Surviving The Evacuation (Book 1): London (7 page)

To ensure that none of those workers tried to abandon their posts we evacuated their families during the first few days. You can call them hostages if you like, but what else were we going to do? Money wasn't worth anything, food was scarce, the only valuable commodity we had to offer was safety. The conditions this first wave were confronted with in the enclaves were squalid and cramped, nothing at all like the propaganda footage that was being broadcast, but it was safe.

Perhaps it would have been easier if we'd been able to evacuate the cities immediately. A rolling exodus using the trains, spread out over a week or even longer. But we couldn't. When the evacuation was announced so to was the existence of the vaccine and that it would be administered only at the muster points. We had the delivery mechanism, 100 million single dose injection pens stockpiled against the pandemic we'd been waiting decades for, but of the vaccine itself, we had nowhere near enough.

During the latter days of the cold war, after Britain abandoned its biological weapons programs it kept up its research into a so called super-vaccine, a drug that would work against any biological agent the USSR could throw at us. It had little early success. When the iron curtain came down the project was only saved from the axe by virtue of being a major employer in a marginal constituency. Over the past decades, under new management and with the country facing new threats, the project was revitalised until, finally, about eight years ago success was reported in agent RL-291 (9XT).

It wasn't completely effective, far from it, in the early trials 30% of the animals died, 40% contracted all seven of the test viruses, 25% contracted at least one, but consistently in trial after trial 5% remained free of infection. It was that five percent that made the agent effective enough to be seen as the first step on a long road of research and development that would ultimately see all the world's worst diseases consigned to the history books. Naturally it would be the British government who'd take the credit.

It was about six years ago that I first came across it. I was looking for a cause for Jen to trumpet after her popularity had been tarnished after a misguided head-to-head with the Mayor on BBC London. I had, following a tip off from Sholto, been investigating a black hole in a particular hospital's budget. I assumed it was just another scam, we'd had so many, so I started asking questions. That quickly landed me in an underground room at the MOD being interrogated by some very unpleasant men. I promised to ask no more questions and they promised that if I did... They didn't finish the sentence. In that place, under those circumstances, they didn't have to.

The day after I got out of hospital I asked Jen about the vaccine and whether it would be worth trying it on this infection. Her response wasn't at all what I was expecting. She seemed shocked that I knew about it. I thought they'd have told her about my time in the dungeons of Whitehall. Ah, secrets, what would politics be without them?

She said that yes it had been tested on humans the day before, and it did work. At least it worked some of the time, but more time was needed to manufacture enough for the entire population.

I don't know how much I should say, even now. I suppose if this is being read by someone other than myself then National Secrets no longer matter. From the time I stopped my digging RL-291 had been refined, redesigned and improved. When its existence was announced we said it was 99.9% effective, but that was an exaggeration. According to Jen, the vaccine that was to be used at the muster points would, at best, stop transmission of the virus in 80% of cases. It was a small lie, I suppose, but a necessary one.

By saying that it would be distributed at the muster points first we kept the cities from emptying. Even with the influx of troops from overseas, if they'd left en masse there's no way we could have stopped people from flocking to the countryside
. For over a week
people stayed at home. They queued for food and some queued for the dentists, above all they waited.

And whilst Britain waited, the world collapsed. Rioting consumed Europe as those from the Mediterranean countries headed north, towards the illusory security of the cold. Why they thought that would help them I can't say, clearly none of them had seen the footage from Canada. Those from Eastern Europe headed south apparently seeking food. Great waves of refugees collided all over the continent, unable to find food, shelter or protection. With them went the infection.

Some military units from the northern coastal regions of Denmark and Germany headed North West to Greenland, joining elements of the Scandinavian military and evacuees from Canada and the North Eastern US. Others had had the same idea and this small group, well armed though it was, was overwhelmed by waves of refugees from across the Americas, all heading for one of the largest coastlines in the world, in a land famous for barren desolation.

China descended into anarchy as the ill-prepared city dwelling millions headed for the illusory safety of the countryside. North Korea began an artillery barrage of the South, after Kim claimed the whole thing was an elaborate US hoax. Having to divide their forces prevented the South Koreans from properly dealing with the infection and by the time the barrage was over it was an army of the undead marching through the mine fields in the DMZ, reaching Pyongyang about the same time as the first waves of the living dead from China waded through the Tumen river.

New Zealand evacuated to the North Island, Australia to Tasmania. Theirs was a more ruthless form of evacuation, taking only a select few of the general population and sinking any ships approaching, whether they came from the mainland or from elsewhere. South Africa tried implementing a similar plan using Madagascar, but they weren't the only ones. That island nation soon descended into a bloody four way war before the number of infected outnumbered the living and the war turned into a battle for survival.

Very little of this final curtain call of civilisation was broadcast in the UK, most of what I learnt came from Sholto, or rather I culled it from the files he sent. Gigabyte after gigabyte of raw video, audio recordings of calls, satellite images, emails and pictures. I’m certain he didn't have time to go through it himself, he must have just grabbed all that he could from wherever he could and sent it on. I went through some of it, enough to get an overview, but I thought, and I still do, that there will be enough time in the future to go through it and create a proper archive of the end.

By the time Jen made that final broadcast, almost two weeks after the first scenes were broadcast from New York, announcing that the evacuation would start the next day, countries the world over had fallen. All that were left were towns and villages, hamlets and houses, barricaded and held against zombies and refugees alike. They were isolated and alone as the power failed and that once mighty global communication system finally collapsed.

