Surviving the Evacuation, Book 16

by Frank Tayell

  “Me? Better than you, I think,” she said.

  “Seriously?”

  “Honestly, I’m terrified,” she said. “Because there is nothing to distract me until I see the doctor. There’s no point talking about it, because that won’t change anything. Anyway, don’t dodge the question. How are you really?”

  “I don’t want you to worry about me,” he said.

  “But I will, because it’s we, now. Us. We might not own much, but everything we have, we share, including our troubles.”

  “Well, mine are just the philosophical kind that come mostly from exhaustion,” he said. “It’s been a long few days.”

  “Weeks,” she said.

  “Months,” he said.

  “Yep. And you’re on the down-swing, worried it’ll always be like this?”

  “Sort of,” he said. “If it hadn’t been Cavalie, it would have been someone else. We should have guessed she knew where Kempton’s retreats were, so that mistake is on us. But it doesn’t change much. There’ve been others. And there will be again. In America, the Mediterranean, the Middle East, wherever we end up.”

  “I won’t disagree,” she said. “I remember, back in the Tower, reading up on the worst excesses of medieval kings, but out of them, and their despotic rule, we ended up with democracy.”

  “Eventually,” he said. “I don’t fancy waiting a thousand years to hope things turn back to normal. See, that’s it, I guess. From now on, I’ll assume that life will be like this. Wherever we go, whenever we meet new people, I’ll assume the worst. That they are worse even than Cavalie. Time might prove me wrong, and I hope it does, but it’s a dark path ahead.”

  She eased onto the bunk next to him, and leaned in close. “See, that’s where I think you’re wrong. What we want isn’t much, and without the undead, it won’t be hard to find. And I have great hope for Faroe. I think they’ll let us stay as long as we need. When we do leave, for somewhere warmer, they’ll come with us.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Because most people aren’t evil,” she said. “But more specifically, well, I’ve some bad news for you.”

  “More?” he said.

  “You can blame Annette. This was her idea. I went up to the bridge to see if we could arrange a quick ceremony. Make the marriage official. Annette vetoed it.”

  “Since when does she get a veto?” he asked.

  “I think she’s spending too much time with Bill. He’s been teaching her politics. Diplomacy, too. She wants us to have a big wedding on Faroe. Invite the Faroese, and throw a big party. She thinks that might help break the ice with them.”

  “We have to have a big wedding?”

  “I’m afraid so,” she said. “With speeches. At least one of which will be from you.”

  “I’ve got to make a speech?”

  “Which will, I’m sure, get included in that history book Annette’s writing. So if you want something to worry over, worry over that. Your words, remembered for centuries as the moment marking the beginning of something new.”

  “See, I knew this day would only get worse.”

  There was a knock on their door.

  “Who’s there?” Nilda asked.

  “Only me,” Simone replied, opening the door. The cat sidled through her legs, glaring at Chester. “Have you seen Annette?”

  “She was up on the bridge before we left Esbjerg,” Nilda said. “Why are you looking for her?”

  “We’re playing hide and seek,” Simone said.

  “Well, she’s not hiding here,” Nilda said.

  Simone ran off, while the cat slunk in.

  “Can’t get a minute of peace,” Chester said.

  “Get used to it,” Nilda said. “Let me see if I can find you a pen. You better start working on that speech.”

  Day 270, 8th December

  Epilogue 1 - Settling In

  Tórshavn, The Faroe Islands

  “And this,” Sholto said, “is us. I made sure to find us somewhere that was wheelchair-friendly.”

  “My legs are fine,” Bill said as Kim wheeled him up the ramp and into the house.

  “Don’t mind him, Thad,” Annette said. “He’s been grumpy all morning, ever since he got his new cast. I told him we should come here first, see the new home, get settled in, but he wouldn’t listen. Wow, this is pretty nice.”

  “It is,” Kim said. “Polished floors. Inset bookshelves. And lights. Proper lights.”

  “And heat,” Bill said, as Kim pushed him through, and into the open-plan lounge. “And a double-fridge.”

  “Tell me it isn’t empty,” Kim said.

