Surviving The Evacuation (Book 8): Anglesey (23 page)

“Of course, it’s the runway, isn’t it,” Kim said. “I’m sorry, we didn’t tell you, Bill. So much happened that I forgot.”

“I didn’t,” Annette said.

“We went to the runway yesterday,” Kim said. “While you were…” And she hesitated as if she’d just become aware of all the people listening. “While you were investigating the murder, Annette and I went to the runway.”

“And you should have just come and asked,” Higson said. “There’s a few pot-holes to fill, and some debris to clear, but give me a couple of days and a few strong backs, and it’ll be fine for your drones. More importantly, it’ll be perfect for a VC10. They were originally designed for ramshackle runways.”

“I still don’t follow,” I said. “Why do we need a plane?”

“It’s the fuel,” Higson said. “Those fuel tankers near the airport. The plan was to bring it back in helicopters, but what do we need them for? We want to fly drones, right? That’s the plan, isn’t it? Well a drone needs far less fuel than a helicopter, so why not fly it in? We send some people in, secure the runway, fill up the plane, and fly it back. Simple. It’ll be no more than a day’s work, and an hour’s flight.”

It would be more work than that, but I didn’t say so. There had been a muttered agreement from the people in the room, and it was edged with enthusiasm.

“I… I suppose,” I said slowly. “But… hmm. I’m not sure we can spare the Special Forces and sailors for this. And we can’t ask the Americans, not yet. They’re going to need a few weeks to get used to dry land. We’d have to get volunteers.”

“Yeah, no worries,” Higson said, addressing the room. “So who’s up for it?”

And there was an almost enthusiastic response. Almost. That enthusiasm might disappear before there was a boat ready to leave. A large portion of it would disappear as soon as everyone left the shop. Perhaps it was because departure wasn’t imminent that people were happy to volunteer. It didn’t matter. It was something, and it was more than we’d had a week before, and infinitely more than either Kim or I had expected to find when we’d left the house.

“So what about it, then,” Higson asked. “Is it a goer?”

I had no authority. But they’d all read the journal. They knew me and what I’d done, and knew that I was, if not in power, at least in close proximity to it.

“At the moment the satellites are tracking the hordes for the groups that are on the mainland,” I said. “As soon as they’re back, we’ll get some more pictures of Belfast, and the airport. We’ll need a route in, and a route out, and a lot more planning besides that if we’re going to do it safely. But I think so. I’ll take the idea to Mary and see what she says.”

“That was unexpected,” I said to Kim when we were outside.

“Was it?” Kim said. “Why should we be the only people worrying about the future? In fact, when you think about it, those people on the boats must do little else, otherwise they really would come ashore. As for Annette, she must have heard us talking last night. It must have terrified her, though she’ll never admit it. She wants to control her fears, I think. Though I’m saying that because it’s what I try to do. She felt she had to do something, so she ran with the idea that we discussed.”

“The radio, the drones, that was just idle talk,” I said.

“I don’t think she knows what that is,” Kim said, “and, to be honest, that’s for the best. There’s an opportunity here. Something we can build on, a moment that could become a movement.”

“Then we better speak to Mary and George,” I said.

“You do that,” Kim said. “I’m going to find some more screens. Some more computers, too. Maybe see if Scott will provide bread and coffee for all these people, and then see if I can get them to help clear the runway before their enthusiasm fades. Yes, Bill, this really could become something.”

George was in the clinic, and still in his hospital bed. Mary was by his side, and tried to shoo me away, but the old man welcomed me in.

“That girl of yours has hidden widths as well as depths,” Mary said after I’d explained what Annette had done and how people had reacted. “We were planning a trip to Belfast, but not like this. What do you think George?”

“As you keep reminding me,” he said, “know your weaknesses, know your strengths, and know them in others, too. I don’t know where we’ll find any drones, or whether there’s really any point looking, but that fuel could power some tractors.”

“Not many,” Mary said.

“But maybe it’d be enough,” George said. “Bringing back one plane is easier than a squadron of helicopters that might not have the range. I think it’s time to accept our old plans need to be torn up. Even if we persuade Svalbard to hand over their oil, how are we going to bring it down here? How long will it take? No, one trip, one plane, and we might have enough fuel to get the fields ploughed before the first frost. What else do we need the oil for right now? We can row to Caernarfon and Bangor, and sail to the Isle of Man and Ireland. If the admiral wants to leave, let her, and let her have Svalbard’s oil. She can’t possibly use it all. And what does it matter if she goes, as long as she knows she’ll always find a safe harbour here?”

“She’s talking about leaving?” I asked.

“She is,” Mary said. “Until her ship is repaired, it’s a threat more than a promise, but it has been made. Hmm.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I’ll be glad when someone else is doing this job. Drones? I can’t see how they would help us rescue anyone.”

