Surviving The Evacuation (Book 7): Home

by Frank Tayell

“A radio?” she asked.

  “Right,” Chester said. “Why would he carry one of those unless he wasn’t alone? And if he wasn’t alone, where are the others? They’re either nearby or in Westminster.”

  “In Westminster? Oh, no, that’s where Nilda’s gone.”

  The mother and the other

  Nilda looked from Chester running along the path, to those readying themselves to follow him, and then to the others hustling the children to safety. Tuck pushed past her, hurtling after Chester. Above, the drone buzzed to a hovering halt near the top floor of the office block. Everything was happening too quickly. No one was thinking. Nilda took a step out onto the path, about to follow Chester, and then she stopped. That was the easy thing to do, the primal response. Chase. Hunt. Attack. But it was the wrong thing for her to do. They had found Graham for now, but if he escaped, if he made it back to Westminster…

  She ran across the path, drew her sword, and hacked at the rope holding the now partially deflated raft to the bank. She cut it free, and then hauled on the rope for the other still-intact raft, pulling it close to the steps.

  “What are you doing?”

  Nilda turned to see McInery standing behind her. “Going to Westminster. Unless we kill him, sooner or later Graham will go back there. But right now he’s here.”

  “Then let’s get him!” McInery yelled.

  “One more person chasing him won’t make any difference,” Nilda said. “This is our chance to get rifles and enough ammo to hunt him down if he gets away. We can stop him once and for all. And as he escapes he’ll be looking behind, he won’t—”

  “Fine. Yes,” McInery interrupted. “I’m coming with you.”

  Nilda hesitated.

  “You can’t row there on your own,” McInery said. “And this is my chance at redemption. I’m entitled to that, aren’t I? A new life in this new world.”

  “Then grab an oar,” Nilda said. She looked back at the castle and saw Greta standing in the doorway. “Go after Chester,” she called.

  After that, they rowed in silence and Nilda tried to lose herself in the activity, trying to drown out the voice of realism that told her they could wander around Westminster for days without finding the stash of weapons, and that Graham would only need hours to get back there. Less, the voice said. He could run faster than they could row.

  “Faster!” she hissed, and threw all she had into pulling on the oars, but the doubting voice only grew louder.

  Nilda drew her sword, gauging the distance between her and the zombie. Ten feet. Eight. She raised the blade. Six. She swept it down, cutting at its knees. It fell as she took a step back, changed her grip, and stabbed the blade at its head. The road by Embankment Tube Station was littered with the undead. Some were those they had killed during their ill-fated expedition of a few weeks before, but others had been killed more recently. By Graham, she thought, it had to be. And she looked around for some trap he might have set.

  “There’s no time to waste,” McInery said. “He could be back here any time.”

  “He might have set traps,” Nilda said, still examining the roadway.

  “And you know what they’d look like do you?” McInery retorted. “Come on. Quick.”

  Nilda followed, her eyes scanning the rubble for wires, but McInery was right. Except for bad movies and worse news reports she had no idea what an improvised explosive looked like, nor any reason to suspect Graham knew how to make one. She turned her mind back to the present, but made sure to step only where McInery put her feet.

  McInery clambered up a pile of rubble, jumped down, and kept running. Nilda followed, reaching the top of the heap of broken masonry as a zombie reared up in front of her. Its clawed hand raked against her leg. She punched her fist into its face, feeling the skin on her knuckles tear as the creature rocked back. She swung the sword at its neck over and over until its head lolled to one side, and the creature collapsed. She clambered down the rubble and realised she was limping.

  The road was full of the undead. Most were motionless, but there were nine crawling or staggering towards them.

  “This way!” McInery yelled as she swung her axe down. “Hurry!”

  Nilda limped after her, following the path the other woman had cleared through the undead. She stabbed the sword at one of the still-standing creatures. Ten yards later, she swung at the legs of a second, slicing through tendon and bone, and then they were onto a clear stretch of road with the undead now behind them.

