Surviving The Evacuation (Book 3): Family

by Frank Tayell

  The metal sheeting once covering the tunnel mouth had collapsed onto the charred remains of fallen trees. It formed a rough ramp up the side of the embankment. It was still glowing in places, but we had no choice. We threw ourselves out of there as fast as we could. We all got burnt. All of us. The soles of our shoes are melted. But we got out and we got away. We only lost two of the tyres. That’s not bad going. But we can’t cycle, not even on the wheel rims. And we can’t stop. Not yet. Not here.

  20:00, 29th July

  A tree. We saw it from half an hour away and we came here because it was the first living thing we’d seen all day. All the lower branches have been broken off, and it’s been pushed to a forty-five degree angle, but it is still alive.

  Another ten minutes and we’ll have to go on.

  Day 130, Wales

  03:00, 30th July

  We’re on the roof of a grain silo. There’s no grain, naturally. But it was still standing and we needed to stop. It’s hard to see in the dark, but we did see odd patches of grass thrusting up above the dirt. We’ve seen more trees and more broken walls. We’re reaching the edge of the ground the horde travelled along.

  12:00, 30th July

  When the sun came up we saw that just a few hundred yards from the silo everything looked normal. There is a physical line gouged into the earth, through the middle of an abandoned field. One side is carpeted with a vivid red and blue display of cornflowers and poppies, on the other is bare, uneven, earth.

  We searched the farms until we found a couple of spare tyres to replace the ones burnt when we left the tunnel, and then we were back to cycling almost as if everything was back to normal. And what does it say that life ten days ago counts as normal?

  We continued on until we came to this village. The two pubs on the village green had both been looted. But no one had thought to check the garden centre on the outskirts. The vending machine was half full. Flavoured, sparkling, sugar water has never tasted so good.

  “I’m worried about Daisy,” Kim said. “I was thinking we could find a hospital and...” she trailed off. “It’s not going to work, is it?”

  “This village in Ireland. That’s where we’ve got to get to. The submarine would have had a doctor, and I’ll grant you that they probably don’t have to deal with many infants in the Royal Navy, but that’s our only chance.”

  “Will we make it? In time, I mean.”

  “It doesn’t matter. If they’re not there then they’ll have left directions or a radio or something.”

  “But what if they haven’t? What if no one comes? What if they’re already dead?”

  “We’ll find a GP’s somewhere. Find a book on paediatric medicine, work out what’s wrong and find out what she needs. It’ll be OK.”

  I hope.

  Time to move on.

  Part 2:

  Rendezvous, Rescue & A Request

  Day 133, Llanncanno Safe House, Wales.

  03:00, 2nd August

  For once my plan worked. We reached the rendezvous about eighteen hours ago, a day ahead of schedule.

  “There it is,” I said. “The beach.”

  “Well. What do we do?” Kim asked.

  “We have to help. Don’t you get it? It’s a flag house, we have to!” Annette insisted.

  We’d barely stopped since we left the tunnel. Daisy was coughing when she wasn’t just completely silent. We cycled and tramped across fields and tracks. We threw away nearly everything we’d been carrying. We kept going, but only to sleep and only when it was too dark to see. When Annette was too tired to carry on, we got rid of her bike and she rode, uncomfortably, on Sholto’s cross frame. I don’t think any of us noticed how lush the land was around here, not until we caught that first scent of salt-water. That gave us the strength to continue, travelling on by star light, until dawn when we first spotted the sea. We followed the coast road until we reached a copse of trees about a mile from the beach. We stopped, near collapse, and I’ll admit we all dozed as we waited for dawn to bring enough light to confirm we were in the right place.

  In front of the trees lay a handful of fields broken only by the occasional stone wall. Beyond that lay a short farm track, running east to west, that ran from the coast road by the beach up off into the hills. On the corner where the track met the coast road, its rear windows overlooking the sea, were three buildings.

  An old cottage, with a new extension, was bracketed on either side by two long, whitewashed barns that formed a rough ‘U’ around a paved area complete with a picnic table. At the edge of the property, in clear view of the main road was a large sign. It read, ‘Llanncanno Outdoor Pursuit, B&B and’, the rest of the words were illegible, as they’ve been painted over with ‘Safe House. Survivors Welcome.’

  Flying from a telegraph pole a dozen yards from the driveway was what might be called a flag but what, six months ago, was certainly called a bed-sheet. For good measure the words ‘Safe’ and ‘Hose’, had been daubed onto the barn walls. In case the misspelling was enough to put someone off, the windbreakers down on the beach had been covered in more bunting than I’ve seen since the royal wedding.

  Next to the sign was a driveway leading to a slope and a small car park. Beyond that lay another slope and the three buildings. Around those stood the undead.

  “I can count twenty, so I’d guess there’s thirty,” I said. “Perhaps thirty five. Depends how many are on the far side.”

  Most of the undead were gathered around the cottage. Bloody-brown smears marred the whitewashed walls, where They had beat their fists in an attempt to get at whoever was inside.

  “Another safe house,” Kim murmured. “Are you sure it’s the right beach.”

