Surviving The Evacuation (Book 8): Anglesey (5 page)

“Don’t speak like that,” George said. “Not about the living. The beer was in a delivery truck. No one had claimed it, so you can’t call it theft. Can’t this thing go any faster?”

“Not unless you want to jump out and push,” Gwen said.

“Hmph,” George growled. “We’ve got a bit of diesel for the boats, and a little petrol, but not enough of either. It’s meant to be a reserve, something to use in a last extreme, and that’s what this is. We can’t afford to lose people. Not even people like Markus.”

“I was wondering about that,” Sholto said. “I’ve hardly seen anyone on the farms.”

“We might have close to ten thousand able-bodied adults on Anglesey,” Gwen said, “but they’re not exactly on the island. They’re certainly not part of the wider community. I don’t think you could say there
is
a wider community. Not yet. Everyone’s spent too much time on their boats, stuck with the people with whom they survived the outbreak.”

“It’s survivor’s guilt,” Simon said. “Or post-traumatic stress.”

“Post-apocalyptic stress would be closer,” Lorraine said. “Dr Umbert says the outbreak destroyed everyone’s personal model of how the universe worked. The people on the boats haven’t been able to construct a new one, so they’re hiding in what little familiarity they can find.”

“Whatever you call it,” George said. “It leaves the terrified and traumatised on their boats. When it comes to a time like this, you wouldn’t want them by your side, let alone watching your back. I thought electricity would change things. All it did was encourage people to row and sail their way around to the harbours where they can snake a power cable across from the island’s supply.”

“But what about the people we saw on that farm?” I asked.

“They’re the exception, not the rule,” George said. “I’d say there’re four hundred people willing to work. There’s another hundred that are over-eager, and they’ve found a home in Menai Bridge or out running the safe houses. But that doesn’t mean we’ve four hundred to call on for a mission like this.”

“Obviously,” Sholto said. “I guess you need them for running the power station?”

“And the sewage plant,” George said. “The hospital, the animal breeding programme, the bakery, the school, and for guarding the grain ships, of course. Their skills are too valuable to risk, and that goes double for those few working the farmland.”

“You give them food, and electricity, so why not say there’s a charge for those,” Sholto said.

“And risk a rebellion?” George said. “We can afford to have three guards on duty at the grain ships and no more. Those three might deter an individual from taking what they want, but not a large group. To stop them, we’d kill so many this place would have to become a dictatorship. That’s not the legacy I want. Come the winter, their boats will be far less comfortable than a bed in a centrally heated house, and we’ve enough of those to spare. The question is whether we can wait until winter. We’ve enough spares to keep the power plant running for between five and ten years, but that figure came from an equation. If there’s a storm, or some serious damage, we might have to shut it down tomorrow.”

“And a storm serious enough to damage the power plant will sink those grain ships,” Simon said. “We’d be out of power and food.”

I found my eyes tracking to the sky. It was cloudless and blue, promising another hot day.

“And don’t forget the water,” Lorraine added cheerfully. “With no power, the water plant won’t work. Though I can think of some people who’d be glad of an excuse not to wash.”

“It’s why we need the oil from Svalbard,” George said, loud enough to carry over her voice as well as the waves. “And why, the moment we thought it safe, we sent everyone we could to the mainland and around the coast. We need to find other islands in case this one becomes irradiated. We need more livestock and seeds, machinery and tools, and… well, we need more of everything.”

“Washing powder,” Lorraine said.

“Right,” George agreed. “It’s the little things that we didn’t think about because we were too worried about Quigley and his submarine. Now we’ve got time, it’s become clear how little we actually have. It’s not just washing powder, but what about antibiotics? Coffee and tea are luxuries we can learn to live without, but what about shoelaces? We can probably make them, but is that a good use of our labour? We’ll have to learn how to make light bulbs, and that’s going to require a glass factory. Any idea how to set up one of those? What about toothpaste, because we’ve only a couple of dentists and all they can do is extract a rotten tooth. Yes, we can loot the old world stores, but they won’t be there forever. Around the time they succumb to time and decay, the death rate will skyrocket, and we’ll face a generational crisis. Everyone’s received a massive dose of radiation. Though there may be close to ten thousand adults on Anglesey, there’re only two hundred and seventy-three children. In twenty years, they’ll be all that’s left. There’ll be some births, sure, but can civilisation survive if there’s only a few hundred people?”

