Surviving The Evacuation (Book 10): The Last Candidate

by Frank Tayell

  “Wait, that’s it?” Lorraine asked. “We’re going home?”

  “We’re tilting at windmills,” Jackson said. “I liked the idea of a last election. I thought that would have been a nice end to our species’ story. Daft really, since there won’t be anyone left to know.”

  “Wait a moment,” I said, taking a step after him. He stopped, and turned around.

  “What? We’re tilting at windmills,” he said again. “You and your election, him and his satellites, me coming here. The difference is that you won’t accept it. Our species is dying. Most of it is undead. The rest of us will die soon enough. All that’s left is how we die. Yes, a democratic election would have been a better ending than the slow attrition of one death after another, but that death is coming. Last week, I buried a friend. Hadn’t known her long. Met her a few months ago, after the outbreak. Nice woman. In a different world, in a different life… I couldn’t pronounce her name, not properly. She said we should call her Sally. Came from Singapore and knew she’d never go back. She died last week. It was leukaemia. A rare kind, Dr Knight said. Rare and unusual, a one in a billion case, and it was the third the doctor had seen. Technically that’s not radiation poisoning, but it amounts to the same thing, doesn’t it? No, we’re all tilting at windmills, doing the same thing that we used to do because there’s nothing else left. I returned to this island again and again, even though I knew that everyone is dead. You, the politician, you organise an election while the admiral recruits for her navy. When all else is lost, we fall back on the closest to the familiar we can find, isn’t that right, Doctor? It doesn’t matter, though, because we’ll all be dead soon. Yeah, we’re tilting at windmills, but at least it keeps us busy.”

  “So what should we do differently?” Umbert asked. “Give up? It’s not an option for us. We are the people who could not give up. We had that chance over and over again, and many more times besides. When the undead rose. When the government told us to walk meekly into the slaughterhouse. When our friends died. When they came back and we had to do the previously unthinkable. When we were starving, when we were freezing, when we were beyond exhausted, we could have given up. We did not. We kept on. We cannot stop. We cannot give up. It is against our nature. We are not the survivors, we are the survived.”

  There was a moment of silence that stretched almost for two heartbeats.

  “Is that how you talked to all your patients?” Jackson asked.

  “There were a few to whom I wish I had,” Umbert said. Jackson shook his head, but he took a pace towards the rest of us. “Now,” Umbert continued, “you raised a valid point. We have found the trains, and they won’t suit our immediate need, so what will?”

  “A new narrative,” I said. “Care to suggest one?”

  For a moment, I thought he was going to defer the question. “You want to tell a story of hope, yes?” Umbert asked.

  “But one that’s true,” I said.

  “For a given value of true,” Sholto added.

  “We need farmland,” Umbert said. “A place where we can plant and grow. Wouldn’t that make for a good picture? People surrounded by fields absent of the living dead?”

  “What’s the story that goes with them?” Kim asked. “Because we’ve seen plenty of zombies today. Not as many as in Ireland, but too many for me to want to swap my rifle for a plough.”

  “The story is one we all know, that of hard work,” Umbert said. “Hard work for all of us. Those steam trains, the plane, the satellites, they are short cuts, old technology that makes our lives easier, but they will not last forever. No, at the heart of our species’ survival is reclaiming the land, and relearning how to manage it. It will involve a fight, a struggle. Not just against the undead, but against nature itself. That old foe is far more deadly, but we know how to tame it. The steam trains offered a promise that could never be delivered. No, the truth is that there is nothing but hard work ahead of us. It will be less hard here than on the Welsh mainland. As you say, there are fewer undead, though we will have to clear the island before we can call it safe.”

  “He’s right about that,” Lorraine said. “This is far safer than it’s been in Bangor. No, seriously,” she added, “we’ve got to have one person on guard for every one looting.”

  “You’re saying you want to clear the Isle of Man of the undead?” Jackson asked.

