She grabbed Jay’s arm.
“Downhill,” she signed. “Zombies go downhill.” She pointed in the direction they were going. “Either they’re in front, getting further away, or behind and getting closer.”
As Jay relayed the message, Chester nodded, and began walking more purposefully, playing the narrow beam of his torch up and down the tunnel walls. He was looking for an exit. Yes, Tuck thought, and please find it soon, because zombies don’t think, they don’t reason. They would go downhill, not out of choice or design, but because of gravity. It was nine months since the outbreak. She didn’t know how many thousands of undead had stumbled into the tunnels, but they would all have ended up heading downwards. The deepest point on the line surely must be where the tunnel went under the river, the direction they were heading. She wasn’t the only one to have had that thought. Every dim light now played against the walls in a search of a doorway or ladder or anything that might give them some escape from the death that was waiting ahead.
Chester stopped, one foot in the air, then moved off again without saying anything. He didn’t need to. The reason was clear when his walk turned into a jog.
The pools of light from the handful of torches became erratic as the jog became a stumbling run. Tuck kept her eyes on Jay, and her position a metre behind him. Get him somewhere safe, she thought. That was all that mattered. She would get him safe. She would, she told herself, but fear was growing and intentions weren’t enough to keep them at bay.
And then Chester’s run came to a hopping stop. His light picked out a printed metal panel stuck to the tunnel’s wall. No, she realised, not the wall. It was a door. Tuck saw lines and arrows and tried to read the words next to them, but before she could Chester started running again, and everyone else followed.
What was wrong with the door? What had the panel said? Tuck told herself it must be something good, perhaps it was pointing to a station just up ahead. Was their more purpose to Chester’s gait? She told herself there was, tried to convince herself that he’d read something that gave him hope. But what?
She moved ahead, overtaking Jay, meaning to catch up with Chester, and though she didn’t know how, she’d get him to tell her what he’d seen. As she reached out to grab his arm, the torch pinned to her chest moved. The beam which had been dancing along the rails shifted to shine a few feet above them, and straight into the snapping jaws of a zombie.
Chester forgotten, she swung her axe up. And as she raised her arms, the light moved, and the creature fell into darkness. The shock of suddenly being faced with a foe she could neither see nor hear caused her to stumble, but the axe was already swinging forward and down. It stuck, the light once more shining on the zombie, the axe embedded in its chest. It batted an arm against the handle. She twisted, wrenching the weapon free, smashing the axe-head into its face, twisting the blade up, and then slamming it down, two-handed.
No more fear, she thought as she pulled the blade free. No more fear. No more terror. No more fighting day after day with no respite. No more running. An incoherent growl escaped her lips as she straightened, ready to cut down the entire world. The light flickered as it shone down the tunnel, and the moment of resolute defiance evaporated as she saw, from wall to wall, an inhuman river of death, surging towards them.
Chester grabbed her arm, pulling her back. His grip was firm, his expression, when she turned to see his face, adamant, and his mouth moving. As she started to jog along next to him, glancing up at his face, she caught a few words. “Back.” “Door.” “Panic.” “Quick.” They weren’t exactly helpful, but she guessed they were heading back to the door that they had passed. Rage against the undead now turning to frustration that she was still ignorant as to their plans, she sped up, trying to catch up with Jay.
He reached the door before she caught him. Her light stuttered, and as it flickered on and off she saw what was printed on the panel, and why Chester had initially discounted it. The panel showed directions to the nearest emergency exits. One arrow pointed to the left, the other to the right. And that meant that whatever lay behind the door, it wasn’t a way out. It didn’t even have a handle, just a recessed lever that Nilda was pulling out and in, twisting up and down to no effect as Jay levered at the lock until Chester pushed him out of the way, grabbed the crowbar and heaved the door open. Jay moved to go in first. Chester pushed him behind, and entered the tunnel. The boy followed, then Nilda, then McInery.
“Go! Go!” Mathias hissed, pushing Tuck and everyone else into the corridor. She had no choice but to go through the door. She caught the sight of Chester’s legs disappearing up a ladder ten metres ahead of her, before she was jostled again and the light went out.
Sacrifice
Chester peered up, but he couldn’t see the top of the ladder.
“Can you seal that door?” he shouted.
“Just go!” Mathias called back from the tunnel’s narrow entrance. “Go! Go!”
Chester took that as a yes, but not for long.
“You first,” he said to Nilda. “Just like climbing a ship. Then you, lad. Climb quick. Don’t look down.”
