Surviving the Evacuation, Book 17

by Frank Tayell

  “Kids, come to the door,” he said. Pivoting one-eighty degrees, he couldn’t see anyone. “Keep your eyes on me. On three, run to the truck. I’m going to check the SUV. If our truck doesn’t work, we’re driving away in that, okay? One. Two. Three. Go.”

  He sprinted for the SUV, listening for the lighter footsteps behind him. Three bodies by the SUV. Two zombies and the driver. Shot through the neck. It looked like the man had bled out. That was probably Jonas’s bullet, but he didn’t pause to check. He reached for the driver’s door as, from across the parking lot, his engine came on. Then came another, nearly alien, sound: a bark.

  A dog bounded towards them. A fawn-coloured Great Dane with a blue and yellow scarf tied around its collar. He raised his gun. Dogs couldn’t get infected, could they? Maybe not with the zombie-virus, but there was still rabies. There was still hunger, and it must have been a month since this one had been fed.

  “Rufus! Did I say stay?” a woman called. The dog stopped, though it kept its head moving back and forth across the carnage that was the body-strewn parking lot.

  The woman jogged around the edge of the nearest house. It wasn’t Hoyle, but she was carrying a long rifle. She wore a green coat, but over blue many-pocketed pants tucked into high-laced boots. It was scavenged clothing, and there was nothing special about that, but there was something about her face. Something oddly familiar. Her hair was dark at the tips, but silver-grey at the roots, recently cut short, unevenly as if she’d done it herself in haste. Younger than him, but only by a decade or so. And yes, achingly familiar. Someone he’d worked with? Someone he’d locked up?

  “Did we arrive in time?” she asked.

  “You shot the zombies?” he replied.

  “Did you know there was a sniper?” she asked.

  “There was another woman here,” he said. “I don’t know where she’s gone.”

  “The woman calling herself Hoyle?” she said. “Should I regret I took some measure of satisfaction in killing her? But, of course, you don’t know who she was, do you?”

  “Who are you?” Jonas asked, deciding if she was going to phrase everything as a question, he’d do the same.

  “Do you not recognise me? Perhaps you might recognise my name, Lisa Kempton.”

  “Kempton? The billionaire?” And now he did recognise her, but it was a face he’d seen on a TV screen, dressed in expensive clothing, surrounded by the trappings of wealth.

  Behind him, there was a clunk as the car door opened.

  “Can we come out?” Luke called.

  “Of course,” Lisa said.

  “No,” Jonas said.

  “I just want to say hello to the dog,” Luke called.

  “Why are you here?” Jonas asked. “Explain all of this.”

  “The dog is Rufus,” Lisa said. “He’s very friendly. And so am I, at least to the friends of the enemy of my enemy who didn’t realise he was my friend. As to explaining this, I have one more question to ask. Were they looking for me, or for Tom?”

  “By Tom, who do you mean?” Jonas asked, professional caution rising to the fore.

  “Tom Clemens,” she said.

  “That’s who they were asking for,” Jonas said slowly.

  “He is who I am looking for, too,” she said. “I followed these killers, as they followed you, from Crossfields Landing.”

  “You followed us? Why are you looking for Tom? Who are they?” Jonas asked.

  She smiled. “It is usually I who ask the questions. A habit I learned long ago, and just can’t kick. I am looking for Tom because I would like his help. We have both been, over the last few years, working towards the same goal. To wit, stopping the nightmare now visited upon us. Clearly, we both failed, but our war is not over. These people are members of the Rosewood Cartel. The outbreak, the nuclear war, this was the work of politicians. The cartel provided them with muscle. At this juncture, I don’t know whether there is a difference between gangster and politician, but not all of them died beneath the mushroom clouds. I need to ensure the rest are finished. For that, I wanted Mr Clemens’s assistance.”

  “You’re too late,” Luke said. “Tom left. He went to England.”

  “He did?” Lisa asked.

  “To where the virus was created,” Jonas said.

