Surviving The Evacuation (Book 10): The Last Candidate

by Frank Tayell

  “What did you see on your eight trips? Where did you go?” I asked, refusing to give up.

  “Ramsey was first,” Jackson said. “Do you know it? It’s a town in the north with a pier that needed to be repaired, restored. I thought that, if people fled north, they might have made their way onto the pier, might have barricaded it and be waiting there for rescue. They weren’t. The next trip was to Castletown, that’s in the south. The airport’s near there, and that was the main reason I chose it. I wondered if a plane might have arrived, perhaps bringing people home. Wherever the last flight arrived from, no one survived the crash. I went to Castle Rushen and barely made it out alive. Zombies. After that, I tried Douglas, but the winds were wrong. I made it ashore a little way north of Onchen, but didn’t see anyone or anything. It was more or less the same on the west coast. I made it to Port Erin, though. That’s the end of the line as far as the railway’s concerned, and it was the end of the line for me. I returned to set up the beacons, but that was as much for me as in any hope a survivor would see them. Looks like I was right.”

  “Hang on, a railway? I didn’t think the Isle of Man had one,” I said.

  “We’re not talking a high speed commuter service,” Jackson said. “It was a heritage line for steam trains, though they had a few diesel locomotives as well. It ran in the summer months, you must have heard of it. They used the same rolling stock as when it opened a hundred and forty years ago. World-famous, it was.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “My knowledge of battleground constituencies is encyclopaedic. What I know about anywhere else could be carved on the head of pin. A steam railway, though… How many locomotives?”

  “Do you mean theoretically, or that actually worked? You heard me say that they were a hundred and forty years old? There’s a museum in Port Erin, a yard where they kept some on display. Those were still there.”

  “What about the working engines?”

  “Gone,” he said.

  “Huh. Interesting,” I said.

  “I don’t like your expression,” George said.

  “Do you know how much a steam locomotive would weigh?” I asked Jackson.

  “Not a clue,” he said.

  “I bet it’s about the same as a fuel tanker,” I said. “If the admiral knows how to bring one of those back from Belfast, transporting a locomotive from the Isle of Man will be straightforward.”

  “It won’t,” George said.

  “Why do you want a steam train?” Jackson asked. “Bicycles are good enough on Anglesey.”

  “Yes, and we’ve got a few golf carts as well, but nothing for carrying heavier goods,” I said. “When we get to harvest, how are we going to move the potatoes and grain? If we’re using bicycle-powered carts, that’ll burn calories.”

  “So would digging the coal,” George said. “Where are you going to do that?”

  “There’s plenty of coal in Wales,” I said.

  “Plenty of zombies, too,” George said.

  “Svalbard, then,” I said. “They used to have a coal power plant, and mined the fuel for it there on the archipelago. If that’s too much effort, if it requires too many calories, we can convert the engines to burn wood, or create some bio-fuel to burn in the diesel locomotives. You said there were some diesel engines?”

  “Aye. Two, I think,” Jackson said.

  “It all sounds unnecessary,” George said. “We’re not going to have any trouble harvesting our winter crop by hand. We probably won’t even need more than one hand for the task.”

  “You have to think of the future,” I said, but didn’t elaborate. I didn’t know Jackson, or whether I could trust him. I was beginning to question how much I should share with George since he was clearly not sharing everything with me.

  The arrival of the plane had been a sight that everyone had gathered to see. Markus had seized that as the platform on which he was building his victory, but he wouldn’t be able to do the same for the arrival of locomotives, not if Umbert was one of the people who’d found them. And people would gather to watch their arrival. The plane, and Markus’s speech, would be forgotten because steam trains were something people understood. Coal went in, the wheels moved. As to where they moved, and to what purpose they’d be put, George was right, they wouldn’t be of an immediate use to us. That didn’t matter. Their arrival would win Umbert the election. More than that, debating how we’d use them, then cleaning and maintaining them, would provide a focus for the future. We might even get people to volunteer to mine coal simply to provide them with fuel. With mining as the alternative, others might be less reluctant to choose a life of farming.

