Surviving The Evacuation (Book 2): Wasteland

by Frank Tayell

  Baby seats weren't a problem, either. Three of the smaller cars near the entrance, each emblazoned with an optimistic “Family Friendly” sticker, had them fitted in the back seat.

  “You know where we're going. You drive. I'll open the gate,” Kim said after we'd strapped Daisy in.

  “You drive, and I'll do the gate,” I said, trying to make it sound not like some chauvinistic chivalric response.

  “I'll drive, you both open the gate,” Annette said.

  “You know how to drive?” I asked.

  “No,” Kim replied at the same time. “Get inside, Annette. You too, Bill. Yesterday you could barely stand.” She turned and walked up the driveway toward the gate and its waving sea of hands. “Well?” she asked, her back to us.

  We got into the truck. I turned the key. The engine roared. I hadn't expected that. I'd expected it to be loud. I'd half realised it would sound louder, since the only background noise was the low gnashing snap of the undead by the gates. It was far louder than that. It sounded louder than the music had been. We should have taken a different car, but overnight close to forty of the undead had gathered around the gates. I wanted to leave, and I liked the power the sound of the engine represented.

  I watched as, with her axe in her right hand, Kim walked up the drive, and pulled up the bolts pinning the gate into the concrete of the road. Teeth snapped and hands clawed, as she unlocked the padlock. She hesitated, glanced back. I revved the engine. She pulled out the chain, and threw back the central bar holding the gate closed. Under the pushing weight of the undead it began to swing open.

  She took a pace back, swung the axe into the widening gap, half severing the arm of the nearest zombie. I edged the car forwards, as she took another pace back, turned and started running down the slope towards the car. I eased forward, an inch at a time, waiting for her to get out of the way, waiting for her to move to the left or the right. She didn't. She kept running straight at the cab. One foot went onto the tow bar, the other up onto the bonnet and then there was a thud as she rolled over the cab and into the truck bed behind us.

  “Drive!” she shouted, slapping her hand against the rear window.

  I did. I put my foot down and the truck barrelled forward. There wasn’t enough speed to do more than push the undead out of the way. As we crept up the incline toward the road, undead hands banged down on the glass, grotesque faces slammed into the window and Annette screamed. One of the side windows cracked and Daisy started to cry. Kim shouted “Drive, Drive, Drive!” as I glanced at the rear view mirror and saw her swinging the axe at encroaching hands and arms, and snapping mouths.

  With a bump, we drove onto the road. The wheels were pointing slightly towards the right, so that was the way that we went. As the car straightened, I put the pedal to the floor. The speedometer edged upwards. Then the garage was behind us. We were through Them, and there was only one more zombie in front of us. It was coming out of an old bridle path at the edge of a field. I couldn't dodge it. The road was too narrow. I shifted gear, and accelerated again. The needle vibrated, getting higher, edging up towards thirty as I gunned the engine and hit the creature square on. It went down and under the truck. The car rocked, then nearly skidded off the road as we drove over it. Annette screamed again.

  “It's OK. We're through,” I said, as much to myself as to her. I glanced backwards. They couldn't keep up, but They were following. We came to a junction. I turned left and drove on for about a mile, until we came to a slight rise. Then, after checking and double checking the rear mirror I stopped. Kim didn't get in immediately. She got down of the back of the truck, and took a moment to walk around the car.

  “Much damage?” I asked, when she got inside.

  “Not really. The cracked window's the worst of it. Some dents. Looks like we've lost a few lights.”

  “Right.” I breathed out. Then I breathed out again, I felt like I was about to throw up. “Another hour, we'll be at the Abbey.”

  “Then let's get going,” Kim said. We got in and I started the engine again.

  “South, then east, then north and we'll loop around the Abbey and come at it from the west,” I said, glancing over my shoulder and through the window. I saw a solitary zombie lurch out of a field and into the road three hundred yards behind us. “Where there's one,” I muttered, as we drove off.