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” Sholto said. “We’ve got fish, and we’ve got space to store leftovers.”

  “I’d forgotten what they are,” Kim said.

  “I’m not sure about the grass on the roof,” Annette said. “I’m saying this now, so everyone knows, but I’m not going to be the one who gives the house a haircut. But yeah, this isn’t a bad job. Well done, Thaddeus.”

  “Glad you approve, princess,” Sholto said. “So, we’ve got the kitchen, the dining area, the lounge. Bathrooms are through that door. There’s two, opposite each other. One with a bath, one with a shower. Both with toilets, and with soap. Magazines rather than toilet paper, I’m afraid, but that’s better than nothing. Beyond the lounge, there’s a library. I took out the desk, stuck in a bed, and left most of the books. Other bedrooms are up the steps on the far side of the bathroom.”

  “Mine’s the biggest,” Annette said, though Daisy toddled off down the hallway ahead of her.

  “Not bad at all,” Bill said.

  “It’ll do for now,” Sholto said. “We’ve hot water and fish, and the means to cook it. The store cupboards are bare, and there’s not much we can do about that.” He stopped as Annette reappeared, Daisy a few steps behind.

  “Looks great. Um… listen. Can I go see Jay?”

  “Already? Don’t you want to settle in?” Kim said.

  “I just want to let him and the kids know where we live,” Annette said. “I’ll take Daisy.”

  Kim crossed to the front door, looking outside, but the street had people in it. It wasn’t bustling, not yet, but the town was alive. “Okay, fine. You can go to Nilda’s, but nowhere else,” she said. “Remember, this isn’t Anglesey. There are still zombies on the island.”

  “I know,” Annette said. “I’ll take my gun.”

  “What does it say that I feel pride she remembered her gun, not agony that she has to go about armed?” Kim said after Annette had left. She pushed Bill’s wheelchair closer to the coffee table before she collapsed into the wide armchair.

  “Rule one,” Bill said. “All doors are to remain latched but unlocked in case people need to seek shelter.”

  “A good rule,” Sholto said, taking the sofa. “So, yeah, we’ve got electricity. And soap. Bleach, detergent. Bedding, some clothes and the like. Washing machines and thread, all that type of thing.”

  “But no food,” Bill said.

  “Except fish,” Sholto said. “We found a few odds and ends, and they’re being kept at the hotel. But no, we’re back to a seafood diet. How’s the shoulder?”

  “Sore, but in a good way,” Bill said. “It’s healing, and the doctor thinks it will heal properly, leaving me with full movement. The pain has either diminished, or I’m getting used to it.”

  “He’s sleeping for an hour at a time,” Kim said. “But that should improve now we’re on dry land. Oh, I never thought I’d miss it so much. The ship barely made it into the harbour, the wind was so strong. I’m tempted to say I’m never leaving here, but that’s not up to us, is it? Has there been any movement on the deadline?”

  “We haven’t asked,” Sholto said. “They don’t want us repairing the airport. That’s the only real update, but I think that’s more because they don’t want us straying too far from this town.”

  “It’ll be hard stopping people exploring,” Kim said. “Even
with that wind out there, it’s not a terrible day. It’ll be a lot harder tomorrow when the Ocean Queen arrives.”

  “I thought we were expecting them tonight,” Sholto said.

  “After what we went through, they want daylight before they enter the harbour,” Kim said. “But that’s better. It’ll give us time to put some thought into who is staying where. That might help us ensure they don’t go anywhere off-limits.”

  “We stop people wandering off by getting them to focus on the next challenge,” Bill said.

  “On the expedition to America?” Sholto asked.

  “And the wedding,” Kim said. “Have you heard? Chester and Nilda are getting married. They wanted to get it over with on the ship, but the children insisted that it be a big and grand affair. Annette took some of the blame for that, but if you ask me, I think it was Jay’s idea originally.”

  “We’ll invite some of the Faroese to the wedding,” Bill said. “Make it a diplomatic event. Music, dancing, a real celebration.”

  “I hope they bring the food, then,” Sholto said.

  “Nilda’s going to wear the Crown Jewels,” Kim said.

