Surviving The Evacuation (Book 6): Harvest

by Tayell, Frank

  Tuck nodded.

  “Well, that’s as good a place to start my journey from as any other,” Chester said.

  “We’ll go, too,” McInery said. “Find some more rifles and collect the ammunition from that hotel.”

  “Do we really need it?” Hana asked.

  “Chester can’t row a life raft all the way to Westminster on his own,” McInery said. “And if Graham is coming back, then it’s better that we’re armed.”

  “She has a point,” Chester said, and saw Nilda’s look of puzzlement. “About rowing to Westminster. Better to send one large group and make just one trip. It’s like you were saying, Nilda, about how we need to accept that things have to be done differently. Those bicycles could be useful, but forget the hotel, Mac, there’s nothing there we need.”

  They weren’t short of volunteers. Whatever fear and suspicion had gripped them since the revelation of the theft had been replaced with justified anger. The factor determining how many could go was space. They had to leave room on the rafts for any bicycles and other supplies they brought back. Chester had already volunteered Tuck, and he wasn’t surprised to see Nilda step forward at the same time as Jay.

  “I—” Nilda began.

  “Bring your drone, Jay,” Chester interrupted. “We can use it to lure the zombies away from the embankment.

  “Right.” And the boy ran off before his mother could formulate an objection.

  McInery insisted on going, and Chester didn’t bother arguing. Nor did he try and stop Stewart. Out of all of them, he seemed most affected by the theft. Whether that was due to his fear of starvation or from that personal enmity that existed between him and Graham, Chester didn’t know. He saw Stewart as a man who’d been twisted so far he was going to break, so better that happened outside where they could make use of it. Finnegan and Greta brought their numbers to eight. Kevin and Aisha made ten.

  “No, that’s too many,” Chester said, looking down at the raft bobbing gently on the river. “There’s going to be space for eight on the way back, no more, not if you want to bring back a few bikes.”

  “And I’m sorry,” Hana said. “But I won’t allow Aisha to come.”

  “Won’t allow it?” Aisha said, her face flushing with anger.

  “No. I won’t,” Hana stated. “You might think me old-fashioned, but it’s too much of a risk for someone who’s pregnant. I’m sorry.”

  There was a tense moment when Chester thought Aisha would explode, but it was defused by the murmur from those in the group – mostly the men, Chester included – who’d not realised.

  “Congratulations,” Chester said. “But there’s space for one more in the raft. Kevin?”

  “No. I’ll go,” Hana said. “I may not be much good in a fight, but if I can lift a sick pig, I can carry a full pack. We’re not going that far from the river. How dangerous can it be?”

  Chester looked over at Nilda to see if she’d insist Hana stay behind. Nilda just gave a shrug.

  “Then get in the boat,” he said, not happy at all that the vet was coming with them.

  It took a long, fraught hour to get to Westminster. Chester would have preferred it if he’d been able to row, but no one would allow it. They said he’d need his strength for the journey ahead. He sat in the middle of the raft as the others slowly paddled their way up the newly swollen river. The storms they’d witnessed must have been the tail end of a far larger deluge, and they had no trouble passing over the rubble around the collapsed bridges. The difficulty was caused by the soup of partially dissolved cardboard, shredded cloth, plastic, rubber, and items Chester couldn’t guess at, mixing with the white-foamed scum bubbling on the surface.

  “You should keep an eye on this,” Chester said, addressing everyone. “It might be better to drink rainwater for the next few weeks.”

  “That’d save on…” Nilda began, paused, stroked. “Filtering.” Stroke. “It’d still have to be…” Stroke. “Boiled.”

  “But give it another couple of storms and the river should be cleaning than before,” Chester added.

  “The…” Stroke. “Sea…” Stroke. “Won’t…” Stroke. “Be.”

  “Let me take over,” Chester offered.

  “No.” Stroke.

  Chester didn’t stop asking if he could take a turn at the oars. No one would let him, and he felt like giving them a lecture in the futility of stubbornness, but decided against it. He’d only get one on hypocrisy in return. Nevertheless, by the time they reached the stone steps leading up to Cleopatra’s Needle a short distance from Embankment Tube and Whitehall beyond, they all looked exhausted.

