Surviving The Evacuation (Book 6): Harvest

by Tayell, Frank

  “Hana, Mac,” he called softly, now only three feet behind them. The young vet half turned her head. She was still smiling. “Look at the zombies,” Chester continued. “I don’t think—”

  And Hana was still smiling when her head exploded. The sound of the shot registered a second later as Chester reached out to catch the young woman’s body. He didn’t hear the second shot. There was a feeling of a great weight hitting his head. Then brightness. Then nothing.

  Man Down

  Nilda saw Hana fall. She saw Chester dive forward and saw him spin in the air as he was hit by that second shot. Time didn’t slow, but everything around her sped up, and she couldn’t reach him before he landed in an untidy heap on the ground.

  As she raised a hand to his bloody face, there was a third shot. Then Tuck was at her side, grabbing Chester, pulling him up. Nilda found herself on his other side, and they were running, and all she could feel was the warm blood dripping down his back onto her hand, pulsing slower and slower.

  Tuck stopped them in the lobby of a nearly ruined building fifty yards to the south. The soldier pulled out a bandage and wrapped it roughly round Chester’s head. She grabbed a bag hanging over his shoulder, and gripped Nilda’s arm hard, squeezing until Nilda blinked, focusing properly on the soldier.

  Tuck pointed towards the river. “Go!” she rasped.

  Stewart lifted Chester up, and Nilda felt a hand under her own arm. She shook it off and grabbed Chester. They ran.

  She didn’t remember the journey back to the raft, and it was only after Finnegan had cut the rope and they were frantically paddling downriver that Nilda realised Tuck wasn’t with them.

  Epilogue:

  The Country of the Blind

  28th September

  “You’re awake?” a voice said. Chester knew that voice. It took a moment for his brain to sort through his recent memories until he found the name that matched it. Nilda. He tried to speak, but only managed a gruff croak.

  “Here. Water.”

  There was something hard at his lips. A cup. He sipped. Water. It felt good. And then he realised he couldn’t see. He raised his right arm and found a bandage on the side of his head. That was as much movement as he could manage. He let his hand fall to his chest. He could feel it rise up and down, heaving with the exertion.

  “Just relax. You’re alive. That’s… that’s all that matters right now.” There was an edge to the voice. Fear? Tiredness? Chester wasn’t sure, and he fell asleep again before he’d worked it out.

  “You were shot,” Nilda said the next time he woke.

  “Shot?” he managed.

  “It was two days ago. Do you remember?” she asked.

  A series of images came back to him, vague and indistinct.

  “Hana?” he asked.

  “She died there on the street. I’m sorry.” There was a cough that might have been a wry laugh. “I don’t know why I’m apologising. I can’t seem to stop. You should have seen her room. There were ledgers and books everywhere. I don’t think she ever slept. She was agonising over everything. I think…” She stopped. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll see for yourself.”

  “Graham?” Chester managed.

  “What? Yes. Well, we think it was him who shot you both. I can’t imagine it was anyone else. Tuck went after him, but she’s not back. I…” There was a catch in her voice, then a slow shuddering sigh. “I did what I could. I had to use the books. It wasn’t easy, and in the end we didn’t do much more than stop the bleeding. The bullet skimmed the side of your head. You’ve lost most of your ear. And… well, it might have done some damage to your hearing.”

  Chester nodded, or tried to, but couldn’t tell if he’d moved his head or not. It explained why Nilda’s voice sounded odd. So what if he’d lost the hearing in an ear? That still left him with one, and Tuck got by well enough with none.

  “Does it hurt much?” Nilda asked. “The only painkillers we had are the kind Hana used to tranquilise the animals. I had to guess at the dose, but I figured you weighed about the same as a pig. We’re almost out I’m afraid, though I don’t suppose it matters. I mean, if the animals get sick, all we can do now is eat them.” There was another half caught wry laugh.

  “What…?” Chester began, then forgot what he was going to ask.

  “We got the food from the coaches,” Nilda went on. “Jay organised that. He wanted to help me, you see. He said that he’d had to operate on Stewart back when they found him. I wouldn’t let him. I thought you were going to…” And again she stopped. “So when I’d finished doing what little I could, I went outside and found that he’d gone out to get the food. Not just him. Nearly everyone. The way that Fogerty tells it, it’s turning into a saga. You know, one more tale of life in the old Tower of London.” She gave a short, brief laugh that almost turned into a sob. She took a deep breath. “And now you’re awake, it’ll have a happy ending.”

