash lever forward and twist the knob for second gear. disengage the park brake (that took the longest time, I had never been in this particular machine).

I wanted to see the condition of Lavis lane, My escape route from the main road and army blockade a couple of weeks ago.

Rolling forward, I thought I could probably get rid of a few other problems as I went. Surrounded by about 200 monsters that had no fear and no idea what a 24 ton wheel loader was capable of.

I ran down at least five before I'd turned toward the back of the pit. Their friends lost interest in me as they turned to help their companions .... to the next plain of existence.

I drove along the narrow track towards the water hole, when I had enough space, I turned, through the grilles, I could see that half of them were taking part in the feeding frenzy, half were racing madly towards me. I adjusted the cutting edge of the bucket to strike them at about chest height, the loader unbalanced without a full load of sand in the bucket bouncing back and fourth as we hit, I was in fourth (top) gear, the Volvo was sitting on its maximum speed of around 30 kilometres per hour.

Twenty four tons, thirty kilometres per hour, Hardened chromium steel cutting edge. I didn't even feel a bump as the crowd that was pursuing me hit the bucket. The machine did rock a little as it went over them. I didn't even look back, there'd be time for that later. I took aim for the group now feasting on the first victims. Don't hit the quad.

They scattered like tenpins. The machine shuddered a little as it rolled over the dead and dying. Slow down a little, turn and one more run. Most of them were coming straight for me again, Better than a hundred of them lay dead or dying, The rest would be feasting tonight. Even though my shielded windows, I noticed that some had learned the machine was to be avoided as they skulked at the side of the track.

Owens' still wasn't safe, but it did have quite a few less squatters.

As I passed the paddock with the cattle in it, I noticed the group had already been feasting. Three beasts, or their remains lay rotting in the paddock.

I wheeled the loader to the gate, pushed it open with the big machine and entered, There were three other large paddocks that led of this one, The loader made pretzels of all three gates. The cattle would have a bigger area to escape the crowd. I hoped it would be enough.

I turned west, towards Lavis lane, and the locked front gate. The gate was about a quarter of a mile from the pit, along a twisting road. The Lane was fairly clear, three lines of cars disappeared along the beach access track, blocked at the other end by the four Caravans. It seems that once drivers saw the road blocked, they had, for the most part, turned around and tried their luck elsewhere. Some cars were blocking the gate, the loader would make short work of them. I quickly exited the machine, located the key and opened the gate. Then did something a country man should never do, I drove through the gate and didn't leave it as I found it.

Three fairly large four wheel drives, two with dead drivers locked inside made an interesting meal for the hungry Volvo, as it munched and crunched them out of it way.

I was interested to see what had become of the RAAF Base and the Army blockade. Slowly I trundled up the lane, Towards McDonalds and the roundabout that marked the main road. occasionally nudging a car out of the way, I probably could have squeezed past them, but there were drainage ditches on both sides of the road, why take the chance?

The Army checkpoint had kept this part of the road pretty clear, there were some snarls, but nothing like the grid lock in front of my home. I could always find a way through in the tough loader. The Army check point was still largely intact. The olive drab paint on the trucks doing its best to not reflect the slowly setting sun.

A burnt out, mangled Falcon Station wagon pushed to the side of the road, along with a scorched shell that was once a 6 wheel drive truck, a Mercedes Unimog perhaps. A hastily erected gate lay on the ground, I guess some people had passed through here after the checkpoint ended. Where were they going? the road North was chocked and burnt by that stage.

The guns clutched in the hands of the corpses that lay on the ground interested me. One or two of those would be nice, Steyers I think, made of plastic, and just like the watch, made to "take a licken and keep on ticken".

Parked off the to side was a Bushmaster, an armoured personnel carrier. I made a mental note of that as well.

The sun still had over an hour before it went to bed, but I really didn't to be driving the loader in the dark, it was hard enough to see anything through the grilles.

Back the way I came. sound the horn as I round the corner toward the savages, as predicted they were rushing to meet me. Another ten or fifteen that would not be a problem after tonight. Still some feeding on the corpses toward the back of the pit. some jumped away, some didn't. I'd cut down their numbers, but was sure that others would replace them.

If only I could get rid of the dam. In theory the loader could cut out the western wall, which was also a road, but, if I got bogged in the process, I would be doomed.

Just before the ramp, I picked up my Honda, sitting, patiently waiting for me. I dug the blade into the ground under the bike and the whole mess ended up in the bucket.
About 500 metres from the ramp, I shut down the loader. locked it and re mounted the bike, it stunk, The stinking dirty mongrels had marked it, they had pissed on my bike.

I'd been feeling a little guilty for running down the creatures up to that point, when I smelled my bike, I seriously considered getting back in the loader and running each and every one of them down. Never touch a mans bike.

Saying goodbye to my big yellow loader, I road home, cursing the dirty mongrels and their mothers as the bike stunk more and more the hotter it got.

An early dinner and off to my new comfortable bed, my shoulder still ached, and the ribs were a little tender, but with the help of a few aspirin, I had a good nights sleep. My clothes draped over the car, airing to get rid of the damned stink.

"Take your places
Can we fix it?
Yes we can
Bob the Builder
(Can we fix it?)
Bob the Builder
(Yes we can)"
Bob the Builder.
Posts: 381
Joined: Mon Mar 24, 2008 6:53 am

Re: White Night (or where do I get my 30 + from now?)

