Surviving The Evacuation (Book 10): The Last Candidate

by Frank Tayell

  Lorraine had her gun raised, the barrel tracking back and forth, but before she could fire, Jackson ran forward. His own gun was slung, a crowbar in his hands, a blank expression on his face. He raised the length of metal up and slammed it down as that third creature thrashed itself to its knees.

  “Back!” a voice called. It was Umbert, and he had his own rifle raised, but Jackson couldn’t hear him. There were more zombies in the window, and Jackson swung his crowbar left and right, but with him outside, them inside, he didn’t have the reach to kill them. Two toppled forward, onto the pavement. I ran in. An arrow whistled inches from my head as Lena fired a terrifyingly well-aimed shot. I stabbed my sword down on a zombie trying to stand, and then swept the blade up, slashing it at the face of one just inside the window.

  “Back!” I called at Jackson, echoing Umbert’s too-sane suggestion. There were at least ten of the living dead inside the shop, and three already outside. Jackson swung the crowbar up and around, barely missing me, though he hit the zombie square on its crown. Bone broke, and brain spilled out onto the pavement.

  I speared the sword forward, aiming at the creatures inside the window. “Kill them inside,” I said. “Create a wall.” At least, I think I said it aloud, I certainly thought it. Another arrow flew close. Then, from nowhere, a hand tugged on my shoulder. I spun around, but it was Umbert. He held his rifle one-handed, and fired a shot into the gap I’d made. It missed. He raised his left hand to the barrel, flipped the selector switch, and emptied the magazine into the shop. At that close a range, with that many targets, the bullets all hit, though few hit heads. It was enough, though, to get Jackson’s attention. I grabbed his arm, and pulled him back, just as Lorraine and Lena stepped forward. As Umbert reloaded, they fired bullet and arrow into the pack. Jackson, returning from his grief-filled rage, unslung his own rifle, and opened fire as Umbert slotted a new magazine into place.

  For ten adrenaline-quickened heartbeats, there was a soft crescendo of suppressed shots, and then there was silence, save the solitary wheeze of a bullet-riddled zombie just inside the shop doorway. I stepped forward, leaned inside, and stabbed the sword down, into its brain.

  And then I remembered the railway station. I turned around, but Kim was leaning against the brick pillar, her rifle pointing into the car park, but her eyes on me.

  “Clear,” I called.

  She nodded, and then moved into the car park. I couldn’t see Dean or Sholto, but nor could I hear the sound of gunfire or fighting. I knew better than to assume that meant we were safe.

  “Watch the road,” I said to Umbert. “You too, Lorraine, Jackson.”

  With Lena, arrow notched, by my side, I headed into the station. That was the first time I’d properly seen it, and at first, I thought that we’d faced a far greater threat than I’d realised.

  “Tape,” Lena said. She didn’t slacken her grip on the arrow so had to gesture with her eyes.

  It took a moment to spot it, but around the wrists of a zombie, with black blood still oozing from the bullet hole in its head, was grey tape. A second’s examination confirmed that the man hadn’t been a prisoner. The tape was holding his sleeves in place. Underneath the thin jacket was a hard surface. I didn’t check what the man had made his armour out of, or look for the wound that would show where it had failed. Instead, I took another, closer look around the car park. There were about fifteen zombies which Kim, Sholto, and Dean had killed. The rest had been dead for at least two months, possibly longer. Then I saw the bones, partially hidden by leaves and corpses.

  “It wasn’t a battle,” I said. “It was a last stand. There must have been a hundred people here.”

  “Why?” Lena asked.

  The doors to the station swung open and Dean came out. “The trains aren’t here,” he said. “There’re some more bodies, that’s all.” He walked over to a corpse by the door that had an arrow in its mouth. He gave it a tug. The shaft broke.

  Lena sighed, but I don’t think it was directed at Dean.

  “I’ll get the others,” I said.

  “How many are we looking for?” Dean asked as we stared at the long length of empty track.

  “Three steam locomotives, two diesel,” I said.

  “Maybe three and two,” Jackson said. “The rest were in for repairs, but they might run.”