  “Huh…” He tried to speak. He found he couldn’t.

  “Rest,” she said. “You’ll need your strength. I’ll get you some food. We’ve got lots.” And this time he heard the bitterness in her voice.

  His head felt light, disconnected. He tried to line up all those things he needed to ask her, but when she returned the scent of freshly cooked vegetables suppressed all other thoughts.

  “We’ve got more than enough food now,” Nilda said as she spooned broth into his mouth. “At least, we’ve enough to last us until Finnegan gets back.”

  “Finnegan?” Chester asked. Speaking was getting easier. Thinking wasn’t.

  “He’s gone to Anglesey. He disappeared when everyone went to get that food from the coaches. He didn’t even tell Greta that he was going, just left her a note. She was furious. He might have reached Anglesey by now. Or tomorrow maybe.”

  Chester tried to shake his head. This time he managed it.

  “I know, it might take him longer,” Nilda said, “but I think he’ll make it. He took all of those maps of yours. You know, the ones you’d left in your room with the routes marked out.”

  Chester tried to shake his head again. It just made him dizzy. He passed out.

  “Nilda?” he asked, when he woke.

  “I’m here.”

  “Finnegan. The maps.”

  “Yes, he took them,” she said. “He’s gone to Anglesey.”

  “No. The maps. They were the routes not to take. They were…” his mouth was dry. “Water?” he croaked.

  “Here. Sip. Slowly. What do you mean?”

  “The horde. Those were the places the hordes had been through.”

  “Does that matter?”

  “The radiation. I worked it out. It wasn’t the wind. The zombies. They go through the fallout zones. The…” But the effort of speaking was too much. He took a breath. It hurt. He took another, this time shallower, and tried again. “In the books. On radiation. The impact site. Cae… Cae…” He tried to remember how to say Caesium. He gave up. “Heavy isotopes. Last for decades. Zombies walk through it. Spread it. Destroy land. Contaminate everything.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  He had been. He knew that. But there was something about people and a tunnel which meant he might be wrong, though he couldn’t remember why.

  “No,” he admitted.

  “Which books?”

  Chester wasn’t sure. “Textbooks.”

  “The physics ones? Hang on.” He felt a weight lift from the bed. A few seconds later the door opened and then closed. It seemed like an age before it opened again.

  “Okay, I’ve got them,” Nilda said. “Which one is it?”

  “Don’t remember.”

  “This one?” she asked.

  “Take off the bandage. Can’t see.”

  “What?” And this time there was fear in her voice. “Chester? Can you see me?”

  “Not with the bandage.”

  “It’s only over your right eye,” she said.

 
He’d never known fear like it. His hands went up to his face. The right side was bandaged. The left wasn’t.

  “Blind,” was all he was able to say.

  “Fine. Fine,” Nilda said, almost robotically. There was the sound of books being dropped to the floor, of footsteps across the room, then of pages being turned. Another book being discarded. Then more pages being turned.

  “It’s temporary. Here. It says it. Cortical Blindness. It’s quite common and will… right, hang on. Don’t move.”

  “Why? What are you doing?” Chester asked. He could sense her moving closer, standing over him.

  “Shining a light into your eye. It says if your pupil responds to light, then it’s temporary. Yes. There. The pupil is constricting. That’s proof. Your sight will come back. We just have to be patient.”

  He would have found it easier to believe if there wasn’t so much desperation in her voice.

  29th September

  There were no more tranquilisers. Without them, the pain was worse, but thinking was easier.

  “What’s the mood like?” he asked when the door opened.

  “It’s okay.” It was Jay, not Nilda. “Everyone’s still waiting for Tuck. I thought she’d be back last night.”

  “It’s morning?” Chester asked.

  “By a few hours. I brought you breakfast.”

  “Oh, right. Thanks.”

  “Do you… do you need a hand with it?” Jay asked.

  “It’s on a tray? Then just put in front of me. Where’s the spoon. Right.” He felt for the bowl. “Listen. Whilst you’re here, you can do me a favour.”

  “Yeah sure. I mean… well… is it…?” Jay stammered, clearly realising what kind of favour a bedridden man might ask.

  “N’ah. I just want you to read something for me. In those medical textbooks, does it say the blindness might be permanent?”

  “Ah. Um…” he stammered again.