Postby wa5 » Thu Aug 18, 2016 5:16 pm

Thursday.12th January. 2012.
"Thursday, Payday, must remember to transfer some money to the store card to cover the payment on the big screen". Move a little further from the twilight betwixt sleep and consciousness, closer to the light. Light on the other side of my closed lids. why is my bedroom so hot and stuffy? what's wrong with the A/C? Blackout perhaps?
Reality hit me like a slap, reluctantly, I bid goodbye to my happy dream place for another day.
My big screen TV hung uselessly from its ceiling mount in my man cave. A victim of the blackout. No more power bills. No Chance of running up more impulse buys at David Jones. Time to open my eyes, get up and face "another day in paradise".
The sun shone through the acid green curtains in the back of the Cruiser (what the hell was the owner on when he chose those?). The enclosed space was already getting hot and stuffy. Even at a quarter to seven, I knew it was going to be another hot day. The temperature was not going to stay cool forever, such are the joys of Summer in Australia.
Planning my morning toilet routine as I awkwardly pulled on my jeans and shirt (clean ones, yesterdays were still airing on the bonnet). The plan, as usual was to head a little way away from the peak on the quad, to an area with good lines of sight (totally different to before, when I would do my level best to find the most private position possible for this particular bodily function), dig a small hole and ... proceed.
I had my hand on the tailgate handle, was actually applying a little pressure. Just before the latch released, I stopped and quietly pushed down the lock. Did I just hear a noise outside?
The .22 pistol was the smallest rifle (almost a pistol) and the easiest to wield in the confines of the car, flick the safety off, it already had one in the hole, and was ready to go (just like every other gun at my disposal). My ethereal Grandfather had not bothered to comment on such things in a while, perhaps he was seeing sense in my actions, or I was a tiny bit more sane at the moment.
Peek past the hideous curtains to the rear and both sides. Nothing, but there were quite a few foot prints in the sand. Eye up to the curtain that separated the cargo area from the front of the cabin. two sniffing the clothes laid over the bonnet and bull bar of my bedroom, another four marking my quad again. Seriously what had the poor little Honda ever done to them?
I can only suppose, that like water, they could smell anothers' mark. Fighting down the urge to jump from the vehicle and start blasting, wanting more to stop them pissing on my bike than actually clear the danger from the immediate area. I had to remind myself what a bad Idea that would be. The main character in some movie I'd seen years ago about an evil old Chrysler said "**** wipes off". I suppose piss does too. not worth losing my life over, that's for sure.
All six of them at the quad now, it was holding their interest, None of them were wearing pants, half of their number had also lost their shirts. Slowly over the front seat, Key swinging lazily in the ignition, A small "click" as the glow plugs activated, "click" again as they cycled to off. The big Diesel turns over and fires. running a little rough. no time to waste, they're coming, hammering on the drivers window as I roll away. The Cruiser surges and slows a little as it warms to the task, I make ground on them. They chase me away from my camp.
Turning, they make a beeline for me, as I do the same. The bull bar makes a hollow "Bong, Bong, Bong" as I impact three of them, Two others chase after me as I move off and turn 180 degrees. aiming for the remainder. Two rush straight at me, the third stands off to one side, watching, waiting.
Of the first three, two lay on the ground, obviously badly hurt, the third resumed the chase, Limping and hopping, Trailing his friends.
"Bong, Bong" The two healthy pursuers went down. I clearly felt the impact at the wheel, they wouldn't be getting up, that left limpy and watcher to take care of.
Limpy wasn't going to be a problem, he was slowing down, whatever injury he had, was taking hold. Watcher turned and ran. Diesel Land Cruisers are honest and dependable transport, they are very tough four wheel drives and well regarded the world over, but they aren't race cars. They are however fast than a man, with or without the K virus. "Bong" He bounced off the bar and lay stunned on the sand. Before he could recover and arise, I had the window down and emptied ten .22 slugs with him from the drivers seat.
Choosing not to blindly trust in fate, I drove away from the panting dying creature. Rolling up my window while I switched magazines. Back to the Watcher, the others still where I'd left them, some trying to crawl towards me, not very successfully.
Window down and one in the head of the snarling injured beast that was still trying to snap at me as it lay dying. What do you know, one of the movies my Brother in Law sent me, gave me something useful. I think it was the bloke from Cheers, he turned into a bit of a stoner after the show finished I think. he mentioned the "Double tap". IE Shoot em twice, make sure they're dead. Sounded like sound advice. Pistol up to the unmoving monstered right eye. The twenty two made its quiet little "bang" and the corpse jumped a little. Ten more bullets and I was monster free.
High tail it for the beach, quickly dig my little hole and take care of business. Even with flesh eating monsters roaming around, some things just wont wait. Hope my friends on the coal carrier didn't have their telescopes trained on me at that moment.
As I headed back toward camp to cook breakfast and clean and oil my gun, I recalled, it wasn't a Chrysler, it was a Plymouth, A gorgeous but deadly Plymouth Fury, A blood red 58. She went around running over people too. I found a sharpie in the glovebox of the Cruiser and wrote "Christine" on both rear flanks.
"I'm gonna tell you how it's gonna be
You're gonna give your love to me
I want to love you night and day
You know my loving not fade away
Well you know my loving not fade away

My love bigger than a Cadillac
I'll try to show it when you're driving me back
Your love for me got to be real
For you to know just how I feel
A love for real not fade away
Not Fade Away. Buddy Holly/ Norman Petty. Tanya Tucker.