  “The sign says so, doesn’t it?” Annette snapped. “Llanncanno. This has to be the place.”

  “We’re in the right place,” I confirmed. “Just a day early. Do you think those are the people we’re meant to catch a lift from?”

  “Either that or they’re more people waiting for a ride,” Sholto replied.

  “We could wait for the boat,” I suggested, “and hope they’ve some way of getting rid of the zombies.”

  “Like what?” Kim asked. “Isn’t it meant to be a fishing trawler? Or are you hoping that this community is going to spare a nuclear submarine to use as a taxi service?”

  “What if the boat comes and it sees the house and it can’t do anything and so it goes away?” Annette asked, anxiety in her voice.

  “They wouldn’t do that,” I said.

  “You don’t know that. You can’t. You don’t know what they’re like. Neither,” she said, forestalling a comment from my brother, “do you.”

  “There’s a more likely scenario,” Kim said. “That boat will be noisy. It’ll come up to the beach and those zombies will hear. They’ll flock down to the beach. Do you see the fence ringing the property? It’s about three feet high and built to keep out sheep. I think thirty zombies would knock it down quickly enough. It would be a race then, the zombies and the people in that house. The people would get down to the beach first, right? It’s only a few hundred yards. And then the boat will leave. And what about us? It’s a mile right? We’ll be halfway there, the boat will have gone and we’ll have all those undead right in front of us.”

  “You see,” Annette said, “we have to help them.”

  Sholto took the scope and began to methodically scan everything in sight. “There are no other zombies around here. None that I can see. Or Hear. How did They get here? I mean, this is the middle of nowhere, right?”

  “Time,” I said. ”One follows another and another follows that one. Sooner or later...”

  “No,” he interrupted. “Statistically speaking, I can’t see how you’d get thirty surrounding a house if there weren’t a few dozen or so coming up from the beach or these fields.”

  “That’s got to be time, too. Let me see.” I took the scope. “Those thirty or so must be all the undead within earshot.”

  “So they’
re not flag people?” Annette asked, “They’re just like us, and they went there because the sign said it was safe?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “They could be just like Barrett,” Kim said.

  That thought had occurred to me.

  “Or just like us,” Annette said. “You can’t know.”

  “We could try and communicate with them,” I suggested, half heartedly. Other than the stone walls and the foot high grass there wasn’t any cover between our copse of trees and the house. There was a good chance they’d not see us signal, not unless we got close enough that the zombies would see us too. And that was assuming that my brother remembered enough Morse code to send a coherent message, and that someone inside the house also knew the code.

  “And what message could we possibly send?” Sholto asked, as if reading my thoughts. “Would we ask them if they wanted help?”

  “We can’t wait here,” Kim said. “We’re almost out of food.”

  Water had been surprisingly easy to find, at least whilst we were travelling through the Brecon Beacons. But filling a stomach with water can only fool it so much. The last stash of food we’d found at a hiking supplies store had been just enough for Daisy, with nearly enough for Annette and no more than a mouthful for Sholto, Kim and I.

  “We could cycle down to Cardigan, that’s about fifteen miles from here. Or Fishguard, that’s about thirty,” I suggested, but without enthusiasm. The villages and houses close to the coast that we’d looked in had been looted with more efficiency than those we’d seen inland.

  “And then what?” Annette asked. “What if we don’t make it back in time? What if we do and the boat comes and they kill all the zombies? Do we just go down to the beach and ask for a lift. Because they may not be like Barrett. They may not be like those men in the house where you met Bill,” she added to Kim, “but isn’t that what they’ll think we’re like if we just stay up here and watch? You see, we’re not just asking for a lift. We’re asking to join them. We want to go and live with them in their village, right? Well why should they let us? Why should their doctor help Daisy if we don’t go and help them?”

  “She’s right. We’ve retreated until we’ve got the sea at our backs, then,” I said. Annette opened her mouth, “Or at our side. It’s a figure of speech,” I added. “It means there’s nowhere left to go.”

  “Then we’re going to help?” Annette asked, brightening up. “So what’s the plan?”

  “Not we. Sholto and I, we’ll go. You’re going to stay here with Daisy. You too, Kim.”

  “Oh no,” Kim said, “If anyone is staying, then it should be you. I’m far better in a stand up fight.”

  “Exactly. Someone has to look after Daisy and Annette if this goes wrong. Someone who can run a mile down to the beach whilst carrying a baby. That’s not me.”

  “I don’t like it,” Kim said. I just shrugged.

  “What’s the plan then?” Sholto asked.

  “No plan,” I said, standing up. “There’s no time. We’ll just go down there, and hope the people inside come out and help.”

  I felt strangely calm walking across the fields towards the house. I was freed from responsibility, from planning, even from thinking. All I had to do was act. All the complexities of survival had come down to a simple matter of life and death, and one that didn’t involve Kim and the girls. She’d keep them safe, and if I died, I would have done so trying to help others. And if that doesn’t count towards redemption, then what does?

  “There’s a wall, just in front of the road,” Sholto said, “I say we go down to the road, lure the zombies away from the house, then fall back behind the wall. They shouldn’t be able to clamber over. If we take our time, be careful, be cautious, we’ll be alright.”

