Life Goes On | Book 4 | If Not Us [Surviving The Evacuation]

by Tayell, Frank

The new walls of Inhambane were rising around the city’s outskirts, but not fast enough.

  “Where do we go?” Zach asked, slowing the bus as he drove around a pile of rubble over which a team were pouring cement. The labourers, like her driver, should still be in school.

  “Good question,” Tess said. “Laila, where’s the hospital?”

  “The old cathedral,” she said.

  “I will guide you,” Zendaya said.

  If Inhambane had known busier decades, the old cathedral had seen better centuries. The paint had skinned, the plaster had creviced, and the mortar had powdered while the three-storey tower was one amen away from collapse. A fresh red cross had been painted to the left of the doors, a red crescent to the right, while from inside came the soft moans of the dying.

  As the nurses carried their injured sisters inside, and Dr Avalon went to assist, Tess leaned against the bus.

  “Water,” Hawker said, holding out a bottle.

  “Good on ya,” Tess said. “How long can we hold this city?”

  “As long as we have to,” Hawker said. “Mick’ll need to bring in about a hundred and fifty flights. They achieved fifteen hundred a day during the Berlin airlift. Now, fair dinkum, their logistical system wasn’t as ropey as ours, but we’ve got no shortage of planes back home. No shortage of pilots. We’ve just got to get them to Perth. Everyone here came from somewhere else, so there’s no refuge within easy driving distance. There’s no secondary position we can escape to, and no way we can surrender. No, we’ll hold the line until everyone’s safe. If it’s not by air, it’ll be aboard a ship. Either way, I’d say twenty-four to thirty-six hours, and we’ll be out of here.”

  “I wish I had your certainty.”

  He shrugged. “I know how to take a ship. Confined corridors will work to our advantage against the zoms. We can go deck-by-deck, clearing and sealing them as we go.”

  “You’ve done that before?”

  “Ship-work? Sure. Hostage situations. But zoms don’t hide, and they don’t shoot back. Won’t say it’ll be a cool breeze on a December day, but I’d prefer it to a battle in the open.”

  “You, me, Oakes, and Clyde,” Tess said. “What about the nurses?”

  “They’re fierce enough, but this will be relentless. Metal bulkheads bring a risk of ricochets. Better to pick people who’ve been trained in when not to pull the trigger. We can ask the commander who on their crew could assist. This is the reason we’re supposed to be here.”

  “You believe in destiny?” Tess asked.

  “I wouldn’t call it that,” he said. “Every life has moments where the future of the many turns on the actions of a few. In jobs like yours and mine, those moments happen more often than most. Doesn’t mean we’re guaranteed success, but I’m confident in our ability to pull this off. We all end up where we’re supposed to be. Speaking of which, I’ll find out where we’re supposed to be now.”

  He went inside, while Tess turned her gaze to the people sheltering on the nearby rooftops. The zoms at the bridge had pulped their hands to the bone against the dozers’ steel blades. In the process, they’d pushed one back five centimetres. Once the ammo was gone, once the spears had been thrown, the masonry dropped, the defenders would be able to do nothing but watch the zoms beat and claw at the walls below. How sturdy were the houses in this sleepy backwater city? Not sturdy enough.

  Hawker returned outside with Laila at his side, Elaina just behind.

  “Look who I found,” Hawker said.

  “I thought you were with Mick,” Tess said.

  “We’d have taken a seat from a kid,” Elaina said. “After Dr Dodson took off, Bianca and I came here to help.”

  “Bianca’s inside?” Tess asked.

  “Watching the wounded,” Elaina said. “You know, the bitten people. We’re not nurses, but we’re doing what we can. We’ll stay here, if that’s okay, because we’re not soldiers, either. The colonel told us about the battle on the bridge.”

  “If we’re not together,” Tess said, “I can’t guarantee there’s a way out for you.”

  “I don’t think anyone can guarantee that, Commissioner,” Elaina said.

  “It’s where they’re supposed to be,” Hawker said with a shrug and smile.

  “We should go to Tofo Beach,” Laila said. “It’s under-defended.”

  “The beach needs defending?” Tess asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Laila said. “The beach is the front line.”

