by Frank Tayell
Kim looked up in time for a heavy drop of water to land on her cheek. “That’s not snow. It’s rain.”
Chapter 8 - Meeting a Consensus
Dundalk Technology College
“Sit down, dear,” Mary said, “you look exhausted.”
Annette looked up, and giggled. “She looks like a lemon.”
“What, you don’t think yellow velour suits me?” Kim said as she collapsed into the office chair, which then rolled back a few inches on the damp floor. “I thought we were going to put down some cardboard.”
“We’ve already run out,” Mary said.
“And we’re down to the last few stitches of dry clothing,” Kim said. She took Daisy from Annette’s lap. The toddler plucked at the soft yellow cloth, and smiled approvingly.
“We’ve gone through all the clothes already?” Donnie asked. He picked up a thin notebook. “What about the suitcases we brought back this afternoon? They contained all of the clothes we found in all of the nearby houses.”
“Before we answer that, I think we should call the meeting to order,” Mary said.
The long table in the middle of the canteen was half-full, and the same could be said for the rest of dining hall. It wasn’t civic-mindedness that had filled the room’s other tables, though, but the imminent prospect of dinner. The canteen was rich with the smell of turmeric and cumin, though missing the scent of anything more substantial among those spices. The room was warm, though, thanks to the cooking fires and the second-hand heat of hundreds of people. Some put their books down, some turned away from the games boards, and a handful stood, and moved to a table closer to that of the unofficial council. Just as many left the canteen, taking their books and quiet conversation with them.
“We’ll begin with apologies,” Mary said. “Prudence is too busy in the kitchens to join us.”
“I’ve got her notes,” Donnie said.
“Bran is inspecting the sentries,” Mary said. “You should write that down, dear,” she added to Annette. “Then write down who is present. Myself, Donnie, Kim, Rahinder, and Commander Crawley. You have that? Good.” She turned to the room at large. “Does anyone want to join us at the council table? No? Well, feel free to chime in if you’ve something to add, or if there’s something I’ve forgotten.”
Daisy squirmed in Kim’s lap, trying to reach for Annette’s pen. Annette passed Daisy a blue crayon, and the toddler immediately began colouring the table. That it didn’t matter was a good summary of what had to be said at the meeting.
“To begin, then,” Mary said. “Everyone who went out today has returned. We’ve a few more bruises, a few extra cuts, but there are no major health issues that need to be discussed? No? Then, Kim, perhaps you could give a summary of your trip to the waterfront.”
“On balance, it’s good news,” Kim said, speaking loud enough for her voice to carry to the people at the nearby tables. “Good news tempered with a battle. Two battles, I suppose. On the positive side, we’ve found coal at a depot by the waterfront. More coal than we could burn in three months, and some peat, too. We’ve located somewhere we can board The New World. I’m not sure we can bring the ship up to the seawall, but we can certainly get the small boats close at high tide. It’ll take a while to board, but we can manage it. In addition, there’s a barracks here in Dundalk, and we found ammunition. None for our rifles, not yet. But there’s thousands of rounds of 9mm. We’re not sure quite how many, but collecting it and searching for more has to be one of our priorities for tomorrow. As for the undead, there were about a thousand on the bridge, another two hundred near the barracks, not counting those that were dead.”
“They were frozen,” Annette said.
“A good stenographer never comments,” Mary said. “She only writes down what other people say. Were they frozen?”
“At the barracks, they were piled together,” Kim said. “At first, we assumed they were dead, but they were… waiting. Like how we saw them back in England and Wales.”
“Coal, a jetty, and ammunition,” Mary said. “That is good news to end the day. Now, Rahinder, can you fix suppressors to those submachine guns?”
“Hmm?” Rahinder glanced up, only having half-heard what was being said. He placed the suppressor on the table next to the dismantled submachine gun. “Ah, right. Yes, yes I can. It’ll take time.”
“How long?” Mary asked.
