Surviving The Evacuation (Book 10): The Last Candidate

by Frank Tayell

  “Only two,” I said, but spoke too quickly. A light came from upstairs, illuminating a creature ten yards away. Wrapped in what looked like ski-trousers and jacket, it moved slowly even for the undead and made an easy target for Sholto. The zombie fell.

  “The table,” Umbert said. “Let’s block this window.”

  Together, we propped it against the glass, but other than the out-sized tap, there was no way of securing it in place.

  “Five inches too short,” I muttered, looking at the uncovered gap between table and wall.

  “I doubt that’s going to be our greatest problem,” Umbert said.

  “The doors are closed, the glass is triple-glazed,” I muttered, shining it around the kitchen. “I checked the perimeter before we settled in for the night. We’ve got snipers in the upper windows. We’re safe.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Umbert said. “I think it was the plane. It would have flown overhead on its approach to Anglesey, and that must have woken the zombies from their sedentary torpor. Though I am surprised the undead found us here.”

  “Me, too. Maybe it was the wind chime above the garage, though if it was, why weren’t there more here when we arrived? Ah, it doesn’t matter. We better check the other ground-floor rooms, and then close all the doors. If the zombies do get inside, let’s keep them contained.”

  As we went from room to room, I replayed the events of the previous evening. While Jackson had lit a fire, I’d walked the perimeter. The windows were strong, the back door was locked and utterly immovable. I’d considered it as secure as almost anywhere we’d taken refuge in England. I wondered whether that was our mistake. Everyone else had relied on my assessment, and I had relied on the steep garden to keep the undead on the road. Umbert was right; we were fighters not soldiers. Before I could tell him, the front door shook again.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  Jackson ran upstairs to find out. That was a terrible minute, standing there with sword, crowbar, and rifle raised, as the door, cabinet, and chair shook and shifted, not knowing when the undead might break through, nor how many we were facing.

  “There’s twenty of them out there,” Jackson said, running down the stairs. “More at the back. The zombies aren’t an easy target, and Kim and your brother don’t want to waste the ammo.”

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “About half two,” Jackson said.

  “How long until dawn, I meant. How long until there’s enough light that we can leave?”

  “Two hours,” Umbert said.

  There was a bang of fist against glass, coming from the library.

  “Two hours? They’ll get in,” Lorraine said.

  “This reminds me of England,” Umbert said. “Specifically of Weston-super-Mare. We had a similar problem there.” The thumping grew louder, then stopped as the zombie was shot from above. “We’d taken refuge in a terrace near the sea, exhausted, and depressed that we’d not found a boat. As to why we thought there would be a boat, that’s a different story. As I say, we took refuge in a Victorian terrace. The undead had followed us. There were too many of them, too few of us, and far, far too many points of entry. We have the same problem here. We need to control their entry, lure them to one point, kill those we can reach, and leave the rest to be shot. I saw there was a porch beneath a window on the north side of the house. At dawn, if they’re not all dead, we can clamber down there, and run across the garden, then into the fields.”

  There was another rattle of fist against window.

  Dean appeared at the top of the stairs. “Kim wants to know if there’s a plan.”

  “We’re going to break the window in the library,” I said. “We’ll lure the zombies to it, and kill those that get within reach. You shoot the rest. Tell Sholto to call the admiral, we might need her extraction team.”

  The library had a wide bay window that took up almost the entire exterior wall. On the inside were a series of folding shutters that looked as if they were soundproof. Taken with the thick door, the profusion of records, and the three sets of decks, I think the owners had spent more time listening than reading. As Umbert, Jackson, and Lorraine moved the other chairs out of the way, I checked that the shutters could be slid closed, and we’d be able to secure the room should we need to.

  Lorraine wedged her torch into the bookshelf so it shone on the window.

  “Everyone ready?” I asked, wiping my palms on the thin coat I’d found in the upstairs closet. It was thigh-length, thin, designed to be worn over a suit, and had a designer label I’d dreamed of one day affording.