“It was an idle conversation,” I said, “but I don’t think Annette realised that.”

“If we find signs of people, we’ll launch a rescue mission,” George said. “Of course we will. And if we manage to get some drones, we’ll find a use for them. Right now, what’s important is taking advantage of people’s enthusiasm. It’s better than forcing them into action through fear, and that’s what we were planning to do with this trial.”

“You don’t think we should have a trial?” I asked.

He raised his hand to his bandaged shoulder. “An inch lower and I wouldn’t be saying anything at all, not ever again, but no, there has to be a trial. I’ve got a list of lawyers in my notebook at home. There’s a star by the name of those I think could be judges. They’re impartial,” he added. “Or as close to it as you can get. Hold a trial and do it quickly. Don’t cover it up, but let it be overshadowed by all of this.”

Mary mulled it over. “I wanted people to leave their boats. I wanted them to come ashore, to live without fear. To farm. To live an older style of life.”

“But they don’t want to, Mary,” George said. “Not yet, at least.”

“No,” she agreed. “Then let’s put out another statement. We’ll ask for volunteers to report to the airport. Then we’ll know how deep this enthusiasm runs.”

“Belfast won’t be enough,” I said. “We can use the satellites to survey the coast. We could dispatch sailing boats to anywhere there might be supplies or people. It doesn’t matter whether any are found. What matters is that people go, return, and are willing to venture out again.”

“The lad has a point,” George said, “but as it’s important that people return, we should pick the places we send them with care.”

“Nowhere too far from the coast,” Mary said. “The Isle of Man, perhaps. That emergency beacon that Kim saw as they were sailing north to Svalbard didn’t turn itself on. And then there’s the woman she found, Nilda. How many others are clinging on to some barren rock in the middle of an angry ocean? I wanted people to leave their boats, but perhaps we can make use of their desire to live afloat.”

“What about that house in Ireland, the one with the turbines and solar panels,” George said. “Didn’t Sholto say it was close to the coast? I daresay people would enjoy looting a billionaires mansion.”

“I daresay they would,” Mary said. “But not you, George. You heard what the doctor said. Yes, we’ll abandon our old plans, but we’ve got the beginnings of a new one.”

Chapter 12 - Elysium, The Republic of Ireland

09:30, 21
st
September, Day 193

That was far from the end of it. There was a trial in which Rachel was found not guilty. Dozens of expeditions were organised, but that wasn’t the only by-product of Llewellyn’s murder and Paul’s death. There is a lot more to tell, but it will have to wait because, as I was writing, I heard gunfire.

I left the small office, climbed up onto the garage’s roof, and crawled along to its edge. The zombies by the sheet metal shutters had already begun drifting away. They moved in such an erratic fashion that it was hard to pinpoint precisely where they were heading, but it wasn’t directly towards the mansion. I waited, half-hoping for more shots. They didn’t come.

I saw two possible explanations for the gunfire. It might be deliberate, an attempt to distract the undead as Kim, Simon, and Rob made an attempt at rescue. I lay there, watching, waiting, hoping, but saw no one. The other, darker, and more plausible reason for the shots was that they had run out of ammunition for the assault rifles. Simon and Rob’s SA80s, and Kim’s sniper rifle, have suppressors. An unsilenced shot meant they’d resorted to their sidearms. To me, that spoke of desperation.

I counted to five, then to ten. Twenty. Thirty. A minute. Two. All the time, I told myself to watch and wait, that I’d see a zombie fall and the rescue begin. Five minutes passed, and I’d seen nothing except the undead slowly lurching away. Whether the worst had happened or not, the zombies were distracted, and that gave me an opportunity that I had to take. I had to get to the mansion. If Kim had escaped, I wouldn’t be able to catch up with her. If she was in danger, I might already be too late.

A hasty survey of each of the roof’s four sides gave me a rough estimate of the danger I was about to throw myself into. There were still twenty zombies within a grasping arm’s reach of the metal shutters. Another ten were drifting towards the fountain twenty metres to the north. There were none directly between the garage and the western side of the mansion. However, there were many more near the tennis court, pushing their way through the branches of the fir hedge. I ignored them. The mansion was my goal.

As quietly as I could, I climbed back down into the office, and moved the filing cabinet from where it was blocking the door. Agonising over the rasp of rusting metal, I slid back the bolts. I wasn’t going to escape through that door, but I’ve been trapped too often not to leave an escape route prepared. If I couldn’t get inside the house, I’d need somewhere to which I could retreat. I climbed up onto the roof and pulled the ladder up after me.

