Surviving The Evacuation (Book 4): Unsafe Haven (28 page)

“Which,” the Mayor said, “thanks to the undead, is currently useless to us.”

“Look, Chester,” George said. “We’ve been going over this, looking at it from all angles. And I don’t mean just me and Mary. We can’t get the conventional explosives in there. We don’t have the fuel for that. Cruise missiles aren’t going to do it, and that leaves the Trident warheads. It’s all we’ve got left.”

“It seems… after all the bombs that have been dropped, that we should use more seems… it just seems wrong.”

“The normal rules stopped applying in February,” George said. “So we’re waiting on you. Go with this woman. Find out what that factory is like.”

“When by?”

“Before the weather changes.”

“That’s not much help.”

The old man took out a bag hanging behind the wheelchair. “It’s a sat phone,” he said. “The batteries can be charged with a hand-crank. You call us when you get there, you tell us what it’s like, and we’ll arrange for you to get picked up when the helicopters come in. Alright?”

Chester took it.

“You know, sometimes I wonder why I don’t just walk away.”

“Well, have a look at this.” He handed Chester a bundle of papers. “You’ll find your answer there.”

“What’s this?”

“A journal. Written by Bartholomew. It explains what happened. The conspiracy if you want to call it that, and how it all started.”

“Oh? And what’s that to me?”

“You’re in there,” George said.

“I am? Where?” He began to open the book.

“Later,” George said, putting a hand on the book and closing it. “You’ll have plenty of time for reading out in the wasteland. There’s one last thing. Now where is it…? Ah, here.”

“A smartphone?”

“No. Well, yes, but not exactly. We’ve got control of some of the satellites now. One of them’s been taking pictures of the mainland. We’ve got some photos of Hull there. The resolution’s not too bad either. Not up to spy-satellite quality, but you can see where a cruise ship rammed into the docks. Those pictures might be of use, and if we can, we’ll get you some more. But the real reason you want this phone, is that we’ve two other satellites just tracking the hordes. If you plug the smartphone in here…” he peered at the sat-phone, “… somewhere, you can use it as a screen and get real time data on where the horde is.”

“So we can avoid them?”

“I imagine you’d want to. Now, let’s see…” The old man glared for a moment at the two devices. “Chuck,” he bellowed at the boy throwing shells into the sea, “Come over here and show me how this works, again!”

Nilda prowled the shoreline, sword in hand, staring at the sea. Her first thought had been to commandeer the first boat she saw, but they all had their electricity coming from cables snaking across the road from nearby houses. She doubted there was fuel for any of the engines and she wasn’t going to try a sailing boat. She’d been shipwrecked once, and it wasn’t an experience she wanted to repeat. That left a rowing boat. There were plenty of those, but even through her fury, she didn’t want to steal from people who had so little.

She heard footsteps crunch on the pebbles behind her. She turned and saw Chester.

“You’re going to scare people, waving that thing around like that,” he said, amiably.

“So? What are they going to do about it?”

“Them?” he nodded towards the boats. “Nothing. Or do you mean the Mayor? Well, she’s likely to send someone like me down to talk to you.”

“And how are you going to stop me?” she asked, flexing her grip on the sword.

“Stop you? I didn’t say I was going to stop you. I’m going back to the mainland. I thought I’d offer you a ride.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s where you said you wanted to go.”             

“They asked you to?”

“They asked me to go back. There’s a factory in Hull they want me to look at. You said you were from Cumbria, and I reckon that’s where you’re heading back to, so since we’ll be going in the same direction we might as well travel together.”

“Hull is miles away from where I’m going.”

“It’s still the mainland,” he said with a shrug.

“And you’re going on your own?”

“No,” he said patiently, “I’m taking you with me. Like I said.”

“I’m not working for that woman. Or anyone else.”

“Alright. Fine. Listen. For good or ill, they keep people safe. They keep this place working. They keep people alive, and maybe they’ll do a good enough job that there’ll be people still alive a generation from now. Look about you, Nilda. This is it. This is civilisation. It’s all that’s left. Our species is dying and we’re still not safe. I’m not sure I agree with everything they’ve done, or what they’re planning to do, but this is the only chance anyone’s got, and we’ve only one shot at doing it right. So come with me, maybe we can do some good out there.”

She gritted and ungritted her teeth, clenched and unclenched her jaw, gripped and regripped her fist around the sword that a friend she had undervalued had given to a son she had lost. She remembered the words of the Abbot. She closed her eyes, and let her anger go.

“I want to find my son. I want to bury him,” she said.

“Then we’ll find him.”

“It won’t be easy. I mean. It could take a long time.”

“It’ll take as long as it takes.” Chester turned to take a long slow look around the island. “Yeah, of all the things I thought might happen, of all the places I thought I might end up, it was never anywhere like here.”

“You’re a strange man,” she said.

“I died and was reborn.”

“You’re religious?”

“I mean, I was bitten and I’m still alive. I spent a night thinking about all I’d done, and then the next morning I woke up and found myself alive. After that… have you ever found yourself the victim of events? That no matter what actions you take, you’re always reacting to those of other people? Well, I realised that, and I understood that tomorrow I might be dead. But today, today I’m my own man walking under the sky.”

“Very poetic.”

“My gear’s over at The Lodge. We’ll get that. And you’ll need more than just a sword. Come on.”

He led her along the beach until they reached a large guesthouse overlooking the sea.

“Wisteria Lodge,” Chester said. “We keep the fish gutting on the other side of the island.”

“I’m not staying here,” Nilda insisted. “Not for a single night.”