  “So where are the trains?” Lorraine asked.

  I looked down the tracks, then up at the iron-grey sky. The clouds had been growing progressively denser since Sholto had retasked the satellites overhead. Other than that first, brief glimpse of Douglas, we had photographs of nothing but the tops of the clouds. That was our second mistake, one George had warned me of. We should have waited for the clouds to clear and found where the locomotives were before we came ashore.

  “Trains have to stay on their tracks,” I said. “If they weren’t in Port Erin, and as they’re not here, they’ll be somewhere between.”

  “They must have used the trains to ferry people from Port Erin, maybe from Castletown,” Jackson said. “Why though? Why not drive? Why not cycle? Why not walk?”

  “Zombies,” Lena said. “It’s always zombies.”

  “They can’t have known how many there were,” Jackson continued. “They can’t have thought there were so many on the island. That must have been it. Unless it wasn’t people they were ferrying to Douglas. Whatever it was, it was zombies the engines brought to the city. They were trapped, with nowhere left to go, no boats to escape, and… and…”

  “We share your grief,” Umbert said. “We truly do.”

  “The boilers would have had to be hot,” Jackson said, and this time I was sure he hadn’t heard the interruption. “Otherwise there wouldn’t have been time to get up steam.”

  “Unless the trains never made it this far,” Dean said.

  “They’re not here,” Jackson continued. “Not in Port Erin, not in Castletown. They’ll be somewhere between. Well, you want your trains, and I want to know what happened.” He started walking down the tracks.

  “Bill?” Kim asked, and I could easily fill in the rest of the question. We’d planned to be ashore for a couple of hours, no longer, but we couldn’t return without something to show for our trip; that would doom Umbert’s campaign. I looked up at the sky. “Best call the admiral,” I said. “We might be a while.”

  “Dean’s probably right,” I said, as I looked at the map. “The trains never made it to Douglas. I make it about ten miles from Douglas to Castletown, another five due west will get us to Port Erin.” I held out the map to Sholto.

  “Sounds about right,” he said, waving the map away. “Less than fifteen miles to cover? We should manage that, and to return, before nightfall.”

  “But will we manage it before it rains?”

  “Humans are waterproof, little brother, never forget it.”

  We were at the rear of the group. Jackson and Kim were in the lead, Umbert and Lorraine followed close behind. Dean and Lena were ten yards behind them, arrows notched to bows, both seeming far more aware of their surroundings than the psychiatrist.

  I glanced at my brother’s pack. It was far larger, and obviously heavier, than anyone else’s. “What’s in there?”

  “Some tricks,” he said. “Kim and I were talking. After what happened in Belfast, we thought it worth coming prepared. I got some ideas from that soldier, Bran, the one who used to go into the wasteland looking for survivors.”

  “Oh.” I glanced upward. I was far more interested in the clouds. Even with my leg, I’d managed thirty miles in a day before, though that was usually because I had the undead pursuing me for some of it. Even so, we almost certainly wouldn’t have to travel that far. The question was how far we’d manage to get before we were forced to take shelter. Despite my brother’s glib nonchalance, when the storm came, we’d have to take refuge from the rain. That begged another question, for how long would we have to shelter? We’d planned for a few hours in Douglas, and had the supplies to match. We carried
water bottles, a few hundred rounds or a few dozen arrows, about a quarter of which had already been expended, and whatever snacks anyone had thought to bring. The admiral was ready to send her troops after us, but I didn’t want the expedition to end in an ignominious rescue.

  “Isn’t this a bit like old times?” Sholto said.

  “Which old times?” I asked, looking up at the trees. I saw a bird take flight and fly southward. I wondered if it was an omen, but if it was, I wasn’t sure of what.

  “When we were escaping from London,” he said. “You remember the train tunnel in Wales?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Usually around three a.m. when I wake in a screaming sweat. It’s not something I want to relive. Are you trying to find a shared experience over which we can bond?”

