Brett McBean - Tales of Sin and Madness

And so, six months after setting off, a lifetime’s worth of death behind him, Simon Fletcher arrived at Coober Pedy.

It was late in the afternoon — the setting sun was to his right, yet it was still blisteringly hot, and a mild dust storm had sprung up. The storm whipped at Simon’s face, stinging his cheeks and forehead like millions of tiny nails.

“A fine welcome they’ve given us,” he called back.

He stood atop a small cliff overlooking the town and was struck with how empty the place looked. There were sprinklings of shabby buildings, most with corrugated iron roofing, and lots of cars and trucks just sitting collecting dust, some of them parked right in the middle of the street. Simon guessed that the locals had either left this god-forsaken place a long while ago, or they were all lying dead in some underground dugout.

Or maybe they’re hiding, waiting to mount an attack?

No, there was no sign of life or death here.

Gazing down at the town, Simon couldn’t understand why Tully had wanted to visit this place. It was ugly, Simon could think of no other word for it — there was hardly any foliage, aside from some gum trees and mulga bushes dotted about the arid land, and the hills of dirt and rock and the myriad of mining craters that littered the surrounding area reminded Simon of the Mars landscape, only less inviting. The only indication of the underground dugouts was the ventilation shafts that poked up through the soil.

He spotted a petrol station below, empty save for a Ute parked beside a bowser, the hose still plugged into its petrol tank, and wondered what had taken place here. Had the zombies attacked suddenly, or had news of the genocide scared them all away?

Simon glanced at the Stuart Highway and thought of all the thousands of people that the stretch of bitumen led to. What was happening out there? What was the world’s fate? Who was winning?

He found, not surprisingly, the fate of humanity didn’t really matter to him. Here he was, at what seemed like the end of the world, and all that mattered to him was Tully. The entire journey, six months of scorching heat, dry winds and aching muscles, was all for her.

It was time to make things right and give Tully the greatest gift he could give her.

It was time to fulfill his promise.

He trudged down the incline, his svelte body long since past the barrier of exhaustion, and made his way through the town, spying into shop windows and the occasional above-ground home to see if there were any signs of life, other than the irritating dust storm that assailed his face and hands.

He wandered past forgotten mining equipment, past touristy opal shops that still displayed their ‘open’ signs, until he finally came upon one of the underground churches Tully had so often talked about. It was funny, her being so interested in such a place, considering she was an atheist, yet that’s where he took her.

An annex provided shade around the front area, and a cross adorned the clay above. He gripped the doorknob, turned it, and was relieved when the door opened. He stepped inside.

With the door closed, the smallish room was remarkably cool. A few lamps had been left on; they lit the room in an orange glow. He didn’t expect to find anyone inside, and sure enough, the place was empty. With its white clay walls, rows of wooden pews and figure of Christ nailed to the cross looming behind an unassuming pulpit, the church was simple in style, yet there was an air of beauty and solace that Simon hadn’t felt for a long time. “I have to admit,” he said. “It is quite amazing.”

He set the sack down on the solid earthen floor, then his backpack, which he opened and grabbed a bottle of water from, and finished it all off. There was no use conserving it now. He still had another full bottle left, for when Tully woke from her slumber.

When the bottle was empty, he went over to the sack and pulled the strings, opening the sack up and exposing his sleeping wife.

“Hey there. Guess what. We’re here.”

She didn’t answer him of course. She was still doped up on morphine, but he had purposely withheld her dosage for the last few days, so hopefully she would come out of her catalepsy soon.

Simon bent down and lifted her into his arms. She was light — barely 30 kilograms — and she was deathly pale, but she still looked beautiful as she slept. He carried her over to one of the pews and laid her down. He brought over the last bottle of water and sitting down next to her began dabbing the warm liquid onto her lips. “Soon, it’ll all be over baby. Don’t you worry.”

It was some time later when Tully began to wake. Simon was asleep, dreaming of people shuffling towards him without heads, arms extended, reaching out for him, when Tully’s soft groans brought him back to the world of the living.

“Tully,” he said, his throat raw with grainy dust.

She looked up at him with cloudy eyes. She had a hard time focusing.

He gently lifted her head. Thin tufts of hair were starting to grow back, although it wasn’t a sign of improving health. He placed her head on his lap. “Hey babe. Welcome back.”

She opened and closed her eyes, her vision trying to regain its full capability after so long dormant. “I…I…”

Simon bent down and kissed her forehead. “Don’t try and talk. You’ve been asleep for a long time.”

“Water,” she said, coughing weakly.

The water bottle he had been using now lay spilled at his feet, but there was enough left, so he picked it up and gave some to Tully. “Not too much,” he said and took the bottle away.

“I don’t… feel too good.”

Simon nodded. “It’s just the sickness.” Why bother telling her the truth? Six months in a sack without solid food, that’s not something she needed to know. That was his personal journey. All that mattered was the moment. All Tully needed to know was where she was and that she was safe.

“We’re in Coober Pedy,” he said, lightly stroking her head. “You’re finally here.”

“I am?” she said, trying her hardest to smile. But it seemed she didn’t have enough energy left for that.

“Sure. Look around.”

He lifted her to a sitting position, keeping strong hold of her. Moistening his hand with the water, he rubbed her eyes. “Is that better?”

He heard her expel air. “I don’t believe it,” she said breathlessly. “I am here.”

“Yep. That’s right.”

“I love it,” she said, expelling more hard-earned air.

It was a world away from the cold, sterile environs of the hospital. A world away from the vile carnage of the zombie plague. It was Tully’s world. She had deserved it.

Holding tight onto her emaciated frame, Simon could feel her short breaths. Knew her body wouldn’t be able to cope for much longer. Food wouldn’t do her any good, nor would any drug. It was the cancer, nothing more. It was eating her up, like zombies eating flesh, and she didn’t have much time left.

“I’ll be right back,” he told her, making sure she was in a secure position before he left. He went over to the backpack and reached in, ignoring all the empty water bottles and canned goods, until his hand finally touched what lay at the bottom, hardly used save for a few zombie snakes and some particularly aggressive human zombies.

He pulled the revolver out.

Flipped open the chamber and gazed at the two cartridges sitting side by side. Felt, for the first time in a long while, true happiness, then flipped the chamber back and walked over to Tully.

“I want you to know that I love you more than life itself,” he said, bending his knees so his eyes were level with Tully’s. “And I always will.”

“I know. I love you too.” She was having a hard time keeping her eyes open.