Surviving The Evacuation (Book 5): Reunion (19 page)

A vengeful, uniformed man with the bodies of two former comrades lying nearby. Laughter, torture, and a woman’s scream was as much information as she was going to get, and more than she needed. There was only one thing she could do, but should she do anything? She glanced at Jay. Get him safe, that was the plan, but with people like this out there, could anywhere be truly safe? No, she decided, there were some things you couldn’t walk away from, because if you did, they could never be forgotten.

She looked along the line of the wall.

“Do you see that yew tree?” she signed, and pointed a hundred metres towards the west.”

Jay nodded.

“That’s out of bow shot.” She hoped. It certainly wasn’t out of range of that machine gun. “When I say, start counting to a hundred and crawl over to the wall by the tree. When you get to a hundred, I want you to kick the wall over.”

“Kick it over?”

“It’s a dry stone wall,” she signed and saw he didn’t understand. “The stones are loose. No cement.” She carefully reached up and moved one at the top of the wall. “Knock a few over. Enough to get that man’s attention.”

“And then?”

“I’ll kill him. If I don’t, you run.” She raised a hand to stop his objection. “No. You run.”

She waited until he nodded his agreement. She wasn’t sure she could trust him not to run into danger, but nor could she sit back and do nothing.

Once Jay had begun moving towards the yew, and counting herself, she began to stalk along the wall in the other direction until she was out of sight of the fire. Then she ran across the scrub towards the long barn, hoping she wasn’t making any noise. Her back flat against the building’s wall, she looked left, right, left, right. She could see nothing. That was no comfort. Keep moving, she told herself. She reached the corner and glanced around. She could see the lorry, the rear wheel of the Land Rover behind it, and the smoke above it. No people, and the windows from the house were blocked. Her count had reached eighty. Jay should be at the wall. She pulled out her long knife. Keeping low, ready to spring, she ran to the relative concealment of the lorry’s front wheel arch.

She crouched down, and her heart skipped with relief. She could see the man’s legs. He was facing towards the tree. The poker’s tip was glowing a slightly darker red as it cooled. Ninety.

The man plunged the poker down towards the tree. She winced as the air filled with the smell of burning flesh and the terrifying memory that came with it. The last of her fear evaporated, replaced by an old familiar anger. She let it build as she focused on those legs, allowing herself to recall burning wreckage, and flames licking at her face and neck. Anger became cold rage.

Ninety-four. She braced herself ready to dart across the open ground. Ninety-six, and the man jerked suddenly around. That must be Jay. It was a little early, but that didn’t matter. The man started walking away from the tree.

Forcing herself to move slowly, still in a crouch, she edged around the truck. The man was looking off into the distance, his back to her. She stalked towards him, hoping she was moving quietly. He shifted the poker to his left hand, his right going to a holster at his belt. That was bad. Very bad. She’d thought the use of a crossbow meant they had no ammunition. She was ten metres away, and she must have made some sound. The man stopped, and started to turn. She sprinted across the last few metres between them, her knife coming up.

Surprise was fixed on the man’s face, and for a moment he didn’t seem to know whether to raise the poker or draw the gun, and that was all the time she needed. The knife came back, as her left hand came forward. She grabbed his shoulder, and stabbed up into his gut. Surprise turned to shock as the man exhaled, and she had the knife out, her left hand pushing down on his shoulder so when she stabbed the blade forward again, it plunged through his throat.

A torrent of hot blood washed out over her hand as she pulled the knife free, and lowered the dying weight to the ground. She pulled the pistol from his belt. As she flicked the safety off, she looked back at the house. There was no movement inside, no faces at the window. She ran to the tree.

The man had been beaten before he’d been cut and burned, and perhaps because of that his expression was blank, but his eyes were alert.

She hacked at the ropes, getting his arms free, then held out the pistol, her eyes questioning. He took it as she bent to cut at the ropes around his legs. She was nearly through when he raised the gun and fired, once. The bullet sailed past her head, and as she twisted around, she saw a figure in the house’s doorway collapse. She finished cutting the ropes.

The man was talking. She shook her head, then pointed at the dead man and raised three fingers. The newly freed man nodded, raised one finger, and pointed at the house. Then pointed at her and the side, then at himself and the front. As if to illustrate what he meant, he raised the pistol and fired again, chipping stone from beside the window nearest the front door.

She ran to the side of the bungalow, waiting until she’d reached the illusory shelter of its wall before looking back. The man was behind the tree. She saw him fire, then duck back out of sight as a forest of splinters flew from the trunk. Automatic rifle, she thought. Not good, but there was only one shooter left. She stalked quickly around the side of the house to the rear door. She tried the handle. It was unlocked. Wishing she had some better weapon than the still-bloody knife, she pushed the door open.

In front was a dark hallway. She moved slowly, having to guess the distance as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. She felt a vibration through the soles of her feet. Something heavy had hit the floorboards. The door to the front room was open. Knife raised, she darted inside.

A young woman, wearing nothing but a torn shirt, stood over a partially clothed man. In her hand was a large copper pan. She dropped it. The man was writhing on the ground, blood trickling from a gash in his forehead. The woman’s eyes raised slowly to look at Tuck, then she bent down, picked up the rifle, pointed it at the man’s head, and pulled the trigger. The woman stared at the mess of brain and blood spilling out onto the carpet, then carefully lowered the rifle. Tuck managed to catch her just as she fell.

Thirty minutes later, Tuck and Jay were sitting on the hood of the Land Rover, watching the approaching road.

There had been only three of the men. And they had been soldiers, once, though not part of any regular unit. The man tied to the tree was named Bran. No first name nor last, just that one odd nickname. He had come from Anglesey where a community was being forged from the survivors from the mainland.