  “Nope, just thinking that if the trains were used in a bid to escape the undead, the zombies would have followed. So maybe they weren’t used to escape the zombies, but to lure them away. Noisy beasts, locomotives.”

  “You’re into steam trains?” I asked, genuinely curious. Up until now, my brother’s interests all seemed to be someway connected to his lifelong quest for revenge.

  “Nah,” he said. “Not really. It’s more that steam trains are something I associate with Britain. When I first got to the U.S., I’d sometimes feel… Homesick isn’t the right word. I’d seen our home burn to the ground, so the regret I felt was due to more than just distance from familiar bricks and mortar. It was more to do with all I’d lost, and I’d often try to assuage it by escaping into British movies. For the most part, my choice was between rom-coms, period dramas, or adaptations of Sherlock Holmes. When I had a choice, I picked the latter, and they all had at least one shot of a steam train. Must have shot a few of the films here.”

  “Probably, though there are quite a few steam railways in Britain. Maybe we should have gone to one of those. At the very least, we should have waited until we had some satellite images of this place. Maybe—”

  “We’re here,” he cut in. “Anyway, steam trains became something I associated with England. As I turned towards politics, I read up on the history of the railroad in America, the westward expansion, the Civil War.” He stopped, one foot half raised.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Powell,” he said. Then he shook his head. “It’s nothing. Just something occurred to me about a guy that’s now long dead. It doesn’t matter.” He started walking again. “Anyway, I wouldn’t describe steam trains as being a hobby of mine, but a springboard into various different interests.”

  “When you start talking like this,” I said, “it’s usually the long route to a sharp point. What is it?”

  “The gauge of the tracks,” he said. “It’s narrower than the lines on Anglesey. We can bring the locomotives back, but we won’t be able to run them.”

  Now it was my turn to stop. I looked down at the rails. “That hadn’t occurred to me. I guess it didn’t occur to Jackson either.” I looked towards the man, but my eyes caught something in the undergrowth. An arm. There was no sign of the rest of the body.

  “Probably a zombie.” I continued walking, though I wondered if there was any point. “So the trains won’t work on Anglesey?”

  “If we modify the axles, they will,” he said. “That can’t be too hard. We can machine the parts easily enough, but it’ll take time.”

  “I had an idea that we’d have a steam locomotive travelling up and down the island,” I said. “Smoke billowing from its stack, the whistle blaring. That would be a symbol more potent than the arrival of a plane that hasn’t flown since.”

  “Maybe,” Sholto said. “But it won’t happen before the election. We can bring a train back, but let’s be honest with each other, if Umbert’s going to win, you’re going to have to do it my way. After all, my way isn’t that much different to yours.”

  Before I could reply, Kim dropped to a crouch, her fist raised in the air. We all stopped. A moment later, a bird cawed. Kim began walking again, though a little more slowly.

  To our right were a series of wide industrial buildings, partially hidden by a screen of trees. To our left was a stretch of waterlogged grassland that was more blue than green. A bird flew from the trees, swooping low over the marshy ground, but it didn’t land.

  “If we rig the election, then what’s the point in holding it?” I asked.

  “Because democracy is more than just voting, you know that,” he said. “And democracy is only one pillar of what we’re trying to build. Sure, it’s an important one, and if we remove it, the whole house will collapse, but it’s not the only one. At the same time, it’s the one that we’re focusing on to the detriment of all the rest. Specifically, all the rest of the people, the survivors who still might be out there.”

  Sholto and I reached the point where Kim had stopped. There, the water had seeped onto the tracks. They’d be washed away in another season.

  “It’s probably worth checking out these warehouses,” I said.

  “You mean as an alternative to the trains?”

  “No,” I said. “I meant next week, next month, maybe in the spring.”

  “By then, will there be anything left?” he asked. “You know, I hate warehouses. Unlike private homes, there could be anything inside. There could be everything that we’re looking for. Certainly, somewhere on this planet, there’re warehouses brimming with canned food and bottled water. How many empty buildings will we have to search before we find the ones that are full? Even so, it won’t be those. If the Manx had time to turn Douglas and Port Erin into refuges, and they had time to gather the steam trains and coal, then they had time to empty every warehouse of anything of immediate use.”

