Ironbark Creek Bloodlines

By David Stanley

Ironbark Creek: Blood Lines is the follow up and continuation of the Ironbark Creek trilogy. In it, Cathy and Jack and all the people at Ironbark Creek face two new threats. One from the military arm of the Global Reset Committee and one from the final grey, that is set on revenge. They are joined by two refugees from Darwin and learn of a wider threat. Again they have to fight to save their home, their community and thei land.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Aug 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781982291693

David Stanley

David has lived and worked in rural and remote parts of Australia and Africa. He has an extensive academic publication history, and this is his 4th fiction novel. He also writes and performs Australian bush poetry.

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Copyright © 2021 David Stanley.

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ISBN: 978-1-9822-9168-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9822-9169-3 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 03/08/2022

For Mum—missed and not forgotten

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1     Landlocked

Chapter 2     Motherland

Chapter 3     Landing

Chapter 4     Never-Never Land

Chapter 5     Landline

Chapter 6     Land Ho!

Chapter 7     Land of Fire

Chapter 8     No Man’s Land

Chapter 9     Wide Brown Land

Chapter 10   Land Grab

Chapter 11   New Land

Chapter 12   Landfall

Chapter 13   Law of the Land

Chapter 14   The Overlanders

Chapter 15   Heartlands

Chapter 16   Badlands

Chapter 17   Dreamland

Chapter 18   Lines across the Land

Chapter 19   Land of Water

Chapter 20   Land of the Free

Chapter 21   Flood Lands

Chapter 22   Greylands

Chapter 23   Land of the Giants

Chapter 24   Land’s End

Chapter 25   Homeland

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I RONBARK CREEK FOLLOWS ON FROM the original story about Cathy, Jack and Ironbark Creek. This second book in the series is possible thanks to some truly wonderful feedback about the original Ironbark Creek novel. Given this, I felt motivated to continue. Indeed, I could hardly not write the second instalment as it was partly developed even before the first novel was complete. I also wanted to follow the first novel with a story that would be both exciting to write and, I hope, exciting to read.

As with the first book, this story has been inspired by many people and by many books, TV shows, and films about zombies. Again, many people have helped with its development and production. My brother Peter Stanley provided excellent editorial support and offered some great comments about the plot line, as did my wife, Karen, who was also kind enough to listen to hours of plot discussion and read an early draft. All their efforts were invaluable. Jona Taylor from Balboa Press AU supported the book’s initial development. Jona was followed by Jim Manon, Grace Ben, Vanessa Sims, and Marj Madkins who also offered excellent advice and guidance throughout Balboa Press’s production and marketing process. Finally, I would like to acknowledge the wonderful contribution of my other brother, Stephen, who provided the cover illustration for this and the first book in the series. The covers are closely in line with the Aboriginal flag colours and depict an Ironbark tree, for which the creek is named.

As I am not an Indigenous person or female, I asked for help from a female member of the local Wiradjuri community. This was provided and I was given advice from an Indigenous consultant who reviewed the book for its tone and its appropriate representation of the Indigenous characters portrayed. She read the book to ensure it did justice to Indigenous culture and the Indigenous characters and provided some insightful and relevant advice. I felt very blessed that she was able to offer her wonderful Indigenous insight. I feel fortunate to have found this input and very much value the advice offered. Although she does not want to be named, I cannot thank her enough.

I should advise the reader that like Ironbark Creek, the first book in this series, Ironbark Creek Bloodlines involves zombies. The story takes place amid a dystopian setting. Both books include several encounters with brain and flesh-eating monsters and present an alternative future that some people may find disturbing. The book is not for the squeamish, although I hope you will find it is so much more than a book about zombies. At its heart, the story is one of courage and of triumph over adversity. It is about teamwork and the power of community. It celebrates Indigenous culture, Indigenous empowerment, Indigenous strength, and the value of working together and, I hope, offers a path for a more inclusive and cooperative world.

Thank you for reading, David

CHAPTER 1

Landlocked

NOVEMBER, APPROACH OF THE WET SEASON IN THE NORTH

DARWIN

T HEY CROUCHED BESIDE THE FENCE. So far, they had not seen any guards. Greg tugged at Wyatt’s sleeve and pointed to a figure approaching, still about one hundred metres away. The two men hugged the earth and pressed themselves against it amid the darkness around them. The Darwin Correctional Facility was situated an otherwise isolated area some way out of town near the canal that had been constructed across the Darwin peninsula. There were only a few guards, but the high fence and open space around the facility presented significant challenges to anyone seeking to escape. The risk of being shot as they ran over the open ground played on their minds as they crouched, ready to dash. In the previous three escape attempts, the runners had all been killed—shot by the guards or eaten by crocs in the canal. Some of their decomposing bodies were displayed outside the prison, a reminder to the remaining detainees of the futility of an escape attempt.

