by Frank Tayell
“Sure,” I said, getting up.
“When you’re young,” the old man continued, “you think everything can be solved with action. One violent vigorous act and it’s all settled and you’re through and clear. When you get a bit older and a lot wiser you realise that slow and methodical, that’s the way. That’s what we did, slow and steady. Perhaps those people we’d met had been right, because we didn’t have that much trouble with the undead. Just had to stop and deal with a handful before we reached that next village. It took us the entire morning, mind you and we were both exhausted, but the day was far from over. We had to find a house, and this time we did look for one with a flagpole, but again that was just meant to be a way to help us find it later on. We found more food, we siphoned more petrol and we avoided the undead. We worked out a bit of a routine. Distract Them, you know? Get Them heading off somewhere, because if you’re clever and quick about it, They won’t realise that you’ve sneaked off and They’re just following one another. That day our haul wasn’t as good as the first, but it was still an extra ten miles or so of fuel. We reckoned that if we kept that up for a couple of weeks we’d be set. But what we want and what the universe had planned for us was another thing entirely. We stumbled across this kid, Ronnie. He’s about the same age as you,” he added nodding to Annette. “Said he was heading up to Scotland to find his sister, except he’d been cycling west instead of north. He joined up with us. And that was one more mouth to feed, but it was also an extra pair of hands. And it was someone to go off scouting ahead us. Someone to check the roads were clear. He’d take his bike down the road or up a hill and find out whether there were zombies up ahead or somewhere we could stay the night. It was a lot quicker, and a lot safer, after that.”
“Why didn’t you all cycle?” Annette asked.
“The Mayor can’t.”
“Everyone can learn to ride a bike.”
“I mean physically. She’s in a wheelchair.”
My eyebrows rose at that.
“A couple of days later we ran into a pair of girls, Finn and Ailya. They’d been hiking south in the hope that it’d turn out better than what they’d seen up north. They joined us, and that made five of us.”
“And you didn’t meet anyone else?”
“Oh we did. It wasn’t easy, but this was still the early days. That was one good thing about the evacuation, it cleared out the whole middle part of the country. No, we did meet other people, but five’s enough to look dangerous, and we weren’t carrying enough to make the risk worthwhile. I think, for most people, civilisation and all its trappings were still fresh enough in their memories that law and order still prevailed. Up until the morning of the tenth day.” He paused again.
“What happened then,” Annette asked eagerly.
“I’ll tell you, just as soon as he finishes making that tea.”
“Right sorry.” I poured half a dozen mugs, and handed him one.
“Thank you,” he said, giving me that strange look again. “So on the tenth day, we were about forty miles north west of that first... what did you call it? That first flag house. We’d covered a bit more than that, going in a sort of zig-zag and we’d decided we’d stockpiled enough. We were going to take a car, drive back, pick up all that petrol and all that food and then just drive west. We’d try that house in Wales I knew about, but if that wasn’t any good we’d see about getting over to Ireland. We were just working out whether to take one car or two, when we heard this engine coming towards us. That was Bran. He’d found our stash, and had been driving around the countryside, looking for more, collecting everything we’d left. Ronnie had been in charge of the flags, and he’d taken to putting them up as soon as we picked a place. That was the reason Bran stopped. He thought he’d found another stash. And he wasn’t alone. There were four of them in that car, and they saw the petrol and food as their property.” He took a long sip from the mug.
“There are four types of people who didn’t go on the evacuation,” he said. “There’s the ones like me who couldn’t, the people too scared to believe the outbreak was real, the people who just didn’t trust the government and,” he took another theatrical sip, “of course, there’s the people who knew, for one reason or another, that wherever law and order was, they wanted to be somewhere else.”
“Criminals?” Annette asked.
“That’s far too simplistic a word. But this is why the Mayor is the Mayor. They came looking for an easy haul. She persuaded them, well, nearly, that we’d be better off working together. That if they took the food for themselves they’d stay alive for an extra day or two, but if we worked together we might all last out the year.”
“And that was enough?” Annette sounded sceptical.
“Well she didn’t say it like that. She’s a better way with words than I have. But that was almost enough. One of them didn’t want to go along with it. Don’t know why. Bran dealt with him.” He paused again, and this time, I noted he was watching Annette’s reaction.
“Oh. Right.” she just shrugged. “So what happened then?”
“Well,” he said slowly, as if he was making a mental note of something, “there were eight of us, in a convoy heading north. And that engine, that attracted the undead, but it was also a siren for the survivors. By the end of the day we’d made a hundred miles and eight had grown to forty. When you take out the ones too old or too young, there were still thirty strong enough to wield a weapon. And they needed to be, because we had to fight all night long, fending off the zombies that had followed us. But when dawn came, we were all still alive. That’s when we decided to split up. With what we could scrounge from nearby and what we’d carried with us, we had enough fuel to get two cars to the welsh coast. Bran and the Mayor went on ahead with the young, the sick and the old. Me and the rest, we continued on foot.”