Breakfast taken care of (dispatching the monsters hadn't affected my appetite at all), Clean and oil my guns... my lifesavers. throw on some sunscreen as the mercury nudged thirty and on to a little house keeping. Wipe the bike down with a petrol soaked rag to try and remove the stink. Later I had to redo it with diesel. Get some rope and tow the corpses down to the water, below the high tide mark, let the crabs, fish and gulls take care of them.
Back to my camp to think on the day, after searching the nearest abandoned car. An almost new Range Rover, locked. The alarm sounded when I smashed the window, a stern Woman's voice informed me that my image was being recorded and a call was being placed to the authorities, If only that were the case. Insulated foam cases full of dusty bottles of wine and champagne, 48 bottles in all. some dry wafer biscuits and some cheese that hadn't faired well in the recent heat. Some exotic spreads and pates. These fools were going on a picnic, what were they thinking. I took the biscuits and the plonk. left the rest for the crabs. The Rangie gave up 65 litres of petrol.
While topping off the Territory and feeding the rest of the fuel to the quad and then the V8 Land Cruiser I got to thinking just how nice a cool drink would be.
There was a power socket in the back of the Patrol that held the fridge. It whirred into action as soon as it was plugged in. It could run as either fridge or freezer, I selected the warmer option and loaded in some soft drink, water and a few beers. Trying to avoid draining the battery, I set up the solar panel the owner had kindly left me, and attached it to the battery.
Can of fruit salad for lunch, washed down with a cool (though not yet cold) water.
Time to think on my current situation.
I believed the beach and sand hills to be safe from the beasts due to lack of water, but, my current location was very close to the trees. The forest held horrors that I didn't wish to meet without a secure vehicle and a lot of firepower. They were travelling, looking for water perhaps, or food?
Either way, my lookout was no longer desirable real estate. Time to circle my wagons at a new location.
Perhaps the beach wasn't the safe haven I'd believed, given the success of most of my other plans, that would hardly come as a surprise. At that point, I had no idea where else to go. Getting myself and my supplies to any safe location that may exist away from the beach would be a logistical night mare. At that point I'd be happy with "safer". Totally secure would have to wait, if such a place was indeed still possible.
I could simply move my camp of assorted 4x4s to a new location, but I wanted something a little better.
I wanted that nice big new caravan. No time like the present to go get it. On my slippery diesel smelling quad heading south five minutes after making the decision. The Loader was right where I'd left it, no sign of the Krazys. A further ten minutes saw me unfurling the tow chain from the rear of the mighty machine (all loaders had them. Trucks sometimes became bogged, it save time and energy to simply leave them attached). Looped around the tow points on the ruined car, I just needed to ensure the brakes were off. Struggling to lean into the car under the collapsed roof, I released the brake and pulled the gearstick out of park, had to turn the key on to do that, the dash still lit up, so the battery still had some juice. As I was crawling out, I heard the running foot steps. just one of them, and she was just about on me as I stood up. Teeth bared, growling and screaming. I dodged closer to the car as she launched towards me.
My poor aching left shoulder. I foolishly thought it was on the way to recovery until it took the brunt of her attack. Not a small Woman, she stood almost 6'2. waste length brown hair. She looked a little like Crystal Gayle. After pushing past me, she was stopped by the door frame of the open door. Her mouth bleeding freely, she may have lost a tooth. I raised the .22 and fired at her face. point blank. Blind panic kept the trigger finger spasming until the gun clicked dry. Drop the magazine as the girl hits the sand. Reach into the top pocket, new mag in as I reach the loader, chance a quick glance over my shoulder, more coming. Up the ladder and slam the door shut.
Barking and yelping like a foolish dog chasing a car, they crowded around the loader, I rolled away, the big Swedish shovel hardly noticing the load trailing along behind. the broken car penduluming from side to side as it reached the limits of the tow chain.
I had picked a site for my "beach home", On the first hill above the Sygna, the ship wreck that had been guarding this part of the beach since 1974. I picked that spot for a few reasons. It was a focal point, the shipwreck made it the first place on the beach that any sane eyes would be drawn to, from land, air or sea. The beach was fairly wide in this location, from the water to the trees was probably 6 or 7 hundred metres. There were no residences in those trees and the main road was about 1.5 kilometres further west. the one disadvantage, it was only about 1.5 kilometres to the back entrance to Pages. I hoped they wouldn't travel that far. I positioned my new home to the south of one of the hills closest to the beach, anybody coming from the lagoons would have to travel about 1 kilometre on the sand, up and over sand hills to see my hideaway.
Taking the keys from the vandalised Landcruiser, I unlocked the caravan and looked inside. Very nice, dark polished wood and leather coverings on the seats. The kitchen located at the front of the van, then the bedroom, with a very inviting double bed, and a very generous bathroom at the rear, it even had a washing machine.
Beep, beep, beep. I followed the distressed roadrunner noises to a small cupboard above the fridge (A big double door number, this must have been an expensive van). I was dreading opening the doors on the fridge, knowing that the stink of rotting food would ruin the ambience of my lovely new beach home.
The beeping belonged to a vocal battery monitoring system. Gauges showed me that even though the solar panels were delivering their maximum, the batteries were almost spent. The Solar simply couldn't deliver enough to run the system indefinately.
I looked at the fridge, wondering. Hold breath, get ready to make a run for the door when the putrid stench escaped, open the door. To be hit by a glorious blast of cold air. Vegetables, a little wilted after almost two weeks, but ok. take a bottle of Corona from the fridge and check the freezer. Fresh meat, lots of it. Even a box of ice creams / popsicles , checked that they hadn't thawed, they were still in their original shapes. The food was good. I had to deal with the low batteries if I wanted to save it.