Wyatt was young, stocky, and strong. His beard had grown out, and his eyes, though his eyesight was still sharp, were showing the stress and anguish of life behind bars. He had been in Darwin from the start of the outbreak and had helped set up, build, and defend the community. He was very bitter about the events of the last few months and was desperate to escape. As he lay next to Greg in the dark shadows near the fence, he brought his hand up to his mouth and kissed the tattoo of the Australian flag on the back of his hand. For luck, he whispered to himself.

Greg was also bitter and angry. He had come to the city hoping for safety from the zombies and to be free to start a new life amid the security of the canal. Unlike Wyatt, he was a relatively new arrival in Darwin, and he’d had the ill fortune to arrive there only a week after the situation had changed. He had no idea when he first crossed the canal that he would be marched directly to the Darwin Correctional Facility. The people already held in detention called it the Pit. He hated his captors, his bad luck, and the new world order that seemed to have overtaken what had already been a shitty new world.

-0-

Greg soon realised that all the prisoners were white. He was locked up with the men and the teenage boys, who were held on one side of the prison complex. The women and their children, or abandoned and orphaned young children, were located on the other side of the complex. The prison covered a large area, and because of this, the women and men rarely saw each other, let alone had a chance to speak or share news. But occasional messages were successfully passed between the two groups in the kitchens or on work trips.

Apart from the small children, all the prisoners were being used for some sort of forced labour. The Indigenous guards called them detainees, as if this lessened the insult of their capture and imprisonment. The men were used for road repair work, canal maintenance, heavy manual labour, and building work. The women were used as domestic servants or worse. Each day, various groups of labourers journeyed outside the prison in vans, travelling into the city or suburbs occupied by Aborigines.

Greg was young and strong like Wyatt. The two men gravitated towards each other. They discovered they were both keen to escape. It was Wyatt who had been in the detention centre longer. He had described the situation in Darwin to the new arrival when Greg had first been interned in the Pit. After the turning, Wyatt said, the Aboriginal and white members of the community established an effective leadership committee, and relations were good. The committee, having been established to run what was left of Darwin, functioned well. I was a member of sorts. We built up supplies and stores. We oversaw the building of the canal that cut Darwin off from the zombies south of the city. We established ways to ensure shelter and food and created an efficient system of town management. He paused. Then the fucking Chinese navy arrived. He sounded bitter and looked betrayed as he spoke.

The fucking Chinese with their never-ending supplies and resources. Within weeks of them coming here, division and something like the old injustices had seen the more powerful Indigenous committee members take over the running of the committee. Wyatt put his arm around Greg and drew him in close as if what he had to say was too wicked to be spoken of aloud. Then the First Nations people took over the committee, then the city, then the whole fucking community around Darwin. Greg and Wyatt huddled together as Wyatt went on, saying, I had seen it coming. I knew that once the supply links with China had been established and secured, people would squabble over resources and luxuries, power, and opportunities. He added angrily, I should have left then.

Greg asked, What happened after this?

Then the arguments started, Wyatt explained. People fought over access to food, fuel, high-quality housing—shit, any housing—and wealth. Within a week of the arrival of the Chinese navy, the divisions in the Darwin community fractured the place. We were too isolated and too divided, and the white people were completely outnumbered.

Wyatt and Greg talked often. Greg asked, How did it get so bad? Why lock up all the white people? Wyatt had often asked himself the same question.

The rivers and canal that cut Darwin off from the rest of Australia acted like a noose. Soon the Darwin City Committee became the Indigenous City Committee—ICC—and all the power was put into the hands of the previously marginalised Indigenous community and the Elders who represented them. Wyatt explained, The Indigenous community, in spite of their power and their being in the majority, grew cautious. Their anxiety increased, and this led to fear. Their fear fed their previous resentment over the way they’d been treated in the world before the zombies rose to the fore. Then mistrust grew almost overnight. Everything changed.

So, their resentment, fear, and alarm grew, Greg clarified.

