Surviving The Evacuation (Book 1): London (13 page)

Steak. I could really go for a steak about now, but how many cattle will survive? The evacuation plan assumed there was enough breeding stock on the Islands to restock after the immediate crisis was over, but if the evacuation failed what chances are there that any cattle are left? I've seen footage of Them attacking livestock, but I've seen footage where They left the animals alone. There seemed to be no pattern to it and the only theory I have is that They will attack anything that's between Them and their real prey. It's a weak theory and I’m not sure how relevant it is because I don't think the cattle will be able to survive without humans, and no humans who survived would be able to resist eating any cattle they found.

Fusion power will never happen now. Nuclear power will become a thing of the past. Air travel too. If we're lucky we're going back to the age of steam.

On the bright side, no more laundry for a while.

Day 25.

10:00, 6
th
April.

The halfway mark. In another twenty five days I'll be out of food. I'll probably be out of water by then, too. I could probably collect rainwater through a hole in the roof, but how many calories would I use up creating it? Too many, I think.

I've got the bike downstairs ready to go. The day-pack is next to it. I'll keep the days ration of boiled water on me at all times, so I’m ready to go the moment there is a let up outside.

The signal strength of Radio Free England has weakened. It could be the radio, but I think it's the signal. The message is broadly the same, sheets on the roof, wait for help. There are no signs of helicopters over London and I’m sure I'd hear one. You used to be able to hear them all the time, even when you couldn't see them. I don't think I'll be getting any help from them. Even if I did trust their message.

Day 26.

05:00, 7
th
April.

I spotted it around eleven last night. I couldn’t sleep, I was just sitting in my chair, staring at the rooftops when I saw a light go on in the top room of the house opposite.

I wasn't sure I'd seen it at first, it could have been a reflection, it could have been my imagination, but then I saw it again. Still, I wasn’t sure it was anything more than a fire. To be frank, that was what caught my attention. My secret dread right now is being forced to choose between burning alive inside or being eaten alive outside.

Then the light went out and a few minutes later, three I think, it came back on. It was hypnotic, mesmerising, and I just stared at it for hours. What I didn’t think to do was to mark where it was coming from. There are fifty seven windows visible from here, any one of which could hold the
light's source.

I’m getting ahead of myself. I have no possible way of knowing whether there was someone in there actually signalling. Even after all this time it could be a phone flashing that its battery was finally running out. It could be some kind of alarm or, well, anything battery powered, and that doesn't mean a person, at least not an uninfected one. Maybe there was someone in there, once alive, now undead, reflexively flicking at a button. Maybe, but p
robably not. The light flashed six times that I saw, the last time being about half twelve, but I stayed up all night watching and thinking.

10:00, 7
th
April.

I've lit the fire downstairs. A pillar of smoke by day might just be the ticket (boiling up some water, and having a celebratory cooked meal too. There's no point wasting the wood!)

But I couldn’t leave the fire burning and come up here to watch the windows. That's too great a risk. So I've got to hope that whoever is out there saw the smoke and realised that the fire might just come from a room on the other side of this house.

I’m going to need a better way of signalling.

14:00, 7
th
April.

I haven't seen many horror films, haven't seen many films at all recently, but there's one scene I remember from a zombie movie where there's a guy in a gun shop who has no food, trying to talk to people in a mall who have no guns. They're a few hundred yards away and communicate with a whiteboard and binoculars. I've no whiteboard, no binoculars either, but I do have paper and blu-tac.

It took me a while to think of something useful to say “hello” being too short “Are you alive” begging for the response of “No” and “Hello, is there anybody out there?” being, well, unoriginal.

In the end, and wanting to put something up I wrote “R U There?” spread onto three pieces of paper and stuck to the top of the window in Tom's flat, since the tinted glass in mine is almost certainly going to make it illegible. There are seven windows that I can see from my room I can't from his, I just have to hope that the other survivor isn't in one of those.

There are, I suppose better things I could have written, and not much I can do if the response is “Yes”.

Time for more smoke signals.

16:00, 7
th
April.

Nothing yet. It might be that this person is only awake at night, shining the light out in one direction for a few hours then going to a different window, and repeating it. Or they've no paper. It'll be dark in a few hours, I'll signal back.

17:00, 7
h
April.

I didn’t notice it earlier, simply because my mind was on other things, but there's only a handful of Them today. They don’t look as formidable as the others, some are missing hands or arms and in one case, most of a leg. If I’m planning on leaving, it would be a good idea to do it sooner, not later.

It would be too late to leave tonight anyway. I'll think about it tomorrow. But whether there is a reply or not, I will have to think about it tomorrow.

20:00, 7
th
April.

Flashing the torch on off, on off, on off, pause. On off, on, off, on (for a minute) off for five minutes. Adding Morse code to the list of skills I wish I'd bothered to learn. So far no response. No response from the undead either.

23:00, 7
th
April.

Nothing yet.

Day 27.

02:50, 8
th
April.

Still nothing. The batteries are running low. Time to call it a night. I’m returning back upstairs.

06:40, 8
th
April.