  “What happened in Weston-super-Mare?” Jackson asked as he raised his rifle to his shoulder.

  “Oh, we escaped,” Umbert said. “Of course we did, otherwise I wouldn’t be here to tell you. Lorraine, perhaps you would do the honours?”

  “The— Oh, right.” She raised her rifle, tracking the barrel left and right as the number of undead grew outside the window. Kim had stopped shooting the creatures, at least those immediately adjacent to the library, and I could now count four snarling faces outside, though only seven hands and one seeping stump beat against the glass.

  Lorraine fired three shots. The glass shattered and fell. For a moment, there were three undead outside, but then more pushed their way forward.

  Jackson fired, one quick shot after another. The zombies collapsed, two outside, one inside knocking clear the last few shards of glass in the bottom of the frame.

  “Save the bullets,” I said, taking a step forward. From above, something red arced through the air. A flare. For a moment, I saw outside, and saw it properly. There were hundreds of the creatures. Then the flare landed, rolling down the hill. Darkness returned.

  “Yeah,” Lorraine said, “save the bullets. We’re really going to need them.”

  I stabbed the sword at the nearest face, drew back, and stabbed again. To my right, Umbert swung his crowbar up and down with an efficiency of movement that showed he’d done this before. I focused on the undead, but not on the faces. I don’t know how many creatures I killed, or how long I stabbed, lunged, speared, cut, and hewed. When I missed my target for the second time in a row, the blade carving splinters from the window frame, Jackson tapped me on the shoulder.

  “I’ll take over,” he said. I stepped back. He stepped forward, his machete already cleaving down in a sweeping arc that cut deep into a zombie’s face.

  Lorraine had already swapped with Umbert. The candidate was wrapping a cloth around his hand.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “A crowbar isn’t the best weapon for this type of work,” he said. “Got a little graze. Not to worry,” he added. “I’ve been bitten before. First time was in Weston, and I remember that vividly.”

  “Oh?” I asked, only half listening. There were four dead zombies lying across the broken window frame, but there was a snapping sea of mouths behind. I was glad the torchlight only extended for a few feet into the dark. Our situation was far worse than I’d thought, but knowing precisely how much worse wasn’t going to improve things.

  “Yes, an unpleasant night,” Umbert said. “But I survived.”

  “How did you get out?”

  “Oh, we went up to the attics,” he said. “We broke through from one house to the next until we were at the end of the street. I escaped through the back. Can’t do that here, unfortunately.”

  “No.” We could retreat upstairs, breaking the stairwell as we went. I wasn’t sure that would save us. The house was shaking as the undead walked into the walls. “How long until dawn?”

  “An hour and a half,” Umbert said.

  There were footsteps on the stairs. Dean ran down. “Kim needs your ammo,” he said.

  “She’s almost out?”

  “Yeah, and we’ve only got thirty arrows left,” Dean added.

  Umbert pulled two magazines from his belt, and handed them to Dean along with his rifle. “That’s all I have. I was never a very good shot.”


  “Where did that flare come from?” I asked Dean.

  “Sholto,” he said.

  “Tell him to throw out another,” I said. “I’d like to see what’s out there.”

  “Didn’t you see?” Dean asked.

  “I saw hundreds, but we must have killed at least half that number.”

  “No, I meant didn’t you see what happened to the flare? A zombie caught fire. The others knocked it over, and they sort of trampled the flames out,” Dean said. “Kim says he’s not to throw another in case he sets fire to the house.”

  Lorraine swore as she missed her swing, but she made up for it with her next blow, a ferocious hack that nearly severed the zombie’s head.

  “We better swap,” I said. I tapped Jackson on the arm. I had to do it twice before he stepped back. “Give Dean half your ammo,” I said, taking his place at the window, and turning my attention solely to the undead.