Yer, I think so, Wyatt replied. The white community also grew fearful. A lack of understanding developed. Resentment grew on both sides, and anxiety gripped everyone. And we still had the zombies to deal with. Wyatt refused to call them by the Indigenous people’s term, whites, which had been coined because the zombies’ eyes went completely white after they had turned. Wyatt reflected before he continued. White people and Aboriginal people started to hoard fuel, food, and weapons in response to the power struggle. The Indigenous members of the city, fearful of a threat to their newfound power, responded swiftly. Those bastards in the ICC acted more resolutely and comprehensively than we did, Wyatt concluded bitterly.

Greg and Wyatt became close as they discussed the situation in Darwin and their plans to escape. Two days before their breakout attempt, Wyatt explained that one night about ten weeks previously, all the white members of the community were rounded up, taken to the Darwin Correctional Facility, and locked up. You had the bad luck to come walking into this place a week or two after the rules changed and the ICC took charge.

Greg said, I was out in the wilderness of northern Queensland and decided that I’d come to Darwin. I had to fight my way here to get past a shitload of those undead mothers. And when I turned up, bugger me, the ICC had just taken control of the place. Just my luck, mate.

It sucks, but that’s about it, Wyatt said. The blacks outnumbered us almost fifteen to one, and with the white members of the community locked up, the ICC took complete control. We didn’t have a hope. He went on, They soon found most of the guns and the majority of the community’s weapons were gathered up. A few white people resisted and were either killed or driven over the rivers or the crocodile-filled canal to oblivion farther south. The ICC even sent out some Indigenous hunting parties to track down any white people who might have made it past the river and canal.

Will they come after us? Greg asked.

For sure, Wyatt said. For sure. The hunting groups are bloody good too, and the corpses of any people they catch from the pit are displayed outside the prison walls. This is meant to be a deterrent. Wyatt scoffed. They want the detainees who are taken out each day to work to see the price of noncompliance. They want us passive, terrorised, and too afraid to act.

Greg looked worried but was determined to be free of the prison. We’ll get past them, mate, he reassured Wyatt. I know we will, he said with confidence, but he still held a secret reservation.

Wyatt went on to explain that the ICC had soon solidified its trade agreement with the Chinese navy and that almost immediately, large amounts of precious supplies began flowing into the city. We get fuck all in here though, Wyatt confirmed. We get a roof over our heads and a feed, Wyatt complained.

But nothing else, eh, mate? Greg asked.

We’re only alive because the fucking ICC can use us for cheap labour, and I’m sure they will keep using us until we drop dead from the work, Wyatt confirmed. We were told the ICC would look after us and take care of us and that we were only being locked up for our own safety. They said that the women were being cared for and not being harmed. I have a friend, Christine, on the other side of the prison in the women’s section. She said she’d been told the white people are only being held in order to help protect them.

From what? Greg asked, disgusted.

From extinction, from the zombies, Wyatt said. Really, they just want us out of the way and working for them. The ICC see us as a cheap labour force who can help rebuild their city so they can establish a new order.

Fuckers, Greg said. We have to get out of here, mate.

Wyatt continued to explain, Any white or non-Indigenous people who have resisted have been killed, and the number of white people in the Darwin area is dwindling with each passing day. The ICC said that within the year, the white community is likely to be extinct.

We have to get out, Greg repeated. "They want us to believe they, the ICC, are acting in our best interests, that they’re helping white people to survive, and that this is the safest place for us.

They just want servants—slaves, he said angrily.

Oh no, Wyatt said, they won’t call us slaves. We’re fuckin’ detainees—a ‘protected workforce.’ Wyatt used two fingers of each hand to make air quotes. He thought, They take care not to call us slaves. Still, he knew the white community saw themselves as prisoners and slaves nonetheless.

As they made their final plans, Wyatt said softly, They are in charge now, and more than two hundred years of being treated like shit has given them a reason to return the favour. We’re all fucked if we stay here.

Bastards, Greg said softly.

Maybe, Wyatt replied. But I guess we have only ourselves to blame. Wyatt had been locked up for more than two months, and his resentment and hate had built up to breaking point. He had been part of a small rebellion in the prison that had failed. However, he’d survived to contemplate this escape attempt. I have to get out this time, Wyatt told himself. I’d rather take my chances with the crocs and zombies than stay locked up. I know the place I want to get to, Wyatt told Greg. I was here in Darwin the day a stranger and his wife arrived from the south, from a place called Ironbark Creek. I only met them for a moment. I shook the man’s hand, but I knew then that there were other white people out there. I plan to find them and get to Ironbark Creek.