  Ten miles an hour. That's how fast it's safe to go. I had visions of putting my foot down, letting the engine sing, of hurtling down country roads, of putting the brakes on less than an hour later outside the gates to the Abbey. But the undead are everywhere. They hear the car coming, They head out into the middle of the road, and They come at us. At ten miles an hour, perhaps a little more, you can hit a zombie, knock it down and drive right over it. When I tried driving faster, a few times when the road ahead looked clear, we almost crashed.

  It's a twofold problem. When a body falls out of the hedgerow towards the car, instinct takes over and I start to break. I catch myself, but only when after it's too late. We hit those zombies with the side of the car, pulling the creature under the rear tyres. As we drove over it, we'd lose traction, start to skid, and then Annette would scream, and Daisy would start to cry and Kim would sigh.

  If we hit Them head on, there's a fifty fifty chance of the zombie rolling up the bonnet to hit the windscreen. The zombie isn't dead, of course, and whilst its legs might be broken, its snapping teeth are just a few millimetres of glass away. Having that happen once was one time too many, so we stuck to ten miles an hour. That's a lot slower than cycling. Worse, at that speed we had no hope of outdistancing the zombies following us.

  Annette bounced from seat to seat, peering out each window in turn, counting the zombies following us whilst looking out for that house with the flag. She kept up a constant litany of “No flag there... Twenty eight...No flag there... Thirty two... No flag... Thirty five... No flag... Forty six...” As long as it was distracting the girl more than she was distracting me, I didn't feel I could complain.

  I knew where we were, but only in relation to the main roads and larger towns, not the smaller lanes where we might lose this comet's tail of death trailing behind us. After about thirty miles of circling, detouring and back tracking we were barely any closer than when we'd started. I considered, then, of just forgetting about the Abbey and trying to cross the motorway instead. I almost did it, but it wasn't my place to make that decision for Kim and Annette.

  “I'm turning towards the Abbey at the next junction,” I said. “We can't lose Them. Either we head for safety or...”

  “Fine,” Kim said cutting me off.

  I took a left, then a right a mile later. An hour after that we were twenty miles from, and heading straight towards, the Abbey. Then I saw it, running out of the field in front of us and heading towards the car.

  My blood ran cold. I'd never seen one run before, nor seen one wave its arms so frantically. They didn't tire, They didn't need to sleep, speed was one of the few advantages we had, but if They could run, then what chance did we have?

  “Hold on,” I said gritting my teeth and putting my foot down on the accelerator as I aimed the car straight at it.

  “Stop! You'll hit her!” Annette screamed. Kim grabbed the steering wheel, shoving it hard left, then pulling it right again, missing the woman by inches.

  “Break!” Kim yelled. I did, but mostly out of reflex. Only when we had stopped, and I looked in the mirror and saw the woman jogging towards the car, did I realise that she wasn't a zombie.

  I glanced around, looking for others. I spotted a figure falling through a hedge into the road two hundred yards further up. From the way it's arms thrashed and spasmed, I was certain it was one of the undead.

  “Drive, then!” the woman said, climbing into the back, next to Annette.

  “There's no one else?” I asked.

  “No. Just me. Drive,” she snapped back. “You need to make a left half a mile ahead,” she added, after looking around the cab. “The farm with th
e green roofed barn. You see it? There's five of us. We've a car, but no fuel. No food either. Zombies got in, ruined our crop. Where were you heading?”

  “An Abbey with an orchard and fruit and vegetables,” Annette said.

  “Brazely,” I added.

  “Right,” she said, firmly. “Strong walls?”

  “Strong enough.”

  “You've spare fuel?”

  “About forty gallons. In the back,” I said.

  “More than enough,” she replied.

  “What for?”

  “I just told you. We've a car but no fuel,” she said, as if that was explanation enough. Perhaps it was.