  “Seriously?” Sholto asked.

  “The children brought them from the Tower,” Kim said.

  “It gets worse,” Bill said.

  “You mean… are you two…” Sholto began.

  “How would that be worse?” Kim asked. “No, that particular question has been shelved until he’s out of his cast. What Bill means is that Chester and Nilda aren’t the only ones who want to get married.”

  “They want to use the Crown Jewels in the ceremonies,” Bill said. “The crown will become a shared symbol, a tradition.”

  “I can’t see the bad in that,” Sholto said. “The comical, yes. I hope no one’s expecting me to keep a straight face.”

  “Seeing as Chester couldn’t when the kids made Nilda practice wearing the crown during dinner, I don’t think anyone will mind.”

  “So we have ourselves a diplomatic event,” Sholto said. “And then we leave for America.”

  Kim raised a hand. “Bill can’t go,” she said. “So nor can I, or Annette. As long as we’re clear. It’s not that I don’t want to, but as it is, Bill will barely be fighting fit before March. And if we do have to leave then, we can’t have anything set back his recovery.”

  “No, I understand,” Sholto said.

  “I know you wanted him to go back with you,” Kim said. “That was why you crossed the ocean originally, but he can’t.”

  “But you’re going, aren’t you?” Bill said.

  “Not just because I want to,” Sholto said. “I left that continent more recently than most. I travelled it as widely as anyone. I have to go. But, yes, I want to. Maybe you can come on the next trip.”

  “Do you think there’ll be more than one?” Kim asked. “What we saw on the satellite images was pretty bad.”

  “There’ll certainly be two expeditions, yes,” Sholto said. “The first will be island-hopping to Canada via Iceland and Greenland, looking for a harbour and a fuel supply. If we can find one, we might venture further south. If not, we’ll return, then set out again, this time on a direct course for New England. But no, I don’t think it’ll be any better than those satellite images suggest.”

  “Do we really need two trips, then?” Bill asked. “It would be a waste of fuel.”

  “The first trip is to solidify reality for the Marines and sailors,” Sholto said. “I want them to be absolutely certain before the second trip, because I think that’ll be the last. And I think there are some who, when they get to America, won’t want to come back no matter how bad it is. There are some who want to go home. Since we won’t be able to wait for them, it’s certainly a one-way trip.”

  Kim sighed. “And so it goes. Leaving us with what? With where? Not the Baltic. Probably not North America and I hold no greater hope for the Mediterranean. I don’t think we can reach any further than that.”

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky,” Sholto said. “Or get lucky with diplomacy. Everyone loves a good wedding.”

  “Speaking of which,” Kim said, standing. “I said I’d help Tuck and Aisha with the planning. And since Annette is already there, I can rope her in.”

  “A wedding,” Sholto said. “We’re planning a wedding. That’s not bad.”

  “What do you mean?” Kim asked.

  “That a few weeks ago, I watched Belfast burn to the ground,” Sholto said. “Now we’re planning a party. I’d say life is looking up.”

  Day 275, 13th December

  Epilogue 2 - Bringing Them All Back Home

  Bern, Switzerland

  Scott walked around the twin turboprop plane. “A Beechcraft Super King Air,” he said. “Saw a few of these in Oz.”

  “And you flew some?” Amber Kessler asked, rubbing her hands together against the day’s increasing chill.

  “A plane’s a plane,” Scott said. “What comes down has to have gone up, so you work backwards from there.”

  “You mean no,” Amber said. “Can we get aboard? It’s freezing.”

  “No it’s not,” Scott said, fishing out the thermometer from the pocket of his new-found boiler-suit. “Seven degrees above.”

  “That’s the temperature of your pocket,” Amber said. “The ice won’t be a problem during take-off?”

  “For take-off? No. Landing might get a bit dicey, but that’s a worry for later.”

  “Huh. Can’t we take one of those fighter planes? They’ve got ejector seats.”

  “The F-5Fs don’t have the range,” Scott said. “Not for a return trip.”

  “We can get fuel in Belfast,” Amber said.

