by Frank Tayell
“What’s the alternative?” Chester asked. “Across land through England?”
There was a cough from the cabin. Locke hurried down the three steps. “Mr Wright?”
“Creil,” he whispered. “Faroe,” he added.
“He’s right,” Chester said. “We’ve a duty to everyone else. We’ve got to get back to Ireland.”
“Then Belgium it is,” Locke said.
Chester finished his inch of the cold coffee, poured out another careful measure, and handed the cup to Flora. “Cold coffee doesn’t seem so bad when you’re sitting by a heater,” he said. Night had fallen swiftly as, above, the clouds had gathered. Their worldview had once again been reduced to how far a lamp could shine. In this case, they were relying on the small spotlight rigged above the cockpit. “Are you really sure it’s safe for us to travel at night?”
“You can lower that fishing line into the water if you like,” Flora said. “You might catch something.”
“We’re travelling that slowly?”
“Almost. We’re making about six knots. We’ll arrive at Nieuwpoort around dawn. In a few hours, I’ll slow us down. We don’t want to overshoot.”
Her knuckles were white where she gripped the wheel, her eyes unblinking as she stared ahead. From that, he guessed it wasn’t as easy as she was implying, but he was happy to live in ignorance.
“Tell me about Belfast,” she said.
“I’ve never been,” he said. “We were the last to leave Anglesey.”
“The people are sailors, soldiers?”
“Sure. There’s some French Special Forces, US Marines, and the entire crew of the HMS Vehement.”
“Captain Mills’s boat? They’re alive?”
“Alive, yes. Disobeyed the orders to fire their nukes. He calls himself Mister Mills now, and the sub is on the verge of sinking. You know him?”
“I met him once, and I know some of the crew, yes.”
“Ah. That’s something good, a bit of a bright ray.”
“Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.”
“You weren’t asking about soldiers and sailors because of that, though,” Chester said. “You’re thinking of Calais.”
“People like that can’t be allowed to roam loose,” she said.
“Agreed,” Chester said. “And they’re halfway between Belfast and the Pyrenees, more or less. They’ll have to be dealt with, but that’s a problem for when we get to Ireland.”
“I tried to escape,” she said. “But they were watching me. Watching me too often, too closely. I’ve been thinking about it, you see, thinking about my captivity.”
“Perhaps it’s best that you don’t,” Chester said.
She didn’t seem to hear him. “Rhoskovski tormented me from the moment I arrived, and more so than he did any other prisoner. I didn’t see it before. My ID is floating in the sea off Georgetown. I don’t know about my crew-members who travelled with me. Did they bring anything with them from the Courageous? Did they keep a diary, a journal? I don’t think it matters, because Rhoskovski was beyond paranoid. He saw our ships as we sailed north. A few days later we arrived overland from the north.”
“I mean this in the nicest possible way, but could it be you that’s being a bit paranoid now?”
“He didn’t ask where we came from,” she said. “Why not? Because he guessed, and he had more than enough time to send people out to confirm it. The Russian destroyer was unusable, but I’d unwittingly given him the Courageous. Out of fuel, yes, but that’s not so hard to find. Not as hard as a working warship. Rhoskovski was ready to leave. To go somewhere. Where else, but to my ship?”
“It could be almost anywhere else,” Chester said. “Or maybe not anywhere. The boats in the harbour must have been there since before the destroyer dropped its mines. The tanks? Who can say where they came from, but it can’t have been from that far away. I bet they were abandoned by the French military during their attempts to contain the outbreak. The snowploughs, those are key. Even if they were stored in the harbour, why have them ready unless you were worried about snow? They must have found and prepared the ploughs since that last blizzard a few weeks ago. Now, how does that tie into what Cavalie was up to? Presumably, she wanted the ploughs so she could get the tanks and trucks down to Creil. Maybe. It’s hard to say, because there’s always a chance that Rhoskovski wanted to get out from under Cavalie’s thumb, probably by sea. On the other hand, Cavalie did say something to us. She thought we were sailors. British sailors. That makes a bit more sense if she knew about the Courageous.”