“But you’re old,” Annette asked, “why didn’t you go with them?”
“Because” he spluttered, more amused than indignant, “the Mayor and I seemed to know where we were going, we weren’t just wandering in the wilderness. You must have known it, the fear and despair that gripped everyone in those first days, and in many days since. Everyone else was ready to turn their faces to the wall, but we’d not given up. Two old folks at the end of their days, if we could keep going then so could they. And we’d proved it. We’d fought a battle and we’d won. Or no one had died, and that’s about the only kind of victory that matters. So whilst we led, they would follow, but only if we led from the front. That’s why I stayed with that second group.”
Annette seemed to weigh that up.
“OK,” she said eventually, “so what happened then?”
“Well,” he said, “whenever we stopped we hung out a flag, and we made sure to leave a little food for anyone coming after. A couple of days after we split up, we spotted a house with a flag already flying out front. Bran and the Mayor had stopped there and they’d left some supplies for us. They’d also left an address of where they were going next. We followed and looked out for the flags. It wasn’t easy but we got to the coast, met up with Mister Mills and Sophia Augusto and crossed the Irish Sea to the village they’d turned into a redoubt. It’s forty miles south of Dublin,” he added, “or about seventy miles west of here. We had an election and some people settled, some started families, others have stayed on their boats doing nothing but hiding from an indifferent world that suddenly turned cruel, but some of us,” he nodded at the others sitting around the table then gestured towards the barn, “we know it’s worth risking all and everything to give others a chance. Bran and a few others they went back out to set up the safe houses, some in Ireland, some over here. They put out the maps and left a route for people to follow. And us, well, we came back over here too because we know that what we’ve got is not enough. We want to create something worthy of passing on to your generation.” He nodded to Annette.
“How many?” Annette asked slowly. “I mean, how many people? Marcy she said there were only two hundre
d.”
“Oh there’s a few more than that,” the old man said, glancing at the doctor. “We’ve a policy of not knowing the exact number as it goes down as often as it goes up. The Mayor keeps a record, of course, to keep track of supplies and the like. For the rest of us, we just focus on the idea that after the outbreak we were all on our own, and we’re not anymore.”
“And that’s all that are left, out of the millions and millions?” Annette asked.
“Well,” he said slowly, looking at me as he said it, “there are other places. Other communities. Places where if you walk down the path singing and shouting so they know you’re not one of the undead, that they’ll as soon shoot you or throw rocks or arrows or firebombs, as they would greet you like a friend. And I’m sad to say that that’s not the worst of it. But that shouldn’t trouble you,” he said, turning again to address Annette. “Tomorrow you’ll be on board a ship with nothing more to contend with than sea sickness and seagulls.”
“Seagull stew. Once tasted, never forgotten,” Donnie added brightly.
“Oh don’t remind me,” Marcy said with a rueful shake of her head. “We’ve fish now, lots of it. And wheat for bread and...”
They went on to describe, with genuine enthusiasm, the chicken coops, the nascent rabbit farm, the stable and its four horses and the rest of their menagerie.
Annette was enthralled. I was more interested in the things that they were not saying. I listened for half an hour before getting to my feet.
“I’m just going to take a walk. Stretch the leg. It gets stiff if I sit too long.”
“You’re not going far?” the old man asked.
“Once around the house.”
“I’ll come with you,” Kim said.
Conscious of Francois still sitting sentry on the roof, we waited until we were on the far side of the barn, before either of us spoke.
“What did you get out of Marcy?” I asked. Kim summarised what she’d been told. It sounded very much like the story Donnie had told me.
“And what do you make of it?” I asked.
“It’s not going to work, is it?” she said finally. “I mean, all those tankers? You’d need all the people who can drive. Machine guns and armoured cars aren’t going to help. And even if it works, too many will die and the fuel will still run out eventually. It’s a temporary solution that will create a lot more problems than it solves.”
“It sounds desperate.”
“It is. That’s exactly the right word. It’s as if they’ve tried everything else and reached this point and there’s no options left. Except I can see at least a dozen that they haven’t tried.”
“We could disappear. Now,” I said, and I was half considering it.
“No, don’t get me wrong. I don’t think they’re dangerous to us, and we need that hospital. I just think that this airport plan is going to go disastrously wrong. And I think the only reason they’re considering it is because otherwise they would definitely face disaster.” She sighed. “We were so close. I thought we’d found safety, but we haven’t. We’ll go along with them for now, just until Daisy’s better and then see if we can find a way across the Atlantic or out to some small island or something. We can manage without electricity. Yes, that’s what we’ll do. Anyway, we have to go with them,” she said, turning to look at me, “You’ll need to know where to find us. Oh don’t look at me like that. You’re going off to find that Doctor, aren’t you?”
I hesitated before answering.
“Yes,” I said.
“And you have to go now?”