The three uniformed men, along with the two others that were already dead – killed by Bran during the fight that had seen him captured – had come from somewhere in Northumberland. So had the women. Bran had facilitated their escape, and not just those eight women but dozens more. Tuck was hazy on exactly how many, but it was self-evident why they needed to be rescued.

She patted Jay on the arm, and smiled. “You did a good job,” she signed.

He nodded and gave a weak smile back. He had his crowbar gripped tightly in his hands as if it was a talisman that would ward off evil. She knew why. Rob’s betrayal aside, he saw the world split into two; the undead which were bad, and people who were good. This had thrown all of that into sudden, brutal flux.

Bran had used the lorry to get the women out of Northumberland. They’d got a flat tyre and driven on the rim until they reached the bungalow. Thanks to the relative isolation, they’d had little trouble from the undead and had planned on a few hours’ rest before continuing their journey. And it was here that the five uniformed men had caught up with them. They had attacked at night. Bran had killed two, but then had been captured himself. The torture hadn’t started until dawn.

Tuck walked over to the truck. She kicked at the tyre. There was no spare, nor was there spare fuel. She wasn’t sure she’d take the truck anyway. It was such a remote spot that for those men to have found it spoke either of very good luck or, more likely, some kind of tracking device. Had Bran not told her about who exactly was in Northumberland, she would have thought that impossible.

“What do you think?” Jay asked, vaguely. He was subdued, shocked by the horrific reality of the situation.

“Going to Anglesey with them? That’s up to you,” she signed. She looked up at the sky. Was there a satellite watching them, even now?

Bran was going to drive the Land Rover to some safe house he knew, where they’d swap it for something else. He’d asked if they wanted to go with him. With so many passengers they’d be clinging on to the outside, but in a few days there was the prospect of safety.

“I don’t know,” Jay said. “I really don’t.” And she could see his inner torment clear on his face.

The women were walking slowly over to the Land Rover. Bran, his face and chest now roughly bandaged, was helping them as much as they were helping him.

“Northumberland and Anglesey. Two old kingdoms going to war with one another, except this time, they’ve each got a nuclear submarine and the undead in between.”

Jay hadn’t understood. She tried to think how she could explain it, but there was no simple way. Whatever path she picked, she knew the boy would follow. A larger community, that was what she was looking for, but it had to be somewhere he would be safe. There was slim chance that he would ever find his mother, slim chance she was alive, but if she was and found the message they’d left, she would head to London. And London was about as far away from Anglesey and Northumberland as they could get.

“London,” she signed. “That’s the destination we wrote in the note.”

Jay nodded, and Tuck pretended not to notice the relief clear in his face.

“I understand,” Bran said when they told him. “But there’s always a place on Anglesey if you want it. I feel like I owe you something.” He nodded towards the rifles. “You want to take one of those?”

There were close to a hundred rounds left. She looked towards the Land Rover and the women now getting on board. Tuck shook her head, signing a brief explanation.

“You’ll need them more,” Jay said. “We’ll take the crossbow.”

Bran nodded. “There’s a few things you need to know,” he said. “London’s okay, it wasn’t nuked. But a lot of places were. Some big cities, nuclear power plants, some ports. Stick to the rural areas, that’s my advice.”

“Nuked?” Jay asked, confused. And Bran explained about the nuclear war that had followed the outbreak.

As she followed his lips, Tuck felt her resolve strengthen. Yes, the best place to be would be away from these last remnants of civilisation, but would London be far enough? She looked over at the Land Rover, and the frightened civilians therein. Then she smiled at herself. There were no civilians anymore. Nor were there soldiers. They were all survivors. Her eyes fell on the two uniformed corpses. Yes, they were all survivors – right up until the moment that they weren’t.

“Avoid Norfolk and the West Country,” Bran was saying. “And don’t go too far south of London. If you decide to come to Anglesey by sea, then steer clear of the Isle of Wight and the south coast. If you come up by land, head towards Chirk Castle. There’s a safe house near there. Look for the buildings with three flags hanging outside. Now, you better get going.” Bran pointed towards a pair of figures stumbling down the wooded hill. “We’ll turn the engine on in about twenty minutes. That’ll lure them to the west. Good luck.”

27
th
May - Teesdale Nature Reserve

The bolt stuck in the zombie’s chest. Tuck dropped the crossbow and pulled out her knife, but Jay was already there, stabbing his own blade forward and up at the creature’s skull. Filled with rage, he’d misjudged the blow. The knife scored a line up through skin and scalp. Though it knocked the zombie sideways, the creature never stopped flailing its arms nor snapping its teeth. Tuck stepped in and stabbed it through the eye. She pushed Jay to one side and went to check the back of the cafe. It was empty. There had been just the two zombies inside.

“Check for food,” she signed, bending to pick up the bolt that had ricocheted off the skull of one creature to bounce against the skylight over the counter. Then she knelt to cut the other bolts free. She needed more practice. For that matter, Jay needed more training. Or just time to deal with the varied horrors that each new day brought. That seemed to be the way of the world now. The outbreak, the vaccine, the nuclear war, the remnant of government now a slave state operating out of the north. It was all too much for the boy to process. For that matter, it was too much for her.

After leaving the bungalow, they had kept off the roads, cutting across country and sleeping rough so as to avoid any other vehicles coming down from Northumberland.

The problem, once again, was food and water. And there were always the undead. The first night, sleeping out in a sty at the edge of a field, a zombie had come within ten metres before she’d noticed it. Jay needed to sleep, but on a cloud-filled night she was near useless as a sentry. They needed to find somewhere safe from where they could go out and find more food. Somewhere they could rest for a few days. And it wasn’t going to be here in northern England.

Jay placed a couple of containers onto the counter. Both contained jam.