Surviving The Evacuation (Book 5): Reunion (16 page)

The gap narrowed. Hands got nearer. Concrete became grass, and she could see the rips and cuts in clothing and decaying flesh, the stains around rotting bandages, the stubs of off-white bone breaking through skin. Chester raised the rifle, firing three shots in quick succession, left, right, left again. The gap widened. He leapt onto a bench, then the picnic table behind, the rifle still raised. There was no fourth shot. He threw the gun aside as he jumped over a fence down onto the quay. Nilda saw the bench. She ran and jumped, over the table, over the fence. A metal strut scraped against her ankle, turning the leap into a fall that she just managed to twist into an inelegant landing. Chester was a dozen paces in front of her, with ten zombies between them and the jetty. They ran. He to the left, she to the right, closest to the water, her ears filled with the sound of the waves, and she realised that it was drowning out the sound of the music.

She swung the sword, hacking at a creature’s face. The blow knocked it to the ground. She knew it wasn’t dead, but she didn’t stop. Chester swung his large sword at another, and she didn’t see if the blow connected. Swinging and punching, knocking some of the living dead to the ground, others into the sea, and dodging the rest, they kept running until they reached the jetty and the last two of the undead.

Nilda swung at the first zombie, severing its fingers. The bloody stubs waved in the air as she smashed her fist into the side of its head, and she was past it. She ran straight into the second creature, twisting and lifting her shoulder up and into its chin, knocking it from its feet and into the water.

And then there were no more undead, just twenty feet of concrete between them and the jetty’s edge. Slowing the sprint to a jog, then a walk, she sheathed the sword, checking the loop on the scabbard was buttoned closed. She checked the water bottle was firmly attached to her belt, then looked at the distance between her and the ship and regretted it immediately. It was going to be a long swim. Glancing once to check Chester was close behind, she leapt.

Cold. Dark. The water dragged at her clothes. Memories of the last time she’d jumped into the sea flashed across her mind, and that too had been in flight from a horde. Her head broke through the surface, and she was caught by a wave. Her legs were thrust out in front, and she was dragged down and under again. She twisted an arm above her head, ready to fend off the concrete. And then she remembered the zombie that had fallen into the water and of all the others that must have done the same, and kicked out madly in defence against grasping hands.

With the next wave, as water swept over her, so did relief. She was already twenty feet from the jetty. She was dragged up a crest and caught a glimpse of the factory. Some of the undead had followed them, but most had followed the music. None of them could reach her now. She was safe.

The word echoed, mockingly. She looked for Chester. She couldn’t see him until a familiar hand waved up above the water. She struck out, swimming towards him. His head appeared, but only briefly, and then it was covered by the waves once more. She dived. The water was murky, it stung her eyes, but she saw him gamely struggling and inexorably sinking. It was the sword, she thought, wrestling with it as she kicked upwards, but they were still sinking down.

She grabbed for his knife, roughly slicing through the sword belt. For good measure she cut the laces on his boots, knocking them free. Slightly less encumbered, she hauled him back to the surface.

“On your back!” she yelled, her mouth half filled with oily, foul tasting water. He didn’t hear her. She twisted him around. On his back, he was able to keep his head above the waves. They weren’t going to get far, and certainly not fast, but they didn’t need to. She saw something bright and blue a few arm’s lengths away. Leaving Chester where he was, she swam towards it.

It was the remains of a large plastic sign, one end melted, the words smoke blackened to illegibility. She swam back towards Chester, dragging the sign with her, and pushed it under him. Finally confident that neither of them were going to drown, she closed her eyes for a heartbeat, then she began to swim towards the cruise ship.

Nilda wasn’t sure how long it took them to reach the ship. It seemed like hours, but as she gripped a rung on the ladder built into the ships side, pulling herself up and out of the water, she thought she could still hear the tinny strains of music still coming from shore. She grabbed Chester’s arm, pulling his hand onto a rung.

“Let’s not do that again,” Chester said, trying to force a smile.

Nilda looked up. The ship was listing at about ten degrees, so as the hull curved, part of the ascent would be nearly vertical. At least she could see the lifeboats dangling above them.

“Ladies first.” Chester gestured up the ladder.

“Wait, when I get there, how do I release the lifeboats?”

“I’ve no idea. One problem at a time.”

It was a long, slow, difficult climb. Bracing her feet against the rungs, she knew that if she lost her footing and her legs swung out, she would fall down to the sea, and that the higher she climbed, the greater the chance that the fall would be lethal.

She was just past the keel of one of the lifeboats when she became aware of the noises. What was it Chester had said? That the ship had been empty, taken out to sea by its crew who’d then abandoned it. Well, there was another possibility, wasn’t there? That the ship had been full of people. Who they were and whether they were crew or passengers or refugees didn’t matter. They had been on board, and so had the infection, and now the ship was full of the undead. Knowing that whatever was on board the ship, she couldn’t stay on the ladder any longer, she pulled herself up the last few rungs and onto the sloping deck.

She was on a narrow gangway, about five feet wide. To the stern it was blocked with what appeared to be a solid metal barrier. Towards the prow, the gangway was clear and empty of the undead. She breathed out, remembered Chester, and reached over the side to help him up.

The nearest lifeboat was still covered and seemed intact. That was as much examination as time would afford. Next to the winch was a metal box. Inside was a lever, a manual switch, two dials and a set of instructions; flip the switch, turn the dials, pull the lever. That, she thought, was promisingly simple.

As the boat began to descend, it didn’t do so quietly. And as metal creaked, there was a corresponding scrape from behind the barricade. Then there was a rasping screech as the barrier moved.

“Hurry!” she yelled at Chester. He was pulling on the lever of the next lifeboat. Up, down, up, down, but the boat didn’t move.