“You’re a bit of a glass-half-empty kinda guy, aren’t you,” Sholto said.

“I’m an old man who knows he hasn’t got long for this world,” George said. “My legacy is all I have left. I don’t want our species’ future to be a choice between a new Dark Age and extinction. If Anglesey fails, that’s what’ll happen.”

“Yeah,” Lorraine said, her ever-present grin growing wider, “he’s not so much glass-half-empty as glass-smashed-when-it-fell-on-the-floor. Like he said, a few weeks ago we were worried that a nuclear submarine was going to destroy us. Now we’ve got electricity. At this rate, we’ll have space flight by Christmas.”

“The optimism of youth,” George murmured.

“Caernarfon!” Gwen called. “You can see the castle.”

Despite Lorraine’s cheerful banter, George’s words resonated. I’d worried about the kind of future Annette and Daisy would have, but only in the abstract. Out in the wasteland, I’d had a mental image of a remote house and a few acres; of a cow, some chickens, and windblown crops; of backbreaking farm work, but always with the result that the larder was full. I’d been so grateful that we’d found somewhere safe from the undead that I’d not thought much on what it would really be like in twenty years. I’d not given much thought to what it’d be like in twenty days, but this wasn’t the time to think about it further.

Gwen cut the engine. “Do you see the yacht?” she asked.

Since it was the only craft by the shore, it was impossible to miss.

“That’s the golf club?” Sholto asked, as the boat drifted with the current.

“Here,” George passed me a pair of binoculars. “My eyes aren’t what they were.”

I braced my feet, trying to adjust to the motion of the waves.

“The yacht’s moored in a small, sheltered dock that’s been dug out of the shore,” I said. “To the south is a coastal road. To the north… no, the road’s obscured by a growing mass of wispy vegetation. Inland, behind the road and south of the dock, there’s a swathe of overgrown grass a richer shade of green than in the abandoned paddocks to the north. I’d say that’s the golf course. Fifty metres inland are a cluster of rooftops partially hidden by the towering trees. I’m guessing the low-roofed building is the clubhouse, while the buildings a little to the south look like houses.”

“That’s a great impersonation of an estate agent,” Lorraine said. “But what about the zombies?”

“Two figures by the dock. Three more by the road. I think… Yes, they’re undead. I’m certain.”

“What about inland?” Simon asked.

“Too many trees, too much vegetation.”

“Any smoke?” Gwen asked.

“No,” I said.

“Five zombies?” George said. “There’s probably going to be more. All right, we’ve done this before. Thadde— sorry, Sholto, I want you to take out the two zombies by the dock. Then you, Gwen, Lorraine, and Simon are to go inland to the clubhouse. Bill and I will secure the boat and follow. If there’re too many, we fall back to the boat and regroup. This is a rescue mission, we’re the help that comes to others, which is a nice way of saying if we get into difficulty, we’re on our own, so
don’t
get into difficulty. Everyone ready?”

Gwen turned the engine back on, and sped the boat towards the dock. With both hands on the guardrail, and the boat bouncing across the waves, I couldn’t see much. There was a jolt as Gwen threw the boat into reverse. As it banged into the dock, Sholto threw himself up onto the seawall. On his knees, he raised his rifle, and fired off a shot. The suppressed retort wasn’t nearly as loud as the sound of the zombie falling. Another shot and the second zombie flew backwards.

“Impressive,” Simon said.

“No, it wasn’t,” Sholto said, standing. “I hit the shoulder.”

The zombie pushed itself to its feet. Sholto took his time, letting the creature take a step. Its head bobbed up. Its mouth opened, exposing a row of broken teeth. Its arm reached up, grasping towards us. Sholto fired. The creature’s head exploded in a spray of black-brown pus and off-white bone. With the sight came a flood of memories of the undead that I’d killed. My mood, already sombre, turned dark.

“Up. Out,” Gwen barked.

“Tie her off, Bill,” George said. Simon, Gwen, and Lorraine clambered out of the boat. I awkwardly followed, and rolled more than climbed onto the concrete jetty.

“Here, catch,” George said, throwing a rope. Behind me, I heard thick boots running along concrete, and a few warning commands from Gwen. I tied the rope, though not expertly. The boat was secure, but if we were forced to make a quick retreat, we’d have to hack through it.

“Pass me my axe,” I said.

George held it up, and then his rifle. “Give me a hand,” he said.

I helped him out of the boat.

