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

by Tayell, Frank

  Ship-plates and twisted hulls clanked and groaned as waves surged over the shore-side wreckage. But above that, distant and indistinct, she could hear the sound of gunfire from the warship.

  “Are they using rifles?” she asked.

  “Could be,” Clyde said. “The small boat’s stopped firing. It’s heading north, towards the two diesel freighters, I guess.”

  “Running away?” Tess asked. “Or are they running towards a new danger?”

  “Neither, they’re getting clear of the crossfire,” Clyde said.

  Another flare rose from the ship, illuminating the sea, now scattered with reflective-red strips and dotted with small lights.

  “Is it just me, or are there lights at sea? Lots of them?” she said.

  “Yep,” Clyde said.

  “They’re life jackets, aren’t they?” she said. “People in life jackets, but the ship is firing. Zombies! Zombies in life jackets.”

  “Floaters inbound!” Clyde called. “Ten minutes.”

  “Ten minutes? That long?” Tess asked.

  “With this tide? Ten minutes, and then for a couple of hours,” Clyde said, still utterly calm. “Must have been a cruise ship for them to have so many life jackets to hand out. The frigate didn’t sink the ship, she burst it.”

  “We’re forming a line,” the colonel called. “Us and the nurses, five metres apart. You deal with your section, and let your neighbour deal with theirs. I’ve got the north. Nicko, get Zach to turn on the spotlight, then you take the south. If I set fire to that pile of kindling, it’s time to retreat to the bus, and back to Inhambane.”

  Tess knew enough to keep her rifle lowered as she watched the crimson shadows creep into the beam of the bus’s removed headlamp. Flare light glinted from the life jacket’s reflective strips, overwhelming the vest’s weakly flashing light. This was worse than the bridge. There she’d been one part of an improvised killing machine, effective as long as the ammo lasted, and the dozers remained in position. It was worse than Broken Hill where the principal enemy had been familiarly human. It was worse than the coup, for then there had been no time for fear.

  The floater’s arm languidly rose. He had a beard, mostly grey. His head was close-shaved. Beneath the vest, his shirt was green and red. Not a uniform. Just a civilian. Just another person. The mouth opened. The arms thrashed. The shallows foamed as hands splashed. Just another zombie. She fired. The figure slumped. Finally, utterly, eternally motionless. She kept her light on the corpse, watching the body drift with the waves, forth, then back, then forth, until it snagged on a semi-submerged spar.

  She scanned the waves for the next patch of reflected light, then lowered the carbine as she realised it would take another minute before it was in range.

  At first, it was easy. Surprisingly so. The blinking lights and reflective strips grew more distinct as the floating bodies approached. As some became entangled with sunken wreckage, those same lights gave her a distance-marker by which to judge her aim. From beyond their section of beach, the gunfire rose to a frenzy, but more quickly slackened as ammunition was expended. But the neighbouring gunfire didn’t entirely cease. As long as the other defenders held the line, as long as they had ammunition, as long as they didn’t flee, they could control this beach. But for how long would that be?

  When her trigger clicked on an empty chamber, it came as a surprise. She slotted a new magazine into place, forcing herself to pocket the empty before raising the carbine and firing her thirty-first shot at what had to be nearly the same number of dead. A quick glance up and down the beach, and she saw a star-field of lights decorating the wreckage, illuminating the carpet of reflective-red in the nearby shallows. Her confidence fled.

  The ships which had arrived in Australia, and those which they had sent back to sea, had been crammed ten times beyond capacity. Here, the number of passengers was irrelevant. How many life jackets did a cruise ship carry? Hundreds of corpses had already washed onto an already toxic shore. By mid-day, this beach would be uninhabitable. No matter how hard they fought, this beach was lost. But they had no method of organising a retreat, and nowhere to escape to, so she fired on, until she heard a scream, then a burst of automatic fire from behind. The light from the dim headlamp vanished.

  “Hold the line!” Tess yelled as she spun around.