  “We’ll have to find a different way back,” McInery said. “But that’s a problem for later. Are you all right?”

  Nilda looked down. Her trousers were torn, her leg was bloody, but she felt no pain. She picked a broken fingernail from her leg. The pain would come, she thought, but not yet.

  “I’m fine,” Nilda said.

  “Good,” McInery said. “We’re almost there.”

  Nilda limped after McInery as they took one turn, and then another. They passed more undead, but each had been shot.

  “How long did this take?” Nilda murmured.

  “What?” McInery asked.

  “I was thinking aloud. How long did it take to shoot all of these?”

  “Probably no longer than a few seconds each. Does it matter?” McInery replied.

  “I don’t know,” Nilda said. Somehow it seemed like it should. It might only take a few seconds to aim and fire, but first Graham would have to get in position. Even then, it looked like most of the zombies had been shot multiple times, with some having been almost torn apart by bullets. Or perhaps he’d done that after he’d killed them. Ascribing rational behaviour to someone who—

  “Over there,” McInery called, interrupting her thoughts. “That’s the Foreign Office.”

  Nilda nodded and realised her mind had been wandering. She was exhausted from rowing, and her leg was feeling shaky. Blood was flowing down her leg, she could feel it pooling in her shoe. She’d left her pack back at the castle, and that had a few bandages in it. And her water bottle as well. That brought a sudden realisation of how thirsty she was. She wanted to stop. To rest. To sleep. The last few days, having to say goodbye to her son over and over, had been more than draining.

  “We could hide them in the tunnels. What do you think?” McInery asked.

  “I’m sorry? Hide what?”

  “The suitcases,” McInery said. “They are more important than rifles. If we hide them, Graham may kill us, but he won’t be able to threaten any other survivors. It’s not just us we have to think about, not even the children, but the species itself.”

  “Right. Yes. The cases.” She’d not given them any thought. “What tunnels?”

  “Well, the Tube tunnels would be a start, but all the government buildings were connected by an underground system. Help me with the door.”

  Nilda pushed at the door. A barricade of furniture had been arranged in a ring just inside the entrance to the Foreign Office.

  “It’s too obvious isn’t it?” McInery said. “Here, let me help you up.”

  With her help, Nilda climbed over the barricade. Only when she stood on the polished marble floor looking around the vast space did she remember her earlier fear of some hidden bomb. She held her breath, waiting for an explosion. It didn’t come.

  “No, we need somewhere that he won’t think to look,” McInery continued, walking towards the wide, imposing staircase.

  “If we find them, we’ll take them back with us,” Nilda said, following McInery up the stairs.

  “No,” McInery said. “They’ll be too heavy, and it will take too long. Besides, you don’t want to have them too close to the children. That would be too great a risk.”

  “Right. No. Of course.”

  “Perhaps we should hide them in Number 10. No, that is definitely far too obvious. That’s the problem, I suppose. Wherever I can think of, so will he. I think… yes, this corridor here.”

  It must have been the widest in the building, lined with portraits and oak panelli
ng. Timeless arrogance, Nilda thought, like the building itself, designed to intimidate, heedless of the fact the world had long ago moved on.

  “This is it,” McInery said. “In here.”

  It was a room grander than the building and bigger than Nilda’s house in Penrith. It was clear from the nest of bedding in one corner, the neatly arrayed trio of rifles on a desk, and the six large metal cases next to them, that this was where Graham had called home these last few weeks. McInery picked up a small green box from the desk.

  “Here,” she said, handing it Nilda, and pointing to a sofa against the wall. “Sit down. Bandage your leg.”

  Nilda sat, pulled out a sterile dressing, and wrapped it around her leg. At least the bandage was reassuringly familiar in a room more opulent than she’d imagined existed outside of a palace. She allowed herself a moment to stretch her leg, to slow her breathing to— Familiar. She opened her eyes and looked down at the bandage’s packaging.

  “You can rest soon,” McInery said. “But we need to act before he comes back.”

