“Sarge, are you seriously complaining there aren’t enough zombies?” Amber asked.
“Fair point,” Salman said. “We go on. We don’t know the armoured cars need our help, or want it. Odds are they got tired of travelling slow and made their own way to the rendezvous.”
Scott hoped the sergeant was right. Whether their escort had gone straight to the rendezvous, straight to Gourette, or simply away, their actions were an important lesson. The stalled Fiat was another. They’d barely squeaked the coach through. If that had been a larger vehicle, they might have ended up trapped. He picked up the map, and began a more careful examination of the roads leading south.
Chapter 3 - Dance of the Dead
Château-Thierry, France
“Ou sont les mortes vivantes?” Starwind asked, peering through the coach’s front window, then through a window at the side.
“I’m less worried about them than the people,” Amber said. “Where is everyone? Are you sure this is the rendezvous?”
“Oui,” Madame Bensayed said, then switched to a mix of Urdu and Arabic.
“That’s the war memorial ahead,” Salman said. “Champagne vineyards just beyond. We’re exactly where we should be. Eyes open, weapons to hand. Starwind, pass the word.”
The minibus slowed and stopped near two six-wheeled APCs. They weren’t the only vehicles in the car park, but they were the only ones with people outside, clearly ready to leave, with sentries keeping watch from the turrets.
Salman grabbed his rifle before jumping outside, Amber a step behind, Starwind less than a step behind her. More slowly, Scott followed.
His brain was slow in adjusting to the absence of the convoy, but as it adjusted to the lack of trucks, cars, and people, he registered the bodies. Hundreds. Mostly around the western edge of the car park. They’d fallen one on top of the other, as if they’d arrived en masse, and died the same way. Zombies, he was almost certain.
Other than the two APCs, six vehicles were abandoned in the car park. He wasn’t sure about the car, or the flatbed truck, but he recognised the bus as one of those he’d hastily repaired and driven from Creil’s subterranean garage before the floor became too unsafe.
A flurry of angry shouting erupted by the APCs. Scott turned around, and saw Starwind yelling at her mother. Scott hurried over, but didn’t reach them before, on Salman’s orders, Amber led a protesting Starwind back to the coach.
Scott continued on to the sergeant’s side. “What’s going on?” he asked, directing his question at Claire Moreau, Starwind’s mother, who seemed to be in charge of this rear guard.
Claire, upset, frustrated, shook her head.
“There’s been a change of plans,” Salman said. “The Ukrainians didn’t want to go to the Pyrenees. They’re continuing to the Alps. There was a vote in favour of following their lead.”
“The French have gone to the Alps?” Scott asked.
Claire shrugged, turned to Adrianna, and began speaking in French. After a few seconds, Scott stopped trying to keep up. Instead, he marshalled his thoughts, working out what questions to ask, though most had an obvious answer.
“How is the coach?” Adrianna finally said in English. “Can we reach the Alps?”
“They’re closer than the Pyrenees,” Scott said. “Fuel might be an issue. We’re meant to refuel here. Where are the tankers?”
“They have fuel cans in the APCs,” Adrianna said. She whistled, then waved at the minibus. Anais came out. “She will help you.”
Thanks to Starwind and Amber’s scavenging the night before, they didn’t need the fuel, but asking for it had been a test of whether it would be given. By the time they’d carried the five fuel cans over to the minibus, Amber had returned from the coach with their map, and the group were going through the new route.
“This is the new destination,” Claire said. “Lac du Bienne.”
“Is that France?” Scott asked.
“Switzerland,” Claire said.
“In the Alps?” Salman asked.
“The Jura Mountains,” Claire said.
“And what’s there?” Adrianna asked, though in English. She pulled a folded map from her pocket, checking it against Amber’s.
Claire shrugged, and answered in French. She finished with another shrug, and a frustrated but wistful glance at the coach. A shout from the APC had her spinning around. It was followed by a shot.
“We must go,” Claire said. She turned to Adrianna, but then sighed, shook her head, and walked away.