  “We did it on Anglesey,” Umbert said. “Maybe it is time we stopped tilting at those windmills, and used them to grind grain. The first step would be to convince the populace that this is something they want. So we need some fields for a photograph, not for the election, but as a visual representation of our community’s new goal: to clear the Isle of Man, and then to re-occupy, to plant, and to thrive.”

  Jackson took a moment to weigh Umbert’s words. “It might amount to the same thing,” he said. “It’ll take months, and maybe too many of us, too much of our resources. Too much of ourselves.”

  “Before I worked with children,” Umbert said, “my work was mostly in prisons. What I learned from the experience is that it is always better to rage against the dying of the light, and that sometimes, rage is all we have left. A farm, Mr Jackson?”

  “Okay,” Jackson said. “Okay. Well, it was mostly grazing in the north. Here, in the south, there’s some good soil for arable farming, that’s what I heard.”

  “We’ll need somewhere with a view,” I said. “Because we still need that photograph.”

  “A view? Maybe west of St Mark’s,” Jackson said. “I think I know somewhere that’ll do.” He looked at the carriages. “You say we’ll come back and bury them?”

  “We’ll have to,” Umbert said. “If we’re to turn this island into a farm.”

  Chapter 15 - A Light, Then Night

  We left the railway behind and headed west across the fields. They were damp, uneven, and slowed our pace. Any of the first three farms would have suited a photograph, but I felt that Dr Umbert had taken charge of our expedition. It was up to him to decide when we stopped. He didn’t hurry us, and because we were travelling so slowly, we heard the undead before we stumbled into them. There were hundreds, travelling along a road that curved northeast to southwest. Where we all quietly crouched, Jackson froze. I grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him down into the mud. I should have learned from Dean and Colm in Belfast. Bringing Jackson back to his sparsely populated island home was a mistake, though I’m not sure if it was the third, fourth, or tenth I’d made on the expedition. It was far from the last.

  Breathing in as much mud as air, I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when the admiral took her entire crew back to their devastated homeland. At least that gave me something to think about as the straggling column lurched down a road hemmed in by hedges. The sound of branches breaking and the occasional snap of a crushed bone told us where the living dead were and that they weren’t getting any closer. We waited. The sky darkened again, but the rain didn’t fall. A storm was coming, and that was as clear a sign as any that it was time for us to give up on this expedition. Finally, the undead were gone. Slowly, we stood.

  Kim, Lena, and Dean ran forward in a half crouch, weapons raised until they reached the mangled hedge at the end of the field. There was a quiet hiss as Lena fired an arrow, then another as Dean did the same.

  “I’m not sure how photogenic I’ll be now,” Umbert said, his tone light and jovial. He was covered in mud. We all were. “What do you think, Mr Jackson, would you vote for a candidate coated in dirt?”

  Jackson frowned. “I… I suppose… I suppose it’s proof you know how to get your hands dirty.”

  “It does, indeed,” Umbert said, smiling warmly at him. “Then I think we should take our picture and head…” There was a brief pause, but I heard it, and guessed the word he’d almost used. “Back to the ship,” he said. “There’s a hill on the other side of that road which would provide an excellent backdrop, don’t you think, Mr Jackson?”

  Jackson shrugged. “Suit yourself
.”

  The road down which the undead had processed was a mass of mud, trampled leaves, and five prone bodies. As Dean and Lena retrieved the arrows they’d fired, I examined the creatures they hadn’t shot. Two had their heads crushed by the milling mass of the undead. Another, though…

  “Looks unhurt,” I said, nudging the creature’s arm with my sword.

  “Unless you count that wound on its wrist,” Kim said.

  “But its head looks undamaged,” I said.

  “It’s not proof, Bill,” Kim said. “Not compared to the proof represented by the zombies that just marched down this road.”

  “I know,” I said. I was grasping at straws, hoping for the impossible. I speared the sword through the unmoving creature, wiped the blade clean, and followed the others into the next field.

