“Any minute now!” Hawker yelled.
“Ten minutes, yeah?” Rudi called.
“The copter can pick them up from that roof,” Hawker said, his voice lower, speaking only to those in this classroom.
“There’s no roof door in that building,” Nkosi said.
Teegan drew a knife, and began working at the frame of a window on the far left of the room, almost above the walkway.
“What are you doing?” Tess asked.
“Being a solution rather than a burden,” Toppley said. “It’s blindingly obvious what we must do.”
“Clyde, help her,” Tess said, uncertain of the gunrunner’s plan, but glad someone had one.
“Where’s the roof access to this building?” Bruce asked.
“Near the stairwell,” Nkosi said as Clyde slammed his shoulder into the window frame. With a pop, the pane burst from the frame, and slammed onto the zombies below, felling one without shattering.
“Saves a bullet,” Toppley said.
“You can save the rest of them,” Hawker said. “We’re going up to the roof.”
“Oh, there’s no time,” Toppley said. She unclipped the rope from the loop on Clyde’s vest. “No time, and no need. Major, would you be a dear and hold onto this end?”
“What are you—” Tess began, even as Toppley looped the other end of the rope around her waist. “You’re going to climb down?”
“Down to the walkway and then across,” Toppley said, dropping bag and rifle. She patted her own rope, still looped on her vest. “I’ll climb up the other side, tie this rope to the drainpipe, and pull the children up onto the roof. The soldiers are too heavy, you’re too valuable, and this teacher knows her way around the school if we need a plan-B. I can do this, Tess. Trust me. I’ve done it before.”
“You’ve done this before?” Nkosi asked.
“Something very similar,” Toppley said, pushing a chair next to the window. She peered down. “Admittedly, I was a lot younger.”
Clyde grabbed the loose end of rope, looping it around his own waist. “I’ve got you.”
All the reasons why this was a bad idea lined up too fast to be articulated, but thirteen reasons why they had to try were standing at the long window of the opposite classroom.
“A lot younger,” Toppley said as she clambered, legs first, out the window. Clyde gripped the rope, bracing his feet against the wall, as Toppley leaned back, letting the rope, and the soldier, take her weight.
“Tess, over here,” Hawker said, sheathing his knife, having hacked a second window free from its frame.
Tess ran to the window, and aimed her rifle down, while Hawker worked on the next window frame; there were plenty of targets. If Toppley fell, she’d be torn to pieces. Please don’t fall, she thought.
Firing, she only caught glimpses of the taut rope, of Toppley’s slow but methodical sideways walk. But each step across came with half a step down. The rope needed a pulley. Toppley needed more strength. Nkosi added her own, grabbing hold of the rope, keeping it taut.
Another window popped out, but even as it fell, Hawker ran back to the door. “Contact in the corridor,” the colonel called.
Tess ejected her spent magazine, letting her hands reload while she turned her eyes to the door. “Are we in trouble, Bruce?”
“No worries,” he said. “Not yet.”
The rope was still taut, but Toppley was only above the middle section of the walkway. One foot, then another, she lowered herself down, onto the roof’s edge until she was standing spread-eagled, hands braced on the wall, toes on the walkway.
Tess changed her aim, shooting the undead beneath the breached walkway.
“She cut the rope!” Clyde said.
“What?” Tess asked, sparing a second to look.
Toppley was walking in an arms-wide, back-bent crouch along the centre of the walkway’s roof. The canopy was sagging under her weight. Below, the zombies were beating against the one remaining wall, and against each other, in unthinking frenzy. But Toppley moved quickly, reaching the far end of the walkway before Tess had fired two more shots.
Toppley spread-eagled herself again, arms flush with the wall, feet almost entirely on the bolts bracketing that walkway to the wall.
“Boss, we’ve got a problem,” Clyde said.
“How is she going to climb up the other side?” Nkosi asked.
Toppley had thought of that. She drew her knife, and reached up towards a narrow-grilled air vent. But she couldn’t reach.