  According to Clyde, Tofo Beach was famous. Molten gold sands met azure seas so packed with mantas you could use them as stepping stones to reach Madagascar. Well, perhaps. Once. Before the war. Oil-black waves frothed greenish-red foam as they broke against the grounded hulks. Broken ships filled the shallows. A mix of single-masted dhows and metal-hulled freighters created a nearly solid wall of steel and wood for as far as she could see. Around them, waves surged, dragging rope, cloth, and plastic ashore. The sands were stained every hue of the chemical rainbow, covered in the bodies of fish and birds, people and the undead.

  The smell of decay, as much as the vision of Armageddon, made them all grateful to get inside the restaurant which would be their base for the night.

  “Never been in a grass-roofed restaurant before,” Zach said.

  “There should be sentries here,” Laila said. “This is the front line.”

  “I thought that was the bridge,” Zach said.

  “The ships sailed to Madagascar from Mozambique and South Africa, from Tanzania and Kenya,” Laila said. “But the island was overrun with infected arriving by plane. Refugees re-boarded the ships. Some were infected. When the ports were attacked, the ships put to sea. Those who didn’t succumb to the virus took the boats, leaving only the dead aboard, and the ships adrift. Now those ships drift with the tide, until they run aground.”

  “It’s not a virus,” Avalon muttered.

  “The general should be here,” Laila said, looking at the half-ruined restaurant.

  “Which general?” Tess asked.

  “I think that is now you,” Laila said. “We shall go ask. Watch the water.”

  “Would you ladies like an escort?” Oakes asked.

  Which was met with a string of Portuguese and then Arabic as Laila translated, and then elaborated. Tess didn’t understand the words, but the nurse’s exaggeratedly appraising gaze, stage bow, and stifled laughter was universal.

  “No harm in asking,” Oakes said.

  Sand lay ankle-deep across the restaurant’s floor, rising to a knee-height embankment by the bar. Some furniture lay beneath the partially collapsed roof, while the rest had joined a jumbled entanglement between this property and the next.

  “I’ve seen worse kitchens,” Toppley said. “But not many. It’s a playground for bugs, and they’ll form a plague-sized graduation class by dawn. Between what’s in there and what’s on the beach, I wouldn’t want to dine here, so we’re fortunate the cupboards have been completely emptied.”

  “Congratulations, Zach,” Hawker said, as he picked up a broom. “You’re promoted to sweeper, first-class. Shift some of the sand for us, mate.”

  “No worries, sir,” Zach said. “Does the promotion mean I get extra pay?”

  “If you do a good job, why not?” Hawker said, extracting an oat-bar from his pocket. “Let’s say an extra dollar a day.” He threw the bar to Zach who grabbed it, tore the wrapper open, and inhaled the bar before, carefully, folding the wrapper up and pocketing it.

  “With us wading through muck, I don’t think you need to worry about littering,” Oakes said.

  “Yeah, but this is money, isn’t it?” Zach said. “It says so. One dollar.”

  “Not after you’ve eaten the contents,” Oakes said.

  “Everything’s worth something to someone,” Zach said. “That’s what Ms Godwin said.”

  “Twenty minutes, people!” Hawker said. “Clear the room. This is the front line. Major, would you mind scoping the perimeter.”

  “C
lyde, please,” he said. “I’ve been a civilian for years.”

  “Clyde, you go north. Nicko, south,” Hawker said. “But Nicko, disable the bus first. I want to make sure no one else drives it away from here.”

  Avalon tugged a table from beneath the fallen roof, righted it, picked up a fallen chair, and sat. She opened her bag, and withdrew her laptop.

  “Aren’t you helping, Doc?” Zach asked.

  “This is helping, Zachary,” she said.

  “Zach,” he muttered.

  “What are you working on?” Tess asked quickly, in a bid to stop Zach engaging in an impossible-to-win battle.

  “I’m eliminating the unfeasible alternatives,” Avalon said.

  “Alternatives for what?” Tess asked.

  “The weapon,” Avalon said.

  “You really can make one?” Zach asked.

  “Of course,” Avalon said. “But lethality is less critical than subject-targeting, hence my current studies, which would be easier without distraction.”