Back into Park, and turn the key on the cruiser, it started. back to the caravan and the system was quiet, happily sucking volts from the car.
The other caravans were looking very tempting, I thought about what might be in their fridges as I savoured my Corona, Sadly, no lime.
If one battery was almost out, the rest would be in a similar state, at best.
Back to the road block. As predicted, the watch dogs were still there. Ten of them, hadn't had a chance to count on my last visit. they were just getting stuck into their dinner, They must have followed me for a fair distance, I hadn't been going very fast with the combo on the back. They didn't seem that interested in the loader while they had fresh meat.
Eight tons of sand dumped on them changed that. Not only did I bury their food source, but three of them as well. Two others crawled out from the edge of the pile, disoriented and hurt. The bucket came down on them as the were still digging themselves out.
And then there were five. Like angry bees they attacked, I backed away from the glut of cars, so I could manoeuvre more easily without damaging my prize. They followed, the cutting edge of the bucket made short work of three of them, the other two retreating.
I'd have to dangle some bait if I wanted the caravans. The .22 pistol was not accurate over any distance, neither was the shot gun. My scoped .22 would have been ideal, but it was safely locked in the back of the Ford.
Did I want them that badly? Yes.
Shut off the machine, open the door and stand on the platform, yell to get their attention.
They start edging forward, just before they make a break for me, I reach into the cab and retrieve the unused earmuffs, thankyou un named OH&S Nazi. your insistence on hearing protection in the quietest loader I have ever barely heard, will save my ears from the savage shot gun blasts that I will have to start delivering, well, Now.
"Blam, Blam" they both dropped twenty metres from the machine, I wasnt going to wast ammo, I'd "double tap" them with the loader bucket.
Four more shot from the bush, around the jammed cars. Eight shots left plus the pistol. Retreat? no, two each would be plenty, with the pistol for back up.
They sprinted side by side, coming straight at me. I waited, at twenty metres I took the first one down. second one closer to ten, third at the base of the ladder, last one as he popped his head up to my foot level.
Back in the machine, close the door, reload. start the machine and begin humming "Whacking day" as I bring four tons of Chrome Vanadium steel down on each of them. then dump 8 tons of sand on them just to be sure.
Shot gun in one hand, pistol in the other race to all three cars, shift out of park and hand brakes off. back up loader to the front one sling the chain and go. Stop after 500 metres. detach and get the next one. Three more come at me as I near the loader, Three shells and they cease to be a problem.
As I pull the third van away, a great horde rushes towards me. Too many to even think about coming back, The shot gun bought them.
I tow the zig zagging combination behind me straight past the second van. Some of the hardier monsters still trudging behind me, The powerful loader could easily go faster, but the swaying car and trailer would end up on their side.
I placed the second van opposite the first and quickly checked the battery, I heard the beeping as I entered the van. The full freezer was still frozen, The tow car started just as easily as the last, still idling charging van ones' batteries.
Back for the third one. Three of them were trudging back towards the rest of their group, dangerously close to my prize. I shifted into top gear just as I impacted them. The hardened steel cutting edge at the bottom of the bucket almost cut all three of them in half. bleeding out and half paralysed they still tried to crawl at me, I could hear shrieks, pain or anger, I couldn't tell. They were close enough together that one hit with the bucket was all that was required, its broad flat base delivering the coup de grace. I took the time to dump another 7.2 tons of sand on them according to the digital scales in the cab.
I hooked up and moved, eager to put a little more distance between me and "them".