There were only two zombies on the western side of the garage, and I’d already decided that was where I would descend. The creature furthest from the mansion was bareheaded and scalped. Otherwise, it was so covered in mud I couldn’t tell if it was wearing the outdoor gear of one of Kempton’s people. It was squatting, chin against chest, with its knuckles lying languidly on the ground. The other, the zombie closest to the mansion, wore a black and white fur hat and an American-style baseball jacket. It had heard me. At least, it had heard something. It had risen from its somnolent crouch and now stood, back bent, head swivelling from side to side, but its attention was on the house. I’d have about three seconds’ advantage. I positioned the ladder on the roof, ten feet from the scalped zombie, and then crept back along the edge. I dropped the pike so it landed spear-point first in front of the jacketed creature. With a snarl, the zombie swiped at the weapon. I ran back to the ladder, dropped it over the side, and hop-jumped down. I spared half a second to stamp on the bottom rung, digging the ladder’s legs deep into the loose soil. The scalped zombie was only just beginning to stand, so I ignored it. Drawing the hatchet, I raised it above my head as the jacketed zombie staggered towards me. There was just enough time to register the receding-lipped snarl on a sunken face, the mud-coated jeans, and the nape-to-navel rip in its red-chequered shirt. It lurched a final step, and I swung the axe down. The blade split skin, cracked bone, and destroyed brain. For the fleetest of moments its expression froze and almost,
almost
, looked human. It fell. I tore the axe free and jammed it back in my belt as I limped over to the pike, still vibrating back and forth in the soil. I ripped it free, twirling it round and up in a fountain of mud and grass.

Keep moving, I thought, and don’t look back. That was easy to think, hard to do. I could hear the zombie lumbering behind me, but there wasn’t time to fight. I reached the garage’s edge. The zombies beating against the shutters had heard me. They were bumping into one another as they staggered my way, arms outstretched, mouths gaping open.

Don’t look, I thought and fixed my eyes on the house. To my right came the sound of two dozen sets of decaying lungs expelling unbreathed air. I limped on. My eyes stayed glued to the ten marble steps leading up to the door of the mansion until I sensed movement to my right. Three zombies rounded the corner, walking so close together it was almost as if they had their arms on one another’s shoulders.

I reached the steps. Using the pike as a crutch, I hauled myself up the steep, worn stones, dragging my bad leg after me. The brace, which made walking almost as easy as it had been a year ago, made the steps as much of an obstacle for me as they were for the undead. I reached the top. The door was locked. I pushed. I slammed a fist into the wood. It didn’t move. Of
course
it was locked. I’d spent so much time debating the fate of Kim, Simon, and Rob I’d not given thought to the obvious.

Cursing loudly, I turned around. The trio of zombies were less than ten paces from the bottom of the stairs. I slip-stepped down. They got closer. When I was on the fifth step, I gave a wild, one-handed swing of the pike. The blade hit the lead creature’s face. The axe cut into its eyes. The force knocked it back a pace, and into the arms of the zombie behind. They stumbled, but I lost my grip. The pike fell. There wasn’t time to pick it up. I threw myself down the last steps as the trio of zombies pushed and shoved their way free of one another. I ignored them, and the creatures coming from the garage. I drew the pistol as I limped around the perimeter of the house. My attention was now on the windows. The four on the ground floor to the left of the door were covered, and there wasn’t time to force an entry.

I reached the edge of the house just as a figure staggered around the corner and almost into my arms. A jagged gash ran down a forehead stained blue with paint. I hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. Those eyes were unmistakably inhuman.

“Sorry,” I said, ramming the pistol’s barrel under its chin. I fired and didn’t look at the corpse as it fell. I kept on, passing one window and then the next, down the long length of the large house. My eyes caught the glint of glass in the flowerbed outside the fifth window. It was five feet above the ground and surrounded by a jaunty pine trellis. As I drew level with it, I could make out the dim outline of the room’s ceiling. I hesitated. There were ten zombies following me, and I could hear a sea of rustling cloth behind them. If I went inside, I’d be stuck there. If Kim had fired the shots as she escaped, I’d be unable to go after her. The zombies drew nearer. If she’d escaped, she might be alive. If she hadn’t, she might be dying.

I swept the pistol along the bottom of the frame, knocking the jagged shards clear, reached up, and pulled myself inside. The floor was lower than I’d thought and I landed heavily. I pushed myself upright, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the gloom.

All the light was behind me, so the door had to be closed, though I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t see much. There was a long table in the middle of the room with chairs around it. Two had been knocked over. Then I saw a familiar face, staggering towards me. I froze. It was Simon. His eyes were blank. His nose was broken. Blood stained his shirt from a horrific wound on his neck.

