Surviving The Evacuation (Book 2): Wasteland (19 page)

And there was me, in that kitchen, an unelected representative of the old government, the architect of evacuation plan itself. I was being judged. This was my trial. They were my jury. I had no right to silence, yet nothing I could have said, nothing I can say will ever be sufficient. Not to them.

“Well?” Stewart asked.

I thought of saying nothing, of just walking out. I wanted to, but I didn't. I felt they deserved something. “The government was relocating to the Isle of Wight, that would have been one of the targets, the other was probably the nuclear power station at Dungeness,” I said.

“What?” Barrett said. “That's it? That's all you have to say.”

“I told you,” Liz said

“Alright,” I went on. “Yes, I came up with a plan. As I saw it there were only two options. Stay put and starve, or evacuate and try and hold onto something. That was all I suggested. I wasn't in the government. I wasn't in the cabinet. I wasn't even in the meetings. I was in a flat in south London with a broken leg and not enough painkillers. I didn't know about the vaccine or the plan to kill off the population...”

“We read your journal,” Chris interrupted. “You knew about the vaccine years ago. So you're lying to us now, you probably lied in that book. How can we trust anything you say?”

I stood up, moving my hands to my sides in an unsubtle gesture that ended with my right hand being inches away from the pistol in my pocket. “In that case, like you said, you've read the journal. Believe it, or not. Trust me, or not. Just don't go through my stuff. Ever again.” Then I walked out.

Day 115, Brazely Abbey, Hampshire.

10:00, 5
th
July.

An uncomfortable silence has settled over the Abbey, made worse by this morning's summer shower. The undead do not care, and ordinarily I would relish the cool rain, but not when there is a veritable storm brewing just below me. I have retreated, if that is the right word, once more to the top of the walls.

I've been up here since shortly after yesterdays “trial”. Kim brought me dinner. She'd been teaching Annette how to shoot the rifle. It seems a waste to me. On the other hand, whose rifle is it? Whose ammunition? We aren't a community here, let alone a democracy. Besides, ten or twenty or fifty, they could shot off every bullet, and we'd still be surrounded by the undead.

Dark thoughts breed depression, and that won't help. We are besieged. We need to escape, and that, regardless of the attitude of the others, is what I've turned my mind to. I think we could get the cars out of here. It won't be easy, but we could do it, if we could thin Them out just a little. If we created some kind of diversion on the other side of the Abbey, something loud enough to clear Them off the track and away from the road, then perhaps we could might be able to get away.

Two cars, nine souls, because regardless of their attitude a life is a life, and that has to be more precious than water right now. I mean that literally as well as metaphorically. The only real activity below me is the seemingly constant fetching of water from the well to flush the toilets in the shower block.

We've enough food for about two weeks. Rationing could stretch it out, but they won't listen to me. Nor to Kim, they seem to dislike her almost as much as they loathe me. Even if they did, what difference would a few extra weeks make?

No, forget rationing, we're not going to be able to take much food with us. We'll take fuel and water since those are a lot harder to find, and that won't leave space for much else. We might as well eat it now, as leave it here, so let's call it thirteen days to find a way out of here. And how we do that, I've no idea.

Do we leave together? Obviously I don't mean the others, I mean Kim, Annette, Daisy and myself. Do they go where I go, because I know where that is. I haven't discussed it with them, there hasn't really been time since we left that car showroom, but I don't think they want to go to Lenham. But where else could we go? Where should we go after?

Allowing for a margin of error in my calculations, and the circuitous nature of any journey we undertake, then we've fuel enough for twelve hundred miles. Divide that by two for the two cars, and we could still reach pretty much anywhere in Wales or Scotland.

South is out, the Bombs have seen to that. We have to assume the other enclaves met a similar fate, so that rules out south west to Cornwall, or west to Bristol. There's east, of course, back towards London.

Of all the places in the country, of all the places in the world, London might just work out. If there was ever one national stereotype that wasn't built on ancestral hatred and local bias, then it has to be the English obsession with gardening. There were fruit trees and vegetable plots in almost every garden in the Capital. Even the local councils got in on the act, planting fruit trees along the verges of almost every road. Then there is Kew. Every plant on the planet, or near enough, was grown there. Pineapples, coffee, chocolate, that would be our source of seeds. We'd find enough vinegar, salt and probably even sugar if we looked hard enough. We could find some place where the buildings were crowded together, and connect the buildings with roof top walkways. We could live without having to go down to the streets.

We could look somewhere north of the river, in one of the old districts, and hey, if we're doing that then why think small? We could take one of the apartment blocks overlooking Buckingham Palace, or somewhere in Mayfair of Park Lane. Or why not the Palace itself?

Imagine that, the four of us living in the Palace. The idea of Daisy sitting on the throne is enough to raise an unfamiliar smile, but it would just be the four of us. Which would mean it is down to Kim and myself to ensure a place is secure. Could we do that with the Palace? Could we do it with a large Victorian block of flats? No.

I barely survived London once, completely unaware there was an extra factor to consider, the radiation. How many Bombs were dropped? Where? Who by? We could find an apparently perfect redoubt, not knowing we were being poisoned by the air around us until it was too late. No. If we had to, we could return to London, but it's a place to escape to, not a destination to journey towards.

North, then to Wales or Scotland, but where? I can think of a dozen places, I can think of a hundred, that would be ideal, if they had water, and if no one has reached there first, and if they are free of radiation.

What's left? One of the Scottish islands? Or would someone recognise me and turn me into a pariah there, like I have become here, an albatross around Kim's neck? The Americas? Now there's an idea. Somewhere in the north, somewhere so sparsely populated, so remote that the undead are few in number. We'd have to travel by boat of course...