  “You already know, but your Mum told you not to tell me?” Chester guessed.

  “Kinda, yeah.”

  “Which is as good as saying my eyesight may never come back. I just needed to know. False hope’s never a good idea.”

  “I’m sorry, Chester,” Jay said.

  “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I should have killed Graham when I had the chance.”

  “It might not be him,” Jay said. “Fogerty says you’d have to be really good to get a headshot with a rifle like that. He’d have to be military.”

  “And who’s to say he wasn’t? Do you know what he did before?”

  “Well, no. Not really,” Jay said.

  “And who else could it have been?” Chester asked.

  “When we found Stewart, he’d been shot,” Jay said. “It could have been the same people. And Mum says that Stewart was standing right next to Hana. So maybe they were shooting at him.”

  Chester thought back. That last image of Hana, half turned to face him, her head exploding with the impact, was seared into his memory. Stewart had been standing close by. So had McInery.

  “Or Graham was shooting at Mac,” he said. “What’s she been like over the last couple of days?”

  “Quiet,” Jay said. “Sort of… embarrassed, maybe. Ashamed? She’s been going out to find supplies.”

  “She has?”

  “Bandages and things. For you.”

  “Oh. Didn’t she try and take over?”

  “No. Mum’s sort of organising things, and Styles has been… well, everyone’s helping. McInery’s just been doing what she’s been asked, I suppose. She’s sort of on automatic. It’s, well, it’s weird. I was reading those books,” he added. “The ones about radiation.”

  “The radiation. Yeah. Did I tell your Mum that I thought the zombies were spreading it? I think I did, but it’s hard to know what’s memory and what’s a dream.”

  “Yeah, you did. And I was talking to her about those people on the island. You know, the Abbot and the people from Scotland. I think Finnegan will be fine as long as he doesn’t eat anything or drink the water. But even if he does and gets a lethal dose, it won’t kill him immediately. He’ll live long enough to get to Anglesey. Greta was upset when I told her that.”

  “You told her?”

  “I told everyone. I don’t think secrets are a good idea. Not anymore. I don’t mean I told the children,” he added. “I waited until the end of the meeting, after Constance went off to try and get them all into bed. I suppose I should have asked Greta to help her.”

  “By the sound of it, you’re the one trying to take over here,” Chester said.

  “I don’t think we need leaders. Not really. If everyone just does all that they can, all the time, we’ll get through it, you know?”

  “Yeah, kid. You might be right.”

  “A boat will come, and then you can get taken to that hospital. You’ll get proper treatment. It’ll be okay.”

  “Of course it will.” He wasn’t going to hang any hopes on that prospect.

  “I better go,” Jay said. “We need to finish emptying the office block, then there’s firewood to chop. Will you be all right on your own?

  “Of course. But there’s not much point me laying here. Help me up, and I’ll give you a hand. I don’t need to see where a log is to split it.”

  “Are you sure? Mum says you should be resting.”

  “There’ll be plenty of time for that when I’m dead, and I’m not that yet.”

  3rd October

  “You won’t guess what I found,” Jay said.

  “No, you’re probably right, I won’t,” Chester said. “But do me a favour, and hold up that piece of card.”

  “Why?” Jay asked.

  “So I can see if I can read it. Hold it up. Go on.”

  “Okay. Can you see what it says?”

  “No, step closer. A bit closer. Closer.” Chester sighed. “All right, put it down. Ah well, maybe it’ll improve.”

  “Probably, I mean, you couldn’t see at all a couple of days ago.”

  “True,” Chester said, though he didn’t believe it. “Now, what was it you came to tell me?”

  “Oh, right. Well, you know how we’re building those greenhouses,” Jay began. “And we…” he stopped. “Did you hear that?”

  “What?”

  “Hang on.” Jay went to the door. “It’s Tuck,” he said. “She’s back.”

  To be concluded in Book 7: Home, due out at the end of summer 2015.

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  Other titles:

  Work. Rest. Repeat.

  A Post-Apocalyptic Detective Novel

  Surviving The Evacuation

  Book 0.5: Zombies vs The Living Dead

  Book 1: London

  Book 2: Wasteland

  Book 3: Family

  Book 4: Unsafe Haven

  Book 5: Reunion

  Book 6: Harvest

  Undead Britain

  (In the charity anthology, ‘At Hell’s Gates 1’)

  History’s End

  (In the charity anthology, ‘At Hell’s Gates 2’)