“I think so. So we can settle down to a new life without the old one hanging over us.”
“OK,” she said. I was surprised. I’d been expecting a fight. “But,” she went on “Take your brother with you. I’d go, but one of us needs to stay with Daisy and Annette.”
“True. And Sholto’s not the maternal type.”
“Nor am I. But if I go, Annette will follow and she won’t leave Daisy behind. So you’ll take him?”
“I’ll speak to him in a moment.”
“That wasn’t a ‘yes’.”
“Yes. I’ll ask him to come.”
“Good. We’ll arrange a time to come and collect you both. If Sophia was going to come here to collect him once, then she’ll come back. We’ll say the last day of the month and, if you’re not here, then the last day of every month after that.”
“No, it’ll be a lot easier if we make our own way to Ireland. It won’t take that long. Just a week, two at the outside. Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”
Had I known, I’d have come up with some better parting words.
Kim went back inside. I stood, looking at the fields for a time, lost in my own thoughts. When I finally went back into the house, Annette was asleep in an armchair, Sholto in one opposite, Daisy asleep on his chest. I watched them. I’d just decided to let him sleep and talk to him in the morning when the old man came up and tapped me on the arm. He nodded towards the back door. I followed him outside.
“I just want to check the perimeter,” he said. “And have a quick word whilst we’re about it.”
“Oh yes?”
“Sholto. Your brother. Never thought he’d actually make it here. Wasn’t entirely sure he was real. He’s certainly not what I expected. Nor are you.”
“Oh?”
“Well, naturally, I assumed you’d be American.”
“He’s actually British. He’s naturalised, you see.”
“Yes. I sort of guessed that, when I worked out who you were. I don’t think I ever knew your name, but I remember the face, even now. Don’t know that many people would, but I didn’t have much to do except watch the telly. And yours was on it often enough. Might not have remembered it if it wasn’t...” he trailed off. I stayed silent.
“So you were one of them,” he said, eventually. “One of the politicians.”
“Not exactly. I wrote speeches. That sort of thing.”
“N’ah, you were more than that,” he said. “All that coverage, all those interviews. You were going to be someone. Always with Jennifer Masterton, weren’t you? You’d grown up with her or something. I thought you were dating her.”
“I wasn’t. We did grow up together. Sort of. Her father adopted me. Sort of.”
“Huh,” he grunted, then changed the subject, “So, Donnie told you of the plan. What do you think of it?”
“The tankers and the airport? Well, let’s say it all works and you get this aviation fuel and rig up the boats, and the tractors and whatever else to burn it. What are you going to do when the fuel runs out?”
“Right, sooner or later we’ll be out of fossil fuels, so we might as well except that now. It’s a good point.” And then he seemed to change the conversation again, “You know Anglesey didn’t get destroyed.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The island of Anglesey. It wasn’t nuked. It was evacuated. Pretty thoroughly, the RAF bases were cleared out. But it wasn’t nuked.”
“I assumed it would have been. So does the nuclear power plant still work?”
“Technically, yes. The Chief from the Vehement went and checked it out. It was switched off, or mothballed or whatever you want to call it. But they can get it running again.”
“Well, surely that’s an easier way of getting power than this whole Belfast Airport business.”
“And I thought you politicians were meant to be clever. There are two options for us. Neither of which involves trying to get a fleet of boats to run on aviation fuel. Donnie doesn’t know this. Leon does, and I don’t know if he’s told Francois. Gwen knows, but mostly because she’s been my driver these last couple of months. The rest, and the ones who died and the ones we left back at home, they think it’s all about fuel. It’s not. You know what else they have at airports? Planes. Enough planes to get us all out of here. Mister Mills took his boat south. Down beyond the equator. There’s an island. Not a big one, not really anything more than a landing strip and som
e mango trees. There are no undead. None. The climate would be nice, too.”
“You’re thinking of leaving.”
“That is one option. There are three planes more or less ready to go. Leon will take his men in, see to the refuelling, we’ll load everyone else onto buses, and we’ll use those APC’s to clear the route. We’ll get them onto the planes and fly south.”
“Why not just turn on the power station?”
“That’s plan number two. And the reason it’s not our first option is that the Vehement isn’t the only nuclear sub to have survived. There’s another. That’s what’s preventing us from just flicking the switch and turning the lights back on. If we do we stand a very real risk of being nuked.”
“No one would do that, surely? Not now?”
“Wouldn’t you if you were a Captain who had already been damned by your actions when you launched your first missiles. What would another one matter?”
“You’re not seriously telling me that there’s a rogue Captain out there who really would rather see the end of the species rather than some small group actually survive?”
“You see, you’ve forgotten. It’s Mister Mills who went rogue. He was the one who mutinied. And it wouldn’t be the end of the species. Like I said, there are other communities. It’s difficult,” he said, again seemingly changing the subject, “you know, being immune. Have you thought of what that means?”