“It’s too high,” Nkosi said. “Give me that.” She drew the knife from Clyde’s sheath, and tucked it into her costume-trousers. She grabbed the now cut rope. “Hold that rope!” she said, wrapping it around her hands.
“Tess!” Clyde said.
The teacher swung rather than walked, letting go of the rope to land, face first, splayed across the roof. The frame shook with the impact, buckling even as Nkosi crawled onward. Toppley reached down, grabbed the teacher’s hand, hauling her up as the walkway on Tess’s side collapsed a further three feet. But the brackets on which Toppley and Nkosi stood held.
Toppley didn’t have the strength, nor a secure enough perch, to lift the teacher far. But she bent her knee, and crooked her elbow, becoming a human ladder up which Nkosi could climb, high enough to slam the knife between vent and wall. With that as a lever, the teacher swung herself around and up, grabbing a security light’s bracket.
“Rope!” Nkosi said. “Throw me the rope!”
Toppley unclipped the coiled rope from her vest and threw it up. Nkosi almost fumbled the catch, but looped it onto her arm before, in a gold-medal move, swinging herself up onto the light-bracket. She stood, and clambered over the gutter and onto the roof. A second later, she dropped the rope to Toppley.
Tess didn’t relax until Teegan had both arms atop the roof.
“See, kids!” the Afrikaner gardener yelled from the other building, ostensibly talking to the children, but clearly addressing his colleague. “That is why physical education is the most important subject in school.”
“How are we doing, Bruce?” Tess asked.
“Nicko’s holding his position,” Hawker said. “We’ve got a minute.”
Opposite, the two women had hauled up the rope and were already repositioning it above the classroom. Tess picked up Toppley’s rifle. “Time for us to get to the roof,” she said.
Three of the children had made it to the roof when the helicopter returned. Aboard, from its previous deployment as a U.S. Coast Guard rescue vehicle, were harnesses, a winch, and two sailors who knew how to operate it. Tess leaned back, closing her eyes, not wanting to watch until, far sooner than she’d expected, the helicopter flew northward once more.
Nkosi, Rudi, Toppley, and both of the sailors remained on the rooftop opposite, but they, like Tess, were slumped on the hard floor. The children had been saved.
Tess raised a hand. “That was crazy, Teegan!” she yelled.
The older woman simply nodded, and bowed her head.
“How are we doing, Bruce?” Tess asked.
“We’re safe enough,” Hawker said. “Lot of zoms down below, and there’s more in the classrooms immediately below this roof. Well over a thousand in the grounds. More coming from the northeast.”
“Are they following the helicopter?” Tess said.
“They are now,” Hawker said. “But zoms are slow. They were heading this way anyway. Maybe following Laila.”
“Hmm. It proves one thing,” Tess said. “There’s no one leaving Cape Town for the zombies to follow northward.”
She leaned back, waiting for the helicopter to return, but when she heard an engine it sounded wrong. Larger. Faster. Bigger. Approaching from the north. It was a twin-engine jet with UN painted beneath each wing.
Chapter 24 - News From Above
Robben Island, Cape Town, South Africa
Leo was waiting for the helicopter when it set down on Robben Island. Tess grabbed his arm, and dragged him aw
ay from the slowing rotors.
“Who was flying that plane?” Tess asked when she was far enough away from the copter that she could hear her own thoughts. “Was it Mick?”
“No, it was Wing Commander O’Bryan,” Leo said.
“The pilot running the airport at Perth?” Tess asked.
“She flew out of Rodrigues,” Leo said. “The children are there. They’re safe. A rescue fleet is on its way.”
“On its way to Rodrigues or to us?” Tess asked.
“Both,” Leo said.
“Has there been word from the African Union?”
“Not that I know of,” he said. “Hold still a moment.” He raised the Geiger counter. “You’re fine.”
“Has anyone not been?” she asked.