  “Maybe,” Scott said. “But we might not be able to land today. They’re not expecting us, and not expecting anyone by air, so they won’t have kept that stretch of road clear. Nope, one flight today, over Belfast and Kenmare Bay. Another, same time tomorrow, and a third the day after. We’ll land then, unless they light up a runway today. Tomorrow’s a possibility, but I’m putting my money on day three, if you fancy a bet.”

  “You already owe me like a million dollars,” Amber said. “What if we painted a message on the fuselage or wings?”

  “Don’t overthink it,” Scott said. “If we fly over that stretch of road, they’ll know it’s us.”

  As he continued his slow inspection, his hand went to his temple. The blinding flashes of light and pain had grown less frequent, but they still persisted, occurring at random moments. As long as it didn’t happen during take-off or landing, they’d be okay.

  It had been nearly three weeks since Bill, Chester, and Sorcha had left Creil. By now, they should have reached Belfast, and a ship would be on its way to the Bay of Biscay, if not already arrived. Meanwhile, he, Amber, Salman, and the others had reached no farther than the airport on the outskirts of the Swiss city of Bern. The battle at the warehouse had only taken a few hours. Securing it afterwards had taken two days. Moving the people from Lac du Bienne had taken longer still. All that time, he and the others had been guarding the bridge. The exploding fuel tanker had sealed the tunnel further north where Madame Bensayed had died, but that hadn’t stopped the undead. Every day had seen the arrival of one or two, and every night had seen one or two more. But food had come, too, then ammunition, then reinforcements. After a week had come the order to retreat to Bern.

  They’d spent that journey planning the long-delayed trek to the Pyrenees, until they’d driven by the airport. Why drive to the Pyrenees in the hope of making contact with a ship that might take weeks more to arrive, when they could just fly? But the airport had to be secured, the runway cleared, the plane repaired and refuelled. Hours had turned to days, and almost into a fortnight.

  “Yep, she’s good to go,” he said, patting the side of the plane. “We just need our passengers.”

  “Scott,” Amber said. “What do you… the Ukrainians. Do you think… I mean. Vernadski, he didn’t have a plan for after he got to Bern, did he? Tha
t’s why he’s so keen on making contact with Belfast.”

  “Sounds about right,” Scott said.

  “So when they actually see Belfast, they won’t be happy, will they?”

  “Why’d you say that?” he asked.

  “Because we weren’t happy with it back on Anglesey.”

  “And who do you mean by we?”

  “Everyone. But mostly the people on the Harper’s Ferry. There were plans to go to Kenmare Bay instead, then straight across to America.”

  “You know what I think?” Scott said. “That it’s not our problem. Let Vernadski and the professor thrash that out with Mrs O’Leary, Bill, and the admiral. Speaking of whom, it looks as if they’ve come to bid us bon voyage.”

  A small group walked across the runway. Sergeant Salman Khan was a recognisably familiar figure, as was Starwind with her newly re-dyed hair. Vernadski, in his suit and tie, was just as easily identifiable. Lev was clearly meant to be his bodyguard, though the wave he gave Amber suggested he had an ulterior motive. But it was only when the group was twenty metres away that Scott recognised the two women as Professor Victoria Fontayne and Claire Moreau. Both, improbably and impractically, were dressed in suits. Not matching, nor did they match Vernadski’s sombre outfit. The professor wore a tightly-buttoned, fur-collared crimson coat, with matching hat and gloves over a magenta pantsuit. Claire Moreau was shivering in a scarlet skirt-suit with mercifully flat-heeled button-up boots. It wasn’t clothing for their dark world, and barely clothes suited to the plunging temperatures, but what was stranger than their outfits was Starwind’s canyon-sized grin.

  “I can’t believe she did it,” Amber whispered, turning away.

  “Did what?” Scott asked.

  “Dressed them like the witches,” Amber said. “She was threatening to, but I didn’t think she’d actually do it.”

  “What witches?” Scott asked.

  “From that cartoon she’s obsessed with,” Amber said.

  “I take it the witches aren’t the heroes?”

  “They can’t have realised. But, seriously, just don’t say anything.”