  Tess tugged at the fallen mat of grass, but it was more tightly bound than it had first appeared.

  “Try this,” Leo said, opening his pack and pulling out his weapons-belt-tool-holster. “Hatchet?”

  “Worth a try,” Tess said.

  “Someone lit a fire here,” Zach said, shoving aside the large pile of sand close to the wood panel bar. “Shall we do the same?”

  “It won’t get cold enough tonight,” Avalon said. “This close to the equator, it will never get cold enough.”

  “Are you missing Canada?” Tess asked. Beneath her feet, glass crunched. She bent down, and picked up a photo-frame showing happy tourists. A dozen similar photos still clung to the wall, and many more lay broken among the debris.

  “Homesickness is merely a manifestation of regret and fear,” Avalon said.

  “Yep, that sounds about my current mix of emotions,” Tess said.

  “This place won lots of awards,” Zach said, pointing his broom at one of the frames.

  “They’re fake,” Tess said. “Two things give it away. I don’t know if the Seoul Star is a real paper, but I’m reasonably confident they wouldn’t print in Portuguese, and certainly wouldn’t stick a restaurant review on the front page.”

  “Dunno,” Zach said. “Ms Godwin said newspapers were getting so desperate they’d print a lie today just so they could print the apology tomorrow.”

  “Who’s Ms Godwin?” Tess asked.

  “Oh, a librarian,” Zach said. “Those photos must be real. They’re all of this restaurant. This place looked nice. Look at the crowds.”

  “The pictures all look pretty empty to me,” Tess said. “A couple, or a small group, always by the bar. Drink in hand, sometimes coffee, sometimes not, but always smiling.”

  “Yeah, but look at this one, you can see beyond the restaurant, to the beach, and the sea. There’s lots of people at tables and… ah, yeah.” He sighed, and continued sweeping.

  “You’ve got a good eye,” Tess said. “We’ll make a copper out of you yet.”

  The air shook with a cannon’s roar. Everyone stopped working and moved towards the door.

  “It’s the frigate,” Tess said.

  “Shooting at infected ships,” Hawker said.

  “Teegan, take watch here,” Tess said. “Everyone else, back to work.” Tess went to join Hawker by the bar. “What do you think of this place?”

  “For defence? It’s terrible,” the colonel said, pulling out his water bottle. “For sleep, it won’t be much better. Keeping people here simply avoids too much pressure in the city. More refugees will depart overnight.”

  “I don’t think we can stop them,” Tess said. “Morally, or practically.”

  “No, but that’s why I had Nicko disable the bus. It’ll slow our escape, but guarantee we’ll get back to the city.”

  “The ship’s engineers are extending the runway,” Avalon said. “From the description, I would describe the activity as clearing, rather than extending. Suitable for twenty landings at most.”

  “When did you hear that?” Tess asked.

  “Laila was discussing it with her nurse-friends,” Avalon said.

  “In Arabic?” Tess asked.

  “And Portuguese,” Avalon said.

  “What were they saying about Sergeant Nicko?” Zach asked.

  “Just keep sweeping, Zach,” Tess said.

  The job was half done when the nurse, Laila, returned.

  “I bring you dinner,” Laila said, entering with one of her fellow warrior-nurses and with two large saucepans.

  “Ace,” Zach said.

  “Zachary, finish sweeping,” Avalon said.

  “What’s the point, the wind only blows it back in,” Zach said, but continued his Canutian chore of brushing the sand toward the beach.

  “Did I smell tucker?” Oakes asked, re-appearing absurdly fast.

  “If only your eyes were as good as your nose—” Hawker began, but was interrupted by a shot. Not a cannon’s roar, but a rifle’s bark. Then another, followed by a short barrage.

  “Rest time’s over,” Hawker said. “Oakes, up front. Zach, secure the saucepan. Avalon, secure your notes. Form up on Nicko, but hold your fire until we’re certain of the target.”

  Chapter 10 - Waves of Death

  Tofo Beach, Mozambique

  The setting sun cast a prismatic sheen on the oil-drenched sands. Small wrecks filled the shallows, while the shoreline was dotted with metal and timber flotsam. Ragged sails and bright rags floated on the surface, while the surf continually dragged rotting corpses ashore. Those buzzing with insects had recently been the living, while those with crushed skulls were the recently living dead.

