At my call, Rat sprinted out the front door, galloping towards the driver’s seat and diving past me to the passenger side, his Malinois agility on show as he landed perfectly on the front seat. I felt as awkward as a novice entering a racing car with nets and a roll cage as I stepped in, tool belt rattling and clanking up against the duffle bag that was still across my chest.

  “Fang it, Kelly!” I imagined Rat meant when he said “Woof woof woof!”

  I stuck the key into the ignition and prayed it would turn over.

  “Bm-bm-bm-bm-bm-bm…” the car spluttered, not starting.

  I turned the key again, more frantic as time went on. Still nothing. The horde of zombies were ever-approaching and were only about five metres from the car when I tried one last time, almost snapping the key in half in my panic.

  “BROOOM!” The V6 engine finally kicked into gear as I slammed the car into ‘drive’ and floored the accelerator. The ute barrelled out of the driveway, taking the leg of the closest zombie with it as a trail of blood streamed across the side door. Turning to our right to avoid more zombies, we tore down the street.

  Please don’t be a dead end! I hoped. After about one-hundred metres, we approached a T-intersection and headed right, no idea where we were going other than away from the undead.

  A couple more turns later, we found ourselves on a wider, more highway-like road, but not quite a motorway. As the houses began to thin and bushland surrounded, I started to calm down and, in turn, slow down. I turned to Rat, still at attention in the front seat.

  “Wow, that was close. I wonder if that was the only town in the game?” I asked.

  We drove further down the road, passing the odd dead hitchhiker but not stopping. After about fifteen minutes, an orange light was illuminated on the dashboard. It was the low petrol sign.

  Oh god, I thought, wondering where one could fill up post-apocalypse.

  With no-one in sight, I decided to bring the car to a stop in the roadway and just check to see if there was a jerry can or anything that could help us. With the car ignition still running, I jumped out of the car and removed the canvas tonneau cover from the tray of the ute. Inside were a few bungee cords, a snake-bite first-aid kit, some leather gardening-style gloves and, yes, a jerry can. I picked up the can, hoping it would be full, but was quick to notice it was empty.

  “Damn!” I said aloud.

  I refitted the cover and returned to the driver’s seat, shuffling around as I crammed the bag onto my lap. I looked over at Rat, gave him a quick pat and leaned over to open the glove box. Inside was a packet of cigarettes, a lighter and a street directory.

  “Great!” I exclaimed to Rat. “Let’s find where we are and find a petrol station.”

  Looking around, however, no landmarks nor street signs could be found. I decided to drive a little further down the highway, at least to the next intersection.

  As we drove further, a few stationary cars started appearing on the road ahead. Soon we approached a bridge that spanned across a large lake. To the right was another larger concrete bridge, almost full to the brim with crashed and abandoned vehicles.

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  “Finally! An exit!” I exclaimed.

  We slowed down and saw a sign just before the exit.

  ‘Brooklyn Road’ it read. Coming to a complete stop, I grabbed the street directory and turned to the back, searching under B.

  “There! Brooklyn Road!” I said to Rat. I flicked to the corresponding page and found the matching coordinates: A15.

  Looking at the map, I could see not too far down the road was a petrol station.

  “I think that’s our best shot, Rat!” I said.

  I closed the book, thankful there was really only one road in and out of the small lakeside village we planned on visiting. Trying to be as silent as possible, and preparing for untold numbers of zombies, I organised my crowbar to be atop the duffle bag, ready for us to spring out at a moment’s notice.

  Rolling down the street at a snail’s pace, we took the exit and proceeded past many quaint houses and boats moored not too far in the distance. As we got further along, the area became more dense with houses and obvious signs of activity nearby.

  By the time we had made it to the petrol station, it was evident we had roused a small army of the undead, and my anxiety rose to a level I had not felt previously. With the horde almost marching in unison towards us, I tried to lead them away and then speed back to the pumps, but it was no luck; I found myself quickly approaching the stragglers of the bunch. I swerved as best I could without colliding with the petrol pumps, but I hit one of the zombies, the corpse tumbling to the concrete as its head rolled away towards a nearby drain.

  “Okay, that wasn’t too bad,” I said to Rat, looking down to the dashboard and noting no further warning lights illuminated. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I said.

  Rat looked over, agitated by the horde of zombies. I asked him to lay down. We then proceeded back onto the small road in front of the petrol station, sped up and down a couple of times to disperse the zombies, then proceeded to flick the car in reverse, turning as sharp as possible, reverse-donuting through the crowd.

  “Splat! Clunk! Crunch!” Zombie parts flew in all directions. Noticing the motion and hearing the commotion, Rat sat back up, slightly losing his footing on the next turn and bumping snoot first into the radio, switching it on.

  “Golden Oldies 108.6” chimed out pleasantly before Jeepster by T. Rex started playing. On we spun, heads rolling as bodies were snatched out of the way with centripetal force. The further-out zombies shuffled mindlessly towards the fray, no concern for their imminent demise. By the time “Girl I’m just a vampire for your love” sang out from the speakers, the horde lay vanquished, largely squashed between the tyres of the Commodore and the tarmac.

  I brought the ute to a stop, turned off the radio, then drove back to the petrol station, parking by the first pump.

  We both jumped out of the car to check the damage; it was covered with blood – the once taupe-coloured tonneau was now crimson and torn. The chassis, however, looked remarkably unscathed save for a few large head-shaped dents covering the tray panels and the remnants of a head collected on the tow ball.

  Great! I thought, hoping I could spend much more time taking refuge in the ute. I walked to the back and removed the tonneau, taking out the jerry can and bringing it across to the pump.

  “Rat, can you keep watch?” I asked, motioning him to circle around the pumps. He trotted off, back in protection mode with his ears folded back as he slunk around.

  I filled up the tank of the ute first, then the jerry can. I wonder if they’ll have any more cans inside. I put the now-full can into the tray and walked up to the store, crowbar in hand. Rat kept circling the area, often checking on me, popping his head between the plastic flaps of the door that kept out the flies.

  I collected a few things from the store, namely two jerry cans, a new tonneau cover, various snacks and drinks and a book on basic car maintenance. I put them all in a red plastic basket and placed it onto the tray.

  “I’m sure they won’t mind me borrowing their basket,” I said.

  I then filled up the other jerry cans, put them in the tray and fitted the new cover.

  Darkness was starting to fall, so Rat and I had to try to secure a place to rest overnight. I opened the passenger door and called Rat back to the ute, asking him to get in. He jumped into the seat, but as I went to close the door, a shrill yet gravely howl-like noise rang out in the distance. Rat jumped out of his seat and ran towards the waterfront.

  “Rat! Come back! You don’t know what’s out there!” I screamed, but Rat did not listen.