  After an acre of uneven ground, we found a ditch with a track on the far side. After a hundred yards, it was clear the track curved around the hill. Even so, it was as good a spot as any for a photograph. Umbert was right, it was time to go back. For me, though, admitting that was also an admission that my brother was also right. The election had to be won by Umbert, and that meant rigging the polls. There was no way around it, and no point putting it off. That also meant there was no point waiting until election day to ensure our candidate’s victory. I picked up my pace, aiming to catch up with Sholto so I could concede defeat and begin plotting our next move. Before I reached him, Kim raised a hand, pointing into the distance.

  “There was a light,” she said, when we’d all caught up.

  “You sure?” Dean asked. “Can’t see anything.”

  “It was a flash,” Kim said. “Might have been… I don’t know. I saw something. I’m sure I did… but, maybe I was wrong.”

  “Absence of proof isn’t proof of absence,” Umbert said.

  “Might have been the admiral’s people,” Lorraine said.

  “Call them,” Jackson said, his tone taut. “Call them and ask.”

  A brief call confirmed that the admiral was still in the harbour, as were her people. She volunteered a group to come and look.

  “We’re closer,” Jackson said. “Over there, you said?” He started walking.

  “I guess we’re going to investigate,” Lorraine said.

  “Northwards,” Umbert said. “I am reminded of the words of King Henry. Though, really, I am reminded of the words that Shakespeare wrote. Of course, that is often seen as a propaganda piece now, and perhaps that’s why it’s at the forefront of my mind. Unto the breach, then, once more.”

  Umbert set a good pace, easily catching up with Jackson.

  “He’s starting to act the leader,” Sholto said, as we fell into step at the rear. “You know what they say, if you act it long enough, you start to believe the lines.”

  “Even if the lines come from Shakespeare?” I asked.

  “There are worse sources.”

  “You’re happy,” I said.

  “Aren’t you? It looks like Umbert will make for an okay leader, and that’s more than I can say for most of the candidates I’ve worked with.”

  “Clearing this island would be an achievement,” I said. “But as a policy, it won’t win us the election. We’ll have to do it your way.”

  “That’s what’s bothering you? The election doesn’t matter, it never did. That there is an election is all that counts. We’ve managed that, and for once we’re not down to a decision between the better of two bad choices. I think this guy might even do a half-decent job.”

  “After all we’ve been through,” I said, “I can’t help think we all deserve something more.”

  Lorraine saw it next, an erratically flashing light coming from the northwest. After another hour of backtracking to avoid undead-filled roads, detouring around flooded fields, and trekking through overgrown tracks, we stood at the foot of a curving driveway. The jet-black asphalt drive was in far better repair than the pockmarked, potholed tarmac of the narrow country road, but the new surface extended exactly to the line of the gates. They were made of a softwood stained a deep mahogany with black-painted wrought iron hinges, and they were wide open. Even closed, they wouldn’t have offered much of an impediment to the undead, but it would have given us some reassurance about what we might find in the house. It looked like a recent build in an almost Spanish colonial style, with at least six bedrooms, and possibly twice that number depending on how far back it extended.

  The building squatted sixty yards directly up the hill, but at least twice that if we were to follow the new road that snaked back and forth up a stepped-garden. It was hard to tell what had been planted there, but from the profusion of withered stalks, it had been a high-maintenance extravagance. What I first thought was a rockery that followed the curve of the road was actually a small stream, a now-dry water feature that ended in a gutter by the gate.

  The house had been built for the view, but my interest was in the windows. I couldn’t see a light. I couldn’t see any people. To the south was a double garage, to the north a wooden pagoda covered in a forest of roses. The delicate white flowers of autumn’s last bloom almost masked the frame.

  “Are we sure it was here?” Sholto asked, his attention on the road.

  “I think so,” Lorraine said.

  “Yes,” Lena said.

  “I…” Umbert began. He stopped, almost looking embarrassed as every eye turned to him. “I was going to say that this gate hasn’t been closed for months. Do you see the weeds caught around the bolt? If someone had recently taken refuge here, they would have closed the gate.”