“Then I’m right,” she said.
“Possibly,” he said. “So what do you think, change direction, head to Sheppey?”
“I don’t think so. I think we have to hope they don’t leave Calais before dawn. If we get to Belgium before them, we’ll have to be ready to leave almost as soon as we arrive.”
“How bad would it be if they got their hands on the Courageous?” he asked.
“You mean what kind of armament does it have? Four Phalanx 20mm cannons.”
“And there’s ammo for them?”
“We haven’t had much to shoot,” she said. “It’s little threat to the Vehement.”
“From what I understand, the sub was on the verge of sinking,” Chester said. “Add in the tanks, if they’re still operational, and we’ve got a real headache on our hands. But since we can’t do anything about it, perhaps we should discuss something else.”
“What was that you were saying about enclaves?”
“That’s not a particularly pleasant story, either. Still, I suppose the best way to explain is to tell you my story. It’s Bill’s, too, I suppose, and the story of everyone who’s survived…”
He told the tale as the ship sailed north, talking of Bill and Anglesey, of Nilda and the Tower, of the children they’d rescued in Kent, reaching the journey to Birmingham as the clock clicked over to midnight.
“It’s a new day,” Chester said.
“Probably,” Flora said. “I reset the clock when darkness fell.”
Locke climbed up to the cockpit.
“Perfect timing,” Chester said. “I was just telling Flora about Birmingham. How’s Bill?”
“Asleep. Unconscious. Alive,” Locke said. “I suppose this is different from your last command, Captain.”
“My first command,” Flora said. “The Ocean Queen was my first command. We were much like you. Our people were survivors from across the world, though most were rescued from the sea.”
“This was on Ascension?” Locke asked.
“From Ascension, St Helena, from research stations across the Antarctic. Most came from ships. Some had been aboard cruise ships or scientific vessels, and there were some military ships as well. But Ascension became our home.”
“What happened to the military units stationed there?” Locke asked.
“Gone,” Flora said. “Recalled before we arrived. We thought they would return. We kept the runways clear in case they did, and that was part of the reason for us staying on Ascension. From the beginning, there was a debate about where we should go. Ascension is not the most hospitable of environments. Each new ship that found us brought reports that nowhere was any better.”
“How many people?” Chester asked.
“At the peak? Nineteen thousand two hundred,” Flora said. “That’s an estimate because it was somewhat fluid. We commandeered the larger vessels. Smaller ships would sometimes leave of their own volition. We sent them out, fishing, or to chase down radio signals. Some didn’t come back. I hope because they decided they stood a better chance on their own. The Falklands were flooded with refugees from South America. For a few days, it sounded orderly. The Courageous was halfway there when the messages changed. They’d brought the infection. There were too many civilians to maintain control. There was no way to organise an evacuation without risking losing the ship, so it turned back. I wasn’t aboard for that. I’d been posted ashore, commanding the guard on our food supplies.”
“Where else did you hear of?” Locke asked. “There had to be other radio signals.”
“Most concerned the location of mushroom clouds,” Flora said. “But, yes, there were other signals from ships that were low on fuel and food. And most of which we never found. We had an oil tanker, carrying refined fuel to St Helena. We had the diesel reserves on Ascension, but it was not an infinite supply. We pulled our horns in. A decision was made to stay on Ascension, until the danger from the mainland had receded.”
“This was before you heard the radio broadcast from South Africa?” Locke asked.
“No, after. And because of that broadcast. A signal repeated across two continents. Three, I suppose, depending on how you classified the Middle East. The presence of millions of people in Ukraine was wonderful, of course. But it was a rumour that came with some solid facts. There was no such group anywhere closer, nor anywhere else. It seemed as if, except for Ukraine, we were the largest group left on Earth. There was nothing we could do to help the people in Ukraine. The admiral decided we should wait a full calendar year, and then head north. We hoped that would be long enough for the undead to die. We’d all seen such horror. We’d all lost so much. I think we were all grateful for the relative calm of our sanctuary.”