“No, of course not. I mean, who’d want to spend a night in a real bed without having to worry about whether you were going to wake up surrounded by the undead? But we do need supplies.”

He led her up the path through a still-manicured garden.

“Hey Bran,” Chester nodded to a smartly dressed man who sat on his own outside the main doors. Running from just below his eye down to his lip, Nilda couldn’t help but noticing, was a recent scar. Next to him was a chess set. He seemed to be playing against himself.

Bran waved a hand in vague acknowledgement, never taking his eyes off the chessboard. Chester shrugged. “Come on,” he said to Nilda. “The storeroom’s inside.”

The storeroom wasn’t what she’d been expecting. There were no metal-framed shelves, just rows of stacked plastic crates.

“This was the dining room?” she asked.

“Probably,” he said, walking down an aisle of plastic crates until he found the one he was looking for. He opened it and pulled out a small rucksack.

“Bag,” he said, throwing it over to Nilda. “Clothes are in the boxes over on that side. Not much selection, I’m afraid. It’s all come from a cargo ship that was close enough to be easily looted. Not great quality, either. I think this lot was all destined to be sold in a supermarket.”

“Clothes are clothes,” she said with a shrug as she opened a crate.

“Yeah, that’s nicely stoic,” he muttered as he grabbed an already packed bag from a stack on a table. He opened it and checked the contents.

“That’ll do,” he muttered. “You know how to use that sword, or will you want something else?”

“The sword will do.”

“Fine. I’ll get you a rifle.”

“No,” she said. “There’s no point. It’d just be extra weight.”

“You sure?”

She hefted the half-filled bag. “How much ammunition can you carry? Because however much it is, it won’t be nearly enough.”

“Suit yourself, but personally, I find one bullet at a time is always enough.”

Two hours later Nilda found herself standing on the deck of a battered tender, watching Anglesey slowly retreat into the distance.

“Get some sleep,” Chester said. “It’s going to take us a while to get up to Cumbria.”

“They could have found a faster boat.”

“Can’t waste the fuel. Besides, not much point arriving at night. But stay up here if you prefer the company.”

Nilda glanced over at the squawking crates of chickens, then followed Chester inside.

2
nd
September

“Come on, then. We’re here.”

“Where’s here?” she asked, sleepily trying to remember where she was and who was asking the questions.

“Two miles from Whitehaven. This is about as close as we can take the boat. From this point forward, we’re on our own.”

He helped her into a small inflatable, and with the tide’s help, rowed towards the town.

“You know,” Chester said as he rowed, “that this was the last place in the UK to ever be invaded. And the only place to be invaded by the Yanks.”

“What happened to it?” Nilda asked.

“It was during the War of Independence—”

“No, I mean the town. Was it bombed?”

Chester threw a glance over his shoulder.

“Oh. Right. Yes. But only by conventional weapons. Conventional! Ha! Don’t know why, but someone out there really didn’t like the place.”

The buildings were in ruins. All that remained were broken walls, shattered windows, burnt timbers, and collapsed roofs.

“When we get ashore, keep quiet,” Chester said. “It’s been a while since I came through here. Geography’s kept the place reasonably clear of the undead, but that doesn’t make it safe. We keep some bikes in storage down near the railway line. We’ll get those, then head east through the lakes. There’s a safe house we can stay in about ten miles from here.”

“I don’t want to rest. I want to—”

“Get back and find your son. Yes. You said. But I’ve been awake now for about thirty hours. So we’ll sleep there, then go on tomorrow. Now, shh! We’re getting close.”

They pulled themselves along the seawall until they reached a rusted ladder. Chester loosely tied the boat to one of the rungs, and then they climbed up onto the quay.

The town was eerily silent, and up close the devastation was even more apparent. It was like nothing Nilda had seen before. Even in the news footage of war zones or disaster-hit areas, there was life. There were people. Here there was nothing but the sound of an occasionally falling tile or cracking timber.

“This way,” Chester said, softly, gesturing towards the north.

They picked their way through a litter of melted plastic, broken glass, chipped brick and broken stone. And then she saw her first body, and the sight brought her to a sudden stop. She had seen the dead and the undead, but not the charred remains of someone whose skin had been seared from bone.

“Come on.” Chester grabbed her arm and pulled her away.

They crept along a path that ran parallel to the shore for a few hundred yards until they reached a car park by the railway tracks. At the edge was an abandoned storage container.

“The bikes are in there,” Chester said, pointing. And as he stepped forwards a zombie moved out from around behind it.

It was the most pathetic creature that Nilda had ever seen. The right eye dangled from its socket, bouncing against its decaying cheek with each limping step. The flesh on the left side of its face was charred and flaking. The right arm hung limply from a dislocated shoulder, ending in a hand with only one finger that twitched back and forth as it slouched towards them.

“I’ll do it,” Nilda said, drawing the sword. She hadn’t noticed before how well balanced it was. It felt light and somehow right in her hands.

As she approached, the creature became more animated. Its mouth moved up and down, and she saw the teeth had gone. She brought the sword up in front and noticed the outline of a bee etched into the blade. She wondered why someone had done that. Then she dispelled all thoughts and questions and focused her attention on the zombie.

The creature stumbled, tripping on its own feet. With one hand on the grip, the other on the pommel, Nilda plunged the sword forward, twisting the blade as it stabbed through the creature’s damaged eye socket and deep into its brain. The zombie collapsed to the ground, unmoving.

It was easy, she thought. Almost too easy. She tested her emotions and found she felt nothing. Bending, she cleaned the blade on the remains of its jacket then sheathed it. Then she knelt and began searching through the zombie’s pockets.