“Ask me again in a couple of hours,” he said. “I’ll need that long to work out what tools I’ll need. I’ll also need more submachine guns on which to practice. I need the barrels, anyway. I’d say I can make one or two tonight. To do more, to do enough, to develop a system where we can mass-produce them; that will take a few days, but it’s dependent on how many guns you find for me to convert. The end result won’t be as accurate or silent as with the assault rifles, but it’ll be better than nothing. With electricity, the conversion would be much quicker.”
“Can we have electricity?” Donnie asked. “What are the chances of getting the turbine to work?”
“The chances? One hundred percent,” Rahinder said. “The turbine is a relatively simple mechanism. Complexity lies in the transformer, and I’ll need at least two days to identify what parts need to be replaced. Assuming that nothing irreplaceable is broken, then it’s just a matter of time.”
“But how much time?” Pete called from two tables away.
“It’s impossible to say for sure, so I’ll say a week,” Rahinder said. “But I can either work on the turbine, or the suppressors, not on both.”
“That brings us to defence,” Mary said. “Donnie, how much ammunition was expended today?”
“Out of the ten thousand rounds that Sholto brought from Belfast this morning, just over a quarter,” Donnie said.
“Then if the future is like the past, we have three more days,” Mary said. “Converting those submachine guns must come first. We’ll ask Bran to return to the barracks in the morning to find more weapons. He can also conduct a thorough search, and count the remaining ammunition. Of course, tomorrow might be worse than today.” Mary met Kim’s eyes, and gave a small nod.
“The question facing us is two-fold,” Kim said. “How long do we stay in Dundalk, and where do we go afterwards. Yes, there’s the turbine, there’s coal and peat at the waterfront. We have the remaining grain from the wreck, and we can fish. I don’t think we’ll find much more old-world food, but this was a town of thirty thousand or so; there are plenty of non-perishable, non-edible supplies. That’s all on the positive side of the ledger. On the negative, in three days, we’ll have used up all the ammunition Sholto brought us. In two or three weeks, we will have used up all the ammunition we found in the barracks. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. There will be no more from Belfast, and no more lucky finds in this corner of Ireland. If we stay here long enough for Rahinder to fix the turbine, we’ll be defending it with machetes and knives. The question is whether that’s worth the risk. The rain’s come, and it’s washing away the snow.” She sighed. “I liked the snow. My hands are cracked and bleeding, but you could see footprints. We could tell if the undead were ahead of us. It deadened sound. It was our friend. Rain’s better than a dry, hot day, but if it’s a cold night, the slush will freeze and turn to ice, and that’ll be more treacherous to us than to the undead.”
“So you want to go to Belfast?” Pete called out.
“No,” Kim said. “Personally, I don’t. Like I said, there’s two questions, how long we stay here, and where we go afterwards. I used to think that, whether we killed the zombies now or later, we had to kill them. There are just too many, even here in Ireland. Will killing a few hundred more really make our lives easier? Will that make it safer? I thought we might stay here until the grain ran out, but that will last longer than the ammunition. If we go to Belfast without the grain, we’ll only bring forward the day when they run out of food in that city. So, no, I don’t think we should go to Belfast. I’d thought we might go to Dublin. I thought the military u
nits might have left behind some ammunition and other gear. Now, I’m not sure. We found a few notebooks, diaries, and journals, and we’ll need some time to go through them, but I think that Dundalk was where they came, and I think they brought their remaining ammunition with them. In which case, we’re unlikely to find anything in Dublin, and we know there’s nothing to find elsewhere in Ireland. Besides, winter’s coming, the weather will only get worse.”
“Worse than a snowstorm?” Donnie asked.
“Why not?” Kim said. “We have to assume it, so why don’t we go somewhere warm. France, initially. We’ll meet up with Nilda and George. We’ll collect Bill and the others, and then we’ll go south. We’ll look for large ships along the coast of France and Spain. Who remembers getting oranges at Christmas?”
“I remember Seville marmalade in January,” Mary said.
“Seville’s in Andalucía,” Pete called out. “That’s the mainland.”
“Then Sicily,” Kim said. “It was famous for its lemons, wasn’t it?”
“It’s not much of a diet,” Pete said.