Nilda was scrambling up the rungs as the corridor filled with survivors pushing and scrumming their way towards the ladder. Chester grabbed Jay and lifted him up the first five rungs, climbing behind him, half-pushing, half-dragging the boy up the ladder. When he glanced down he could see McInery’s face, but beyond her was darkness.
He concentrated on climbing. The ladder couldn’t go on for ever. And then there was a hand reaching down, grabbing Jay’s collar. Chester pushed and Nilda pulled, and the boy was safe. He heaved himself to the top.
“I’ll help them,” Nilda said, “you see where we are.”
It was a narrow metal platform. Beyond that was a door, and a claustrophobic corridor filled with wires and pipes much like the one at the bottom of the ladder. Beyond that, another door. He pressed his ear against it and listened. Nothing. He opened the door. It was another train tunnel. He laid an ear against the rails. Still nothing. He told himself that was a good sign, as he went back to the narrow corridor. McInery was at the top of the ladder lying next to Nilda, each woman had one hand braced on the walkway, the other reaching down.
“Hurry!” Mathias called, as the two women hauled a man up to the walkway.
“Hurry!” Mathias repeated. Another survivor reached the top.
“
Come on!
” Chester thought.
“Hurry!” Mathias bellowed again, and this time there was desperation in his voice.
Another outstretched arm, and Chester pushed his way to the ladder, reached down, and hauled the person up. It was the soldier, Tuck.
“Hurry!” Chester yelled at the people still on the ladder, but it was too late. There was a meaty thunk from below.
“They’re here!” Mathias yelled. “In the tunnel.”
No, Chester thought, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t the plan. He reached down and grabbed the back of a jacket, dragging the woman up onto the platform.
“Hurry,” he murmured, as he shone the light down the ladder. There were three people clinging to it, and no way for him to get down. “That’s my place,” Chester hissed. “It’s meant to be me.”
There was another thump of something falling. Then another.
“Just tell—” Mathias called out, but the sentence finished in a scream, mercifully cut short.
“Mathias!” Chester called. “Mathias!”
But there was nothing except the quiet whimpering of the people on the ladder climbing oh-too slowly, and below them the wheezing of the undead. And a hand reached up, and Chester reached down, helping one, then the second, then the third person up. Then he stayed on the walkway, peering into the darkness. His torch shone enough light that he could out movement at the bottom of the ladder, but the figure didn’t try to climb. Its arm just swiped forward, slapping at a rung, over and over.
“Chester!” It was Nilda. “Come on.”
“Mathias,” Chester whispered.
“You said you were going to rescue my son. Jay isn’t safe yet. Come on.”
She reached down, and he let her drag him to his feet.
It wasn’t meant to be Mathias, Chester thought, as he followed Nilda into the tunnel. It was meant to be him. This was his chance. The opportunity to atone for Cannock and Quigley and all the rest, all that he’d told Nilda, and all that he’d not. But the woman was right, they weren’t safe yet. The time for sacrifice would come, and he was ready.
The train tunnel was much like the previous one, though running at ninety degrees. He couldn’t tell where he was, nor even what line they were on. He pointed to what he thought was the north. Then he moved to the front, crowbar in hand, expectant, waiting, ready. But after ten minutes, they arrived at Old Street Station, and he was still alive.
“I say we get out of these tunnels,” McInery said.
“See what it’s like up there, first,” Nilda said. “If it’s clear, then yes. If not. We continue. Tuck? Come on.”
The two women went up the stairs. Tension slowly began to build until Tuck appeared and waved them up. Chester went last, his eyes on the tunnel, almost hoping, but no undead appeared. Reluctantly, he followed the group up to the station entrance. The gate was firmly closed. Nilda was nowhere to be seen.
“There were stairs,” Jay whispered, translating for Tuck. “Mum’s gone to have a look out the windows.”
She came down a few minutes later.
“We’re okay,” she said, smiling. “There’s only one zombie outside, and it’s at the end of the road.”
“So where now?” Jay asked.
“It’s about half a mile to the Tower,” Nilda said. “Right Chester? Chester?”
“From here? Yeah. Yeah.”
“It’s about a kilometre,” McInery said. “But there’s the barricade in the way. Is there a way through it?”
“I’ve no idea,” Nilda said. “But I don’t think so. Look, this isn’t the time to be clever. We go one mile east, then one south, and jump into the river. There’s a lifeboat waiting there, and I’ve got a flare. The plan was that we signal it, and it will come and fish us out of the Thames. So that’s what we’ll do. If the boat doesn’t come, wait for the tide, find something that floats, and let it carry you down to the Tower. Okay? Everyone ready?”