  The restaurant’s grass roof had collapsed. Zach’s belly was balanced on the roof beam, his legs on one side, his arms on the other. Beneath him, the fallen roof shuddered and broke as a zombie punched and kicked through the withered grass. Only its cumbersome red life jacket prevented the creature from reaching high enough to grab Zach’s legs.

  “Hold on, Zach!” she said.

  “Yeah, you think?” Zach yelled back.

  A second zombie rose like a volcano from under the collapsed grass roof. She fired, but it stumbled. Her shot missed. A second bullet blew the ghoul’s skull apart, but that shot hadn’t come from her weapon.

  “Drop, Zachary!” Laila called.

  “Get him out of here, I’ll secure the street,” Tess said.

  “Of course,” Laila said.

  “No,” Hawker said.

  Tess half-turned. She’d not heard the soldier following her.

  “The zombies are behind us,” Tess said, as Laila hauled Zach through the collapsed branches.

  “An unknown number of hostiles, in an unlit town, in unfamiliar terrain,” Hawker said. “We’ll form a square on the beach, where any stray bullets are unlikely to hit our transport. As long as our ammo lasts, we’ve nothing to fear.”

  “It won’t last forever,” Tess said. “I’m down to two magazines.”

  “When we’re down to one, that’s when we’ll retreat,” Hawker said.

  16th March

  Chapter 11 - Prayer for the Living

  Inhambane, Mozambique

  Never had dawn taken so long to arrive, though when it did, and Tess looked around, she found that no one had died. In fact, their numbers had grown. Either not understanding Colonel Hawker’s orders, or pretending not to, the nurses had dashed into the darkness, returning with one or two survivors, again and again. While a running figure was the best indication in near-darkness that a person wasn’t undead, it had still been nearly impossible not to shoot the figures charging in from every direction.

  “We need a better way of telling zombies from the living,” Tess said, as Laila jogged back to their beachfront square beside a rotund man struggling to keep up. “How’s your arm?”

  “Almost as alive as I am,” Laila said. “I worry the wound has become infected. We must locate more antibiotics.”

  “The sun’s rising,” Tess said. “We’ll find some this morning.”

  “There are none here,” Laila said. “Before you arrived, we had searched for as far as the helicopter can reach. We must look elsewhere.”

  “The helicopter has been flying off in search of supplies?” Tess asked, getting another clue to the nightmare existence for these refugees hoping help would come with the new dawn. But this dawn had only brought clarity as to the extent of the destruction.

  “Never understood why they called dawn a cold light,” Clyde said. “Feels pretty warm to me.”

  “It’s a massacre,” Zach said.

  The sand was covered in red-vested corpses. The life-vests’ emergency lights still flashed, though they were barely visible against the rising sun. More bodies, some still moving, were snagged on the semi-sunken debris littering the shore. Even more dotted the now calm sea.

  “The tide’s going out, isn’t it?” Tess asked.

  “We’ve got a few hours respite,” Hawker said. “My advice—”

  But before he could give it, four-engined salvation lumbered through the sky, shredding the stillness twice over as a cheer erupted from among the refugee-defenders.

  “That’s a C-5 Galaxy,” Clyde said. “She’s the plane which should have brought us here.”

  “Better late than never,” Tess said. “Bruce, wh
at do we do?”

  “I’ll clear the beach,” Hawker said. “Pick up survivors. Eliminate any hostiles. But this position won’t hold. We’ll fall back inland, and away from the shore. I need to know how many planes are inbound, and a timeframe for a complete evac.”

  “Laila, could you come with me to translate? C’mon, Zach.”

  “Me?” he asked.

  “You’re my driver, aren’t you?” Tess said. “We’ll take the injured with us, back to the airport.”

  It took a few minutes to translate the words, and a few more to get the injured, and one incredibly pregnant woman, aboard. She was glassy-eyed, barely out of her teens, and utterly exhausted.

  “It’s all right, ma’am,” Zach said, almost lifting her aboard. “A bus, a plane, and you’ll be in a hospital in Perth.”

