Epilogue
ava
“Hurry, hurry,” I muttered, gripping my crossbody bag and power walking to baggage claim like an idiot. My runners squeaked on the polished floor, and my heart thudded way too fast.
I still had my neck pillow resting on my shoulders, my eye mask plastered to my forehead. I had no clue why I was even rushing. It wouldn’t get me to Sadie’s place any quicker—and it definitely wouldn’t change the fact that I still had to find a way home from Sydney to Melbourne.
There were no buses or trains running. My phone was dead. Would a taxi transport me nearly nine hundred kilometres?
I couldn’t access ride-share apps. How long would it take to walk?
I held back a hysterical laugh.
Shit.
Part of me wanted to curl up in a ball and wait for someone to come and rescue me.
This was too much.
Before I boarded the flight in Atlanta, my temperature was checked, then a staff member handed me a face shield, disposable gloves, and a full PPE suit to slip on over my clothes.
People were frantically moving around the airport, dragging suitcases and shouting into phones.
Some were cursing about delays and cancellations.
All the while I was shoved in this direction and that as airport staff tried to manage the chaos.
It was only when I’d taken my aisle seat I could finally stop worrying—about that part, anyway.
Whispers had rippled among the passengers as the plane barrelled through the sky, rumours about another mutation in the Ultimus virus.
Violence in built-up areas that went beyond riots and looting.
People biting one another. Amateur videos were being played on the news, but we were up in the air before I got the chance to examine them properly and decide if they were real.
Surely we hadn’t deteriorated to the point of taking chunks out of one another?
I inhaled a deep breath behind my face shield and mask, following the overhead signage. Passengers who’d disembarked with me walked in the same direction, a long procession of misplaced people trying to wrap their minds around the logistics of our situations.
Before we could reach the luggage carousel, an alarm went off in the terminal, so loud it got everyone’s attention.
Bleep-bleep-bleeeep.
It went quiet for a few seconds, then fired up again.
And again.
A shiver skated up my arms, and a sense of doom fell over me. I’d never heard an alarm in an airport—and I’d been in a lot of airports.
Everyone in the vicinity either stepped up their pace or stopped dead and waited for an explanation.
My stomach tensed, and my pace slowed. What if the danger was in the direction we were heading?
It could be anywhere. Everywhere.
The alarm stopped mid-bleep, and a woman’s voice came over the PA system.
“Attention all passengers and personnel. An emergency is underway in the T3 Domestic Terminal. For your own safety, make your way to the nearest exit immediately. Follow signage to designated assembly points and await further instructions.” There was a pause, then the voice came back with a frantic edge, “All passengers and personnel, wherever you are in the building. Evacuate. Now.”
I met the wide eyes of another passenger in PPE, who quickly turned away and searched for the closest exit.
Fine.
So, we wouldn’t be panic buddies.
My pulse thudded in my throat, my eyes flicking from one overreaction to another. We’d been stretched to our limits for months and months, and this was the cherry on top of a shit cupcake.
While the voice repeated the instructions over and over, I ditched the idea of grabbing my luggage. The carousel would be complete madness by now, and I had everything I needed in my carry-on bag.
The yelling and confusion drowned out the squeaking of my sneakers as I pivoted and locked onto an exit sign.
I headed straight for the door, stopping only to avoid collisions with other PPE-clad people.
My breath fogged the plastic of my face shield, and the suit had turned into my own personal torture-sauna.
I wove through the crowd and burst outside, immediately dropping my bag and ripping off every piece of plastic and latex.
“Get off me,” I snapped as my hair tangled in the mask elastic. I fought with the zipper on the suit and yanked it down my body, stomping my feet free. The neck pillow joined the pile, too. The less I had to carry, the better.
When I’d dumped it all in the nearest bin, I slipped the strap of my bag over my head and straightened my shoulders, feeling lighter now.
My dad used to say that what next meant you were planning and what now meant you were complaining. I needed a plan—even if it just covered the first step.
“All right,” I said, scanning the area. “What next?”
A scream ripped through the air, growing louder as the automatic doors opened behind me. I bristled and stepped aside as more people poured out, some sliding past me, one bumping into me hard enough to send me stumbling forward.
“Watch it,” I snapped, clamping my bag against me. Preparing for a confrontation, I set my jaw and waited, but the man didn’t give me so much as a second look. No acknowledgement, no apology.
So, that’s how it’s going to be, huh?
I scanned the taxi rank, where drivers were normally lined up waiting for passengers, but there was no one. Not one car or minibus.
Perfect. I wracked my brain for a solution when a movement caught my eye.
A man sat on the gutter at the far end of the drop-off zone, a solid guy with his elbows braced on his knees, head resting in his hands. His backpack was slumped beside him as if he’d just dumped it there and sank down, his dark brown hair with that overly long look that screamed lockdown.
He was at least ten metres from me and completely unaware of my presence.
I should’ve just walked away. Gone hunting for a shuttle bus or stolen someone’s car.
But something about him had my feet shifting direction and facing him.
The doors continuously opened and closed behind me as people evacuated, rushing past me to God knows where. I couldn’t pick up on the words they were saying, but the panic was palpable.
Why wasn't I caught up in the sea of movement instead of standing here staring at a complete stranger?
“Hey!” I called out to the man.
Before he could lift his head or show any sign he'd heard me, a weird, raspy moan came from behind me. Then another scream, this one with a sharper, hysterical edge to it.
A shiver rushed over me, a warning.
I barely had the chance to prepare myself before I turned and saw it—one person attacking another, but not with weapons or fists. With hands and teeth.
Grinding jaw. Fingers tearing at skin.
And blood. So much blood.
Everything inside me tensed, then a switch flipped in my brain.
“Run,” I shouted at the man on the curb. “Run.”