Surviving The Evacuation (Book 9): Ireland

by Tayell, Frank

  “No.”

  “I suppose we shouldn’t have expected it,” she said. “It’s too soon, isn’t it? Maybe tomorrow?”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “But more likely it’ll be two or three days.”

  “Probably.”

  We turned our attention back to the boat.

  Kim sighed. “This is pointless. And it’s dangerous. Back to the bungalow?”

  “I suppose. What’s the alternative? We don’t have the ammunition to retake Elysium, and I don’t think I’ve the energy for a fight.”

  My mood was sour as we left the coast behind. It had been a wasted trip. A necessary one, sure, but we’d gained nothing. My clothing was soaked. The submachine gun had become a noticeable irritation. I’m sure there’s a way to carry it so that the magazine doesn’t stick into my ribs, but like so much else, that’s a lesson I’ve never had reason to learn. The good mood in which I’d started the day was soured beyond vinegar. It wasn’t helped by having to walk past Rob’s corpse when we got back to the bungalow.

  “I don’t like leaving him like that,” Kim said.

  “Rob? You want to bury him?” Even as I said the words I knew that wasn’t what she meant.

  “No, I meant shot like that, with his head undamaged,” she said. “If there are other survivors around here, one of them might come across him and… Do you remember the bodies we found in England? Not the zombies or the suicides, but the times we found people who’d been murdered? Someone might find Rob, they might see the bullets and assume… well, that he was killed for no good reason.”

  “You want to shoot him in the head?”

  “No. I’ve been thinking about it all night,” she said. “That would be the easiest thing to do, but it feels like it would be crossing a line.” She pulled the gate closed. “I’m not sure whether it’s a societal taboo about desecrating a corpse, or whether it’s a mental one to do with where sanity lies. What was it you said, that we’re walking a tightrope with insanity on either side? Well, I think I’ve fallen off the rope. I’m holding on to it, but as long as I keep moving, I might reach whatever’s on the other side. Stopping to disguise Rob’s corpse, literally, figuratively, it would be a halt from which I may never start moving again. It would mean my only option would be to drop down into the chasm below, hoping for some miraculous landing.”

  “That’s stretching the metaphor a bit,” I said.

  “I know, but it’s better than focusing on the mundane reality of murderers and corpses.”

  I rolled Rob’s body to the side of the property where it’s out of sight, though it’ll be a long time before it’s out of mind. We went inside and relit the stove, and now we’re waiting for tomorrow.

  Chapter 2 - Ard na Mara, The Republic of Ireland

  23rd September, Day 195

  Kim drew a line across the page and smiled. “I win. Again.”

  “We need a pack of cards,” I said. “Noughts and crosses really isn’t that distracting.”

  “You’re just a sore loser,” she said.

  “A freezing loser, perhaps.”

  The sky had cleared during the night, the temperature had plummeted, and we’d been woken by the cold. We sat, huddled together on the sofa cushions while the sofa’s frame was being consumed, piece-by-piece, in the wood-burning stove. The material-cover had joined the curtains doing duty as our sheets.

  “We could try chess, instead?” Kim said. “Give me the journal. We’ll draw a board on the cover and, here.” She tore out a page and handed it to me. “Make some pieces.”

  It passed the time, and it was only just dawning on us how much time we had left to pass.

  “Even if they sail through the night,” Kim said as she finished dividing the page into squares, “they won’t approach the coast until there’s enough light to distinguish the waves from the rocks, so there’s not much point going to the shore until mid-morning, right?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then we’ve got about five hours until we leave. Plenty of time to decide what we want for breakfast. I suppose we could have bacon and eggs, with mushrooms and a side of hash browns, grapefruit and melon, croissants, and a choice of fresh brewed coffee or freshly squeezed fruit juice, but you know what I really fancy? Tea from a thrice-used teabag, bread so stale it’s indistinguishable from stone, and dried fish that’s more salt than protein. How many squares on a chessboard? It’s eight-by-eight?”

  “That, I’m sure of,” I said.