“There’ve been a few cuts, a lot of bruises, and a few concussions. A group made it to the beach. Thirty-nine of them. Zoms followed. Lost two before we got them onto the boat.” He held up the Geiger counter. “I’ve got to check everyone else.”
Tess nodded, replaying what he’d said, but kept her finger too long on the mental replay-button, and ended up reliving the last two hours. It was a relief when a voice called her name.
“Commissioner!” Captain Adams waved from a pathway near the museum.
Tess cut across the parched lawn. “I hear there’s a fleet on its way,” she said.
“Not exactly,” Adams said. “A rescue flotilla is on its way to Rodrigues. One ship is being redirected to us. The plane will return overhead in two days, and two days after that, to ascertain whether additional capacity will be required. If the African Union hasn’t arrived by then, the convoy will have insufficient fuel to reach Cape Town. Shall we take a walk?”
“That’d be pleasant. Help me shake off the day. I’m guessing the plane didn’t see the African Union convoy?”
“No. They followed the coast, assuming that was the road the convoy would travel. No sign. No word. But there are three craters relatively close to Port Elizabeth. One to the southwest, one to the north, one to the north-northeast.”
“It sounds like South Africa was plastered,” Tess said.
“Was it just South Africa?” Adams asked. “But even if we knew, what good would the knowledge do us now? I hear Toppley and a South African teacher swung across the rooftops with knives in their mouths?”
“Almost,” Tess said. “It was an impressive stunt. Saved the kids.”
“Four helicopter flights and an entire day. I’m not sure how much ammunition you expended, or what other supplies were lost, but it is an unsustainable price.”
“But worth it,” Tess said.
“Oh, certainly. Your mission absolutely was a success, but I’m considering the future. Thirty-nine survivors made their way to the beach.”
“Leo told me.”
“We collected them with two boats, and without any of our people firing a shot, partly because those survivors were firing far too many.” She tugged at the sleeve of her shirt, which now sported a hole.
“You were shot?”
“Friendly fire,” Adams said. “It was a lucky miss. From what Lesadi and Thato told us, and what the pregnant teacher from the school confirmed, the school and the hospital were the most organised and well-equipped redoubts in the city. Speaking to the people we collected by boat, by around a week ago, people had gathered in groups of between a hundred and two hundred. But around a week ago, the food reserves failed, and the groups began splintering. Smaller groups have been moving location on a nearly daily basis as they hunt for food. Wherever people were a week ago, they weren’t there yesterday. Who knows where they’ll be tomorrow?”
“We’ve got to find them,” Tess said.
“No, we shall let them find us,” Adams said. “We can set up a searchlight at night, and send up a helicopter by day, but we’ll use the boats to collect them when they arrive on the beach.”
“So we’re not looking for them at all?”
“I won’t stop volunteers going ashore,” Adams said. “But there is a limit to how far they can range before needing to return. We’ll need local guides, and very recent knowledge of where to look and where to avoid. However, all of the survivors rescued today saw our helicopters. Everyone in the city will have done the same. It will be more efficient to signal them to come to us, unless they can find a refuge from which to signal us.”
“I guess there are worse places to wait,” Tess said. “That’s a great view of Table Mountain. And to think they turned this island into a prison. When will the rescue ship arrive?”
“In between six and eight days,” Adams said. “Food will have to be rationed.”
“It doesn’t sound like we’ll find much more in the city.”
“No, and anyone who makes it to the beach will be travelling light. Some might know of a cache somewhere, but can we reach it safely? Whether we stay or leave, we’ll be eating into our ship’s supplies.”
“Leave?” Tess asked. “For Perth?”
“For Panama,” Adams said. “We can remain at sea for another month without provisioning. Whatever supplies the relief ship has will be needed for the local survivors, and for their voyage to Perth. There won’t be a second ship for you to take west. If we wait until the relief ship arrives, we’ll have consumed a week’s provisions. Three weeks will remain, and that’s not enough to reach South America and return. I say South America, and I hope we could reach Panama, but we will need to refuel in Ascension. If we can’t, we’ll have to return here.”