  Nilda glanced at her, and then at the bandage. It was identical to those they had at the Tower. Not those they had found in the hospital, but the ones McInery had brought back from her expeditions beyond the walls.

  “Forget the cases,” Nilda said, standing. “We came for the rifles.” She took a step towards the desk, and winced with the pain that shot up her leg. Sitting had been a mistake. It had given her muscles a chance to stiffen.

  “No, the cases present the greater danger,” McInery said. “The rifles can wait.”

  Nilda said nothing, just took another limping step towards the weapons.

  “Ah, that’s a shame,” McInery said, and almost sounded as if she meant it. Her hand went to her pocket. She pulled out a gun. “No further, please. Thank you.”

  Nilda stopped. She recognised the gun. It was the revolver that Chester thought he’d lost during his journey back from the QE2 Bridge to the Tower.

  “It was you all along,” Nilda said.

  “What was it?” McInery asked. “What gave it away?”

  “The bandages. Well, that was the trigger. I should have realised sooner. Tuck had no idea where Graham had gone. How else would you know where to come?”

  “Yes. I see. I didn’t think you’d realise. I suggested Graham come here. This was the office of the Foreign Secretary, you see. Quigley’s own private sanctum.”

  “I guessed,” Nilda said. The desk with the rifles on it was only twelve feet away, but she didn’t know if they were loaded, and she’d have to guess where the safety was. But the sword was leaning against the sofa, and that was behind her, and even further from McInery.

  “You’ve been working with him, then, right from the beginning?” Nilda asked. She had a knife in her belt. Would she be able to draw it in time?

  “Not exactly,” McInery said. “And of late, there has been some confusion as to who is working for whom. I told him to let everyone leave, but he insisted he had to kill Stewart.”

  “Stewart?” Nilda asked, confused. “Why?”

  “Guilt, though that wasn’t what he called it. Graham was assigned to protect a farm in Hampshire. He left, taking their fuel with him, abandoning the inhabitants to their fate. The nature of that fate wasn’t something he gave any thought to until Stewart arrived at Kirkman House. Not that Graham knew who he was, not at first. Stewart found that farm after Graham left. Exactly what happened there, Stewart never said, but it is clear that they all died. Graham couldn’t forgive himself for— No. Take a step back. I will kill you if I have to. I’d rather not.”

  “You’re going to kill me anyway,” Nilda said, making a show out of shuffling back a few inches.

  “Yes. True. But I can pass a message on to your son. Your last words to him.”

  “Jay? You’ll kill him like everyone else,” Nilda said.

  “Some deaths have been necessary,” McInery said. “But your son will be safe. So will the children. This won’t work without them.”

  “What won’t?”

  “Take a step back. Further.”

  Reluctantly, Nilda did.

  “Good. As I say,” McInery continued, “I’ll give Jay a message. Your last message. Your dying words. But first we need to move those cases. It’ll have to be Downing Street. I don’t think you’ll make it much further than that.”

  “Why do you want to move them?” Nilda asked.

  “As I said, there has been some confusion as to who is in charge. If Graham does live through today, I don’t want him coming back to find them.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “And you don’t have to. Just pick up a case and start walking.”

  Nilda moved to the case. It was larger than she’d imagined and far heavier.

  “So what are you going to do now?” she asked, carrying it slowly towards the door.

  “Well, hopefully Graham is dead, though his recent actions have changed my plans again. It’s unfortunate, but I think it will all work out. I will have to say that he wasn’t acting alone. People will believe that. They will want to. Yes, I’ll say he had comrades here. Did you know he was military? He’d worked for Cannock on a few operations overseas.”

  Nilda had reached the door. The long corridor stretched out in front of her with the wide staircase at its end, but the time to act would be when they were outside. Perhaps the undead would have followed them to the building. That revolver only had six bullets, after all.

  “No, stop,” McInery said. “That’s far enough. Put the case down, and go and get the next. We’ll do this in stages. It’ll be far safer that way.”