  “Sure. Sounds good.” I almost didn’t care. Almost. What Annette had said came back to me. I’d dismissed it, initially, as words masking her anxiety for Daisy’s health and our own desperate situation. It wasn’t though, I realised. She genuinely meant it. She wanted to help, and would probably have tried to help them even if she’d been on her own. Helping others is what she does. That’s why she saved Daisy. It’s why she was certain we’d come and rescue her. She’s a remarkable girl.

  “They’ll see us soon,” Sholto said, we were in the last field. There was just a few hundred yards between us and the last stone wall, then just another fifty yards of road, driveway and car park between the wall and the undead.

  “We’ve a bit further to go yet,” I replied.

  “You got a battle cry?” Sholto asked.

  “No. Sometimes I apologise. I picked that up from Kim. Is there a family motto or something?”

  “Not really.” He thought for a moment. “You could try ‘Qui Fraudem, Adipiscitur’.”

  “Meaning?” I asked.

  “He who cheats, wins.”

  I nodded. I might even have smiled. I thought, then, of all the questions I could have asked him, all of our family history, but then I realised there was only one question that really mattered.

  “Did you really come over here because of me? I mean, how much of it was about revenge or finding Quigley or that Doctor?”

  “I’m here with you now aren’t I?”

  That was good enough for me. We reached the stone wall.

  “I’ve forty three rounds left,” he said, unslinging his M-16.

  “That might do it.” I’d left the pistol and its last few rounds with Kim.

  We climbed over the wall.

  “I’ll take the left then, you the right?” he asked.

  “Sounds good.”

  He looked at me, I at him. He nodded, I nodded back. He headed off to the left, I to the right.

  I kept my eyes fixed on the small patch of clear ground I was intending to make my stand. As it grew nearer the idiocy of what we were about to do began to sink in. An all or nothing frontal assault ultimately to save a child. It was absurdly romantic in the most old-fashioned sense of the word.

  We reached the road at about the same time, without the undead noticing us. We were about a hundred yards apart, each about the same distance from the drive leading to the car park.

  Waiting for the zombies to realise we were there, I started to feel foolish. I wondered whether I’d have to start shouting, just to get the attention of the undead. I looked over at my brother, intending to signal my intention, when he solved the problem by firing.

  It was a single shot and took a zombie in the back of the neck. The creature stumbled and half spun forwards, falling into two creatures in front. Sholto fired again, the bullet struck just above the creature’s ear. Even from close to seventy yards away I saw the spray of gore arcing up over the pack, as the back of its head exploded.

  Before its body had fallen to the ground, They began to turn around. Not all together, but one by one, in quick succession. And just as quickly, They began to lurch towards us.

  I checked that the hatchet was loose in my belt, then lowered the blade of the pike so it was level with the ground. I’d try and hook the creatures, knock Them over, then stab Them through the skull. That had worked before, and if it didn’t work now I’d retreat until I could climb back over the stone wall. I played out that scenario, over and over, as the zombies got closer and closer. The pike grew heavy. I’d forgotten how slowly They moved. They had to cross the car park, and then reach the driveway. The fencing would funnel Them out onto the road, but then I’d still have to wait for Them to cross the fifty yards or so of road.

  There were three out front, five behind, then two, then the rest. Would They split up, half heading towards me, the rest towards my brother? I’d no idea. He fired. Another creature went down. He fired again and hit a shoulder. And again and this time I couldn’t see any effect. And I realised that there was no reason for Them to come towards me. Sholto was the one with the gun. He was the one making the noise. That was about the time I started to wish I’d come up with a plan.

  I started limping towards the drivewa
y.

  Sholto fired. It was a good shot. It was a great shot. The bullet smashed through a zombie’s open mouth and blew the back of its head apart, sending its lank pigtails, still attached to skin and bone, flying off in opposite directions.

  For some reason one of the zombies was faster than the others. It staggered forward, a dozen paces ahead of the pack. I took another step forward, checked the position of the other undead. They were a dozen paces behind. There was a shot. I didn’t look to see if it was a hit. I took a breath and readied the pike.

  The zombie was twenty feet away. It had been scalped. That’s the only way of describing it. Hair and skin had been cut off, revealing white bone like a macabre parody of a tonsure. Someone must have tried to kill it. They’d missed and, probably, they’d died. A few errant strands of hair remained, twitching back and forth each time the creature’s shoulders flexed and its hands grasped out at the gap between us.

  There was a shot.

  I checked my grip, reminded myself that I’d two fingers missing. The zombie had reached the edge of the slope leading down the road. I took a step forward, twisted the pike, took another pace, swung the pike forward and round and looped the head under the zombie’s ankle. I pulled. It fell. I skipped forward, plunging the spear forward. The creature rolled. The point jarred against concrete.

  There was another shot.

  I didn’t look to see, I was too busy regaining my balance. I pulled the point back and was about to try again, but it was too late. The creature was halfway to its feet and two more zombies were now at the top of the slope. Gravity helped Them on their way, as They half fell down the incline, knocking the creature that had fallen back down to the ground.