  There had to be at least fifty dead creatures outside the window, probably more. Their bodies created an obstacle for the undead behind, causing them to trip and slip, but they also created a ramp. As I swung my tired arm, and mistimed the blow, the sword sliced a line through the creature’s grey-chequered shirt. The zombie lurched forward, and fell inside the room. I stabbed down, spearing the sword through its brain.

  “Bill!” Jackson called, as another creature toppled forward, into the house. Lorraine raised her rifle, firing at the zombies outside, as Jackson stepped into the gap I’d left, spearing his machete down.

  “Sorry, Kate,” he said, as he wrenched the blade free and sliced at the next zombie.

  There was no time to worry that the man was killing people he knew, no time to worry about anything other than that our plan was failing. I wiped the worst of the gore from my dripping hands, and ran the sword’s blade down the sleeve of my jacket. Outside, the sea of faces seemed endless, but there had to be fewer.

  “Bill! The back!” Sholto called.

  I limped into the kitchen, but the table blocked the view outside. I went into the hall and saw Sholto halfway down the stairs.

  “They’re at the back,” he said. “About fifty of them. Maybe more. I think they’re coming from the hills, not from the road.”

  “How many are at the front?”

  “A hundred, give or take,” he said.

  “Less than there were.” That was something.

  “They’re going to get inside, Bill,” he said, sounding strangely calm. “We’re running out of bullets.”

  “You didn’t bring any in your pack?”

  “A few hundred extra rounds, but we’ve already used them. We’re almost down to arrows.”

  “And flares,” I said. “How many did you bring?”

  “I’ve another four, and I’ve got some flash-bangs and a few other distractions. They’ll help us escape.”

  “We’ve just got to survive until dawn.”

  There was a crack of breaking glass from the rear of the house. I ran into the kitchen in time to see the table shudder and move.

  “We can’t keep them out,” Sholto said, “so we need to let them in. Let them fill the downstairs, and we’ll keep ’em down here. The admiral’s got people ready. At dawn they’ll leave. One hour after that, they’ll be here.”

  The table wobbled, pivoting around the tap. There was a snap as the metal broke, and the table rocked towards us, clattering onto the floor. A forest of arms took its place. I took a reflexive step back, but we had time. It would be minutes, perhaps longer, before any of them got inside. There was a grinding sound from the front door as more of the undead pushed against it. I don’t think they were deliberately trying to get in so much as trying to get to the library’s broken bay window, but that door was the weak point. Our crude barrier would break, and then half of us would be trapped downstairs, the rest upstairs.

  “Open the doors to the rooms,” I said.

  We quickly opened the other doors on the ground floor, including the one to the living room with its two corpses. I saw glass littering the carpet near where one of the windows had already broken. I went into the library.

  “We need to fall back,” I said to Lorraine as Umbert and Jackson both hacked down at the same creature tumbling through the window. There were a dozen corpses already inside the room. “To the stairs, go!”

  Three more reached the window, falling into the room at the same time. One managed to claw at Umbert’s leg before I stabbed the sword down into its skull.

  “Back. The stairs. Go,” I said, pushing the candidate towards the door. “Go on,” I yelled at Jackson. The man’s expression was blank, but tears had streaked lines through the dried blood on his face. “Go!” I yelled, pushing him on. In that moment, when there was no one defending the window, another four creatures toppled in, joining the two on the ground still trying to stand. I stabbed the sword into the thrashing mass, and then skipped out of the reach of a snapping mouth and three clawing hands. Half pushing Jackson, half watching the undead, I was wholly regretting my decision. We’d acted too early. We could have held the undead for another few minutes, and every single one counted.

  “Mr Jackson, please give me a hand to get upstairs,” Umbert said as calmly as ever. He was leaning against the banister, his leg soaked with blood and covered in a crude bandage.

  There was a creak from the door. The wood cracked, splitting above the bottom hinge. Cabinet and chair rocked.

  “I don’t think we’ll be moving to this house,” Kim said, easing past Jackson and Umbert as they made their way upstairs. The door rocked back a few more inches.