“Sarge?” Amber asked.
“Adrianna?” Salman asked.
“You are the soldier,” she said. “You decide. We follow.”
“Did Claire say anything else?” Salman asked. “Anything in French she didn’t say in English?”
“Only about her daughter,” Adrianna said. “Now we go. I go first. You follow. We stop, you stop. If you decide we don’t go to Switzerland, you stop, and we will talk.”
“Agreed,” Salman said.
They were halfway back to the coach when the APCs began driving away.
“Didn’t wait, did they?” Amber said.
“They’re going to deal with the undead,” Salman said. “That’ll give us a better chance of getting away.”
“And which way are we going?” Amber asked.
“That’s what we’re about to decide,” Salman said.
Scott was the first to climb aboard, but almost didn’t make it up the steps due to the rescued passengers blocking the aisle.
“Zombies!” he said. “Les mortes vivantes. So polish a pew or be left behind. C’mon, move.” He pushed his way forward, and pushed them back towards their seats, wincing as an echo of pain stabbed across his forehead. He slumped into his seat as, slowly, the passengers did the same. Madame Bensayed started the engine.
“How much have you told them?” Salman asked Starwind.
“Everything, of course,” Starwind said. “My mother—”
“Stow it, soldier,” Salman said before Starwind fully launched her tirade. “Tell them to sit down, and keep an eye on what’s behind us. Tell them.”
Salman took his jump seat, but kept his rifle in hand as the coach followed the minibus back out of the car park.
“Sarge?” Amber prompted.
“You want to know what we should do?” Salman asked. “So do I.”
“I missed the first part of the conversation with Claire,” Scott said. “What did she say?”
“When the scouts from Creil arrived, the Ukrainian helicopter was already here,” Salman said. “Their leader was aboard the chopper, Anatoly Vernadski is the guy’s name. He told them his people were continuing to the Alps. To a town on a lake called Bienne. He knows of a refuge near there, a place with supplies.”
“Did he offer any proof?” Scott said.
“No. And why would he need to?” Salman said. “We can join them, or not. Since Switzerland can be reached within a day, but Spain will take two, the mood among the French was to go east. The professor, and the Assembly, voted to follow the will of the people.”
“Pass me that map,” Scott said. “The next stop is Bienne, yes? That’s not really the Alps.”
“The Jura Mountains,” Salman said. “Which means it’s not the Ukrainians’ final destination.”
“One set of mountains can’t be much different to another,” Amber said.
Starwind returned, collapsing heavily into her seat. “We’re going south, yes? To the Pyrenees?”
“Is that what you told our passengers?” Salman asked.
“Of course not,” Starwind said, though she remembered to lower her voice. “They are geese. As long as they are led, they won’t panic on their way to market.”
“Are we going south?” Amber asked.
“That’s for us to decide,” Salman said.
“If you ask our passengers, they’ll vote to go east,” Scott said. “We can’t take them somewhere they don’t want to go.”
“Pah,” Sta
rwind said.
“They can have the coach,” Salman said. “We can continue south with Adrianna in her minibus. If that’s what we decide to do.”
“Um… and how do we decide that?” Amber asked. “Who decides? Do we vote?”
“We go south,” Starwind said. “That was the plan. It is what we all decided. We must.”
“What do you think, Scott?”
“There’s this bloke I know, back home,” Scott said. “Mick Dodson’s his name. He’s the fella who has the rules about surviving in the bush. The outback can be a dangerous place. Beautiful. Wonderful. But deadly.”
“What has that to do with anything?” Starwind asked.
“Mick has these rules,” Scott said. “They change depending on who he’s telling them to, but one that’s always near the top of his list is that people should stick together.”
“Meaning what?” Starwind asked. “That we should stick together, or that we should stick with the cattle trudging to Switzerland?”
“Yep,” Scott said. “Both. Take a look at that map. Anyone got some string? Don’t worry, we’ll find some in a moment. It’s about five hundred kilometres to Bienne. We might make it before nightfall. We might not, but we won’t make it to Gourette. Not that it matters.”