  “Then the light was probably just something catching the sun,” Jackson said. Our collective eyes went up to the cloudy sky. “I’m going to check,” Jackson added. “Anyone coming with me?”

  “How far are we to Douglas?” I asked.

  “About four miles, maybe five,” Jackson said. “I’m not too sure where we are.” He gave a shrug. “I’m not used to walking across fields.”

  “Then it’s an hour or two back to the ship,” Umbert said. “We have time before dark.” He looked to me.

  “You’re the boss,” I said.

  “Then we shall investigate,” Umbert said. “Twenty minutes, then we continue.”

  We walked up the drive, weapons raised, bows drawn, fingers close to triggers, but saw neither human nor the undead. Kim, Dean, and Lena went to investigate the garage. Sholto and Jackson went to the house’s front door while Umbert, Lorraine, and I headed to the building’s rear.

  I took the lead, slowing as I walked over a narrow patio that ran between the house and the lawn. The windows were un-boarded and the curtains had been drawn back. As I leaned forward to peer inside, my foot hit a loose stone on the dusty rockery. There was a clink, followed by a familiar rustle of cloth and a sighing rasp. It wasn’t from inside, but from the rear of the house.

  Lorraine stepped away from the building, her rifle raised. I edged forward, listening to the sound of feet dragging along gravel get closer, closer, closer…

  I had the sword at head height as the first of them came around the side of the house. It was a man in a tattered tartan coat from which the pockets had been ripped away. So had his ears and nose, leaving gaping holes in that hideous face. That was all I had time to register. I stabbed the sword at his eyes. The bulbous blade sliced neatly into flesh and easily into the brain beyond.

  “Bill, you’re in the way!” Lorraine called. “Lionel, no!”

  Umbert had stepped in front of me, and the undead had heard Lorraine’s voice. As I dragged my sword free, and Umbert raised his crowbar, four zombies staggered around the house. Their arms banged into one another as they pushed and clawed towards him. Umbert swung, and his blow had force behind it, but the milling pack moved too erratically for his aim to be true. The crowbar slammed into the zombie’s shoulder. Bone broke, and the creature sagged sideways. The other three pushed on, knocking the zombie to its knees, and then into the mud. Umbert tried to raise his crowbar again, but
there was no way he’d manage it in time.

  “Duck, Lionel!” Lorraine called, but there wasn’t time for that either.

  I dived forward, sword and arm outstretched, throwing myself at the undead. My sword hit flesh and I lost my grip as I shouldered, punched, and kicked at the zombies. We fell in a tangled heap, and I kept rolling, kept moving, kept pushing and jabbing, butting and pulling myself out of that mass of grasping death. I vaguely registered a yell that wasn’t mine, and then something that might have been a shot, and then there was only green grass beneath my face. One more roll, and I staggered to my knees, fists raised, in time to see Dr Umbert slam his crowbar down onto a zombie’s skull not three feet from my own. The zombie fell. Umbert swung around as Lorraine fired again. As quickly as it had begun, it was over.

  “Yes,” Umbert said, wiping his crowbar on the ragged remains of the tartan coat, “we may know how to fight, but that doesn’t make us soldiers. They are what we’ll need if we are to reclaim the Isle of Man. An army of soldiers, not a mob of fighters.”

  I pushed myself to my feet, and retrieved my sword. I agreed with the man, but didn’t think that was the time to discuss it further.

  The back door was locked and sealed tight, so we returned to the front.

  “What happened to you?” Dean asked.

  “Zombies?” Lena said.

  “Zombies,” I agreed.

  “How many?” Kim asked.

  “Five,” Lorraine said. “The back of the house is secure. It’s locked. Couldn’t see anything through the windows.”

  “The garage is empty,” Kim said. “There’s an old Aston Martin on blocks that takes up half the space. Whatever took up the rest is gone.” She looked me up and down. “Looks like you need some new clothes. You really do go through them, Bill.”

  I was covered in mud and gore. I looked around for a water butt or fishpond in which I could rinse off the worst of it, but there was a shout from the house. Sholto stood by the front door.