They levered open the gate and ran. Tuck went in front, and at first Chester went with her, sprinting ahead, barrelling into the undead, knocking them down, splitting their heads, but there was no redemption in it, nor any need. The undead were slow, the group ran straight past them.
Chester let himself fall to the rear. All he’d wanted was to find some small piece of worth to his existence. And he’d thought he had when he rescued all those people from the wasteland and took them to Anglesey. But then he had read the journal, and in it understood what he’d known for months. For all his sins, for all those little crimes he’d all but forgotten, and the very big ones that he wish he could, there could be no atonement. Nothing would balance the scales or wipe the slate clean. His deeds were engraved on his soul, and only death could obliterate them. Yet he didn’t stop running after the others.
Nilda slowed, pointing at something. It was the river, just ahead. She fired off the flare, then grabbed Jay and threw him into the river, jumping in after him, McInery close behind. Chester slowed, looking back towards the undead following them. They were so slow, he thought. And then there was just him and the scarred soldier on the embankment. He gestured towards the water, indicating she should jump.
She shook her head, pointing at him, then at the water.
Stupid woman, he thought. He pointed again.
She shook her head. And he realised that she understood perfectly. She sighed, laid a hand on his arm and looked him in the eyes. There was a world of meaning in that look, and most of it passed Chester by. Then she looked up at the sky and smiled, then at the approaching undead, and gestured questioningly towards the river, as if to say that staying really wasn’t an option. He nodded.
She laid a hand on his arm and helped him up onto the stone balustrade. Together, they jumped.
Epilogue:
The Approaching Dawn
The Tower of London
16
th
September
They had slaughtered one of the pigs, not out of celebration, but because there wasn’t the feed to keep it alive. Hana waited until everyone had finished before she stood up. There was no need to ask for silence.
“I’d like to say welcome back, and thank you to Chester and Nilda, and I wish that we were eating pork out of celebration. We’re not.” She looked from face to face until she was sure that everyone understood. “Most of our food was lost at the museum. We have to think about the future.”
“You mean Anglesey and that lot there?” Graham asked.
“I think,” Hana said, “that Nilda can answer that best.”
Nilda stood.
“There are survivors there. They will welcome you, and they do have electricity. Whether you would prefer living there to here, you will have to decide for yourself. But first you’d have to get there. The lifeboat has fuel for less than a hundred miles. That’s not enough. If you were to use the boat, at best, you’d become stranded somewhere near the Isle of Wight, and that entire stretch of coast was destroyed in the nuclear war. There are pockets of radiation everywhere. The last time we spoke to Anglesey, they said it was shifting with the winds. Wait.” She raised her hand to quell the murmured questions. “To get to Anglesey you’d have to go by land.”
“Are you saying we shouldn’t make contact at all?”
“No. Let me be clear. I’m saying you can do whatever you like, but I’m not risking my son on some trek through the wasteland trying to avoid the undead.”
“We will send someone,” McInery said. “And anyone who wants to leave can do so. But they can’t take the boat.”
“They have electricity,” Graham said. “They have food. What have we got?”
“We’ve got strong walls and the barricade beyond,” Hana said. “We’ve got water to drink and a boat to travel up and down the river. We’ve even got food. The lifeboats each had enough for one hundred and fifty people for a day. We can find more.”
“Where?” Graham asked.
“Westminster,” McInery said.
“The cathedral?” Nilda asked.
“No. Downing Street.” McInery said. “Parliament. There must have been weapons and other supplies stockpiled there. It can’t all have been destroyed. And then there’s City Airport. Just think of all those miniscule packs of peanuts sitting in some warehouse. They’ll still be there.”
“How much of Kent was destroyed?” Stewart asked. “Because that’s the garden of England isn’t it? Surely there are some farms near the coast.”
“We’d need a radiation thingy,” Jay said. “You know, like they have in the movies.”
“A Geiger counter? We’d find one of those at a university,” Finnegan said.
“We’d find those in Westminster,” McInery said.
Tuck had missed some of the debate, but she caught that.
“Tell them we’re more likely to find them at the airport,” she signed. “And we need a Geiger counter more than we need bullets.”
“Right,” Jay said. “So we go to the airport for a Geiger counter, then to Westminster for…”
Chester, who’d been sitting quietly, at the far end of the table, got up and walked away.
McInery found him on the walls an hour later.
“There’s a bottle of champagne. Well, it’s Australian, but they went to raise a glass in thanks.”