  Even as Tess asked herself how true that was, she spotted two children moving through the bullet-flecked palm trees. Boys wearing shorts, t-shirts, and a bandolier, each carrying an old rifle almost as big as they were tall.

  “Hey, kids, over here!” she called. “Get aboard.”

  They seemed to understand, in that one shook his head, and both continued through the trees towards the beach.

  “Come, Tess,” Laila said. “Please.”

  The notion of leaving the children behind grated against her years of service where the resources of an entire department, state, and sometimes country, would go into saving just one life. Now the scales had flipped, and the world was reduced to a handful of individuals, trying to save what remained of the entire world; they truly couldn’t help everyone.

  As Zach drove them inland, the road was already filling with pedestrian survivors who’d remained hidden during the long night. Clearly, the arrival of the plane, as much as the dawn, had been the signal that it was time to flee.

  “Slow down,” Laila said, jumping out of the bus’s open door. Zach eased off the gas, though he was travelling barely faster than the crowd.

  The nurse approached an old woman walking between two teenage girls, and spoke with them briefly, before the old woman turned around and resumed walking. Laila jogged back to the bus, and jumped aboard.

  “Did you offer them a ride?” Tess asked.

  “Yes, but she lost interest when I said we were going to Inhambane,” Laila said.

  “But that’s where the plane’s gone,” Zach said, pivoting around to look back at the walking trio.

  “Hands on the wheel,” Tess said. “Eyes on the road.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Zach said. “But why don’t they want to come to the city?”

  “Because it is only one plane,” Laila said. “One plane yesterday. One plane this morning. The city is full of refugees. There will be no seats for them, and so they will leave now, before everyone else.”

  “Did they say where they’re heading?” Tess asked.

  “South,” Laila said. “If the South Africans came here, then South Africa is empty, that is their thinking.”

  “It’s a long way to the border,” Tess said. “Did you tell them about the zombies on the bridge?”

  “There are lost souls everywhere,” Laila said. “They are the new universal truth.”

  Tess counted over two hundred refugees before the road branched and Zach drove them due west. With only a hundred now on the beach, and perhaps twice that many still hiding among the ruins, thousands must have fled during the night. Fled, died, or been infected. Not all the undead they’d killed had been wearing life jackets.

  No one was fleeing from Inhambane. Nor did she see any undead on the road leading to the small city. Not until they reached the new walls. Three corpses lay splayed by the road. Two bore savage cuts on arms and chest, while their slowly decaying skin carried an increasingly familiar lifeless pallor. The third? Well, better to assume all three were zombies, though friendly fire was an unfortunate consequence of their new reality.

  “Can we hurry, please,” Laila asked, now standing next to the pregnant young woman. “Please!”

  “Hoy! Let us in!” Zach called. “We’re New Zealanders from the frigate!”

  “I don’t know if—” Tess began, but the truck blocking the road began to reverse as it was towed clear. “Neat trick, Zach,” she said.

  The road was empty as they drove to the airport, but the rooftops were more full than ever. So was the concourse close to the runway.

  “Stop here, Zach,” Tess said. “Wait with the bus.”

  Rows of children were lining up at the apron’s edge, under the watchful eyes of Elaina, Bianca, and the bandaged Saleema. Something about that rang alarm bells. So did the sight of the plane. Scores of soldiers were slowly disembarking.

  “Saleema! There’s a woman about to give birth in the bus, can you help?”

  The bandaged nurse frowned in partial comprehension, but jogged towards the bus.

  Tess hurried over to the plane where Commander Tusitala was speaking with Mick Dodson, and two of the new arrivals, both wearing mottled-mud and bush-red camouflage.

  “G’day, Tess,” Mick said. “Back on time, just as promised.”

  “Mick, there’s a woman giving birth in that bus,” Tess said.

  “No worries, I’ll get my bag,” Mick said, and dashed back to the plane.

  “Commander,” Tess said, taking in the two newcomers. “The plane was supposed to pick up refugees, not bring more people.”

  “You are Commissioner Qwong?” the woman with the tired eyes and worn smile said. “I am Ambassador Lebogang Gwala of South Africa.” She indicated her companion. “This is General Mafika Mbuli of the African Union.”