  Safer for her, Nilda thought. “You don’t know how to set them off, do you?” she asked.

  “No. They require a password. As far as I know, Graham hadn’t found it, either.”

  “Then they’re useless.”

  McInery laughed. “You really think that? Oh dear. Their power isn’t in how much they can destroy, but in the threat of that destruction. Surely you know that? And clearly Graham’s comrades took them from here, and they can only have one destination in mind. Anglesey. They will seek revenge, but I will find them before they reach that island. I will rid the world of this last terrible weapon. Yes, people will believe that.”

  “Why?” Nilda asked. “Why are you doing this? For power?”

  “You really don’t understand, do you? No, you would call it power but only because you’ve never had it. It is about the future and who shapes it. Pick up the case.”

  Nilda picked up the second case and began carrying it out into the corridor.

  “So you’ll be the hero?” Nilda asked. “Is that it? You’ll save Anglesey from a threat they never knew existed?”

  “More or less. It would have worked better if we’d been able to detonate at least one device. It’s too dangerous having those people clinging onto an old nuclear power plant in Wales. Organising things would have been far easier if they’d had to relocate here. But you play the hand you’ve been dealt. With a few minor alterations, your death being among them, this plan will work just as well. The children have been saved from starvation, and the last bastion of civilisation has been saved from a final act of vengeance by Quigley’s remaining followers.”

  “But they don’t exist,” Nilda said, putting down the case. Her leg was burning, and she wasn’t sure it would take much more strain. She looked down the long staircase. She smiled. What she had to do was suddenly obvious. She limped back towards the office. “You’re on your own. It’s just you.”

  “Yes, yes,” McInery said, impatiently. “Now hurry and start thinking what message you want me to give your son.”

  “He didn’t shoot Constance, did he?” Nilda looked down at the cases, and then turned to look at McInery. The woman stood framed in the doorway. “Graham wasn’t a good shot, was he? He wasn’t shooting at the raft. He was trying to shoot Stewart. All those zombies out there, shot multiple times, he—”

  “Yes. Fine.
I shot Constance.”

  “Why?”

  “I couldn’t risk her getting to Wales before I was ready. There was only a very small chance she would make it, of course, but I couldn’t risk it.”

  “And Styles? That wasn’t Graham either.”

  “No, Graham wanted to kill Stewart, but otherwise he probably would have left everyone else alone. At least for now.”

  “So you followed Styles to the railway station, or were you waiting there?”

  “Neither. Pick up the case.”

  Nilda didn’t move. She just stared at McInery for a long moment. “Poison,” she said. “Was that it?”

  “Very perceptive of you.”

  “And Yvonne and Fogerty? You killed them, too? Yes, of course, the telegraph would have ruined everything. The rifles would have allowed us to go hunting for Graham. And you couldn’t risk us talking to him. I see it now. Was it in the food?”

  “You never poison food,” McInery said. “There’s too great a risk it will be eaten by the wrong person or by oneself. No, you poison the cup. In the case of Styles, Xiao, and the others who left yesterday, it was the water bottle. Constance had her own supplies already organised, and you and Greta left too quickly. If you hadn’t returned, well, it would all have fallen apart. But you did return, like a gift from the gods. Pick up the case.”

  “I can’t,” Nilda said, truthfully.

  “I see. Well, I’m sorry you have to die. I think we could have worked well together. But this must be done. Do you have any last words for your son?”

  “None that I’d tell you.”

  McInery shrugged and raised her gun.

  The shot was quiet. It sounded muffled. Distant. Nilda waited for the pain. It didn’t come. Her eyes were fixed on McInery’s face, and there was no triumph in the expression. No joy. No emotion at all, just a sudden flush followed by a widening of her eyes as her hands fell to her sides. Nilda found herself looking down at the red stain spreading across McInery’s chest. There was a second muffled shot. McInery collapsed.

  “People always aim low,” Chester said. He stood in the doorway. Greta stood next to him, a rifle in her hands.