Curiosity overcame me half way to the Sygna. I unlocked the van and entered. No beeping, Check the read out, Solar output was strong, but battery was dead. Dreading what I'd find, I opened the fridge. it was tepid. The freezers contents were thawed, but still cool, If only I got to it yesterday.
Not wanting to risk food poisoning, I discarded the perishables from the cooler. Started the car, again the beaten cruiser started easily.
It took some moving and shaking, but I got the caravans lined up in a C shape. Its easy to get everything where you want it, when you can treat everything like matchbox cars, pushing and nudging them to where you want them.
The steak in the freezer was calling to me, found some onions in a nice dark cupboard. Just a simple pan fry medium well. Heaven couldn't be any better than this.
Only intending to have a short rest on that glorious bed, the three idling V8 Diesels steady beat sent me into a deep sleep. I awoke at 9.30 pm. The Cruisers all still patiently idling, Checking the power management display, the batteries were full.
Recalling that mornings shenanigans, I carefully checked the area outside the van. No movement was obvious in the bright moonlight.
Forgetting that I now had a inside toilet, I ventured outside and gave some moisture to the dry sand.
Scanning the area, whilst switching off the idling cruisers, I saw that my constant companions were still doing ok on the carrier. I took in a 360 degree view, finishing at Newcastle to the south.
At first, I didn't see it. The moon was three days past full, and still flooded the night sky with light. As I concentrated, I thought I saw a light. I needed to get closer to Newcastle to be sure.
I didn't really want to travel in the dark, but ... A light.
The Volvo was soon grumbling away, bouncing North, away from the light. Ten minutes saw me picking up my patiently waiting trike. Parking the loader at its new beach side residence, I pushed the old farm bike faster than I should, racing north to get a more secure vehicle. I saw no monsters during the ride.
Deciding on a more robust 4x4 than the Ford, I chose my mobile bedroom. I grabbed my .22 rifle adding it to the shot gun and pistol. All magazines loaded. and decided the hand held spotlight I salvaged would also come in handy.
Butterflies in the stomach as I headed south, Tank full, flicked over to the sub tank, that was full too. good.
Past the beach house. I should have bought the quad and trailer to drop off there, but was to excited and anxious to take the time.
South to the end of the beach, running dark, on the Stockton peninsula. The beach ended at the northern breakwater at the entrance to the Hunter River. I took the ramp up to the street.
Stockton is a small suburb of Newcastle, separated from the rest of the city by the Hunter River. Probably around one thousand homes (I've never bothered to count). it was joined to the city by a ferry service and by travelling about two kilometres North, then turning South onto Stockton Bridge and joining Nelson Bay road (The road I used to flee Newcastle during the emergency). The riverbank is mostly open ground, with a floating wharf dedicated to the Ferry service.
It was the car park near the wharf that I was heading for.
The area appeared deserted. I idled to my location and switched off.
The light was plain to see.
I started up, and moved to a position that appeared more in line with the light, parking side on.
I marked the position with my "Christine" Pen. and waited for the dawn.
The light hadn't moved in the time I'd been watching, If I was going to risk my neck, it would be nice to know the gamble was worth it.
I blasted my hand held spot light at the location, a few seconds later, the light on the southern side of the river started flashing frantically. It might have been Morse code. The only code I know is SOS, and the letter V. I felt that the emergency signal would send a confusing message, so I sent a couple of Vs for good measure. After two weeks, I was returning to Newcastle.
Posts: 381
Joined: Mon Mar 24, 2008 6:53 am

Re: White Night (or where do I get my 30 + from now?)

Postby wa5 » Fri Aug 19, 2016 11:53 pm

Friday the 13th. of course.
I came suddenly awake, as the fire grew in the Eastern sky. Scanning the area with the help of the rising light, I saw nobody. A howl came from across the water, perhaps its older echo had woken me?
I rechecked the position of the nights light. A six story apartment building just east of the train station, on Scott street, Part of the main street of Newcastle, less then 250 metres from the coast.