  “I know,” I said. I gestured at a drift of leaves deep enough to bury a horse, and with a smell that suggested something like that might be concealed within. At the edge, partially covered in rotting mulch, was a corpse. It had both arms, but its skull had been crushed. “You’re right, the locomotives aren’t going to work on their own. When we find the trains, we’ll find them surrounded by the bodies of the undead and the people who fought them. We can hardly take a photograph of Umbert surrounded by those.”

  Sholto sighed. “You should have been the candidate.”

  “I don’t want to lead.”

  “Didn’t we always say that was a qualification for the job? Regardless, you’re leading anyway. This whole expedition was your idea, not Umbert’s. However he wins, whether it’s my way or yours, in a month’s time you’ll be the one telling him what to do.”

  I was saved having to reply when Lena abruptly pivoted ninety degrees, and shot an arrow into the undergrowth. She had another arrow notched before Dean had raised his bow.

  “Zombies?” I asked when we’d caught up.

  “One,” Lena said. Slowly, she lowered her bow.

  Above us, the clouds were darkening. Around us, the trees were silent. Ahead, Kim had stopped. Her rifle was pointing south, but her eyes were on me.

  “Onward,” I said. “Onward, at least until we find those trains.”

  We found them a mile further down the tracks. The rear-most carriage was under the bridge where the Old Castletown Road crossed the railway line. The trains were lined up on the tracks, one after another. I’d been expecting to see locomotives. I wasn’t expecting that they’d have carriages as well. Kim ran ahead to the first, and almost immediately ran back, waving her arms.

  “Stop! Stop!”

  “What is it?” Jackson asked.

  “Do you remember the Shannon Estuary?” she asked. “The bodies in the cars?”

  “Oh, hell,” I muttered.

  “What?” Lorraine asked.

  “In Ireland,” Kim said, “Bill and I came across a long string of traffic of every kind of vehicle. Those that the animals couldn’t get into had corpses inside. We think they were gassed by some kind of chemical weapon. I think it’s the same here. There are bodies inside the carriages. Decomposed, but sitting down. Not many bodies, it’s no
t full, I mean. I think they were hauling cargo in the carriages as well. At least they were in that one attached to the diesel locomotive.”

  “Why?” Lorraine asked. “Who would do that?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Petrov,” Lena said.

  “Who?” Lorraine asked.

  “There was this pilot from Russia,” Dean said. “He was over in Ireland with us. Well, with Mark, really. That was in Malin Head. Anyway, Petrov said he had orders to drop his bombs on the Isle of Man. Said he crashed in Ireland. I don’t know how much of what he said to believe, but why would he lie about the Isle of Man being his target?”

  “A steam train must have been quite a target from the air,” Sholto said.

  “Doesn’t explain why anyone would drop chemical weapons on them,” Lorraine said.

  “Orders,” I said. “The same orders that led some to launch their nuclear missiles. Let’s be thankful that enough rebelled.”

  We looked at the rear carriage.

  “What do you want to do, Bill?” Kim asked. “We’ve found the trains.”

  “We can’t use them,” I said.

  “Why not?” Umbert said. “Surely whatever chemical agent was used won’t be dangerous anymore.”

  “If it’s the same chemical as was used near Shannon, then no,” I said. “We walked through that graveyard and survived, but do you want to bet your life on it? And that’s not the real issue. We’ll have to get rid of the corpses, bury them,” I added as Jackson straightened. “And we will, but it’ll take too long for our immediate need. No, we wanted a photograph of the candidate next to a locomotive that we could airlift to Anglesey. Even if we managed to bring an engine back before the election, it wouldn’t count as a victory, not considering the condition in which we found them. Not considering… well, the gauge is wrong. They won’t work on the train tracks in Anglesey without modification. Taken together, that’s not the story we want to tell, and people will have to be told, there’s no point trying to cover it up.”

  “We’ve enough grim stories already,” Jackson said. “Leave them be.” He started walking back up the tracks.