Sailing off into the sunset, a new name, a new life, a new American dream, it's just another fantasy.

20:00, 5
th
July.

“Forget the where,” Kim said. “You have a plan to go somewhere, but Annette's right. A road is blocked so you turn south instead of north. Plans change, where we go matters less than just going, so focus on the how.”

As I was climbing down Barrett, Liz and Stewart pointedly went back inside the dormitory. A few minutes later, equally pointedly, Daphne came out and joined Chris by the fire. So I went to talk to Kim. She was showing Annette how to drive the truck. With the engine off it was very much a theoretical lesson, and perhaps of not much practical value, but it keeps the girl happy, and that's more than I've been doing.

“So,” Kim went on, “how do we escape?” I hadn't realised it was an actual question.

“There's at least a hundred on the track between here and the road,” I said, thinking out loud. “When the engines start they'll hear and come running. Well, not running, but you know what I mean.”

“And?” Kim prompted.

“And They'd block the road,” Annette answered for me. “They'd gather outside the gate, and we'd never get the cars out. We need to distract them. So Bill,” she added in a fair imitation of Kim's interrogative tone, “how do we do that?”

“Fire?” I suggested, thinking out loud. “We could set a fire outside the walls. Throw out some Molotovs, or something. But we couldn't control the fire. The trees would catch, or the remains of their clothing would, then they would set fire to the walls. Not to the Abbey, but the dormitory, the kitchen, the shower block and all that timber I threw up in between. No, fire's out.”

“Sound,” Kim said with a shrug. “It's all we know that works.”

“If we could get everyone to be quiet. If we could lure Them to one side, away from the gates. Or at least get enough away we can get up enough speed to drive out of here.”

“Not everyone has to go,” Kim said, quietly. “One car could escape. Leave the rest of the food behind. The people who stay can create a diversion.”

I thought about that for a moment. “Then whoever stays would have to know, would have to be ready to close the gates, otherwise it would just be murder,” I said carefully, “and I’m not volunteering to stay. Are you?”

“Yeah, right,” Annette said. Kim didn't bother to reply.

“I doubt any of the others would either,” I said. “So it's all or none.” The silence stretched for a moment. “If we could call Them here, to the Abbey, it needs to be to the walls, to the side furthest from the gate.”

“Right.” Kim said. “Any ideas?”

“I was thinking about shark cages. You remember the TV shows where they'd send a cameraman down into shark infested waters, and they'd film from inside a cage.”

“Sure. No cages here, though.”

“Right. But we could try some kind of platform we lower over the side of the walls. Something wide enough for someone to stand on. It wouldn't have to be big. One of the doors would probably do. Reinforced.” I added “Lower it, then lower someone down, kill the undead until there's a pile of Them, raise the person up, then raise up the platform, then lower it a bit further along.”

“Sound to attract Them to the Abbey,” Kim said. “Then someone standing on a platform to get Them away from the gate. Then kill some to make space for more. OK. You'll need spears, attached to bungee cord. No, we haven't got any of that. Elastic? No, not strong enough. Spears attached by rope, then. Use one, pull it back up and use it again. It might work. How long before your arm gets tired?”

“An hour? Two? We could take it in shifts. But we're not trying to kill Them all, just make enough space for those around the gate...” I stopped to think for a moment. “How many could we kill before their bodies become a ramp others could climb up?”

“A prone body is, what, about twenty centimetres high?” Kim said “Bodies falling on top of one another don't stack neatly, but for every seven that fall in one spot say you create a ramp of about one metre. The platform is in front of the walls, so there is a gap behind this wall of the dead zombies, but gravity will fill that in.” She thought for a moment. “How high's the wall?”

“About thirty feet,” I replied

“Nine metres,” she thought a moment more “I'd say, moving the platform along the wall... you could get between three hundred fifty and five hundred, depending on how They fell, but after that...” she didn't need to finish the sentence

“How many zombies are out there, do you think?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“A lot more than that,” Annette replied. Kim nodded her agreement.

“It might work,” I said. “I really can't think of anything else.”

“You should see what the others say,” Kim said. “There's a chance they might have a better idea. I doubt it, but maybe this is one of those times that if we're going to do it, then it's best to get it done quickly.”

They didn't have a better idea. That isn't to say they didn't suggest anything.

“We could stay,” Liz insisted again. “Shoot most of Them, then you could go out and kill the rest with that pike of yours.”

“No,” Kim said softly.

“But he says he's immune. So why not?” Liz demanded.

“No,” Kim repeated.

“No,” Annette echoed.

“Hey,” Daphne said, “No, it's a fair point. I mean, why not?”

“Because I’m immune, not bite proof. They'd kill me. Probably very quickly,” I said angrily before Kim had a chance to say anything. “Then I'd be dead and you'd still be stuck here, out of bullets and running out of food. And that's to say nothing of the radiation.”

“Rocks. We just throw rocks down on Them,” Barrett said.

“No rocks here,” Kim said.

“Don't you know how to improvise? We can use some of the stones from the Abbey!” Barrett snapped back.

“That would actually make our walls lower,” Kim said slowly, “and would help Them build their ramp.”

“The advantage of using a platform,” I cut in, “is that their bodies will fall away from the walls, not directly up against it. That nearly doubles the number we can theoretically kill before They can climb up and get inside. Look, we've no choice. We'll be out of food in two weeks. We have to escape, so unless anyone has a better idea?” I looked around, hopefully. “Then we need to create some noise to lure them away from the track.”

“And just how do we that?” Liz asked “You want us banging saucepans together on the battlements?”