  Even without the woman directing me, I would have known which farm was occupied. Rough timber boards had been crudely cemented along an old stone wall. Standing around ten feet high, topped with an occasional strand of barbed wire, it stood in stark contrast to the overgrown garden of the cottage opposite. It was the bodies, however, that were most striking. There weren't many, just eight or nine of Them, and They definitely were the bodies of the undead, scattered along the lane leading up to the farm house.

  The woman opened the door before the car came to a stop, jumped out, and started pulling at the cords tying the fuel-cans to their place in the truck bed.

  “Stay here,” I said to Annette, before getting out myself. I grabbed my pike and ran to stand in front of the truck, just by the road. In the distance I could see the undead coming.

  A few were heading towards us across the neighbouring fields, but it was the larger mass, still in the distance, heading along the road that scared me most. They were minutes away, but if this inhuman mob, at least hundreds strong, reached us, we wouldn't stand a chance. I gripped the pike. My hand ached. I shifted my footing, trying to take the weight off my injured leg.

  “We need to get out of here,” I yelled. There was no response, except that now familiar click-clack of the rifle. I glanced behind, saw the woman grab a can of fuel from the truck, saw Kim standing in the truck bed, the rifle in her hands, tracking back and forth across the undead. As I watched she swung the rifle to the right.

  “Over there,” she yelled. I turned my attention back to the road.

  They were in front of us. Seven zombies, coming along the road from the opposite direction, the one we would have to travel. Then there were eight, as a zombie pushed through what looked from that distance to be an impenetrable hedge.

  The closest one doubled over. Click-clack. I glanced over at Kim who was reloading, then back down the road. The bullet had struck the zombie in the chest. It was already straightening up, a brownish stain almost invisible amongst the dirt and grime encrusted on its rotting clothing. It made only another three steps before it pinwheeled backwards, shot in the head.

  “Hurry,” I yelled, this time without turning my head.

  Another zombie fell. The next shot was a miss. And the next. The next one hit, and then I realised that Kim wasn't shooting at those which were closest, rather, I realised, she was trying to thin Them out. Ensuring I had time to recover between killing one and facing the next. I turned towards the truck, intending to shout a bitterly sarcastic word of thanks at Kim, when I saw Annette. She was standing by the truck's open door, a kitchen knife in her hand, looking nervous but determined.

  “Back inside!” I yelled, and for the first time the girl obeyed me. I looked at the road, at the brick wall surrounding the drive. I tried to work out if we could just drive. If we could just go, leave these people, whoever they were. I glanced at the car to see what the delay was. The woman we'd rescued was still filling the car with petrol. At the back a man was loading some boxes into the boot. Another man stood just in front of the car, holding a shotgun. From there he would be able to protect the car, but not the truck, not us.

  I don't really remember much of those odd few hours after we left the car showroom. I mean, I remember what we did and what happened, but I don't remember the emotions. They've become tied up in the rush of the moment, inextricably linked to each other and what happened before and what happened next, but I do clearly remember a shock of anger at this act of selfish self-preservation.

  I turned my attention back to the road. I'd only looked away for a second at most, but one of the undead was now less than five feet away. I brought the pike up, holding it diagonally in front of me, then scythed it down. I missed the creature's head, but sliced into and through its neck. It collapsed, almost decapitated. I took a step to the left as Kim fired another shot.

  “Hurry,” I called out again, furious now that they were risking our lives to save whatever it was. Food, water, it didn't matter. Daisy, Annette, Kim, these were my people. I remember thinking that too.

  I shifted my stance, one foot behind the other, holding the pike out as a spear in front of me. Trying, even as They got closer, to get a better feel for the weapon's weight and heft. I waited until the next zombie was two arm's lengths away, then thrust forward. The spear crunched straight through the cheekbone and into its brain. It collapsed as I pulled the weapon out.

  “Ready?” the woman cried, then added, with what I swear was a touch of impatience “Hurry!”

  “Kim?” I called out, not taking my eyes from the road.