“Go to the next one! The next—”

The barrier broke.

A tumbling thrashing pile of the undead fell on top of the metal. More pushed from behind, and some fell over the side, as this wall of death rolled and roiled towards them. Nilda ran along the deck, pushing Chester in front of her, heading for the next lifeboat. There was no point trying to fight; the weight of the undead would trample them before they’d swung a second blow.

“Get on!” she yelled, pushing him onto the boat. She smashed the control box open with the sword, turned the dials and pulled the lever. There was a low, rasping creak of metal, and the lifeboat began to descend. She leapt over the side, onto the boat, sword in hand, wishing it would descend faster.

“Inside!” Chester yelled, pulling open the hatch.

He jumped in. Without hesitation, she followed, pulling it closed behind them.

Everything seemed suddenly quiet. Chester had pulled out his revolver and had the chamber open.

“I don’t know if it’ll work,” he said, his eyes fixed on the closed hatch. There was a thump, as something fell on top of the canopy. The boat lurched, dipping at the bow. There was another thump, and the stern dropped. Another thump, and this time the boat stopped descending and swayed from side to side. The undead must have reached the winch and in that mass of unaimed blows, dislodged some part of machinery, she thought. And then the boat fell. Nilda opened her mouth, but they hit the water before she had time to scream. She was thrown from her feet to land in a narrow aisle between two equally narrow benches, the sword skittering off out of reach. She lay still, staring at the canopy above.

“You alright?” Chester asked.

She took a quick inventory and found that, though it hurt, she could sit up.

“I’m alive,” she said. “And talking.”

“That’s always a good sign.”

There was a sound from outside, of something hitting the water. There it was again.

“Zombies,” Nilda said, once more looking up at the roof of their small lifeboat. “We need to get out of here.”

Chester found the controls. The engine started first time.

“I suppose it’s designed for that,” he muttered. “You know, dropping from a listing ship.”

“I need a weapon,” Nilda said, ignoring him, looking around for her sword. She couldn’t see it, but there was a hatchet and a boat hook attached to a bulkhead next to the cockpit. She took the boathook. She wanted something with reach.

Whilst Chester started to steer the boat away from the ship, Nilda opened the hatch. There were two zombies on the canopy, both struggling to stand. A wave rode under the boat’s keel, and one lost its footing and fell over the side. The other’s legs had been broken by the fall. It crawled slowly towards Nilda. Inch by inch, one arm and then the next, almost as if it was swimming on dry land, it got closer and closer and… Nilda didn’t feel scared. The fear that had seemed all consuming was gone. Once more she felt nothing but pity for the person the creature had been. She thrust out the boat hook and knocked the zombie into the sea.

“Are we clear yet?” Chester called.

They were over seventy yards from the cruise ship, far enough away that they were safe from the falling undead. And now there were so many of them, on all of the decks facing her, some caught by the railings, others tumbling over the side, trying to get to the small boat and its noisy engine.

“We’re clear,” she said.

There was one last task before they could relax. They had to get the other lifeboat. Chester steered them closer. Nilda stood on deck, boat hook in hand, ready with a rope.

“You’re going too fast,” Nilda said.

“It’s not me. It’s the waves.”

Despite being only a few metres away, it took them ten minutes before Chester had worked out how to manoeuvre the boat close enough for Nilda to catch a railing with the boat hook. As the hulls banged together, there was a hissing snarl from inside. Nilda sighed. There had been an air of inevitability about that.

“You want me to do it?” Chester asked.

“No. It’s fine. Pass me your knife.” She’d have preferred using her sword, but the weapon had become totemic, a thin fragile thread connecting her with her son. She didn’t want to risk losing it to the sea.

She clambered over to the other lifeboat, banged on the canopy near the bow, then crept along to the hatch. Tensed, she opened it, and dropped inside. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. She saw the creature standing in one of the narrow aisles between the low benches. It snarled, flailing its arms as it tried to walk towards her. Its leg banged into the bench in front. It stumbled, and as a wave caught the lifeboat, the zombie lost its footing and fell. Nilda, her free hand grabbing at a hanging strap for balance, took three paces forward, and stabbed the knife into the space behind the creature’s ear. She pushed and thrust the blade down, twisting it until the only movement from the body was caused by the motion of the waves.

Weary with an exhaustion that had nothing to do with the exertion of the day, she collapsed onto the bench. She looked down at the body. It was one of the crew, an officer judging by the scrambled-egg effect of gold braid on the epaulettes. There was a name badge on the lapel. She bent forward.

“Lt. G.H. Hanley,” she read. She fixed the name in her mind. Seeing no point delaying any further, she retrieved the knife, and started dragging the corpse towards the hatch. She’d nearly reached it when Chester’s head appeared in the opening.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Fine. Yes. Sorry, I… There was one occupant. A lieutenant. One of the crew.”

“Ah. Right.” Chester nodded. “Um… So, how big are his feet?”

“What?”

“You cut my boots off, remember. I could do with some new shoes.”

Together they got the body up and onto the canopy. Chester took off the man’s shoes, but she could tell they would be too small. He bent, about to roll the body into the ocean, when she said, “Wait.”

In death the man still looked hideously inhuman, but she felt something should be said. She tried to remember the words the Abbot had spoken over the graves back on the island, but found she couldn’t. She looked back at the cruise ship. Whilst the cascade of bodies falling over the side had ceased, there were still many walking corpses milling about aimlessly on deck. There was no flag flying on the ship’s stern. Even the name was obscured by a reddish brown stain that Nilda doubted was rust. And above the horizon to the north, the dark band of death had reached the city. All of those lives wasted, all of those people lost. They deserved some memorial, yet all she could offer was that she would remember.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and pushed the body over and into the water.