“Simon—” I began, but managed to say no more as the zombie fell on me, the gun fell from my grip, and we fell to the floor. I shoved my forearm up, jamming it under Simon’s throat. I wanted to keep those snapping teeth away from my face. I wanted to tell him to stop. I wanted to scream. More than anything, I wanted to get the butting, kicking creature off me. With a heave, I rolled us over so that I was on top. Simon pushed, pulled, shook, and kicked, and I did the same until my hand was free. I drew my knife and stabbed it down, through Simon’s eye.

I pushed myself off the corpse, grabbed the edge of the table, and pulled myself up.

“Simon,” I said, staring at his body. “Simon.”

My brain was finding it hard to process the obvious in front of my eyes. One thought rose through the babbling recriminations clouding my mind. “Kim.”

I searched for the gun, found it, and only then thought to check that there was no one else in the room. I was alone.

“The glass was outside,” I muttered. “I should have realised. There are zombies in here.” I looked again at Simon’s body. The wound on his shoulder didn’t look like it had come from snapping teeth or clawing hands.

“You’re stalling,” I said, and got a sighing rasp in reply. It came from outside the window. Withered, broken, desiccated arms brushed against the frame.

I upturned the table and dragged it to the broken window. It was an ineffective barrier, but it made me feel better. The zombies could still get in. I’d seen it before at Brazely Abbey and elsewhere. When they scrummed against a solid wall, pushing and shoving, and trampling one another to try to get to their prey, the weaker creatures would be pushed underfoot and so form a rampart for the others. If that happened here, they could push against the table, and push it out of the way, but that would take hours. Out of sight isn’t out of mind, as the zombies are never far from the surface of mine, but it pushed them from the forefront and gave me time to think.

“Kim,” I murmured. I found myself looking again at Simon. “Did she and Rob escape? Is that what happened, but you stayed behind, holding off the undead?”

If that was the case, then she was truly on her own. I wouldn’t be leaving the mansion any time soon. I’d have to search the house and simply hope I didn’t find her.

“If you weren’t trapped before, you are now,” I murmured as I bent over Simon’s body and pulled my knife free. From outside came another rasping, gasping sigh.

I crossed to the door and leaned an ear against it. Nothing. Almost reluctantly, I holstered my pistol, and raised the knife. I dislike knives. They require getting far too close to the enemy. I had little choice. Guns are too inaccurate, at least in my hands, and corridors are almost always too narrow to swing a hatchet. I confirmed that when I opened the door, took a quick step out, and then two back. What I’d seen was a narrow hallway about five feet wide, empty of ornaments, ornamental furniture, and even a carpet. It had also seemed empty of the undead. After I counted to five and none had appeared in the doorway, and no sounds had emerged from beyond, I stepped out into the hall.

Closing the door, I scored a line through the white paint. That colour scheme was repeated on the walls, with a slightly paler shade on the faux-bannister running at four feet above the ground. It was plain, simple. The house had the feel of a 1910s build where construction had been interrupted by the revolution. There was something about the set of the windows on the inland side that suggested they’d been added a decade or two later. From those windows, I’d say the mansion has at least ten rooms on each of the three floors, with another six in the attic. What I hadn’t considered was that the house, like the garage, would also contain a series of basements.

I followed the corridor towards the centre of the building, passing closed room after closed room, until I reached the entrance hall. To my right was the front door. It was nailed shut with hefty planking. Wedges had been inserted around the base. I doubted I’d be able to get it open from this side and saw I’d stood no chance when I’d been on the other. Opposite the door were the stairs. Again, there was no carpeting, but I was far more interested in how they continued down below the ground floor. This wasn’t a set of servants’ stairs leading to kitchens, and I’d spent enough of my youth in grand houses to know what they looked like. The stairs going down were the same as those going up.

As adrenaline wore off, thirst was making itself known. Supplies were more likely to be found in the basement, but I had to know what had become of Kim. The best place to start my search was the room from which they’d hung the sheets, so I went upstairs.

Like the walls, the stairs were painted white. Like the hallways, they were uncarpeted. Like my bones, they creaked as I climbed. The post-action adrenaline crash was setting in, made worse by hunger and thirst. My eyes felt suddenly heavy, and I had to blink them into focus. Then I saw the wall by the landing on the first floor.
That
brought me back to fearful alertness. Three huge gouges had been hacked out of the paint and plaster. I’m guessing they were done with a fire-axe. There was no blood, however, and no bodies on the landing itself. The white paint looked a little discoloured, but I was more interested in the doors. The stairs led onto a hallway a little narrower than the entrance hall, but still at least ten feet wide. Off it were four doors. Two, opposite one another, were close to the stairwell. The other two were flush against the far wall. On each, an ‘X’ had been carved into the woodwork. That had to have been Kim. I crossed to the nearest door on the left, and tapped the knife against the wood. I listened. The only sounds came from outside the house. I tried the handle. The door wasn’t locked.