“Good thing, those suppressers,” he said. “Not quite perfect yet, though.”

My brother and the others were now out of sight, and though I wasn’t sure I could hear the sound of the shots, I could hear the occasional thump of a body hitting the ground. I hoped that was the undead.

“I feel useless,” I said.

“Know your limitations,” George said. “That’s a lesson I learned early, but most people never grasp. We can’t excel at everything, and when we try, here and now, it’ll only get others into trouble.”

“I know, it’s just… I guess it’s not being able to see what’s going on.”

“People scream when they’re hurt,” George said, which was no comfort. I resolved to put in some hours on the firing range when we got back to the island.

“You say they came over to get electric golf carts,” I said, trying to distract myself from the unseen danger that the others were in. “That sailing boat can’t be large enough to transport them back.”

The boat in the artificial dock was a single-sail yacht, sleek and expensive, with room for perhaps ten people with their bags, but not much more. Certainly not a four-wheeled buggy about the size of a small car.

“We’ll use the rafts for that,” George said. “This was just a scouting expedition. We wanted to see what damage the zombies had done. That would tell us whether it was worth expending the effort to send a larger group here to empty the golf course and town, or whether we should just secure the golf carts and get them at a later stage. Like I said, it’s a question of people and resources. We don’t have the time to let things wait, but equally don’t have the people to do everything we want all at once. There. I told you’d they’d be okay.”

Simon had appeared around the scrubby bushes and was waving us forward.

“Twenty-four of them,” he said when we drew level. “The clubhouse is clear.”

It was over so quickly. I can’t say why, but that didn’t fill me with relief.

“Watch the boat, Simon,” George said. “Come on, Bill.”

Chapter 2 - Caernarfon

11:30, 15
th
August, Day 156

When planning the clubhouse, the builders had taken one look at the stunning vista of the Irish Sea, and then no doubt a second and third, and decided not to compete with it. The building had a simple, unpretentious style, suggesting this was a course where people came to play the game without needing some marble and glass edifice that would only have marred the view.

My brother was walking between the corpses in the car park, checking each one was truly dead. Lorraine was by the door to the clubhouse, her pensive expression matched by the fingers drumming against her rifle stock. Gwen had already gone inside. George and I followed.

Tables and chairs lay strewn about the floor, suggesting they had, until very recently, been forming a barricade. From the dead zombie I had to step over, it hadn’t held. At the rear of the entrance lobby, an upturned desk blocked a doorway. In a room to the left, Gwen knelt by a man whose shirt was covered in blood. Hovering close by was a woman with short-cropped, green-dyed hair, and anxiety written across her face.

“What happened, Lilith?” George asked.

“Will got bit,” Lilith said simply. “The radio stopped working. I got some of them, but I couldn’t get a clear line of fire on the door. I was going to risk it. I
was
. I was going to try to shoot our way out, then you came.”

“Where’s everyone else?” George asked.

“They went to Caernarfon Castle, and never came back,” she said.

I could see there were a dozen questions George wanted to ask, and I could think of just as many myself, but he left them unsaid and went over to the injured man.

“Will? Can you hear me, Will?” he asked.

“He can’t,” Gwen said. “He’s unconscious.”

“He
is
immune,” Lilith said. “I know he is.”

“Then we’ve only got blood loss and infection to worry about,” George said. “Gwen, Lilith, can you carry him back to the launch? We’ll go back to Anglesey. Bill, I’m going to leave Simon to watch the dock. Take Lorraine and your brother, go as far as the castle. See if the others are there. You’ve got the yacht if you need to escape. If they’re trapped, don’t do anything heroic, just get back to the yacht and wait offshore for us to return. If Miguel’s not left, maybe I can get him to delay his departure, or we’ll come back with Kim, if no one else.”

“Check the castle, don’t do anything stupid,” I echoed.

“Stupid, I don’t mind,” George said. “Just don’t get yourselves surrounded. We’ve not got the people to launch a second rescue.”

After they’d gone, I stood in the car park, looking at the trees. It was better than looking at the bodies of the undead. Their clothes were rags, their skin taut, withered, and covered in dirt and worse. That the gunshots had destroyed their faces did little to mask the lack of humanity in their twisted frames.

“We’re going to the castle?” Sholto confirmed. “Which way?”

I gestured north. “It’s about a kilometre, on the other side of a river.”

“How much of that journal was true?” Lorraine asked.

“All of it,” I said. “Though it wasn’t necessarily the complete truth.”

