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“I’m not encouraging him.”

“You responded.”

“It was a mistake,” she said quickly. “I take it back.”

“Too late.” Tim settled back in his seat. “Don’t come whinging to me if I have barbecue chips and you’re starving. You’re not getting a single one.”

I huffed a laugh and kept my eyes on the road, avoiding an overturned trolley.

For the first time since we’d left Kirby with her parents, her absence didn’t hit so hard.

The shopping precinct fizzled out, leading into wider roads lined with houses and parkland.

Outside a sprawling home up ahead, a family climbed into an overloaded SUV. The mother swung a pet carrier into the boot and sent one last glance at the house before climbing in herself.

None of us said a word for the next few minutes, then a flash of neon yellow caught my attention.

“See that?” I nodded at a council worker in hi-vis, his back to us as he sat on a ride-on mower at a football ground.

For one surreal second, it looked like he was about to mow the fucking grass. His arms flailed as he tried to wrench his foot free, but his laces were snagged on the pedal.

“He’s stuck,” Varesh said.

As we came up level with him, the front of his hi-vis was soaked red, his throat torn open.

My fingers shifted on the wheel, and I let out a heavy breath.

“We’ll be out of the suburbs soon,” Ava said, glancing at the navigation screen.

In the side mirror, a group of infected stumbled out onto the road behind us, and I wondered if open space would make things better or worse.

Twenty-Five

ava

Half an hour into the journey, warehouses and secondhand car dealerships had replaced homes and corner stores. Chain-link fences popped up, and we passed a timber yard filled with stacks of wood wrapped in white plastic.

Luke slowed as we approached a line of orange plastic barriers blocking both lanes, a road closed sign hanging front and centre. Not the first one we’d encountered, and I doubted it would be the last.

Without a word, he flicked the indicator and turned left.

The GPS recalculated the route, and we headed down another road that looked like all the others.

Each redirection seemed to be for a different reason—traffic pile-ups, roadworks that were never finished, and an official-looking checkpoint that must have been used earlier in the pandemic.

I sighed and looked out the side window.

The roller doors on the concrete building to the left were tall enough for semi-trailers to pass through, with a fleet of trucks lined up out the front in neat rows.

Luke lifted his foot off the accelerator as a motorhome appeared on a side street. The older couple avoided eye contact with us as they turned and headed in the same direction.

“Looks like everyone’s escaping,” Tim said.

Luke glanced in the mirror, then returned his attention to the road. “Probably all reached the same conclusion.”

“That Melbourne’s buggered?”

“Pretty much.”