A white sheet fluttered from the small balcony, The days version of the nights light.
I had the address, Time to roll, it was going to be a long day.
As I drove back to my beach house, A plan started to coalesce.
It hinged on the Bushmaster, the armoured personnel carrier at the abandoned army roadblock.
First a good breakfast, Sausages from my precious freezer, eggs from the fridge, better hurry up and use all of those. Wash it down with orange juice. Probably wouldn't get another chance for a decent meal today. off to have a look at the APC.
One of two important tasks before I do. Sitting, rusty, near the loaders at Owens, were a set of forks. Found some rope in the back of one of the destroyed cruisers. Now, get moving.
Tear down the ramp, park near the forks, Tie one of them to the tow bar, and get moving, The group, growing again, I noticed, hadn't even made it a quarter of the way to me, before I was back in the drivers seat, rolling.
Tow the heavy tine up the ramp, and drop it a few hundred metres onto the sand.
I needed the other one, to complete the transformation of my loader to super heavy duty forklift. Let the group calm before returning for it.
North, to my old camp, I required some items from my shed, I hoped the crowds had thinned.
Changing vehicles at the camp, If I was heading back to my shed, I may as well return the Chrysler panels.
The parts storage cruiser started without any trouble, Transferring my guns and go bag to the new vehicle, was enough to work up a sweat, it was already well past thirty degrees and getting hotter. The little engle fridge gave up a cool bottle of water. Enjoying the water whilst cruising through the blackened bush, it almost felt like a normal day, Air conditioning whispering chilled air from the vents. Of course a creature had to charge the car. ruining the illusion.
I didn't even slow. The bull bar took the impact in its stride. the monster was a tall one, Naked, filthy, sunburn on top of sunburn, A woman. I think she might have worked at the local shop. On impact, her top half bent over the bull bar, She face planted onto the bonnet. and began to slide down the front of the vehicle. Slowly at first, She had been knocked senseless. By the time she came too, she had slipped half off the bonnet, she reached for the bull bar, to steady herself and begin the climb towards her lunch, sitting just behind the pesky glass in front of her.
The squawk that escaped her sounded just like a startled cockatoo. As she slid from the bonnet, her legs dragged ever closer to the left front wheel. The same moment her fingers gripped the black steel bar, the tyre gripped her foot.
In slow motion I saw her eyes change from vicious slits to wide surprised "Os". The Squawk was cut off as two tonnes of Toyotas' finest bounced over her. first the front wheel, than the back. I was in a rush, if the car hadn't killed her, I'd be back this way in about half an hour, I'd finish her then.
My property looked clear as i approached. No time to spare, straight to the shed. pull up, select reverse and start backing in.
Three of them shot out of the shed. and started bashing on the glass, Roll quickly forward, window down a little and pistol in the face of the first one, two shots in rapid succession. it dropped. As did its brother. The third one held back, A girl, her belly bloated, pregnant, straight black hair. The girl from the Volvo, Frannie was her name. I slammed the cruiser into reverse. Crunch, she bolted as I rolled towards her.
I didn't want to kill her, she was a pregnant woman, for God sake. I gave the cruiser all it had, catching her and knocking her asunder. Window all the way down and three bullet to the head.
Out of the car and double tap. Empty the rest of the clip into her belly.
She wasn't a pregnant Woman, she was a monster. In her belly was another monster. She was also holding me up from saving a human.
Into the shed. pull the doors shut, lock them. The place stunk like a dark back ally behind a pub. What was it about pissing on my property that they enjoyed so much?
No time to re attach the panels, drop enough of the barbed wire to get to the Chrysler, carefully place the panels where they wont get hurt.
On to my real goal. My chainsaw, a big Stihl 64cc farmboss, Heavy and expensive, but powerful and reliable. I filled it with the two stroke fuel I kept just for it. Setting it up in my vice, I filed its chain razor sharp. Both tasks would have been much easier with an intact work bench.
Along with a length of rope, headlight and my largest crowbar, they all went into the car.
Reset my barbed wire barrier, Time to go. Doors unlocked and nudge them open with the cruiser. Three more waiting outside. snapping and bashing at the glass, If I had time, I'd have dispatched them and secured the shed. Maybe later, if there was a later.
The tall shop lady was trying to crawl off the road with broken limbs as I neared, I aimed the wheels at her head and rolled slowly over her. No time to check, I kept rolling.
Swap cars and gear. at the lookout. The bedroom troopie had a full tank. Pack water and food into the bug out pack. Get moving, I was nowhere near my goal yet.
back to Owens, grab the other tine. park it beside the other one. and on to the beach house to retrieve the loader. Almost nine, almost 40 degrees outside the cool 4x4.
Glad the loader had A/C
Check the tank, almost full, fit the tines, converting the loader into a giant forklift, capable of lifting any car and pushing any truck out of the way.
My plan was a little complex, I needed to get into Newcastle in a secure vehicle, just as importantly, I needed to find a secure way into the building. I didn't think the loader was ideal for that part of the plan. However, the big Volvo would be going into town first. With its forklift conversion, it would easily clear a path for the APC, if I could make it go. if not, find a plan B I guess.
Back through Owens, past the crowd, dispatching five of them as I rolled by. To the abandoned roadblock. kill the loader, observe. nothing moving nearby.
Pistol in one hand, Shotgun in the other, I made may way to the Bushmaster. The back door hanging ajar, carefully I entered, Empty. Lock the door behind me and check the controls. The area around the blockade gave the appearance of everything just falling apart. Dead soldiers, guns on the ground, trucks with boxes in the back, full of goodness knows what.. and an APC with keys in the ignition.
The army was fairly well funded, they didn't skimp on servicing their vehicles. The heavy duty batteries in the Bushmaster were up to the task, she fired up almost immediately, and settled to a friendly grumbling idle. both fuel gauges showing full, thankyou Army.
Shut her down and close the door behind me. she would be ideal for what I had planned, a pity I couldn't drive her into town straight away, but I had a feeling the roads would have some blockages.
I heard running foot steps from the West, Guns up, ready to fire, and make a bee line for the loader. I needn't have panicked. The monsters were on the other side of a ten foot high fence, they were inside the RAAF grounds. The nearest gate was almost a mile away, and not line of site, So I was safe from these guys.