  To say our supplies were limited was an understatement. By the time we’d escaped from Elysium, neither of us had much food left. We were relying on what Rob had taken from the boat after he’d murdered Will and Lilith. Added to the burden of the ammunition and the rifles, he’d not brought as much as we’d first thought. With the boat submerged, we can’t go back for more. Unless we want to eat wallpaper paste, there’s nothing consumable in the bungalow except the teabags, all of which have been through hot water at least once.

  “There’s always those submariner’s ration bars,” I said.

  “Good point.” Kim reached for her bag. Everything was packed, ready to go in case a swarm of the undead descended on the house. The only place to which we could flee was Elysium, with its thousand undead occupants. That fear-filled thought kept both of us checking the road remained clear of the zombies, and that meant leaving the meagre warmth of our nest and letting the cold air in. That had put the seal on neither of us being able to sleep.

  “Nut-flavoured protein and vitamin supplement. Nine hundred calories,” Kim read from the bar’s label. “There’s no mention of which kind of nut, but here, on the back, it has a list of ingredients, and a warning. May contain nuts. Seriously? How much did submariners get paid?”

  “Around twenty-five thousand, when you take into account allowances. More for officers.”

  “Not much, then,” she said, “not when you consider the working conditions. Very little when you consider the cost of the boat.”

  “Your point? I know you’re moving towards one,” I said.

  “It may contain nuts? Couldn’t they put actual nuts into the bar? On a similar note, did they really have to put the warning on them?”

  “I suppose it’s because the submarine is a closed environment with recycled air,” I said.

  “Yes, but surely something like a nut allergy would disqualify you from serving on a submarine. At least one serious enough that you could go into anaphylactic shock simply at a second-hand whiff of hazelnut.”

  “Health and safety?” I said, taking a stab at the answer. “Legal cover? Or maybe the bar was made by some known-brand for commercial sale, and they removed their company name, but forgot to remove the warning. Does it matter?”

  “Well, yes. It was my taxes paying for it,” she said. “Personally, and especially considering we’re now eating the damn things, I’m feeling aggrieved for the food they had to eat.”

  “It was an emergency ration,” I said. “But think of it like this. If the thing actually tasted like food, Mister Mills’s crew would have eaten it months ago.”

  “True.” She broke the bar in two, and handed me half. “I think we can carry about four days of food, and the ammo. Water, or containers in which we can carry it, are going to be the real problem. We’ve got your water bottle, mine, and Rob’s.”

  “And, in total, we’ve a week of food,” I said.

  “If you want to call it that,” she said taking a bite. “So, in three days, if rescue hasn’t arrived, we’ll have to go. Seriously? They call this nut flavour? Even allowing that it’s an emergency reserve, it’s like month-old chewing gum.” She began setting up the pieces on our improvised chessboard. “And that brings us back to where we’ll go if we have to leave in three days.”

  “Look for a cottage further along the coast that still has some food in the cupboards, I suppose. Somewhere close enough that we can still walk back and forth to the jetty each day.”

  “You know that woman, Ni
lda, she survived on that barren island living off fish and roots.”

  “You want to try fishing?” I asked.

  “I’d prefer digging for roots than eating this bar. Your move.”

  We left the bungalow two hours after dawn, and after a brief debate as to whether we should put the fire out first. We only had nine matches left. Without matches, we had no fire; without fire, we couldn’t boil the rainwater. In the end, we extinguished the fire on the grounds that un-boiled water was less dangerous than incinerating the bungalow and so being trapped without shelter. In truth, the debate was another way of stalling. After a long night of muted discussion, neither of us thought there was much chance a boat would arrive within a week, let alone arrive soon after dawn.

  “Clouds are gathering,” Kim said as she pulled the gate closed. “Pity. I thought it was going to be a nice day.”

  “At least the mist’s gone,” I said. The suit hadn’t dried properly during the cold night, and though the day had started with clear skies, there was little warmth in the now-disappearing sun.

  “I was thinking more about the satellites,” Kim said.

  “They’d only need a few seconds to take a picture,” I said.

  “Hmm. True. Of course, there’s something else we didn’t think about. The boat’s underwater. They might not spot the wreckage. They might think we left and are on our way back to Anglesey, after having accidentally dropped the sat-phone overboard. In which case…” She didn’t need to finish.