“Yeah. Thanks for what? Being alive another day?”
“If we had the champagne, I’d be drinking that toast every evening.” She moved away, but stopped after a few paces. “You were keeping people alive out there? Rescuing them? That’s what Nilda says.”
“Trying to.”
“So was I. The past is prologue, Chester. It’s over. Who we were, what we did, it doesn’t matter.”
“It’s not prologue,” Chester said. “I’ve read that play. Oh yes, don’t look so surprised. Out there in the wasteland, there’s not much else to do. But they were planning for a murder weren’t they. That’s what the line means, that everything was leading up to this one act of murder.”
“Was it? I… I have to admit. I didn’t read Shakespeare.”
Chester thought back to McInery’s house and he realised that he shouldn’t have been surprised that her library was just another part of the act.
“Is that what you want, Mac? You still want to rule London?”
“No,” she said, turning to gaze at the western most wall, “No, the future isn’t in London.”
Chester caught the nuance.
“You’re thinking of Anglesey, aren’t you?” He gave a wry laugh. “Good luck to you if you try it. I’d like to see you go head to head with the mayor.”
McInery eyed him for a moment.
“But the past is over, Chester. Agreed?”
“You can’t clean a slate by wishing it. But I think actions are what count now.”
“Well,” McInery said, clearly unsatisfied, “if you don’t come down soon, the bottle will be empty.”
Chester watched her go. The trouble was, like always, McInery was right, in her own way. The past was prologue. Everything that had gone, all that he had done, all seemed to be leading somewhere. Each time he thought he’d reached the end, he found a crossroads instead. And no matter which path he took, all seemed to point towards his death.
“But all life leads to death,” Chester murmured. “Just not today.”
There was a clattering rattle from below. It was Stewart, struggling with some of the scaffolding. At least that man wore his madness on his sleeve, Chester thought. During the journey on the lifeboat back to the castle Jay had been filling Nilda in about what had happened. Chester thought that the boy had embellished the tale almost as much as he would have done. But there was something he had said about Stewart’s rescue that had seemed almost familiar. He rolled the idea around, then dismissed it. Perhaps he had known him, or known of him, in the past, and if so then it was a memory best left forgotten.
The most frustrating part of the story Jay had told them had been the revelation that he and Tuck had met Bran. He wondered if that had been what Bill Wright was going to say to him over the sat-phone. He had assumed Mr Tull had told Bill who he was, and the man had been about to confront him on it. Perhaps he was wrong. But what did it matter? It wouldn’t have changed anything. He doubted anything would.
He heard footsteps. Expecting to see McInery, he turned around, but it was Nilda, Jay, and Tuck.
“We were looking for you,” Nilda said. “I wanted to say thank you. To both of you.”
“There’s no need,” Chester said.
“I…” Nilda began and stopped. “Yeah, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what I was expecting. Except it wasn’t this. Nor Anglesey, or the undead, or any of it.”
“Expectations are like that,” Chester said.
“It’s the anti-climax before the storm,” Jay said. “That’s what Sebastian used to call it. Not this, I mean it’s what he called that time between getting exam results and waiting for the new term. I…” he trailed off. Seeing his mother still alive, he had assumed that Sebastian and all the others from Penrith had also survived.
“He was a good man,” Nilda said. “He died trying to save those children. Let’s remember that.”
“Yeah,” Jay said. “I remember something else he said. It was when we were in that school, remember?” He looked at his mother. “He said, we’re through the valley now. For the first time since it all began, we’re no longer surrounded by death. I suppose he was wrong then, but maybe now, here, it might be true.”
Nilda nodded. Tuck did too, after Jay had stumbled through a translation.
“I dunno,” Chester said. “The shadows still seem pretty deep to me.”
And Nilda nodded at that as well.
“Come on,” she said. “The sun’ll set soon.”
“You’re not seriously telling me when to go to bed?” Jay asked, genuinely aggrieved.
Nilda laughed. “I meant that there’s at least an hour of daylight left. There’s work to be done.”
There’s always going to be work to be done, Tuck thought. She glanced up at Chester. The man seemed to be brooding on something. He was remembering that moment back at the river, she thought. She laid a hand on his arm and nodded in the direction of Nilda and Jay.
Yes, there was always work, and there would always be danger. There would be death and misery, happiness and joy, and each in unequal measure, just as it had always been. But tonight they would go to sleep in the knowledge they would wake tomorrow. Yes, she thought, the shadows might be lengthening, but dawn would come. It always did.
The end.