  Everyone snatched a moment of wary-eyed rest as Jay set up the drone. With Chester directing, Jay flew it up and towards the old heart of the dead city.

  “That’s the hotel,” McInery said. “It’s five minute’s walk. No more.”

  “But too far for such a small prize,” Chester said. “Turn it left a bit, Jay. There. That’s the edge of Horse Guards. Now, fly it along the edge of the park for a couple of minutes, then point it towards the Eye and bring it back. Everyone else, let’s go.”

  “No, hang on,” Jay said. “If you wait twenty minutes, I’ll come with you.”

  “Sorry lad, there’s no more time to waste,” Chester replied.

  Nilda mouthed a quiet ‘thank you’ as the eight of them climbed onto the bank

  There was a solitary zombie on the embankment. Its right foot dragged behind, giving it a twisting limp as it staggered towards them. Its right arm rose in a half-hearted swipe whilst its left hung loose at its side. As Nilda walked briskly towards it, the fingers on its right hand clawed out towards her. She drew her sword, batted the arm away, and stabbed out, spearing the blade through its gaping mouth. A twist of the blade, and it collapsed. She began to kneel.

  “There’s no time for that,” Chester said, knowing she was going to look for the creature’s name. He grabbed her elbow and hustled her towards the Tube and the tunnel behind with its cafes and the bicycle shop. Chester went inside, grabbed the first bike he saw, and took it out into the light.

  “Someone start pumping the tyres,” he said. Tuck was standing guard, looking back towards the river, Hana and McInery were watching the Westminster side of the tunnel. Nilda grabbed the pump as Chester went back to get another.

  “Take it back to the boat,” he said, thrusting the bicycle into Stewart’s arms. He gave Finnegan the second, Greta the third. On the fourth trip he turned his attention to the repair kits, water bottles, and lights on a display behind the counter. He stuffed them into a pair of mouldering pillion bags and went back outside.

  “Where’s McInery?” he asked. Nilda looked up. Finnegan looked around. Stewart just looked vacant.

  “She went that way,” Hana said, pointing towards the hotel. Chester almost smiled with relief.

  “Do we leave her?” Nilda asked, looking first to Chester, and then to Tuck.

  “We can’t,” Hana said. “We have to wait.”

  “There’s no time to wait,” Chester said. “The zombies will come back. There’s the food in the coaches, and I’m wasting daylight standing here.”

  “You go, Chester, we’ll be fine,” Hana said. She had the sword in her hands, gripping it firmly, her eyes, however, were not on the road she should have been watching. It was clear of the undead, but Chester could hear rustling and snapping coming from not too far away.

  “No, I want my last sight of you lot to be on that raft, heading downriver. I don’t need any extra worries on this trip.”

  “We can’t leave her,” Stewart said. “Can’t leave anyone. Got to stick together. Work together. Keep everyone alive.”

  “He’s right,” Greta said.

  “Fine. Come on,” Chester said, not bothering to keep the irritation from his voice, and moved quickly towards the tunnel’s far side and the roads beyond.

  The streets of Westminster were in a far worse state than they’d appeared on the pictures taken by the drone
. The wind had blown the contents of upper storey rooms out of broken windows to join the leaves and litter on the street. Rain had pooled in the rubble and around blocked storm drains, rehydrating dust and dirt and other dry detritus into noisome decay.

  “At least the drone got rid of the undead,” Chester murmured as he clambered up a pile of masonry. They’d passed a couple of dead creatures, but none of the still-animate kind since the one by the river. As he jumped down the other side of the heap of rubble, he realised he’d spoken too soon. Ahead, turning right down a side road, he saw McInery, her axe swinging as she smashed into the head of a zombie invisible from his vantage point. But there were plenty more behind her. These were the broken, crippled creatures missing legs or feet, crawling a slithering path through the muddy debris. They’d tried to follow the drone, and now they were following McInery. Chester started to run, smashing the mace’s spiked head down on the skull of a zombie missing both legs above the knee. He glanced over his shoulder. The others were close behind but each staying a cleaving weapon’s length apart.