Up early. Maybe the light wasn't visible from downstairs. I don’t want to risk opening the balcony doors though. Did I imagine it? Water's boiling. Coffee this morning.

09:00, 8
th
April.

There are two of Them out the front, two out the back, with another lurking around the side street about 100 metres west. I think that last one is stuck there, maybe immobile, maybe sleeping, if They sleep, whichever, it's not moving. Of the others, the two out the back are sort of heading southward, slowly pinballing across the street from one side to the other. One of the creatures round the front is heading roughly south east, I think. It's hard to say since it's moving in a curving zigzag. The other one isn't moving at all.

All of that is a long winded way of saying if I’m planning on leaving I should do it soon. And I should definitely head North. It's fifty two days until the cast is due to come off, but I can manage to stand, with the crutches, for three or four hours at a time now. Going up and down the stairs is getting easier, and I can't delay much longer. Getting to the river is my only option.

I think if I'd heard a single helicopter over head I might have stayed, I might have knocked a hole through the roof, hung out white sheets, tried to get more food from nearby houses, whatever. But I haven't. Wherever Radio Free England is, they're staying clear of South London.

I’m ready to go. I should go. It's just... What if there's a reply tonight. What if the reply comes five minutes after I've left?

10:15 , 8
th
April.

A reply! It's written on paper on the window of a house about seventy metres away. Too far away to be legible.

12:00, 8
th
April.

I've no binoculars. Think. Think. Think.

13:00, 8
th
April.

If the writing's too small, increase the font size. One word spread out on two sheets “Escape?”

13:30, 8
th
April.

He, or she, has got it, the message has been replaced

17:00, 8
th
April.

We've found a way to communicate. It's about as basic as it can be, each word spelled out one letter at a time, each letter held up for a minute.

I don’t like that, writing he or she, it's too impersonal I'll call him/her Sam. My neighbours name is Sam.

Our conversation so far:

Me “Escape?”

Sam “Yes.” then a blank sheet “No Water”

Me “Water. Food. 20 days. You Come Here?”

Sam “Then 10 Days Water” pause “Then What?”

Me. “Escape Now. Where? River?”

Sam “Cant Swim. Ha. Ha. North.”

Me. “How? Car? Petrol??”

Sam. “Bike”

Ah, there it was. Oh well.

Me “Broken leg. Bike = hard”

Then there was a long pause. Seven minutes without a response, the longest seven minutes of my life.

Sam “Car. You Alone”

Me “Yes. You?”

Sam “Yes”

Me “Escape Tomorrow?”

Sam “3 Days”

Me “You Water. 3 Days?”

Sam “4. Plan Later. Food Now”

And that's it, 36 letters and numerals, assorted punctuation and a couple of hours and we're going to escape in three days. That's as far as we've managed to get so far. Now there are the details to sort out, like where to get a car from and where we'll go but at least now I won't be alone.

20:00, 8
th
April.

Our conversation continued, we're leaving at nine in the morning three days from now. Day 30, by my count.

I asked “Which Car” Sam replied “Mine”, which is reassuring. Sam probably has a car parked out front. I’m pretty sure those houses all had their front gardens converted to drives. Obviously Sam didn’t want to drive before because a bike is less likely to break down and can probably get further in a day if the roads are blocked. Which, I’m guessing, they probably will be. That's why I've been against trying to drive out of here. The last thing I want is to get stuck behind a lot of stalled cars on some motorway somewhere.

But, if Sam wants to drive, then I’m not going to worry. If there is a problem then we'll find a solution. Two heads and all that.

If his car's out the front, then would it be better if I went over to his house? Or is it safer if he goes out the front and drives round? It's difficult to know. I'll sleep on it and see what he thinks tomorrow.

Day 28.

13:00, 9
th
April.

Two days to go!

Not much conversation today. The strange thing is that we don’t really have much to say to one another, at least nothing that can't wait. I’m guessing that Sam, with the exception of having two working legs, is in pretty much the same situation as me, working out what will be essential for the next part of the trip.

Where in the north we're heading I don’t know. For now it's enough that we're going to get away.

16:00, 9
th
April.

I’m packed, ready to go. I'd like to leave now, but I can see the wisdom in staying put as long as possible. There's still the chance of rescue or of the undead finally dying and there's no point wasting food... It's just that there are fewer out there than ever before. They could be back in greater numbers at any time. But we have a plan. We'll stick to the plan.

Should I take the laptop and the hard drive? All those files Sholto sent, are they of any use to anyone now? They take up so much room I wasn't going to take them when I was planning on going on foot, but if we're taking a car, then why not?

Day 29.

06:00, 10
th
April.

Breakfast, then as soon as Sam's awake we'll really need to finalise our plans

10:00, 10
th
April.

I'd just stuck a message up, when I saw Sam walking out of his house. He glanced up briefly at the window, long enough for me to make out his scraggly beard. He didn’t wave. I thought for a moment something had happened, maybe one of Them had broken in and he had been forced to leave. I thought he might be heading here, needing rescue, except before I could even turn to go downstairs and open the door he'd already turned his back, and begun to head up the road.