“What does matter?” Starwind said.
“Making contact with Belfast,” Scott said. “Until Bill gets back, they won’t be looking in the Pyrenees. Even when he reaches Ireland, they’ll never look in the Alps. If we go to Spain now, we’ve still a couple of weeks to wait until that ship arrives. When it does, where do we tell them these people are? It won’t be Bienne. Then there’s how we make contact with that ship. We need that helicopter.”
“You mean steal it?” Starwind asked.
“No,” Scott said. “It only has a range of a few hundred miles, so they must be carrying it aboard something. A flatbed, maybe. We need the helicopter, its transport, and its fuel.”
“They won’t give it to us,” Starwind said.
“We won’t know until we ask,” Scott said. “And I can ask very politely when I try.”
“Assuming this isn’t a trap,” Starwind said. “Why should we trust them?”
“If they wanted to betray us, why bother sending the helicopter to the rendezvous?” Salman said. “They could have left us heading south.”
“Unless they want to rob us,” Starwind said.
“Rob us of what?” Scott asked. “What could we possibly have that’s more valuable than a working helicopter, pilot, and fuel? No, these are people who’ve been trying to preserve civilisation since the beginning of the outbreak. They won’t stop now. They can’t. It’s become their identity as much as it became yours, Starwind.”
“Switzerland tonight, the Alps tomorrow,” Salman said. “The Pyrenees afterwards, after we’ve time to gather better supplies. I’d say that’s a solid plan that gets my vote. Starwind?”
“If I say no, would it matter?” she asked.
“Yes,” Salman said. “The decision has to be unanimous. I—”
There was a thump as they hit something.
“Goule,” Madame Bensayed said.
“Isn’t that one of our cars ahead?” Scott said. “That blue Renault. I remember working on her.”
The car was alone in the middle of the road. Utterly alone. Scott wasn’t sure how far from the memorial they’d driven, though that had been a good thirty kilometres beyond the roads Starwind had cleared. Here the two-lane road was deserted except for themselves and the blue car with the open driver’s door.
The minibus slowed, and stopped a hundred metres beyond the stalled vehicle.
“Same as before,” Salman said. “Amber, take the roof. Scott, you’re with me. Starwind, tell everyone to get ready, but stay by the door until I give the command.”
The coach came to a halt. Scott grabbed his bag of tools, and followed Salman outside. The cool air was scented with decay, and with the far stronger smell of recent death.
Salman raised his rifle, moving swiftly across the road. “Watch the flanks,” he said. More loudly he called out, “Hello!”
No reply came from the car. The passengers would never speak again. As for the driver, there was no sign. Two people were dead in the back. Bags had tumbled around them as if they’d been digging through their over-packed car, failing to find the door before their throats had been ripped out. The front passenger lay across her seat and the driver’s, her hand outstretched as if she was reaching towards the door, attempting to close it.
Salman reached for the nearest of the rear doors, opening it an inch before stepping back as bags avalanched to the cracked asphalt. “Thought so,” he said. “Child-lock’s on. That’s why they couldn’t escape.”
“You think the driver did this?” Scott asked. “After being infected. Clearly this was the work of a zombie.”
“Maybe,” Salman said. “Maybe the driver got out to fix the engine, or to change a tyre. The zombie attacked through the open door. The driver ran. The zombie gave chase. Maybe. Except the hood’s down and the tyres look fine. A zombie did it, and the driver’s gone. That’s all I can say.”
Adrianna jogged towards them from the minibus.
“Dead?” she asked.
“They are,” Salman said.
“Have you decided?” she asked.
“Today, Switzerland,” Salman said. “Tomorrow, we’ll continue south, but today we’re aiming for Switzerland.”
Adrianna nodded, and kept her opinion to herself.
“Hello!” Salman called out again. Again no reply came, except from a pair of birds who fluttered from one creaking branch to another, fifty metres down the road.
“We don’t need the car,” Scott said. “And there’s room enough to slip the coach through.”