  “Then all is not lost,” Lisa said. She grinned. “Indeed, no. I can trust him to take care of events on that side of the Atlantic. He may, in fact, find some assistance from my people. They are there, you see, rather than here, which is why I’m alone. Except for Rufus, of course. Good. We must discuss what you are to do next.”

  “Us?” Jonas said.

  “You and your friends. The cartel will send more people.”

  “This isn’t the first lot that came,” Jonas said.

  “No, I learned that much already,” Lisa said.

  “How?” Luke asked.

  “We don’t have time for me to tell you my adventures, not now. Not here. More will come to Crossfields Landing. It isn’t safe there.”

  “Is anywhere safe?” Jonas asked.

  “I hope so,” she said. “Sadly my organisation was infiltrated. I was betrayed. The redoubts I established have been compromised. As have all bunkers run by the government in this country. I’ve heard that there’s a relief effort underway in the Pacific, operating out of Vancouver.”

  “Vancouver? It might as well be the moon,” Jonas said. “There’s no hope we’d be able to drive there, and less we could sail.”

  “You have boats?” she asked. “Then there is one place I can suggest. I cannot guarantee what you will find there, but it has all the components you will need to rebuild.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Canada. Nova Scotia. A place called Annapolis Royal, on the Bay of Fundy.”

  “You think it’s safe there?” Jonas asked.

  “I would advise caution, but as far as I am aware, it wasn’t targeted by a nuclear bomb. You cannot stay in Crossfields Landing, and I can think of nowhere else to send you.”

  “Where are you going?” Jonas asked.

  “To deal with the rest of these vile excuses for humanity,” Lisa said. “The cartel must be stopped now. If it is not, they will become warlords, plaguing the children’s lives. The world we knew is gone. It will never come back. I will ensure it. Annapolis Royal, that is where you must go. Rufus and I will continue our hunt. We shall see you in Canada, and then I shall tell the rest of my story.”

  She opened the door to the SUV.

  “You’re going now?” Soanna said.

  Lisa smiled. “I am afraid that these people didn’t come here alone. I will buy you time. Until nightfall is all I can promise. Don’t waste it.”

  Day 286, 24th December

  Chapter 25 - The Little Things

  East Ferry, Nova Scotia

  “We left Maine at sunset,” Jonas said.

  “You trusted her?” Sholto asked.

  “We trusted you,” Jonas said. “So why not her? We were looking for a sign. For salvation. For a place the kids could laugh and play. It wasn’t going to be Crossfields Landing. That attack put paid to any chance of that. It was the second time they’d come to my village. The third if you count those FBI agents who arrived back in January.”

  “January? It seems a lifetime ago, now,” Sholto said. “No one objected?”

  “Oh, there were a few arguments, but we said it was voluntary. Anyone who wanted to stay behind could. No one did. We had the boats. We had the fuel. A sea crossing was safer than staying put. We had fuel to keep on sailing if we didn’t like what we found when we got here. But we found people and electricity and a friendly welcome.”

  “Huh.” Sholto leaned back in his chair. “Lisa Kempton came looking for me. There’s a thing I never expected.”

  “Did you find her friends?” Jonas asked.

  “One of them, yes,” Sholto said. “The others are dead. Friends and foes. Did she come here?”

  “Sorry, no. And no one who arrived e
ver mentioned her. We asked. You know what that means for her chances?”

  “I do,” Sholto said. Silence settled. “What happened up at that farm?”

  “Which farm? Oh, Jimmy’s friends? They came with us. Hipsters, the lot of them. Not dangerous at all. But they know farming. It’s thanks to them we’ve got maple syrup. They knew how to tap the trees in a couple of groves just south of Digby.”

  “Jimmy’s alive? Andy? Kaitlin?”

  “Alive and well,” Jonas said. “And they’ll want to meet you.”

  “What happened after you arrived?”

  “Personally, not much. We farmed. We worked. We survived. You’ll want to speak to Napatchie about what happened in Canada before we got here. But I can tell you about the rumours. Did you hear about Vancouver? There was a Pacific Alliance. Australia, Japan, Micronesia, I don’t know who else was involved. They were running things out of Guam, and running an evacuation out of Vancouver. That was the story we heard, but before the nuclear war. We didn’t hear anything afterwards. Didn’t have anyone turn up here who said they’d seen it for themselves. Can’t say if that makes it more real, or less. When people left, that’s where they went.”

