John put his foot down, and the car lurched forward sickeningly. I was thrown into the door as he sped around a corner, the weight of the heavy vehicle swaying dangerously close to tipping point. Behind a swarm of the dead were wasting no time in their pursuit. In their hurry many of them tripped over fallen poles, tree trunks or even the kerb- snapping and shattering their brittle bones; but that did not slow their fellows who poured over their fallen brethren in a mad tidal wave of death.
It was clear now John didn’t know where he was going as he tore around yet another corner, again at an incredible dangerous speed. I screamed something at him, but my words were lost in the madness of the moment- as were Michaela’s from the backseat.
Then John pushed the car too far.
In a gravity defying fall, the heavy car driven with seventy kilometres of speed crashed sideways into the sidewalk- throwing it, and all of us inside, into an uncontrollable barrel roll. The roof buckled slightly as we made contact with an old wooden boatshed- but it didn’t slow us as we flew threw it.
Hitting the water felt like running soft cotton over Velcro. The car wanted to keep moving but the hold of the water dragged us to a stop. Cold, Dark water poured into the car- I had no time to regain the breath taken from me by the impact before the sea water was lapping at my chin.
Vainly I struggled with the buckle as we slipped beneath the surface. I was vaguely aware of John disappearing from his seat toward the surface.
My breath was running out.
Black began to border my vision.
I felt a strange calm.
Then, she was there. Her longer hair was fanned out in the water, catching the waterlogged beam of light, creating a celestial halo about her. I couldn’t see her face from the darkness beneath the waves.
She undid the buckle swiftly- and grabbed a fistful of my shirt, dragging me to the surface.
I remember little of my ascent from the depth, except the vividness of the dead- pouring over the edge of the ruined boathouse into the water. They could neither swim nor float, they simply sunk to the seafloor, but they kept pouring in- like a river finally merging with the ocean.
As we broke the surface I spewed forth all the water that’d slipped into me- taking frantic, choking breaths. John was a few meters further out, and Michaela still held a firm grip on my shirt.
Eventually the three of us regrouped, deciding we had to make our way to the shore. My rib was burning in the cold, and John seemed to be favouring his good shoulder. But it was only a short distance to the docks, and wordlessly, we began swimming in that direction.
The masses of the undead were not to be seen- we agreed that they still possibly were over by the boathouse, or had made their way back to the radio in the town centre.
Finding the boat we wanted was easy- it was a large, doubled hulled Catamaran. Equipped with large engines it would be easy enough to steer our way into open water- where the sails would take over, eliminating the need for fuel.
Fortunately, the boats supplies were untouched- and combined with our current stocks we would have enough to last us a week- if rationed carefully.
“Will a week be enough to get us to Brisbane?” John asked.
I didn’t know.