“I meant, how much of that stuff about fighting the zombies was exaggerated? How good are you?”

“Good enough,” I said, slinging the axe over my shoulder. I limped towards the road. “What about you? What’s your story?”

“If I tell you, will it go in the journal?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“Then I’ll keep it to myself,” she said.

“Markus and his lot were the muscle on this trip?” Sholto asked.

“You don’t need many muscles to pull a trigger,” she said. “They were meant to help with fetching and carrying. Lilith’s the fighter. I’ve never seen her so discomposed. It’s what happened to Will, of course.”

“They survived the outbreak together?” I asked.

“And a lot more,” she said, “but if you want to know, you’ll have to ask her.”

I was starting to see the drawback in being known as the island’s chronicler.

“Markus,” Sholto prompted. “What can you tell us about him?”

“The way old George summarised the survivors doesn’t give the full picture,” she said. “He’s got this top-down approach, a way of looking back on the present from some distant future when he’ll be long dead. That’s useful, and maybe it’s because of his age, but it misses out a key demographic: the people who actually want to go out into the wasteland.”

“Like the people setting up the safe houses, you mean?” Sholto said.

“Oh no,” Lorraine said. “Those people are damaged. I mean,” she added hurriedly, “the outbreak changed them. It changed us all, didn’t it? But they had to examine their own souls and found themselves wanting. They’re on a private mission for repentance or forgiveness, even though they know they’ll never find it. Markus is different.”

“How?” I asked.

“He runs this pub,” Lorraine said. “Except he doesn’t do any of the work, and you can’t really say he owns it, not legally, except by possession. He ransacked Anglesey, stockpiling the booze. I guess he’s running out, and I think the only reason he wanted to come over here was to restock.”

“There’s a baker down by the waterfront that’s trading bread for batteries, tea, coffee, and a whole list of sundries,” I said.

“Scott Higson? Yeah, that’s one of the government stores,” Lorraine said. “It’d have to be, wouldn’t it? You know, because the grain is still stored on the ships. It’s the same with the launderette, and the music shop. That’s all Mrs O’Leary’s doing. Partly it’s to make sure people get a balanced diet. You can’t force people to eat vitamin tablets, but you can fortify the bread. They also stop Markus from setting the prices, while allowing us to build up a national surplus from the things people looted when they raided the empty homes. Markus is just out for profit. His big mistake was selling the booze before he realised how much it was worth. I mean… Okay, do you know the first thing he did when the electricity was restored? He put on a film night. He found the biggest TV he could, rigged up a load of speakers, and set it up in the back room of the pub.”

“A cold beer and a movie?” Sholto said. “That sounds pleasant.”

“They were zombie films!” Lorraine said. “And after each of them, he ran a Q&A session about what the characters did wrong. That’s kind of guy he is.”

“Ah. And this is tolerated?” I asked.

“Mrs O’Leary says it has to be. It’s a democracy, isn’t it? That’s the thing about survivors. In the depths of danger, you think everyone is like yourself. It’s only when things settle down you realise that not all survivors are selfless or good or even nice. I mean, okay, he’s not evil,” she added. “Not like… what was the name of those people who kidnapped your kids? Barrett and Stewart?”

“You really did read the journal,” I said.

“There’s not much else to read,” she said. “Crime fiction, anything contemporary come to that, it’s all out of date. Horror doesn’t scare, not any more. Science fiction stories about space exploration and aliens seem like they’re taunting us with a future we’ll never have. Anyway, yeah, that’s Markus. He’s the very definition of self-centred. I think he still believes the universe revolves around him. Not evil, just not the kind of guy you want to be around.”

The words hung in the air, but there was no mood for them to spoil. The road leading to Caernarfon hugged the coast, and so Anglesey was visible to us across the Menai Strait. It looked lush, but the paddocks immediately to our left gave the lie to that. They were overgrown with seeding grasses and flowering weeds. Like those on Anglesey, they’d be good for grazing, but we had very little livestock.

“I suppose there’s not much chance of taking a boat down to Kent,” I said.

“What for?” Sholto asked.

“The fruit in the trees,” I said. “The apples will be ripe soon. Even if this field was full of ripening wheat, I doubt we’d be able to harvest it, but we could pick apples.”

“That’d be nice,” Lorraine said. “I miss apples. And peaches. Oh, and remember bananas?”

“I miss ribs,” Sholto said. “A big plate of them on Monday night, with the game playing in the background.”