“What changed?” Chester asked.
“The sickness,” she said. “We don’t know what it was, but it was borne on a boat that had come from Madagascar. Seven people survived out of an original complement of four hundred. They seemed healthy, though. That was our mistake. By the time they got sick, they’d met too many people. Everyone was curious about them, of course. We always were curious about where people came from, what they’d seen, what they knew of places we’d once loved. By the time the last body was cremated, we were down to two thousand. Most of the senior officers had died, and that’s how I got my promotion. Not that it mattered then, since the southern winter was over. We thought we’d weathered the worst of the apocalypse. That was our undoing, the weather. A storm dashed the oil tanker against the shore. The spill wrecked the beaches, ruining any chance of fishing. And, of course, we’d lost our fuel. That was when we decided to leave.”
“To come north?” Chester asked. “Because of Ukraine?”
“We went to Cape Town first,” Flora said. “There was little hope those students were alive at that repeater station, but I thought they might have left behind some notes, records, clues as to where else we might find survivors. I think they died, but there were too many undead to be certain.”
“Ah.”
“We decided to follow the western coast of Africa,” Flora said. “We had a choice, and we chose wrong. We had two ships. The cruise ship was the wrong vessel to bring. Too large, too inefficient. After Liberia, we found no port with fuel. At that point, we had no choice but to continue heading north.”
“Until you saw the mine in the harbour at Calais,” Chester said.
“That was the penultimate straw,” Flora said. “The last was seeing the wrecked boats off the beaches around Dunkirk. After I was captured, Rhoskovski said that he’d been responsible. He said he’d taken an RPG to them. I’m not sure if that’s the case. Perhaps he only finished what the weather began, but for us, at sea, the sight of it expunged any hope of finding survivors. We’d heard nothing from Ukraine. Nothing from anywhere. The mood was shifting. After we reached Nieuwpoort, and found it intact and such a contrast to Dunkirk, we realised that was as far as we could reach. Counter-Admiral Popolov made the decision.”
“Counter-Admiral?” Locke asked. “And with a name like that, I’d guess he was Russian?”
“He was, and in command of the HMS Courageous, where I was commanding the Ocean Queen. Ironic, I know, considering how things turned out. He’d been retired six months before the outbreak. He’d promised his wife that he’d show her some of the world that he’d seen while at sea. That’s how he survived. Everyone else dying is how he ended up in command. He chose to lead the expedition to Ukraine. I opted to stay with the ships.”
“Maybe they’ve returned,” Chester said. “They’re bound to have crossed the path of the horde, seen the devastation, realised what it means, and come back.”
Flora shrugged. “Maybe.”
Silence settled. Chester stared at the thin arc of light cast by the spot lamp at the front of the small boat. “Why didn’t you go to Britain?” he finally asked.
“We heard how the Royal Navy went to war with itself,” she said. “And the last thing we heard was that Portsmouth had been destroyed by an atomic blast. That was part of it. The other was hope. Hope that other survivors were still alive. Hope that we weren’t the last. Ukraine represented that hope. But it’s gone.”
“Where there’s life, there’s hope,” Locke said. “So where there’s hope, there’s life.”
“Can you believe that, after all you’ve just witnessed?” Flora asked.
“What I’ve just witnessed?” Locke said. “Let me tell you about what I did before the outbreak. Have you heard of Lisa Kempton?”
“The billionaire?”
“That isn’t even the half of it.”
Conversation drifted on, as soft as the waves beating against the wooden hull. Slowly, night turned to dawn.
“That’s the coast,” Flora said. “Not far now.”
“We haven’t overshot Nieuwpoort?” Chester asked.
“No. I don’t think so,” Flora said. “It depends on how accurate these instruments are. We’re still afloat, and within sight of land. I’d guess we’re within ten miles of Nieuwpoort. We’ll see the ships first. They were anchored at sea.”
“I might take a turn on deck,” Chester said. “Clear my head. It’s getting a bit stuffy in here.”