-0-

Despite the risks, Wyatt could not hold Greg back. Greg was desperate to escape, and Wyatt was sure that now was the right time to go. They both waited for the guard to wander away to patrol the fence in the opposite direction. Once the guard was out of sight, they rose together and scurried a few metres along the ground to the base of the high wire fence that surrounded the prison. The ground was dry; a small plume of dust rose about them as they crouched by the fence. Wyatt worked quickly with some wire cutters. The atmosphere grew tense, not just because of the exposed position the men were in, or even the situation in Darwin, but because the rain that had been threatening to fall for days was soon to be upon them.

The arrival of the wet season was signalled by the slow build-up of clouds and dry thunderstorms. The humidity rose steadily, and everyone was on edge as they anticipated the rain that would cool the earth, the atmosphere, and the tension. As the men crouched and worked on the fence wire, a massive roll of thunder split the air. The clouds had been building for days; Wyatt had timed their escape to coincide with the expected downpour. As Wyatt worked the wire cutters, a few large raindrops crashed to the ground about him. Then the heavens opened. Rain began to fall, thick like gravy, from the sky. It fell fast and hard. The noise of the torrent crashing to the ground around Wyatt and Greg rose to a crescendo. Puddles grew all around Wyatt as he cut through the wire fence. The guards will stay inside while this is coming down, he said jubilantly, cutting through the last tangle of wire.

The night was already dark, but the sky had grown darker as the clouds thickened. The two men, knowing that their chances of being seen or discovered were lower amid the heavy rain, grew in confidence. Wyatt pulled the wire fence back for Greg to crawl beneath. Then Greg held the flap of fence back as Wyatt followed him. Both were soaked through and covered with sticky red mud, but they were outside the wire.

They crouched and waited for an alarm, or the approach of the guards, or the crack of a rifle shot, or the flashing beam of a searchlight. Nothing happened; no light swept the fence line, no rifle shot split the air, and no one appeared. They each rose and, in a low running crouch, ran as fast as they could across the open ground towards the canal, 280 metres away. They came to a road about halfway to the canal. Wyatt stopped to search near the base of a signpost at the side of the road. In the dark and with the rain falling fast around them, it took him a few moments to locate the small canvas bag under some bushes.

Here it is, he said with relief.

The bag had been thrown from a truck returning to the prison with the white female detainees. Wyatt had arranged for a female friend, Christine, to throw the bag out of the truck upon her return to the prison that evening.

Wyatt quickly opened the bag. He drew out a large hunting knife and found that the bag also contained a bottle of water, a sandwich wrapped in foil, and a packet of sugary sweets.

Here, Wyatt said to Greg, handing him a handful of the sweets. They both quickly ate the sweets as they ran on towards the canal bank. They slid to a halt at the top of the canal and scanned the ground behind them. No one was following. Greg looked to his left and froze. A massive crocodile lay at the water’s edge at the bottom of the canal bank only ten metres away. It was hard to see in the dark rain-filled night, but he was sure he could sense a number of other predators in the water and on the far bank.

Greg tapped Wyatt’s shoulder and said, He’s a big bugger. There is no fuckin’ way I am getting in that water.

We’re not going to, Wyatt said cheerfully in a low whisper. But the only way outta here is to cross the canal. Come on.

The lights from a vehicle appeared near the prison’s main gate. Both men froze as a vehicle, lights blazing, came splashing through the rain-soaked ground towards the perimeter fence where they had escaped.

Looks like they are on to us, mate, Wyatt said above the sound of the rain. I thought we might have a bit more time. He looked anxiously towards the canal. As he did so, a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky. The brief flash of light illuminated the eyes of about a dozen crocodiles, floating, waiting, in the water of the canal. Greg was watching the vehicle. It was shining a spotlight at the place where they had cut through the fence. While he could not hear the guards shouting, he could see the frantic activity near the fence and around the vehicle.

We can’t stay here, mate, Greg shouted, sounding close to panic.

Follow me, Wyatt called. He stepped and slid, still crouching, hunting knife in hand, down the canal bank towards the massive crocodile.

CHAPTER 2

Motherland

EARLY JANUARY, MIDDLE OF SUMMER IN THE SOUTH

IRONBARK CREEK

J ACK’S FACIAL WOUND WAS HEALING well, but he had been left with a nasty pale scar across his nose and face. It was the result of a final lunging slash from one of the greys, before Roger had sacrificed himself by blowing its head off in the battle for Ironbark Creek. Roger, having worked for the Sydney subsidiary that manufactured the Liberty Vax and helped develop the CHIPs, or greys as they were known in the Sydney facility, and had come to be known at Ironbark Creek. His death and that of the big grey monster had allowed the people of Ironbark Creek to overcome the ambo horde infesting their community about two months earlier. Jack had survived the battle. Cathy repeatedly told him, You are lucky you didn’t lose an eye. Lance, Cathy’s oldest son, said that his scar made him look badass.