Check around, No threats evident. I'd really like one of the soldiers guns. Saw one laying on the grass nearby, Felt a bit grotty after being on the ground for almost a fortnight, but I'd read they could sit in a barrel of mud for longer and still work ok.
Search around for some extra ammo, couple more guns on the ground and still hanging from dead soldiers, try one of the trucks. A wooden box, lid up, with loaded magazines in grease paper. grab ten, not sure I could carry more, and a handy camo backpack. throw in the mags find another box marked MRE on the way out of the truck ... A few of those wouldn't hurt. fill another back pack with them and throw both in the bushmaster. Fill another backpack with mags for the loader and get moving. South.
Stop at the roundabout and study the road ahead, two or three traffic snarls in the distance, lets have a look at this whiz bang plastic gun before I go any further. Find the safety, flick to off, find the mode selector (a wasted youth watching Rambo movies just paid off) symbols made sense, semi auto and full auto.
Open the door, get blasted by the heat. Single shot into an Ambulance across the road. keep pulling the trigger more shots. seems simple enough. flick the lever to full auto. BZZZZZZZT What the hell was that? Glass falling to the ground, the Ambulance tilting on rapidly deflating tyres. all in less than five seconds, try again, nothing, out of ammo, Think we'll give full auto a miss.
Flick on the safety, spend five minutes figuring out how to change the Mag and make the gun ready to fire. practice that a few more times. got it down to less than twenty seconds.
Onward. less than 100 metres south of the McDonalds roundabout came the first blockage. it would have taken tow truck operators hours to unstick them all.
I didnt care about damage, peoples property, law suits, the environment. The only thing that concerned me was making a bushmaster sized hole. The tines went through the windscreen of the Subaru like a knife through butter. The now broken Subie was unceremoniously dumped into the drain at the side of the road, Three more cars met the same fate. Then I lowered the bucked to the ground and pushed the remainder aside. The Bushmaster was a big machine, I wanted plenty of space.
Three more times I had to clear the road before I reached "the old road", that snaked around Fullerton Cove. I declined to use that route when I last passed this way, but any angry residents would not present a problem for the bit angry Tonka Toy.
Two cars were stalled on that road, I could have squeezed past, but I took the time to nudge them into the long grass.
Almost to Fern Bay I rejoined the main road. almost instantly the traffic blockages increased. Six times, the road was impassable before I hit Stockton Bridge.
Some dammed fool had parked trucks across the Northern entries to the crossing, Cars sat idle to the top of the structure, presumably down the other side as well. All four lanes were jammed with cars heading North, out of the city.
The Loader had some trouble shifting the heavy trucks, lucky there were smaller machines, not Semis, they might have beaten me.
In the end, I had to hook the tow chain onto the front of one of them and jerk it out of the way. with so many hiding places amongst the cars, I flew down the ladder and back up when hooking and un hooking the chain.
The bridge was tedious. spear the tines through the screen, back, half turn, hang car over the rail, drop the bucket and watch the car fall to oblivion. Yelling "Bombs away", was amusing for about two cars, then it just felt silly.
I was on auto pilot, but some things stayed with me. The Bright red Ferrari, a sculpture of power and noise, now an artificial Italian Reef. The Holden Commodore, with the caravan behind, that rotten thing put up a fight, took me five minutes to get it over the side, The car hanging in the breeze, the caravan refusing to follow. It would have been easier to get out and un hook them, but the audience I had attracted made that seem like a bad idea.
The R/T Charger, it was either an E38 with the Bathurst option or a great copy. Magenta paintwork sparkling in the sun. Chryslers Triple carburettored six pack screamer one of the few cars tough enough to be able to pull off a coat of pink paint. It didn't go over the side. I couldn't bring myself to do that. Ferraris were a dime a dozen. but Aussie muscle cars were something special. carefully I backed down the bridge with the Charger balancing on the tines. I placed her gently to the side of the road, hoping to return and give her the care she needed.
Back to the cookie cutter, spear, turn release, repeat.
It was midday by the time my wheels touched Kooragang Island. The road was blocked here too, but the road exiting under the bridge wasn't. I cleared enough room for the bushmaster to be able to back and turn through 180 degrees and followed the roads in the industrial area, half way across the island, no blocks until I rejoined the main road. that just saved two hours of mundane drudgery.
Traffic was bumper to bumper to the bridge that led off the island, to the area where I last saw Michael.
Fortunately the grass shoulder was mostly clear, I was on the bridge in less than ten minutes. More cars over the side, the environmental protection agency would have kittens if they saw what I was dumping in the water.
The blockade went another 300 metres to the intersection with the industrial highway.
Then it cleared.
East on the highway toward Newcastle. Through the outskirts of Mayfield, Tighes hill, Wickham, only a few blockages to slow me down, all easily dealt with.
Avoid the main street, turn onto Wharf road, North of the rail line that separated the city from the harbour. Hunter and Scott streets (same street, the name just changed for the last kilometre) was on the South side of the rail lines.
Wharf road, was chaos. bumper to bumper traffic, on the road, the gutter, jammed against the buildings, Blind panic and shear bat **** crazy had been here.
Back onto Hannel street (The southern end of the industrial highway, same road, different name) . and over the rail crossing.
Hmm, I wonder?
It appeared clear as far as I could see.
Bumping up the train line, no traffic snarls, no Trains, but a few creatures.
The Newcastle railway station was a stones throw from the apartment block I was seeking, but I had to exit before the station, It was the end of the line, end the track was surrounded on three sides by station platform, which rose about three feet above the rails, I wasn't sure the bush master could climb that well, it was a big heavy truck and I didn't want to get caught so close to the prize.
I simply reversed about fifty metres and demolished the brick fence that separated the lines from Wharf road.
I had to clear three more traffic snarls and I was in front of the building. As it seemed, were half the monsters of Newcastle.