  I wasn’t deluding myself. It would be a symbolic victory in every sense, but one with a more lasting impact than a plane. Of course, the plane and the admiral’s plans were never far from my thoughts, and that gave me another idea.

  “Perhaps we could get a few engines across to the mainland,” I said. “We could run them through Wales, and into England and Scotland. The sight of a billowing smoke stack might attract some survivors.”

  “It’d attract the undead,” George said.

  “I did say the locomotives were a hundred and forty years old,” Jackson said.

  “Fine, then we use them as blueprints to make some new engines,” I said.

  “Blueprints?” George said. “Now there’s an idea, a portable coal power station that we could move to wherever we had the fuel. But if we want a blueprint, we’d be better off looking in books, and looking for something far more modern. Those ancient engines would convert coal to mechanical work, but it’s electricity that we need. Fred’s certain there aren’t any survivors left on the Isle of Man. Risking lives for people is one thing, but this is unnecessary. We don’t need trains, Bill. Not now anyway, and there are plenty of things we need more immediately that we could spend this effort on.”

  “It’d only be a day’s sailing and another day’s exploration,” I said.

  “Not if you can’t find them,” Jackson said. “The locomotives weren’t in Port Erin.”

  “Where’s the other end of the line?” I asked.

  “For the steam railway? Douglas, though there’s another line that runs north.”

  “Trains have to stay on the tracks,” I said. “We can find them on the satellites before we reach Douglas. We’ll leave some people in the city to search for supplies while we follow the railroad to the locomotives. Depending on where they are, we’ll either drive them to the port, or we’ll helicopter them straight here. Either way, we’ll have our first service running between Holyhead and Menai Bridge before the end of the month.”

  “You’re serious?” Jackson asked. “You’re seriously going to the Isle of Man to get a locomotive? Haven’t you been lost in Ireland for the last month?”

  “I’m not saying there won’t be risk,” I said, “but I think it’s worth the reward.”

  Jackson shook his head. “When are you leaving?”

  “In a couple of hours,” I said. “We’ll aim to arrive at dawn.”

  “I see,” Jackson said. He looked me up and down, then at George, and then at the firing range. “I’m coming, too. I’ll see you at the harbour.”

  “You are serious?” George asked, as Jackson walked away. “What ship will you take?”

  “The Amundsen,” I said. “The admiral owes me a favour. Taking us there will be half of it, getting the trains back will be the other half.”

  “It’s not a good idea,” George said. “You came to us this morning with a plan to loot warehouses, and now you’re talking about trains. You know what that smacks of? Desperation. We’ve no real use for steam trains.”

  “It’s the optics,” I said, stubbornly refusing to listen to good sense. “We’ll take a photograph of Dr Umbert standing on the roof of one. We’ll print that, and a couple of days later we’ll print a picture of the train arriving on the island. We may not even need to. People will come to see the train travel across the island. They’ll all want to ride o
n it. What has Markus done but make a lot of promises that few can truly believe will come to pass. Umbert, though, he went out and brought back a train.”

  “If it all works out like you hope, but you’re still putting lives at risk.”

  “Life is a risk,” I said. “How is this different to those people of yours who wandered England setting up safe houses?”

  “There’s no chance of finding survivors, for one,” George said. “For a second there’s—” He stopped. “You say it’s the optics that matter, the public perception? Then slow down. Take some time. Plan it properly. At the very least, let’s wait until we’ve got some satellite pictures that show us where the trains are.”

  Part of me knew he was right, but I saw a way of bringing order back to the chaos that I had unwittingly created. I had been given responsibility for organising the election, and I now felt utterly responsible for the disaster it had become. A newspaper, a few photographs, and transporting a steam train a few dozen miles to Anglesey, it was all within our capability. Within a week, we’d have won the election. All we’d have left would be holding the ballot.