Before Roger died, he explained to Jack and Cathy that originally six greys were developed in Australia. He had known each of them by a number and the letter G. Roger had said, Cathy killed G1 on her escape from Sydney. G2 was killed in its cage when G1 orchestrated an escape from the Sydney lab facility. Cathy knew that G3 had been killed by Tom and Jill in the battle inside the compound and that G5 had been killed by Roger. She also knew that this left only two: G4 and G6—although she knew that one of these was dead, killed by the train that crashed near Port Augusta when Bill, Ann, and the others had escaped and fled back to Ironbark Creek.

Jack and Cathy had told the others that a lion had killed Anthea and one of the cattle the night the boys had taken the herd away. Bunny, who had once worked at the Western Plains Zoo, from where the lions had escaped, was very excited by the news. However, she also said she was sorry Anthea had been killed that way. She said, It is likely that the lions have established their territory north of the river. We should give that area a wide berth.

Cathy was pregnant with Jack’s child. She had told him about this on their way back from north of the river after they had seen Anthia killed. Having known each other for almost a year, they had built a strong relationship together, as well as strong relationships with the other community members. Cathy, being Indigenous, got on very well with the Indigenous people in the community. Jack did too, despite his having white skin. He was a likeable man, tall, lean, and confident, although he had lost some of his brashness as a result of his close encounter with the grey and the resulting facial scar. Cathy, delighted they had managed to save Ironbark Creek, knew that everyone had sacrificed something to play their part in the community’s defence.

Lance, Cathy’s oldest son; Peter and Doug, the two quiet Aboriginal boys; and Andrew, Grace’s oldest boy, all wanted to go back to the river to search for the lions, but Cathy made sure they were kept busy with a long list of jobs to help them forget about going north to do so, or such was her hope. Lance had just turned ten and was growing tall. Cathy was proud of his participation in the community. Lance, Andrew, Peter, and Doug had taken full responsibility for the community’s cattle herd. Every day they took the cattle out to graze in the western paddock.

The number of people in the small town was growing, and construction work increased as a result. Work on repairing and extending the trench continued, and the walls were strengthened and supported with additional ramparts and ladders. In places the wall was thickened or bolstered with rocks and stone to make it impregnable. Laurie, Grace, and Mark, Grace’s youngest boy, had not long returned from a trip north to Darwin after the battle with the greys. Laurie, approaching late middle age, had tanned skin on his right arm and the right half of his face—the one-sided tanning of a man who had spent years driving trucks across the vast Australian countryside. His outlook was also one-sided, but he was popular in the community and worked hard to help rebuild their defences and accommodations.

Julie, who had been with the community from the start, having outgrown her fear and reluctance to be involved, had developed some exceptional skills with heavy machinery. She was overseeing much of the construction work. Laurie and Julie, staggered by the destruction wrought to the wall as a result of the battle, were keen to see it fixed as soon as possible.

Darren, uninjured in the battle, had volunteered to lead several expeditions south to Orange and Bathurst for building supplies and fuel. He was young and strong. After a momentary lapse of courage or confidence during the battle, he was keen to redeem himself or at least prove to himself that he was no longer afraid. His wife, Beth, had overcome her fears too, but she was still anxious and worried each time he ventured out beyond the trench. It had only been a year since the turning, and each expedition was offering up fewer supplies. Things of all kinds had gotten harder and harder to locate.

Jenny, the Chinese jet pilot who had crash-landed at Ironbark Creek only days before the battle, had worked on building up the community’s communication system once the battle was won. She and Deepak, her new lover, travelled in all directions within a radius of one hundred kilometres to set up repeater stations to boost their CB radio’s power and range. Jenny was still coming to terms with being trapped with the white and Indigenous strangers. While she missed her home, she regarded making a connection with Deepak as a godsend. He was of Indian descent, although he’d been born and grown up near Canberra. She was not always confident with her English expression. Deepak had become a valuable support at times when she struggled with any issues of language or verbal expression.

Deepak and Jenny also built a massive aerial on the hill above the community to help with the CB and radio reception. Jenny’s hope was to build a system that could reach her base in China, or at least reach a Chinese naval vessel if any had returned to the eastern seaboard of Australia. After many attempts though, she had not been able to reach or communicate with the Chinese navy.

Barry, an ex-Australian Army private, was still bed-bound after Cathy had set and strapped his broken leg. He had