“Lemons go well with fish,” Donnie said.
“Where there’s a fruit farm, we’ll find other crops,” Kim said. “If nothing else, we’ll stave off scurvy. Vitamin tablets do expire. Maybe it won’t be Sicily. It could be Greece or Corsica, Tunisia or Florida. As long as it’s somewhere closer to the equator, somewhere warmer than this.”
“What about the people in Belfast, and in Elysium,” Donnie asked.
“Saboteurs,” Pete muttered, though loud enough to be heard. “Let’s leave them behind.”
“We won’t do that,” Kim said. “But we can trust Siobhan, Sholto, and the admiral to find the guilty. Sholto’s moved a satellite over the French coast. He’s looking for Bill, but they’re taking pictures of the coast, too. They’re looking for ships. Ships larger than The New World. We’ll find the ships, and sail from place to place, taking what we need, but sleeping aboard where we know we’ll be safe from the undead.”
“That is something for us to consider and discuss,” Mary said. “A decision on our final destination doesn’t need to be made until we’re aboard the ship, and we can’t do that until we’ve secured our landing site at the depot.”
Too coincidentally for it not to have been pre-arranged, a bell rang in the kitchen.
“Dinner!” Annette said cheerily.
“Is there anything else that needs to be discussed?” Mary asked.
“Toilets and hygiene,” Donnie said. “But if we’re only staying in the college for a few more days, it’s moot.”
“Then we’ll table it for now,” Mary said. “Let’s see what feast Prudence has scared up.”
It wasn’t a feast, but it was hot and plentiful, a thickly spiced barley porridge with odd green lumps that were, apparently, tinned spinach. Afterwards, Kim leaned back in her chair and eyed the growing stack of dirty dishes and used cutlery on the trolley by the door. They’d push that to an administrative building on the far side of the campus, along with the clothing too ruined to be worn again. It felt like a waste, yet it was more economical than washing. It wasn’t just a matter of boiling the water, but also the use of detergent. Everything took time to find, and nothing lasted as long as it used to.
“Kim, would you mind giving me a push?” Mary asked.
“Of course,” Kim said. She handed Daisy to Annette, and then wheeled Mary to the door, joining the long line of people making their way to the latrine.
“Perhaps we’ll give them a few minutes,” Mary said. “Why don’t we take a look outside? I’d like to see if the rain is washing the snow away or simply adding ice to our list of concerns.”
Kim pushed Mary down the corridor in the other direction, to the reception area where Mirabelle was on guard. Her clothing was sodden.
“You just back in?” Kim asked.
“Ken, Dee-Dee, and I are taking it in turns to be out there,” Mirabelle said. “You really can’t see much in the rain.”
“It’s bad?”
“It’s intermittent,” Mirabelle said. “Savage downpours interspersed with brief moments of calm that last just long enough to make you think the worst is over before the clouds dump another ocean on your head.”
“Have you eaten?” Mary asked.
“Not yet.”
“Go ahead and do that,” Mary said. “We’ll keep watch here for a while.”
Mirabelle smiled gratefully and slipped away.
“The clothes should dry overnight,” Kim said.
“Fifty-seven people came back today like you, their clothing utterly ruined,” Mary said. “Mostly those who went down to the wreck. Lubricant and oil is leaking from somewhere.”
“Oh, really? Only fifty-seven, and we’re already out of spare clothes? If we’re to become piratical scavengers, we’ll have to develop a more systematic approach to drying and storage.”
“I’m sure we will, in time,” Mary said. “Sure, the rain’s really pounding down. The snow’s almost gone. Well, that’s a blessing deeply disguised. We’ll manage getting to the ship far more easily.”
Kim glanced around, checking they were alone. “The announcement went better than I expected.”
“Because it wasn’t a fait accompli,” Mary said. “It’s a better way of governing, don’t you think?”
“Holding the meetings in public? I suppose so. Although my worry is that we’re not telling everyone everything. It grates, keeping secrets from them. Even one so mundane as Siobhan coming tomorrow to search the ship for fingerprints.”