  “Where are the Mozambique leaders?” the general asked.

  “On the bus, bringing a new life into this world,” Tess said. “Are more planes coming? Are more soldiers?”

  “We will not abandon Africa,” the ambassador said.

  “I was explaining that this position is no longer tenable,” Commander Tusitala said.

  Mick jumped off the plane, a red med-kit hanging over his shoulder, and sprinted to the bus.

  “Zombies don’t swim,” Tess said. “They float. They were wearing life jackets when they were infected. They fall from the relief ships which never disembarked in Madagascar. The floating zombies drift ashore. Last night, we fought, dusk till dawn, to hold Tofo Beach. This morning, the shore is covered in bodies. The shallows are full of wreckage. The sand is stained black with infected blood. Nothing will live there ever again. But the zoms will still come. They will still float ashore. Every day. Every night. The civilians are fleeing, and they’re not coming here. They’re going south. Taking their chances in the interior.”

  “This is what I was trying to explain,” Tusitala said. “The waters are too polluted to fish. Thankfully, we’ve got a surplus of diesel aboard those two freighters, but we’re low on food and ammunition, and almost out of water. We can hold this town if the planes bring in supplies, but not if they’re full of people.”

  Tess spotted Mick, walking over with far less haste than he’d run from the plane, and without his red bag.

  “Is the baby okay?”

  “Just a bit shy,” Mick said. “Give her another two hours. I got some of those soldiers to help the mum into the shade. We’ll get her, and the baby, onto one of the next planes. Speaking of whom, they’ll be here within the hour.” He looked down at his watch. “Forty minutes unless they stopped to enjoy the view, so I’ve got to get this plane out of here. You lot sorted it out?”

  “How many more planes are coming, Mick?” Tess asked.

  “Four more of these,” Mick said. “Each with a hundred or so troops aboard.”

  “We have four thousand more soldiers in Perth,” the general said. “We were promised ships would bring us to Africa.”

  “But we know the ships are sunk,” the ambassador said, her comment directed more at the general.

  “How many kids can you get aboard?” Tess asked.

  “About three hundred,” Mick said. “Diego
Garcia is underwater. Réunion has been wrecked, but the runway on the island of Rodrigues is open. We’re going to fly the kids there.”

  “When you say open, do you mean defended?” Tess asked.

  “More or less,” Mick said. “A bunch of fighter pilots flew a long-range civilian jet over the islands. The runway is usable. We’re going to relay the civilians there. There’s enough fuel here for about forty hops. That’ll get the kids and the injured out of here. There’s a couple of Globemasters on their way to Rodrigues with some food, and if the fuel holds up, we’ll add them to our ferry-fleet. Get some lights up on the runways, keep the beacon running, and we can fly through the night. We’ll be done in twenty-four hours.”

  “But that’s only the children,” the ambassador said. “How long to remove all of the civilians?”

  “A few days,” Mick said. “Depends on fuel, planes, and the state of the runway after we get the kids safe, so ask me tomorrow. I better get these children aboard.”

  “The planes are already on their way,” Tess said. “But Tofo Beach has been lost. With these new soldiers, we can defend the city, and put together a couple of strike teams. Commander, does the captain still think we can seize one of the floating ships?”

  “Do you mean a ship full of the living dead?” the general asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Tusitala said. “If we can repair the engines, anchor offshore, it can be a floating castle, far safer than this city.”

  “Aren’t these ships drifting towards the shore?” the ambassador asked. “Before securing the vessel, these commandos must secure the engine room, and then bring tools and machines aboard, and then transfer fuel, and complete the work before the ship runs aground? How many engineers do you have? How many can you lose?”

  “Commissioner?” a timid and exhausted voice asked.

  Tess turned, and saw Bianca standing a nearly respectful distance behind Mick.

  “Give me a moment, Bee,” Tess said.

  “This is important,” Bianca said.

  Tess turned her back on the debate that was already morphing into an argument. “What’s up?” she asked.