  “I've got you covered,” she called back.

  I didn't turn. I definitely didn't obey that command to hurry. I walked backward, my eyes on the undead. The nearest fell.

  “C'mon, Bill,” Kim said, calmly. Whatever fog of anger was clouding my judgement lifted. I turned, and ran back to the truck. I threw the pike into the back next to Kim. I got in, and put my foot down. Kim was in the truck bed, Annette, Daisy and a man in the row behind me, that woman I'd almost run over was in the passenger seat was next to me. The other three followed in the car close behind.

  We didn't talk on that journey. I didn't even look at my new passengers. Adrenaline mixed with furious anger as I gripped the steering wheel, one eye on the speedometer, the other on the road, my foot aching with the pressure of not stamping down on the accelerator.

  We drove straight back here to the Abbey. There seemed little point trying to evade the undead. The sound of two engines must have called all the zombies in four counties. As for how many followed us, I'd guess at hundreds, and think that that's being optimistic. It's getting too dark to count, but the woods are full of Them. I wanted company. Now I have it, and now I am trapped once more.

  Day 113, Brazely Abbey, Hampshire.

  06:00 3rd July.

  The woods are infested with the undead, but we are safe. For now. They can't climb the walls, but nor can we go out until They are dealt with. It's hard to get an exact count with the thick woodland around us, but there are certainly more than we have bullets for.

  Kim spent the night in the truck, with Annette and Daisy. It's parked, next to the car, in the space in front of the gate. The girls slept, that I’m sure of. Kim spent the night rocking the baby, singing softly to her, lost in her own world. It was such a peaceful scene I didn't disturb them.

  I didn't sleep much. In my first few nights here I tried sleeping in the dormitory, but I was kept awake by the sound of the occasional zombie brushing against the exterior wall. Instead I created a sort of lean-to affair amongst the old stones in what was once the Abbey's nave. I liked the safety of being surrounded by thick stone, whilst being able to see the stars as I stared up through the long burnt-out roof. It was my Keep, my fortress. Thinking of it like that was childish I suppose, but I was able to sleep. Now, there's the snuffling snoring of the others inside, and the shuffling and pawing of the undead outside. I gave up on sleep around four am, and climbed up here, to sit and watch and think. I didn't want to risk using the torch, but now it's starting to get light enough to write, so, who are these other survivors?

  It's a good question and one I want answered since, last night, we didn't get much further than the most cursory of introductions. The woman I almost ran over is Sandra Barrett, though she just goes by her surname. Not Mis
s, or Ms, or Mrs, just Barrett. I don't know what to take from that. The only other people I've known who've gone by their surname alone, have either been militant mime-artists or reactionary aristocrats. She's around forty, lived somewhere near the coast and stumbled across the farm some time after the evacuation.

  She had gone off looking for petrol and food. This was her second such excursion, and I think that this one would have been as fruitless as the first evidently was, had she not heard the sound of the truck. I’m reserving judgement at the moment, I mean, I don't know any of these people, but that she wasn't on a bicycle, that is telling.

  The driver of the other car is Daphne Mittley, married to Chris, the guy with the shotgun. They owned the farm this group were living on. The passenger in the back of the truck on the way back here is Stewart Walker. A quiet guy, who rescued Liz during an ill fated supply run a few weeks back. Liz is an old university friend of Daphne's. She waited until after the evacuation before heading for the farm, as the most likely place she knew of that might have food.

  Based on what I saw when we collected them, and from what little they've said since, they'd planted crops, though I’m not sure of what variety, in most of the fields nearby and had thrown up a wall around the farm house. Then the undead came, trampling their harvest. At some point, though whether it was before, after or during this, the undead got into the yard. During the struggle they lost their water supply when one of the supports to their tank was knocked over. That was when they decided they should get away. I asked whether they couldn't repair the tank, but for some reason they don't trust the rainwater. I can't quite figure out why. And, for now, that's all I know of them.