At least a thousand, I recalled a pond in the foreshore park a short distance from where I sat, idling and worried.
I shut down the loader and heard her screaming to me. almost hoarse.
I chanced it and opened the door for a second, "I'll be back in an hour to get you, go inside and be quiet"
It was her who was drawing them, and making my job harder.
"don't go she rasped", "I'll be about an hour" I yelled "keep quiet".
She was scared and desperate, My words had little effect. it must have broken her heart when I turned and left. There was simply no safe way from the loader to the building, even with the bushmaster, I wasn't sure I could do it.
Before I left, I evened the odds a little. The creatures were very obliging by crowding around my machine, they obviously hadn't been in touch with their Northern neighbours, or they would have skedaddled.
The street ran red with their blood, I made pass after pass, I quit counting at twenty runs.
The got a little shy towards the last few passes. I must have killed or disabled over half their number.
I headed for the APC. it took an hour to reach it. more MREs and a lot more Ammo into the back of the truck. I also found a chest full of water canteens, Thinking back to her croaky voice, they might be handy too.
The APC was just like a big car. Slip in into "D", point and shoot. it took me a while to find the Air Conditioning controls, it wasnt icy cold, but it helped keep the cab comfortable.
I stopped at Fern Bay and took a drink of water, and tried to figure out the maze of diff locks and transfer case positions. Once I had it figured out, I started rolling again. Trying to turn the big machine through a half circle at the southern end of Stockton bridge was rather difficult. Luckily, the rugged machine didn't complain when I accidentally backed into a few cars.
just as I finished the turn, I noticed the screen, and the switches for all the cameras, front, rear, infra red.
I made it to the apartment building two hours after I left, Surveying the road out front, they had called in reinforcements. At least as many newcomers replaced the ones I had killed.
Hammer down and rolling over a seemingly inexhaustible supply of bloodthirsty killers.
By clearing them, I was laying out a feast for their friends, but I needed to get them away from the front of the building.
After countless passes, they started to get a little shy.
Time to act. I reversed toward the glass foyer at a forty five degree angle. The glass was inset a little from the front of the building, I fitted snugly into the corner, a triangle of free space between me and the glass.
I could just squeeze past the outward opening rear door, semi safe in my triangle courtyard. Soon enough one crawled under the truck, I shot it in the head as it appeared in my little space. Again and again this happened, until the dead formed a plug.
With a new magazine I shot out some of the thick glass, enough to crawl through, into the still secure foyer.
Like a lot of apartment buildings, The entry hall in this one held nothing more than some mailboxes, an elevator with a dead display, and the ground floor entrance to the fire escape. Good, that was just what I was looking for.
Throwing all my kit ahead of me, I closed the Bushmaster and gingerly climbed through the glass.
Predictably, the Fire door couldn't accessed from my side without a special key. Absolutely crazy design, I never could figure how it was legal.
The crowd was getting rather interested in what I was doing, They started pounding on the inch think glass, just as I fired up the chainsaw.
I only needed a hole big enough for my arm to fit . so I could tap the release from the inside. I cut fairly low on the door, so I had to reach up at an awkward angle to hit the release. Just in case they got in behind me.
Shine my light into the darkness, No movement, The stairwell was safe at this point.
Guns, backpacks, chainsaw, pry bar and me through the door into the darkness, pull the door closed behind me. Some cracks radiating out from my improvised entry point. Not good. Perhaps my disappearance through the door would calm them.
Scan around, "To Car Park" on another door, only other way was up the stairs. Decided to check the car park, perhaps having another way out would be a good thing. Carefully push on the release bar. Ease open the door, just an inch or two. Nothing, silence. Block the door with my chainsaw, and creep into the car spaces for a quick reconnoitre. Two exits, A large roller shutter for the vehicular traffic. Locked in the down position, with no visible means of overriding it. Also a fire escape door, between the roller door and the wall, by my reckoning, right beside the glass foyer. A last resort only.
Back into the stairway and close the door. I decided to check the stairs before lugging up my gear. After a not so quick climb to 6, I found it was all clear.
Wandering back to the ground floor and my kit, I thought about my next move, Walking into an ambush, or having the same sneak up behind me would be unfortunate, so close to the prize.
The upper fire escape doors were not able to be opened from inside the stair case, That little key again. But could be easily opened from the other side, by human or beast, just rub up against the release bar and voila, Kloster Parts Technician Salad is on the menu.
I really just wanted to get to whoever needed my help, but it payed to be careful. Back to the garage. There were around twenty cars in there. I broke into half of them. Retrieving the spare tyres. I used them to wedge the doors shut, simply laying them between the door and the stair rail on all six floors.
Time to go to work.
The chainsaw echoed madly in the stair well, cutting a arm sized hole into the fire door. An emaciated arm shot through the hole, as my hearing returned, I could make out growling. The door clicked and moved in an inch or two as the creature leaned on the release. Glad for the tyre, I stamped down on the arm, breaking it. Its opposite number appeared, It two got broken. as it retreated, I followed with the Steyr, hearing a yelp, even though my ears were ringing from the heavy riffles report.
My headlight picked three monsters in the darkened hallway, though mounds on the floor suggested there had been more. two more shots and they were all down. No other movement. .22 double tap. Check the rest of the hallway, human remains gnawed clean, they must have been living off each other since it all went to hell.
Take a guess at the correct apartment and knock on the door, A hoarse weak voice, vaguely familiar asked "Who is it"?
"Your knight in shining armour" I answered, She opened the door
And Collapsed.

"Who can it be knocking at my door?
Go 'way, don't come 'round here no more.
"Can't you see that it's late at night?
I'm very tired, and I'm not feeling right.
All I wish is to be alone;
Stay away, don't you invade my home.
Best off if you hang outside,
Don't come in, I'll only run and hide."

Who can it be now. Men at Work.
Posts: 381
Joined: Mon Mar 24, 2008 6:53 am


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