  “To Vancouver? Like the people who took your ships?”

  Jonas shook his head. “Hard to sail a ship across land. No, I mean the others. There were millions here after the outbreak. A lot left before the nuclear war began. When we got here, it was down to a few hundred thousand. Now it’s four thousand and change. Up until the ships were stolen, no one left by boat. They went overland, west. Some had originally arrived here by sea, part of the exodus from the coastal regions further south. These were the people who’d run out of fuel, luckily within sight of land. Or those who didn’t know how to read a chart, or had no chart to read. They didn’t know to skirt the bay if you wanted to go north. And we knew about Newfoundland, of course. There’s some people with us who escaped from there. Most of the sailors left with their ships, but some of the passengers stayed.”

  “What happened there?” Sholto asked.

  “On Newfoundland? I thought you said you’d seen the crashed planes.”

  “Sure. But what happened in the towns? We saw the barricades, the defences, but they didn’t look used.”

  “Ah. The planes began arriving just after the outbreak. Redirected, you see. They were the planes in the air. Those passengers were all uninfected. The next flights were different. Pilots packed the planes with whoever was at the airport, took off, and went hunting for a runway until the fuel ran out. There were a lot of flights. Soon, there were a lot of zombies. Damn things can survive a plane crash, it turns out. The people there, they pulled back until they got to Port-Aux-Basques.”

  “And they came here?”

  “To Halifax. We still controlled it then. Some stayed. Some left. And when they left, they went west, to Vancouver.”

  “Never to be seen again,” Sholto said.

  “Not yet, anyways,” Jonas said. “But better you hear the details from someone who was there. I confess, I was never too interested in the stories of how people survived the outbreak, not when those were also the stories of how so many died.”

  “What went wrong?” Sholto asked. “Something did, didn’t it? Why did people leave?”

  “Hope,” Jonas said. “Or the lack of it. They didn’t want to be farmers, so went off in search of a better life. That’s what it comes down to, but in the moment, it was… messier. Right after the outbreak, they started building walls across every narrow stretch of headland. I think they intended Nova Scotia to become for the east what Vancouver was in the west, a place of safety for refugees, and of preparation for the military. The walls got built. The soldiers never came. Not in great number. Then came the nuclear war. One by one, the walls fell. Zombies.”

  Before he could say any more, Napatchie and Nilda came in.

  “We’re going to take Diana ashore,” Nilda said. “I’ve spoken with the chief, and he’ll watch the ship tonight on condition we bring him some fresh baked bread at dawn. Napatchie will give us a tour tomorrow, and I’d like to begin at first light, so I’m going back ashore with her.”

  “Then I’ll come ashore, too,” Sholto said. “I’ve some more old friends I’d like to meet.”

  “A proper bed,” Nilda said, turning down the sheets.

  “And a floor that doesn’t move,” Chester added, looking around the bedroom he and Nilda had been given for the night. On the third floor, it was cosily furnished: a bed, a wardrobe, a dresser, and two chairs either side of a table by the curtained window.

  “And an electric heater,” Nilda said. “Isn’t it wonderful? But if anyone asks, tell them I felt terribly guilty about leaving the chief on the ship while we enjoyed such luxury.”

  “I’ll say you agonised about it all night,” Chester said. He finished rubbing his hair dry, and looked for somewhere to hang the towel. “And hot water in a shower big enough I didn’t bruise my elbows each time I soaped up. Yep, it’s the little things, isn’t it?”

  “That make a quiet life a happy one, it is indeed. How much did Martha share with you?”

  “A fair bit, I’d say. I don’t think she’s hiding anything.”

  “I don’t think they’d want to. It’s fantastic that we’ve met such wonderful people. But they’re not wonderful, are they?”

  “I dunno, that brandy was pretty wondrous. Another glass, I don’t think I’d be standing.”