  Sometimes dodging a grasping hand as he ran through that carpet of the immobile undead, other times swinging the mace with a brutal finality, he reached the turning McInery had taken. She’d stopped, partially hidden in an alley on the left-hand side fifty metres ahead. He couldn’t believe she was waiting, but then she waved them over. He ran to her.

  “Mac, what the hell are you—” he began.

  “The hotel is the next block over,” she interrupted. “One trip, yes? One trip to gather all we need. And we need weapons and ammunition. We can run in, grab the ammunition, get out through the lobby and grab a few more of those rifles. Five minutes, that’s all it’ll take.”

  “Five minutes? It’s worth the risk,” Hana said with uncharacteristic decisiveness.

  All Chester wanted was to know that Nilda was back on that boat. But if McInery went to the hotel, Hana seemed likely to follow. Greta and Finnegan would follow her. He could hardly leave them all, and he wasn’t sure Nilda would either.

  “Mac, you keep an eye on Hana. Stewart, you too.”

  And once again, he led the way.

  A zombie stumbled out of a pub’s broken doorway. Chester swung the mace. It fell. Another yard and Tuck overtook him, skipping a step, and bringing the axe around and up, hitting a zombie in the chin with such force that it split the creature’s head right open. The axe kept going, and the soldier spun with it, twisting her grip to bring the blade down on a zombie half-crawling along the rubble-strewn road.

  Chester saw the hotel and a closed door almost immediately in front of them. For a glorious few seconds he thought they were free and clear. It was only when Tuck ran ahead, angling to the left, that he realised something was wrong. There was an alley almost too narrow to be called that, and down it in a jostling single file came the living dead. Tuck waved a hand towards the hotel as she raised her weapon and ran towards this new and imminent threat.

  Chester reached the closed door. There was no handle. He pushed. It didn’t move. Nilda reached his side and tried to twist her sword into the thin gap by the lock.

  “No, we need an axe. Greta! Eamonn!” Chester barked.

  Greta and Finnegan stepped forward. One blow. Two. Three. The door splintered. Chester pulled it open. Nilda ran in first, the others quickly following. Chester looked around. Tuck stood in the mouth of the alley, her feet braced, the axe cutting up and down in a smooth rhythm.

  “Oy! Tuck!” he yelled, but of course it had no effect. He darted across the road and grabbed her arm. “Come on, soldier girl, move!”

  They ran back to the hotel and inside. Nilda stood by the door, sword raised.

  “Go!” Chester barked, pushing the shattered door back into place. He looked around for something to barricade it with. He turned at a sound. It was Tuck and Nilda dragging a table out of the conference room. They propped it in front of the door.

  “That’ll buy us a couple of minutes,” Chester said, and hoped he wasn’t being optimistic. He followed Tuck and Nilda down the corridor. Tuck paused at the bodies of two dead soldiers, bent down, and picked up a rifle.

  “Any good?” Chester asked hopefully. Tuck shook her head and dropped the gun.

  At the next turning they saw McInery peering into a conference room. “The ballroom’s that way,” she said waving her hand as she crossed the corridor to look in the room opposite.

  “What are you after?” Chester asked. “What’s here, Mac?”

  “What? Rifles, of course,” she said. And Chester knew she was lying.

  “There’s no time.” He grabbed her arm and half pushed, half dragged her along. They followed the signs along another curved corridor and reached the ballroom. Chester pushed the door closed and looked around. Stewart, Finnegan, and Greta were grabbing ammunition from the boxes. McInery stood looking slowly around. Chester decided he didn’t have time to worry about her. Tuck, he saw, was moving between the crates, not stopping until she’d reached the back of the room. He ignored her. Out of all of them, he suspected she was the only one who knew what she was doing.

  “Forget the ammunition,” he snapped. “Without rifles it’s useless.”

  “Chester’s right,” Nilda said. “That’s more than enough bullets. Are there any guns in here at all?”