  We didn’t come across the undead until we reached the junction with the coastal road. We heard them first, and with enough warning to travel the last hundred yards in a slow crouch. From the shelter of a culvert filled with a foot of water, we watched them. There were nineteen, milling around the junction.

  “Can you tell what direction they’re moving?” Kim whispered.

  “It’s the boat,” I hissed, too loudly.

  “Shh!”

  “The zombies started moving because they heard something,” I whispered. “It has to be the boat. It has to be our rescue.”

  “Hope so. Ready?” She altered her grip on the SA80, tracking the barrel across the shambling pack.

  “Ready,” I said.

  She fired. A zombie with mud-coloured, or mud-covered, hair collapsed. The others turned towards the sound of the falling corpse. Another shot, another hit, another body thumped to the ground, and the remaining zombies pulsated towards the fallen creature. The third shot was a miss. The fourth was a hit. The assault rifle had a suppressor, but one that had been made on Anglesey. Each shot came with a dull hiss, but that was drowned out by the rasp of un-breathed air being expelled from dead lungs. Kim fired again. Another miss. The bullet tore through the zombie’s neck, showering the creature beside it in a spray of dark black blood.

  “I’m wasting ammo,” Kim said. “I can’t get a clear shot.”

  I knew what she was asking. I crawled out of the culvert and onto the road, stamping the mud from my shoes and legs in lieu of shouting. I never know what to yell at the undead. Taunts and curses are pointless, but more cathartic than actual words. Two of the zombies spotted me, and lurched a step my way. The lead creature wore a fleece, the other what I thought was a dog collar and suit. There was less mud on either of them than any of the others, and that was all the time I had for inspection. I raised the knife, stepping out into the road, assessing the distance between them, calculating whether I’d have enough time to kill them both. The creature in the fleece collapsed, a bullet in its skull. The other kept coming. Closer and closer, and close enough that I could hear the snap of its teeth as they chomped up and down. Closer still, and I could see the gap in its gums where two teeth were missing. Close enough. I lunged, stabbing the blade through its eye. It fell. I stepped back.

  Only four zombies still stood. The others lay in a thin line between me and the junction. Then there were only three. Two headed towards me, the other towards Kim. I changed my stance, waiting until the last moment before lashing out with my leg, knocking the first creature from its feet. It fell, scrabbling undead fingers along the asphalt. I stepped wide, beyond its reach, switching my attention to the second zombie. It lunged. I ducked under its out-flung arms and stabbed the knife up through its chin. With a twist, I had the blade free. I stepped back, looking for the next threat. They were all on the ground, though that zombie I’d tripped was trying to stand. I kicked its legs from under it, stamped on its hand, pinning its arm, and plunged the knife down. It was over. In the moment, it had seemed an age, though it can’t have taken more than ten minutes.

  “Nineteen zombies,” Kim said. “Twenty-nine bullets.” She reloaded. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah, fine.”

  “You look distracted.”

  “I feel it,” I said. “Don’t know why.”

  “The boat?” Kim prompted.

  “Right. Yes.”

  We reached the holly bush, having seen no more of the undead. A few minutes after that, we reached the jetty. The sea was empty. The yacht’s mast had snapped in two, and now floated on the surface like an irregular cross marking Lilith and Will’s grave.

  “Perhaps the zombies didn’t hear a boat,” I said peering into the distance. “The zombies had to have heard something, though, and…” I trailed off, realising my mistake. I was trying to ascribe rational behaviour to an utterly irrational creature.

  “We might as well try,” Kim muttered, pulling the radio from her pack. It worked on line of sight, and she could see as well as I that the horizon was empty. But she was right, we had to try. After five minutes, she switched it off and returned it to her bag.

  “Okay,” she said. “So,” she added a few minutes later. “Well, I guess we could try fishing.”

  We stared at the waves beating against the jetty. At least, she did. My mind was back on the fight.

  “Bill?”

  “What? Oh, fishing? Right. That’s more your area than mine, but don’t we need a rod and some bait?”