  The rifle fire had now ceased. The target was as unclear as who had fired, though the man walking towards them carried his gun close to his shoulder, the barrel aimed at the sea. It was Clyde.

  “It gets worse after dark,” Laila said. “I shall return to my sisters. Dawn will come, and we will see you then.”

  “It’s a date,” Oakes said.

  “No, it will be breakfast,” Laila said.

  “What were you shooting at, Major?” Hawker asked.

  “Not me,” Clyde said. “Target was a corpse, moving with the waves. Defenders are all civilians. Poorly trained and poorly armed. One always makes the other worse. Everyone who had a vehicle, or who could steal one, has already fled.”

  “What’s the resolve of the people who remain?” Hawker asked. “Will they stand?”

  “For as long as they have bullets,” Clyde said. “So not for very long.”

  Minutes became hours, marked by the irregular roar of the ship’s cannon. Driftwood was gathered and stacked outside their restaurant, ready to be lit when the undead came. Night came first. The stars followed. The only humanoid shadows belonged to skulking refugee-defenders who’d decided survival lay elsewhere. With spotlights and lamps rigged about its deck, the frigate became a new star, as deadly, as life-giving, and as impossibly far away.

  Dinner was eaten in silence, hurriedly, and, despite the surrounding rot, left Tess wanting more.

  “This darkness is absurd,” Avalon said, standing up. “Leo, be useful and help me.”

  “Back in a bit,” Leo said, handing his own half-finished bowl to Zach.

  “Where are you going?” Tess asked.

  “We will commune with Joseph Swan,” Avalon said.

  “Is that Canuck for painting the dunny?” Oakes asked.

  But the scientists were already disappearing among the shadows. They weren’t gone long.

  “Mind your eyes,” Leo said, raising his hands. A dull yellow beam stretched southward across the beach. “It’s one of the bus’s headlamps rigged to the laptop’s spare battery pack.”

  “How long will it last?” Hawker asked.

  “A couple of hours,” Leo said.

  “Zach, take it up to the restaurant’s roof,” Hawker said. “Nicko, give him a boost. Zach, stick to the
central beams, they’ll take your weight. Don’t switch on the lamp until you get the order. When you do, aim it at the shallows, not at us.”

  “Don’t forget your weapon,” Nicko said.

  “Take these,” Avalon said, handing Zach a notebook, pen, and a small reading light.

  “What is it?”

  “Homework,” Avalon said. “Education should never wait.”

  Zach turned the light on, and opened the notebook. “If a train is travelling at— You seriously want me to do equations?”

  “We don’t want you falling asleep,” Avalon said.

  “Bet I will now,” Zach grumbled as he followed Sergeant Oakes back to the restaurant.

  The ship’s cannon roared. The sky briefly glowed orange as the shell impacted somewhere beyond the horizon. More lights sprang from the ship, followed by two flares, fired fore and aft, then a third, fired shoreward, creating ominously stretched shadows among the floating wreckage.

  “Danger is still a long time away,” Clyde said, his voice low and calm, but so close to her ear Tess jumped.

  “Strewth, mate, you made me spring high enough to leave my boots behind,” she said.

  The warship fired again, followed by a sharper staccato burst from a machine gun. To their left and right, single shots joined the distant automatic fire. But those bullets, fired blind into a roiling sea, did no harm to the waves.

  Two lights detached themselves from the warship.

  “They’re sending out a boat,” Clyde said. “But they can’t approach too close to shore, not while the civilians are shooting at shadows.”

  “But what are they shooting at?” Tess asked.

  The warship’s main gun ceased fire, while the machine gun had switched to short, irregular bursts. Another flare turned the sea crimson, though some patches appeared more red than others. From the ship came a put-put-put almost instantly followed by a triplet of at-surface explosions.

  “Grenade launcher,” Clyde said. “Part of a close-combat weapons system in case pirates, in fast boats, try to swarm the ship.”

  “You think there are pirates out there?” Tess asked.

  “Nope,” Clyde said. “It’s all zoms.”