  There weren’t. The door they’d just come through shook, and from behind it Chester could hear that gruff wheezing grunt of air being expelled from decaying lungs.

  “Mac? We’re going. You can come with us, or stay here and keep looking for whatever it is.”

  “It’s gone,” she said.

  “What? What’s gone? What are you looking for?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “That was the point. I thought this was some kind of fall-back point. I thought those soldiers in the lobby had died protecting something. I was wrong, and you are right. It’s time to leave.”

  Chester was going to ask her exactly what she meant but before he could, the door shook again. There was no more time. He hustled them towards the third and last door in the ballroom, the one marked as an emergency exit. He was halfway there when Tuck grabbed his arm. She’d pulled a thick, stubby tube of metal from her bag.

  “Is that a grenade launcher?” Chester asked.

  She thrust a small drawstring bag into his hands.

  “Ten,” she mouthed, and then took one of the grenades and loaded it, carefully, slowly.

  “Thanks,” Chester said, and he found he was grinning. Without the frame of the rifle the recoil would be vicious, and a shot would make enough noise to make its use suicidal, but he felt better knowing that if it came to it, he could do more than just curse the darkness.

  The door shook again. A skeletal hand reached into the gap. Finnegan and Greta were through the emergency exit, Stewart, Hana, and McInery behind. Chester took one last look over his shoulder and saw the doors break. It was like a wall of living death, a great necrotic wave, washing over the doorway, crashing down on the floor as the creature at the front of the pack were knocked over by the those at the back. The room filled with the cracking of bone, and a spray of brown-black ooze as more undead came through the door, trampling the prone creatures.

  Following Tuck and Nilda, Chester ran from the ballroom.

  The corridors were narrow and got narrower with each turn, but were empty of the dead and undead alike. They weren’t heading towards the front entrance, he realised, but towards a fire escape. He couldn’t tell on what side of the building they would come out, but it wasn’t going to be near the lobby. That meant no rifles, but that, he decided, wasn’t his problem.

  The corridor branched one last time, and there at the end was the exit. Greta and Finnegan stood by the closed door, shoulders tense, their breathing shallow in expectation of the hard fight waiting for them on the other side. The temptation to shout was strong. Not knowing what was on the other side, Chester kept silent. So did everyone else as Greta pushed the emergency lock-bar, and the door swun
g outwards.

  It led to a narrow, single lane road, filled with shadows from the buildings towering either side. Nilda slammed the door closed. Greta and Finnegan moved a couple of bins in front of it.

  “It won’t hold for long,” Nilda said. “But it will hold for long enough. Which way’s the river?”

  It took a moment for Chester to orientate himself. He pointed. Tuck nodded her agreement. Slowly, quietly, they moved down the road. The grenade launcher felt heavy in his hands, not due to its weight but out of the sheer destructive force it represented. He was more than tempted to unload it, but knew that was folly.

  As they neared the junction at the end of the road they saw the undead moving across it, and the zombies saw them. Chester’s hand twitched with the temptation of firing a grenade, but before he could give in to it, Hana ran at the creatures. McInery followed, and less than a heartbeat later, they were all charging towards the living dead. Their blades didn’t glisten, and no one bellowed a war cry, but to Chester it was a still a mad sight, out of time, yet somehow eternal.

  There were five zombies, and they were all dead before Chester reached them. Hana’s long bayonet was stained dark brown. Her face a study in exaltation.

  “Don’t stop,” Chester said, grabbing and pushing her around. “Mac! Stewart! Keep her moving!”

  McInery put an arm on the young vet’s pack, pushing her along. Chester looked back towards the hotel. Tuck was bringing up the rear, a dozen paces behind, and the nearest of the undead was thirty behind her. It was limping, and even though it was so close, it clearly couldn’t hear or see them. Chester grinned.

  For each bad piece of luck they had, there was always a gleaming piece of good. That had to be a sign that the undead were succumbing to decay. Slowly, sure, but perhaps if they could hold on until the New Year, perhaps not even that long, the nightmare might be over. It made no difference to the task immediately ahead of them, but it was the first true glimmer of hope they’d had since the outbreak began.