  “No, I mean they’re normal,” Nilda said. “They’re like us. Like the people in Birmingham, or Creil, maybe. Normal people who’ll extend a helping hand because they have one to spare. Compared to Faroe, to Denmark, to Calais, that’s what I mean. We’ve seen so much horror, our expectations have fallen so far.”

  “Ah, gotcha. What did you tell the admiral?”

  “That there are four thousand people here. They have electricity. They have food. They had farms. But the undead overran them. The admiral asked whether those zombies are alive or not. Napatchie thinks they are. Or they were, last time anyone checked.”

  “And tomorrow we’ll confirm it,” Chester said.

  “Right, and if they are, then we’ll have to relocate these people to Newfoundland,” Nilda said. “Oh, I forgot to say. The admiral has heard from Sergeant Toussaint. He reached the airport at Gander. He found more barricades. Lots more crashed planes. Lots more dead zombies. Only ten that were still active set against tens of thousands that were dead.”

  “So it seems like they are all dead on Newfoundland?”

  “Mostly, not all. I’d like to speak to someone who was there when it all happened. There’s even a couple of people who were on one of the planes.”

  “Most of them now live on Brier Island,” Chester said. “That’s what Martha said. They don’t like the mainland.”

  “It’s… Oh, it’s so tempting to take the launch and go talk to them now,” Nilda said. “It sounds like Newfoundland might be… I don’t know what word to use.”

  “Safe?”

  “Safer, maybe,” Nilda said. “But maybe we can stay here. Maybe…” She trailed off.

  “Maybe we don’t need to think about it tonight,” Chester said. “It’ll be tomorrow soon enough.”

  Day 287 - 25th December

  Chapter 26 - An Apocalyptic Day

  Nova Scotia

  “Best. Christmas. Present. Ever,” Nilda said, punctuating each word with a bite of the thick toast layered with even thicker lashings of jam.

  “No arguments from me,” Chester said. “It’s good, this stuff.”

  “Pumpkin and apple, I think,” she said.

  “I thought it was marmalade,” he said. “No, of course. Where’d they get the oranges? It’s the colour, that’s what confused me. Tastes twice as good, though. Another slice?”

  “No, I better make this the last. I’ve already eaten half an entire loaf. Then again, why not?”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  Beyond the door, along the ha
ll, and behind another door, came laughter from where Sholto was breakfasting with the children he’d once rescued, and with the other children Jonas and Martha had acquired over this last year. Jay was there, too, exchanging the gift of stories of London for his breakfast feast. Mr and Mrs Carson, meanwhile, breakfasted alone in an extension at the side of the property with double-length windows and a triple-glazed skylight. Despite the slope, the window above them was coated in snow, which only added to the cocoon-like warmth provided by the under-floor heating. There was seating for six at two tables. One with two chairs, one with four, all made of wicker with soft padding, and even softer cushions.

  “I could live in a place like this,” Nilda said.

  “We could go see an estate agent this morning,” Chester said. “Not that I think they’ll be open at Christmas, but we can look in the window, get a feel for the prices.”

  “I think they call them Realtors in Canada,” Nilda said. “Or is that only in the U.S.? We should check or we’ll come across as gullible tourists who can’t spot an unfair price in this strange land. I think that’s an allotment there, between the house and the treeline.”

  “An allotment? I’d call it a farm,” Chester said. “It’s got to be at least half an acre. You prefer the view of trees to the sea?”

  “A sea view also means sea-winds,” Nilda said. Another gale of disbelieving laughter came from the other room. “Happy children. They must have good schools here,” she added. “And I think we could find work easily enough.”

  “You like the place, then?” he asked.

  “So far, I love it,” she said. “More so even than London. This isn’t quite what I was dreaming of, back in the Tower, but back there, I was dreaming of somewhere different. I knew we’d have to leave. Here, I think, is somewhere we could stay. It could be a real home for us all. Depending on what we find today.”

  “And what kind of price the estate agent asks,” Chester said, refusing to let go of the fantasy. “And since our tour guide hasn’t arrived yet, what about one more slice?”