“If we can refuel, will we go to Colombia?” Tess asked.
“We have to,” Adams said. “We are here, and so we have to try. I don’t know if we’ll find any more survivors along our way, or what help we can offer. We will look. We will help. And we will be the last ship to make such a voyage for many months. There will be other ships, one day. Any information we can gather will help ensure the success of their mission. But yes, we have to go to Colombia. If those terrorists are there, they must be destroyed. Any research they have to build this weapon must be retrieved. My crew insist on it, now that they know why the scientists are here. I agree with them. Every sailor has a moral duty to help other mariners, and our orders were to protect the refugees. My crew holds tight to that duty, and believe those orders still stand. To protect the refugees in the Pacific, we must end the cartel-terrorists, and end this plague.”
“If we can,” Tess said.
“We must try,” Adams said. “I know you agree, because you’re here. The African Union agreed. They volunteered to board a plane to Africa to maintain a foothold they knew it would be near impossible to resupply. After losing Sullivan, after losing so many, no one wants our mission to end here in what seems like a retreat, if not entirely a defeat. The old world is gone. What we thought of as civilisation, as society, as normal will never return. We’ll build something new, but what will determine whether it’s better is how soon we can begin. Anything which can wipe out this plague a day sooner must be pursued. This is the only chance, the last voyage in many months. I know the general wanted to maintain a foothold in Africa, but that’s impossible.”
“I think he knew it,” Tess said. “Canberra certainly does. Before we left Canberra, the prime minister gave a speech saying we had to focus on rebuilding Australia. When we reached Perth, the local commander thought the refugees were gone from Mozambique, and had already redirected every search-and-rescue resource north, up to the Andaman Islands.”
“We’re in retreat,” Adams said. “It was inevitable and it is essential so that we can one day come back. It’s those scientists who’ll determine how close to home that retreat will take us. Small islands might have offered a refuge to some, but India will have fared no better than Africa. Table Bay is a heavy storm away from becoming a toxic swamp. We sailed from Madagascar to Cape Town, found no truly safe anchorage, and lost the African Union convoy on the way. The Northern Hemisphere collapsed before the bombs fell. It will be far worse now.”
“Just lea
ving a question mark over South America,” Tess said.
“A question mark is better than here be dragons,” she said. “I’ll leave boats, and pilots for the civilian helicopters, and as much ammunition, medical supplies, and food as we can spare. They only have to wait six days, perhaps eight, until the relief ship arrives. I still can’t promise we’ll reach Colombia, or even South America, but duty demands we try.”
Adams returned to the ship while Tess continued her walk, until, behind one of the houses previously belonging to the museum staff, she saw Toppley, alone, sitting splay-legged on a patch of grass.
“G’day,” Tess said, sitting next to her.
“Howzit,” Toppley said.
“That was a crazy thing you did back at the school.”
“It was ill-conceived and improperly thought through,” Toppley said.
“I didn’t mean it as a criticism.”
“The helicopter, and those sailors with their winch, were already on the way,” Toppley said. “The children would have been saved regardless of my foolishness, but I felt old. Useless. Surplus to requirements.”
“We didn’t know the helicopter was bringing a winch, and none of us came up with a better plan. Something had to be done, and you did it. You’re not surplus, and we all feel useless. How can we not? We’re savings tens while knowing, just beyond reach, thousands more are dying every day. Even the captain feels it. We’re going west tomorrow. Leaving the boats and those civilian helicopters, and a small crew, but we’re going west to look for more survivors.”
“Via Colombia?”
“Hopefully. The crew want revenge, and the weapon,” Tess said. “The captain wants to save as many people as she can.”
“To make up for those she’s lost,” Toppley said. “She’s not the only one who feels like that. A rescue ship is on its way?”
“One. At least one, yes,” Tess said. “They should be here in a week.”
Life Goes On | Book 4 | If Not Us [Surviving The Evacuation] Page 23