“We’ll tell them at breakfast,” Mary said. “But I was referring to holding the meetings just before a meal. It makes people hurry, rather than argue for hours over insignificant minutiae. That’s one thing about Anglesey I won’t miss. One of the few things, really.”
“Do you honestly think there might be one of the saboteurs here?” Kim asked.
“No,” Mary said. “But if there is, then announcing we might not go to Belfast should keep them awake tonight. Tomorrow morning, telling them Siobhan is on her way, should flush them out. Commander Crawley has selected his people as carefully as he can. If anyone volunteers to join his expedition, then we’ll know for sure. Certainty in the trustworthiness of our comrades is a prize worth the price of withholding the information for a few hours.”
“Still, I half wish Siobhan had come tonight,” Kim said. “But I suppose it’s better this way. The sound of the rotors might bring more of the undead, and if there’s to be another battle, I’d rather it was fought in daylight. Then again, can a helicopter be louder than that machine gun?”
“Another question that time might answer, but which I hope it won’t,” Mary said. She rubbed her hand against her forehead.
“Are you okay?”
“It’s just a headache, dear,” Mary said. “One not helped by this draft. Do you think the barracks will make for a good home?”
“For a night or two,” Kim said. “It’s closer to the depot, and there are bunks and mattresses. More importantly, the barricades have already been built; that’ll save us some effort. Burning the coal will, too. In two days, maybe three, we’ll all be aboard and ready to sail.”
“Weather and fate allowing,” Mary said.
“Them too,” Kim said. “There’s something else. Annette thinks that the soldiers who were here, the ones who left the barracks, might have escaped by sea.”
“Yes, she said while you were changing,” Mary said. “And she said it loud enough for half the canteen to hear. That’s for the best. It’ll give everyone something to think about other than the precariousness of our current existence.”
A light flashed in the darkness outside.
“That’s the signal,” Kim said, drawing her machete. Mary withdrew a small pistol, almost too big for her hands.
“Go on, dear. I’ll keep guard here.”
Kim ran out into the rain.
An hour later, sodden once more, she closed the door to
the office in which she and the girls slept. Both were already asleep, curled up together on the mattress on the floor. The light had been left on. Annette had been writing before she went to sleep. Careful not to drip on the pages, Kim picked up the book. It was an account of the day’s adventures.
“Hey,” Annette said sleepily. “You’re back.”
“Go back to sleep,” Kim said, putting the book on the desk.
“And you’re wet,” Annette said.
“There were zombies outside. Only two of them.”
“Oh, okay,” Annette said, and closed her eyes again.
The office shared a wall with the kitchens so there was some second-hand warmth, but an inescapable chill seeped up through the floor. She tried to relax, but found it difficult. There’d only been two zombies, but another five bullets had been fired. She unzipped her jacket, and hung it on the back of the chair. In the end, her blade hadn’t been needed so the clothes were only wet. She picked up the light. It caught her shoes and the legs of her trousers. They were already as much mud-brown as luminous yellow. She sat on the chair, her finger hovering over the light’s button, as she watched the two girls sleep.
Another few days, perhaps sooner, and they would leave. Except the sooner they left, the sooner she’d have to face the reality of what they’d find in France. It wasn’t that she thought Bill was dead; she wouldn’t allow herself to think that. It was that they would have so little time to search for him. Mary might say their final destination could be decided when they were on the ship, but once they were aboard, that decision would have to be made swiftly. The New World was a small ship. Overcrowded with people, they would have room for perhaps ten days of grain. Fishing would supplement that, stretch it out by a day or three. They couldn’t catch fish in a storm, or while underway. Nor could they sail even such a large ship as The New World at night, not without satellite navigation and weather reports. Sholto would find some ships along the coast. Nilda and George would probably reach them first. Then, The New World would arrive. Some crew would be transferred to complete whatever repairs were needed, along with some fuel from the ship’s tanks. And then… and then the clock would be ticking down to the point that the food would run out. If none of the ships were repairable, that clock would only tick faster. Either way, there would be no time to delay.