  “You go, too, Bill,” she said. “You need to rest.”

  “I’m fine,” I lied.

  “I know you’re not.”

  “Are you out of ammo?” I asked.

  “I’ve ten rounds left,” she said. “I’m saving those for our escape.” She raised her machete. The steel shone in the dancing torchlight. “Half an hour and then we can leave. Check with your brother. He’s got a plan.”

  A zombie staggered into the doorway of the library, Kim lunged. There was only room for one person to fight at a time. In theory that meant there was only one foe to be faced at a time, but behind that enemy were a dozen others, shoving and pushing their way towards us. Kim took a step back and I did the same, almost walking into Sholto. He had a hatchet in one hand, a bayonet in the other.

  “I’ve got the kids watching front and back,” he said. “Lorraine, go and check on them. See how many arrows they’ve got left. Quick now!”

  The woman pushed past us, pausing halfway up the stairs as if realising that it was a ploy to get her out of immediate danger.

  Kim swung again. Sholto positioned himself close behind her. Yes, in theory this was safer. Only one of us was in danger at any one time. Theory is meaningless when that one is someone you love.

  “I brought a helicopter,” Sholto said.

  “What?” I asked as Kim hacked her machete at an undead face. The blade stuck, she let go, and Sholto pushed himself past her. The zombie had fallen, but its arms still moved. As Sholto jabbed the bayonet into the next creature’s eyes, he stabbed his foot down on the machete still embedded in the zombie’s skull. The blade dug deep, splitting the creature’s head in two.

  “A helicopter,” Sholto roared, swinging the hatchet at the next zombie. “Remote controlled. Attached speakers underneath. Didn’t work. Wasn’t louder than the undead.” He swung, stabbed, and the zombie fell. He scooped up Kim’s machete, passing it to her just as there was a loud crack of splintering wood. The door split from its hinges. Sholto jumped back, forcing Kim and I up the stairs as he took station on the bottom step.

  “Got the idea from Bran,” he said. “They had this scheme with helium balloons. Thought a helicopter would work better. Should have brought more ammo instead. You live and learn.”

  The zombies scrummed at the broken door, pushing at the cabinet and chair. The only ray of light in that dark moment was that the furniture was b
eing pushed towards the library’s door.

  “The kitchen!” Kim called.

  A zombie lurched through the door to the kitchen. There was only one, but others would follow.

  “Back up the stairs,” Sholto said. “Let’s see how well they can climb.”

  We went up, and stood, waiting, as the undead pushed and pummelled their way into the house. There was an open alcove underneath the stairs, with no obvious pillar supporting them. Bars running through the steps embedded in the wall must hold them up. I couldn’t decide if that would make it easier or more difficult to break them down. Either way, the time was swiftly approaching when we’d have to try.

  “But I did bring flash-bangs,” Sholto continued. Only his slightly laboured breathing gave the lie to his blithe tone. “I figure we can throw them out the back while we make our escape to the north.”

  “I don’t know if Umbert can run,” I said.

  “Then we’ll carry him,” Sholto said. “You know what they say, leave no candidate behind.” His tone finally changed as the first of the undead reached the stairs and staggered up two before loosing its footing. It slipped, falling to its knees. It didn’t stop moving, however, but began to claw its way up. “Get everyone ready. I’ll hold them here.”

  Kim unslung her rifle. “Go on, Bill, I’ve got his back.”

  “Douglas is due east?” I asked Jackson.

  He sighed. “Aye.”

  “You recognise some of the undead?” I asked.

  “Aye, I do.” He sighed again. “This isn’t the time to mourn them.”

  “No, that will be later,” Umbert said. “Do we have a plan?”

  “Sholto has some flash-bangs. I’ll throw them out a window to the west. We’ll go out the window to the north, the one with the porch underneath, and then we’ll run. Jackson, you lead the way. Dean, you help Dr Umbert. Lena and Lorraine, you watch their backs. Sholto, Kim, and I will be right behind.”