“Agreed,” Salman said. They headed back to the coach. Aboard, Scott stayed by the door as they drove away, his eyes on the flooded fields to either side, but there was no sign of life, and no sign of the undead, either. Slowly, he eased back into his seat.
“Have you been to Switzerland?” Amber asked.
“Hmm? Me, no,” Scott said, glancing out the window. “I mean, yes, to airports, but that doesn’t really count. Not according to my son when he wanted a souvenir. No, most of my travel, outside of Australia, stretched no further than an airport hotel. Sometimes it didn’t even get that far. There aren’t many hotels among the mines of Hai Dai Gou.”
“Where’s that?” Starwind asked.
“Inner Mongolia. One of the largest open-pit coalmines in the world. What about you, have you been to Switzerland?”
“Non,” Starwind said.
“Well, what about survivors from Switzerland?” Scott asked. “Did you meet any at your watchtower?”
“The Swiss had space in a nuclear bunker for every citizen,” Salman said. “And every citizen did national service.”
“I thought they were neutral,” Amber said.
“Doesn’t mean they didn’t expect a fight,” Salman said. “It was a posture to persuade any would-be aggressor there were easier pickings elsewhere. I think they had three months of supplies per person in their bunkers as well.”
“Sounds like we might find some people still alive there,” Scott said.
“Non,” Starwind said. “We met people from Geneva. They said the food had run out.”
“When was this?” Salman asked.
“The summer,” Starwind said. “June. Ten people, on foot. We met others. So did Adrianna. Their supplies ran out. People came out of their bunkers to find nothing waiting for them.”
“That’s a cheery thought,” Scott said.
“That is why going there is a mistake,” Starwind said.
They turned from the two-lane road, rocking onto a four-lane criss-crossed with foot-wide, metre-long cracks. At the first opportunity, they turned onto another two-lane, and Scott gave up trying to follow where they were. He was convinced that Madame Bensayed was now following her own route
east. More than that, he was coming to the conclusion that everyone ahead of them would have done the exact same thing. They weren’t in a convoy anymore, but in a race against the undead, against each other, against nightfall.
The two lanes narrowed until there was barely room for the coach. On either side, the ditch rose into an embankment, covered in undergrowth thriving despite the harsh weather. Above, bare branches reached upward. More, broken, lay on the icy roadway, marking where other tall vehicles had recently travelled, but that was the only sign they were still following other refugees from Creil.
Ahead, the minibus abruptly slowed. Just behind it, a zombie fell through the dense bracken, landing on the road face-first, limbs akimbo. Scott winced, despite it being one of the undead. That wasn’t why the minibus had slowed, though. Ahead, beyond Adrianna’s up-armoured bus, a tractor had driven through the fields, over the embankment, and landed on the road, engine first, rear wheels in the air.
Sergeant Khan slammed the door release. “Watch my back,” he said, leaning outside, raising his rifle. He fired as the prone zombie squirmed to its knees. His first shot slammed into and through its shoulder, doing nothing more than getting the creature’s attention. It turned its broken gaze towards the slow-moving coach, opening its black-toothed mouth before Salman’s second shot slammed through its eye. The zombie collapsed, and the sergeant stepped back from the door, closing it again.
“Waste of ammo,” Salman muttered. “We can’t afford to—” He stopped. Ahead, so had the minibus, at a point where the road dropped downward towards a railway bridge. The road went underneath, but was blocked by a panel van surrounded by the undead.
“The van’s one of ours,” Scott said.
“We can’t turn around,” Salman said. “Can’t go left. Can’t go right. Can’t go forward while the tunnel is blocked. We’re trapped. Starwind, tell everyone to get ready to fight. Amber, the roof. Watch our rear and flanks.” He opened the door, then turned, projecting his voice to the frightened passengers. “There’s only one way we’re getting out of here alive. We have to help them. We have to fight.”
Surviving The Evacuation (Book 16): Unwanted Visitors, Unwelcome Guests Page 5