  “I suppose. We’re not going to catch anything with our hands.”

  Another minute passed. The horizon remained free of sail and engine sound.

  “Shall we go back?” I said.

  “I guess.”

  More slowly, we headed back.

  “There’s another one,” Kim murmured. The creature was on the road, on the other side of the dry-stone wall. It saw us, and jerked forward walking into the old stones, but the wall was too high for the zombie to topple over onto our side.

  Kim raised the assault rifle.

  “Wait,” I said.

  “It’s making a lot of noise, Bill,” Kim said.

  “Its coat,” I said. “Look at its coat. It’s a fleece.”

  “So?”

  “One of those zombies I killed was wearing a fleece. The type Kempton provided to her people.”

  “So can I shoot it?” she asked.

  “Yes. Yes, of course.”

  She fired. The zombie fell. I climbed over the wall and checked.

  “Yes. See?” I said. “The golden logo on the jacket’s breast? This was one of Kempton’s people.”

  “It was one of Kempton’s coats,” Kim said. “That’s not the same thing.”

  “No, come on,” I hurried down the road, limping as fast as my leg would allow until we reached the junction, now littered with corpses.

  “There,” I said. “That zombie’s wearing the same. A fleece-jacket with the logo of a golden wave.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t believe you,” Kim said.

  “Right, but that means this woman, and by extension, all these other zombies, came from Elysium.”

  “Ah. Oh. Right. The gate’s broken? They’ve got out?”

  “Looks like it,” I said. “Some of them, anyway. I suppose we could go and check.”

  “Better we go back, get inside and out of sight,” Kim said.

  The sky opened before we reached the bungalow, and we were drenched before we were indoors.
On the plus side, we’ll have water to drink as soon as it’s boiled. First it had to be collected, and that meant laying the plastic paint trays by the back door. With that done, I stripped off, and hung the clothes to dry around the meagre fire.

  “The gates to Elysium are finally broken,” Kim said. “You should write that down. It sounds poetic, don’t you think?”

  “I think, if we’re staying here much longer, we should take the bath outside to collect water.”

  “Or redirect the down-pipe from the gutter so it comes through the bathroom window and into the bath?” Kim suggested. She threw a stick of broken sofa-frame into the stove. “And we’re going to need more wood.”

  “We need more clothes,” I said. “We should have taken some from Elysium.”

  “Good point,” Kim said. “Where’s your journal?” She opened my pack, looking for it.

  “You want to write down that line?” I asked.

  “No,” she said, opening the book. “Where was it… ah, here. That suicide note Yolinda Day wrote. She said… yes, she said that after Quigley’s soldiers attacked them, there were only fifteen of them left. Fifteen Bill, that’s fourteen if you exclude her. How many did you kill in the garage? And there’re the ones Simon and I killed in the house, those two on the road, and those we saw as we escaped… How many does it come to? Twenty-three, I think. More than fourteen, anyway.”

  I thought back to our escape, to the zombies in the house. She was right.

  “Okay,” I said, “but like you said back at the wall, the clothing doesn’t mean they were Kempton’s people. There are plenty of zombies there, so what if some of them arrived at the house alive, they took shelter, and took the clothes. A fleece doesn’t make them a follower.”

  “Put that underneath a picture of a sheep, stick it on a mug, and you’ve a meme to grace the break-rooms of the English-speaking world,” she said. “But stop playing devil’s advocate. I was wrong, and you were right. There have to be spare sets of those uniforms somewhere in the house, but if other survivors came along simply to loot, what did they do with the gear they wore when they arrived? Where were the piles of discarded clothes? I didn’t see any, did you? Besides that, there were no other signs that anyone got inside between Yolinda Day killing herself and when we got there. Okay, fine, we weren’t exactly looking for that, and perhaps there might have been one or two, but not ten or twenty of them, and that’s how we know.” Kim pointed to where I’d propped the submachine gun against the wall. “Anyone who was there for more than a few hours would have looked in every room. They didn’t kill the zombies that Simon and I discovered. Nor did they take the guns and ammo from the attic. Now, if they were there long enough to find the clothes, wouldn’t they also have found the weapons?”