The cold air was a bitter blast as he opened the door. “On second thoughts, maybe not. That’s a decent heater this boat’s got.”
“Worth more than the engines,” Flora said.
Chester leaned forward, rubbing his hand on the glass. “What’s that? Is that it? Are those ships? There’s… there’s three of them.”
“Three?” Locke asked. “Let me see.” She peered at the glass, then threw open the door, and ran out onto the deck. Barely holding on, she hauled herself around the side of the cockpit to the front of the boat. A minute later, she returned, laughing. “It’s my ship,” she said. “It’s The New World.”
Day 260
28th November
Epilogue
Answer and Question
Bill & Kim
“You’re awake,” Kim said. “No, don’t try to sit up. And don’t try to speak.”
“I thought it was a dream,” Bill said.
“You really shouldn’t talk,” Kim said. “But it’s no dream. Hi.” She smiled. “Welcome back.”
“Where… where are we?”
“Nieuwpoort,” she said. “But if you’d slept a few more hours, we wouldn’t be. You’re aboard The New World. Your boat arrived soon after dawn. It’s mid-afternoon, now.”
“Creil—” Bill began.
“No, lie back. Chester’s told us everything. About Creil, and Calais.”
“Faroe.”
“And the Faroe Islands, too,” she said. “You were shot, Bill. Do you remember? You had a bullet in your shoulder. Dr Harabi removed it, but if you move, you might tear your stitches and you’ve already lost too much blood. Your collarbone is broken too, I’m afraid. You’re going to be in a lot of pain. And it’s going to be a long recovery, but you made it. You made it back.”
“You’re really here?” he whispered.
“Yes. I’m really here. So are Annette and Daisy.”
“How… how are you here?”
“We needed ships, Bill,” she said. “Everyone was looking. Nilda sailed out of the Thames, and reached the continent just north of Zeebrugge. She turned south, and found the Ocean Queen and the Courageous. It’s a good thing she did, too. Our plan was to go to Calais. We had satellite images of the harbour, and of the destroyer and other ships a
nchored there. I don’t know if we’d have seen the mines, but because the horde reached London, Nilda had to flee, and so she came here. And so did we. And so did you.”
“Cavalie?”
“She’s dead, Bill. Locke shot her. Don’t you remember? She’s dead. As for her people, Leon’s gone ashore with a group of soldiers and sailors and Marines. If they come north, he’s ready for them. He’s spoiling for a fight, even if he has to fight a tank, but there’s no sign of them yet.”
“Oh.”
“We’ve refuelled the Ocean Queen, and its about to leave for Ireland. You’ll never guess where it’s going. Dundalk, Bill. No, don’t say anything. Chester told us about Tam, but we found Dundalk on our own. Now, that’s a long and interesting story, but I promised Annette she could tell you. She’s been writing a journal, a history of us and who we are and where we’ve been. She wants to read it to you, but rest first. Everything is in hand, and everything is going to be okay.” She laid her hand on his, then leaned back, keeping the smile on her face until she was sure he was asleep.
She hoped he would wake up.
Chester & Nilda
“A wash and some clean clothes, and I feel like a new man,” Chester said. He began to stretch, but his hands hit the bulkhead to which the bunk was bolted.
“You could do with a shave,” Nilda said, running her hand across his stubbly beard.
“You don’t think a beard suits me?” he asked.
“All I’m saying is that if you get a razor for Christmas, don’t be surprised,” she said.
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you back a souvenir, but you know how it is when you travel, your luggage always gets left behind.”
“I’m just glad I’ve got you,” she said. “I do wish this cabin was larger, though. I’d picked out the perfect stateroom for us on the Ocean Queen. The balcony was larger than this room.”
“It’s the company that counts,” Chester said. “And we wouldn’t have had much time to enjoy even the biggest suite before the cruise ship reached Ireland, and then we’d have had more company than we could handle. No, this is far better. And I prefer the name, too. The New World, it’s appropriate. Yep. I’d say I’ve got everything I want. Everything I need.”