  “No,” I said. “We can’t wait. Right now, Markus is winning. This will change everything. It’ll guarantee Umbert’s victory, and then we can focus on the real crises. The food, the fuel, the ammunition.” I looked towards the firing range. “The crossbows were your idea?”

  “They were,” George said. “I thought it was the obvious solution, but there won’t be time to mass produce enough, not if we’re going to have to redesign them. No, not enough time at all.”

  And had I not been so caught up in a fantasy of crowds cheering a train, I might have paid closer attention to his words.

  Chapter 14 - The Betrayal of Man

  19th October, Day 221, The Isle of Man

  “What happened?” Dean asked.

  “Happened?” Jackson asked.

  “To the Isle of Man?” Dean asked.

  The quiet hubbub ceased. All eyes in the small group turned first to Dean and then to Jackson.

  We were gathered on the deck of the Amundsen, waiting for the all-clear from the admiral before we went ashore. We’d sailed through the night, waiting east of the Tower of Refuge before sailing into the port of Douglas when dawn cast enough light to see our way. The admiral had told her crew this was a training mission to prepare the new recruits for the return to America. That had got her a cheer so loud I finally understood how many of them clung to the impossible hope that America wasn’t as desolate as everywhere else. That wasn’t my problem, not then, and nor was securing the harbour. Our group had to wait on the ship while the Marines, sailors, and recent recruits ventured ashore. Not all those on deck were taking part in the expedition. After what had happened to Donnie, we’d not felt comfortable leaving Annette and Daisy on Anglesey. They were going to keep Kallie company. Colm, Siobhan, and the three children had remained on the island, taking a brief holiday before a long winter’s sojourn on the ship. Dean and Lena had volunteered themselves for the mission, and I’d not been able to come up with a plausible reason to refuse them. They were capable and healthy, and it was only meant to be a brief few hours ashore. Sholto and Kim were both coming, as was Lorraine, and Jackson would be our guide. And Umbert was coming too, of course. The admiral had offered some Marines as an escort, but that would have made our group too large to move quietly. More importantly, I didn’t know how Umbert was going to react ashore. If he cracked under the strain, I didn’t want a report of that reaching Anglesey.

  “What happened to the Isle of Man?” Jackson asked. “It was the vaccine, that’s what happened. The British government wanted Man to become an internment camp. They didn’t say who would be interned. That’s when we barricaded our homes. When we started doing that, the vaccine arrived. People took it home. They died. By then, there were zombies on the island. Not everyone had taken the vaccine. I don’t know if it was even half of the population, but too few were left to hold off the undead. Most died. Some fled. That’s it. That’s what happened. I went back because I… I hoped… that’s all, I hoped. Aye, that’s what happened. The vaccine. The undead. A betrayal by politicians that weren’t our own. It’s the same story as what happened to everyone else, everywhere else. There’s no good to be gleaned from it, no gold gleaming beneath the muck.”

  As he’d been speaking, the mood had palpably sunk. It hadn’t been high to begin with. I don’t think I’d properly conveyed the purpose of the mission, and everyone else saw it as a last desperate gamble, one bound to fail. Jackson’s words had solidified that feeling.

  Dr Umbert stood alone, a little way from everyone else. He had a notebook out, and I thought he was jotting his professional assessment of our little group. When I went over to him, I saw that he was sketching the low-rise rooftops of Douglas. He wasn’t a bad artist. I think he might have missed his true calling.

  “You should say something,” I whispered. “Something uplifting.”

  “To what end? These are your people, aren’t they?”

  “You want them to be yours,” I said.

  “Good morning,” Umbert began. He coughed, and raised his voice. “There is something wonderful about a distant hill. The craggy boulders appear smooth. The sweep of green appears uniform and soft, absent of mud and brier. I’ve often thought that close study can ruin one’s impression of a place. It’s not so much that the grass is always greener elsewhere, but that even the most casual examination can confirm how barren the soil is beneath our feet. We need to locate the steam engines. If we don’t, we don’t. The only qualification for success is that all of us survive the day. The only failure will be in the deaths of our fellows. So, let us not fail.”