For my tenants the muster point was a golf course near Farningham in Kent. That's about twenty miles from here and further than any Londoner would usually walk in a month, let alone in a day. But what other choice did they have except to stay and starve in the dark.

The roads along the designated routes had been fenced in and split into lanes. The left lane was for cyclists, the second was for those on foot, the third was for the buses that would run up and down and collect those who couldn’t walk any further. All travel except on the designated fenced in routes was banned. Those found outside of the evacuation routes would be assumed to be infected and neutralised.

Once they arrived at the muster point, they would have had a physical examination to check for infection. If they passed, they'd be given the vaccine, if they didn't, you can guess. Then they would board a train, bus, coach or flat-bed to the coast before being distributed amongst the enclaves being built up on the Islands and around fishing towns, ports, power stations and oil refineries. For my tenants it meant a bus journey if they were lucky, a ride in the back of a container lorry if they weren't. If there wasn't sufficient transport, they faced an even longer walk, down to the enclave at Folkestone.

Evacuees could take with them only what they could carry but, as long as they could carry it, no restrictions were placed on their luggage. They were advised to bring blankets and clothing and enough food and water for the journey, but beyond that, nothing was as important as emptying the cities and beginning the slow process of rebuilding.

We even left our national treasures where they were. There just wasn't the time or resources to move those when our focus was on the dismantling food treatment, canning and bottling plants, pharmaceutical labs, munitions depots, and other factories that could neither be protected nor replaced.

It was expected that thousands, possibly tens of thousands would become infected, but these numbers would be manageable. The plan would reduce a worst case scenario from an outbreak of millions that would destroy the country into, at worst, one which would require the destruction of a walled town.

It was a slapdash plan, a last resort plan, a great undertaking only for that time of dire most need. It was my plan. The germ of which came as I was wheeled from the hospital to the waiting car, which grew over the next day until I sent the forty page outline to Jen, the plan that was almost implemented.

Almost. People didn't wait until it was the turn of their sector. As soon as that announcement came on the TV, people started appearing in the streets. I watched them go by all day, some on their own, some in small groups, some on foot, some cycling, some pushing their gear on pushchairs, others carrying nothing bigger than a carrier bag. There were no cars, but even if someone had managed to hoard a few gallons of petrol they wouldn't have been able to drive through the throng.

That, I have to assume, is where the problems started. Outside my window now there should perhaps be one or two and I shouldn't be here to witness it. The routes and the staggered departures were all designed to get people out safely, without risk of infection. Instead they left before they were meant to, before they were expected to, before the proper defence mechanisms were put in place. That is what I assume. The evidence of my own eyes tells me that what was meant to happen and what did, lie far apart.

Evacuees, Ha! Refugees would be closer to the mark, I don't think any of them truly realised what they were going to, or what they were leaving behind. Whether they were wearing designer hiking boots or plastic trainers from the supermarket they were going to spend the foreseeable digging fields, breaking concrete or gutting fish. And they, out of all the billions on the planet, they'll be the lucky ones.

Day 5, 73 days to go.

00:15, 17
th
March.

It's hard to sleep. No point reading. The emergency broadcast went off air for twenty minutes or so. I’m not sure what that means. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. I’m hiding in the bathroom, journal in one hand, pen in the other, the torch held between my teeth and the radio on the floor, volume on low. The door's closed and I've wedged a towel against the gap at the bottom of the frame just for caution's sake.

This is a pitiful way to live.

Today is the start of the fifth day without power, which makes it almost four weeks since New York. How long before their muscles atrophy and their bodies succumb to decay? Longer than it will take mine. I've forty days of food, at best. That's counting raw ingredients which I've no way of cooking and it's assuming none of it spoils.

12:00, 17
th
March.

I fell asleep last night counting calories. It's a bad joke, I know, but at times like this are there any other kind? I need to focus more on my survival. That's my new mantra.

Based on splitting the tins and the packets up into rough portion sizes, I've got about forty days worth of food. Well, thirty nine now, I suppose. It might last longer since I’m not exactly exerting myself. It might be less, because some might spoil. Either way there's a problem with the maths. I've seventy three days until the cast is due to come off. Then I’ve got to get the muscles back into working order. Call that another month, and that makes about 100 days before I can walk close to normally. I’m going to starve long before then.

Jen didn’t leave any of the vaccine in her last care package. I guess she knew she'd be sending someone for me. I wonder if there's any in the car.

19:00, 17
th
March.

I spent the afternoon investigating the two ground floor flats. My hope, my fantasy, was that one of those idiots had bought a box of freeze dried ready-meals and forgotten about it. No such luck.

They're both two room flats with separate bathrooms and decent sized kitchens. If I'd had more money I could have squeezed in four studio apartments down there, still...

Getting down the stairs exhausted me. I had to rest at the bottom for a good twenty minutes before I was ready to continue.

The first stop was Grace's flat. She was a golfer who didn't quite make it and earned her living working in the clubhouse at a course on the other side of London. The first thing I did was to check the windows were locked and the curtains were closed, then I went to the bathroom. I wanted to empty the water tank, since it's not been used for over a week, I thought it a good idea to periodically freshen it up. That's when I noticed there wasn't a plug.