Each of us was lost in our own private fantasy until a quartet of seagulls erupted from the roof of a shed in the next field along.

“Caernarfon Castle,” I said, pointing. It was partially obscured by trees, but there was no mistaking the crenelated walls.

“Feet,” Sholto said. “Do you hear them?” He raised the rifle.

“Running feet,” Lorraine said, half-raising her own. “It must be Markus. It must be.”

My heart beat faster. It’s half a year since the outbreak. Everything I’d seen told me that zombies barely had the co-ordination to walk, let alone run. Certainly, I’d seen none move faster than a lurching stagger, but running zombies were near the top of my list of private dreads.

The sound of running feet drew nearer. Two figures jogged into sight around a thicket of alder. Both were male. One was about six-foot-two, with dangerously long dirty-blond hair. A recent scar running from nose to lip was only partially covered by deliberately trimmed stubble. Sunglasses covered his eyes, a bandana his neck, and a T-shirt a size too small barely covered muscles that, quite frankly, weren’t any more impressive than anyone else’s on the island. It was as if he’d found a style that suited him in his early twenties, and now, well over a decade later, he’d stuck with it, despite the fact it only highlighted his age. The other man was far younger. Probably out of his teens, but only just. His head was shaved in the style that was common in a world where soap was rare and long hair could be grabbed by the undead. The thick bovver-boots were completely impractical, as was the short sword in his hands. It looked like a Roman gladius.

“The tall guy is Paul,” Lorraine said. “He’s been with Markus since the beginning. The younger one is Bob or Rob or something. Hasn’t been here long. He came from somewhere in Northern England. The Lake District, I think.”

The two men slowed to a walk.

“What happened?” Lorraine called.

“The castle’s no good,” Paul said, giving her a sardonic smile. “Too many zombies. Got thirty of them, though, didn’t we Rob?”

“Thirty? Yeah, I guess,” Rob mumbled. He looked hot, exhausted, close to terrified.

“Where’re Markus and the others?” Lorraine asked.

“Gone shopping,” Paul said. “There’s a trailer park over there.” He waved a hand vaguely behind him. “I’m out of ammo. Rob lost his gun. We were going to get more from the supplies at the golf club.”

“Will was bitten,” Lorraine said. “He and Lilith were surrounded. We had to come over to rescue them.”

“Will’s still alive?” Rob asked.

“Yes,” Lorraine said.

“Then it’s all worked out, right?” Paul said.

“That’s not the point,” Lorraine said. “You shouldn’t have left them.”

“When did you arrive?” Paul asked.

“About half an hour ago,” Lorraine said.

“And Will’s still alive. If you hadn’t come, we’d have rescued them.” Paul gave another grin, showing a set of perfect teeth. “What was it that our illustrious mayor said? That there aren’t enough people for any of us to waste a breath? Seems like we did the right thing.” He began walking again. “The castle’s no good. It’ll take an army to clear Caernarfon, and now we know. So, you guys coming, or what?”

“The rest of you, Markus and the others, when did you last see them?” Sholto asked.

“When was it, Rob?” Paul asked, turning to the younger man. “About eight o’clock last night?”

“I guess,” Rob muttered.

“Then they’re probably dead,” Paul said. “Give us five minutes to dump our bags and get some more ammo, and we’ll help you look for them.”

Lorraine opened her mouth, but then bit back the reply. “Go back to the boat and wait there,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Suit yourself,” Paul said. He walked away. Lorraine did the same, continuing down the road. Sholto and I shared a look, took a glance back at the two men, now sauntering along the road, and followed her.

“You okay going after these other three?” Lorraine asked after twenty yards.

“It won’t take long,” I said. “If they disappeared last night, either they’re dead, gone, or dead drunk in some caravan.”

“One hour,” Sholto said, checking his watch. “Then we go back. Is it safe to leave them with the boat?”

“Simon’s there,” Lorraine said. “He’ll shoot them rather than leave without us.”

“Maybe that would be for the best,” Sholto said.

I glanced at my brother. He had a thoughtful expression.

“Penny for them?” I said.

“What?”

“Your thoughts,” I said.

“If they spent the night in a ruined castle and then ran out of ammo, why are their bags so full?” he said.

“Because Paul was lying,” Lorraine said. “He’s probably loaded up on spirits from some abandoned pub.”

“They were running pretty fast to be loaded down with anything heavy,” Sholto said.