  It wasn’t what I’d expected, but it could have been worse.

  “I guess that’s the railway station,” Lorraine whispered. It was an orange-red brick of a Victorian style, ringed by a matching brick wall. Either side of the road leading to the entrance were two pillars. ‘Railway’ was on one, ‘Station’ on the other.

  “I guess so. Dean? Lena? Get ready,” I whispered.

  We were crouched behind an upturned flatbed that almost blocked the road. There was a broken generator dumped against the plate glass window of an empty tearoom, a jumble of crushed wood and metal on the pavement, and a few discarded shotgun casings on the ground nearby. Whoever had created the barricade, something heavy had driven through, pushing the flatbed out of the way. There would be time to check the other roads in the town, but I think someone had tried to fortify the harbour in the hope that a boat might come. Before they realised that no help would arrive, one of the barriers had broken, and the undead had got in. Some of the survivors had driven away, wrecking the barricade. As the rest hadn’t made it to Anglesey, it was likely they’d died. As to what happened to the undead, at least five of them squatted in the entrance to the railway station’s car park.

  “Dean, Lena, when you’re ready,” I said.

  “Ten for each eye,” Dean whispered.

  Lena fired three arrows before Dean’s second was on the string. The first four arrows all hit their mark. The zombies fell. Dean’s second arrow missed, thudding into the fifth zombie as it began to stand. Lena fired again. The zombie collapsed.

  “Forty,” she said.

  “That’s pretty impressive,” Lorraine said. She spoke too soon and too loudly. Something clattered against metal on the other side of the redbrick wall ringing the station.

  “Where there’s one, there’s usually more,” Kim murmured. “And where there’s five.” She raised her rifle, and moved slowly out of cover. Sholto, his own SA80 raised, followed.

  Kim moved to the left, Sholto to the right, each taking up station next to the stone pillars. As they fired measured shot after measured shot into the car park, Dean ran forward. I thought he was going to run inside, but Sholto heard him, and barked a warning. Dean stopped, about three paces from my brother, and raised an arrow to his bow. He loosed, but I couldn’t see where t
he arrow struck, and with him now standing in the middle of the entrance, I couldn’t see what lay in the railway station’s small car park. From the way Kim and Sholto kept firing, there had to be dozens of the creatures, perhaps coming from inside the building itself.

  “What do we do?” Lorraine asked.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Not yet. Just watch the road.”

  The gap between the two pillars was too narrow for anyone else to assist Dean, Kim, and Sholto. Besides, if the three of them couldn’t deal with the undead threat, than it was likely there were too many for all of us to face.

  And that was when I should have realised our first mistake. Umbert was right; we all had experience fighting the undead. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say we all had experience surviving the living dead. Either way, we knew how to hack and hew, and put a bullet into a zombie’s skull. What we lacked was military cohesion. There was no leader on this trip, no clear chain of command. I had given orders because it had been my plan, but Kim, Sholto, and everyone else would only take it as guidance, a suggestion rather than a command. I might have realised it, and the danger into which we were all stumbling, if it wasn’t for the noise that came from our right.

  A dull gong came from a shop window immediately opposite the entrance to the station. It came again. I moved away from the flatbed so I could better see. Before we’d taken cover, the shop had appeared empty. Now there was a zombie inside with four more immediately behind it. The creature brought its hand down again. This time, the glass broke. Shards tinkled onto the leaf-and-litter-strewn pavement as, with the window no longer an impediment, the zombie toppled forward, impaling itself on the jagged shards. The creatures behind staggered towards the window. The lead zombie, its face marred by a savage cut that had removed its right eye, got caught in the thrashing legs of the fallen creature. It, too, toppled forward, further impaling that first zombie. The third creature, however, tumbled out onto the road.