Surviving The Evacuation (Book 2): Wasteland (22 page)

He was standing in the middle of the room, his back to me.

“Chris. Looks like you're...” I began. He turned. It snarled. My hands went to my belt. It was empty. The gun was outside, so too was the pike. I'd taken everything out, left all the extra weight behind when I went onto the platform.

The zombie that had been Chris threw an arm out toward me. The hand grasped out across the ten feet between us, clutching at nothing but air as the creature took an unsteady step forwards. It snarled again and took another step, then another.

I looked around desperately, but there were no weapons nearby. I snatched up a chair and swung it with all my strength. The small room echoed with a crack as the bones in its forearm broke. It didn't slow down. Its left hand and bottom half of its forearm sagging downward slightly, it swiped clumsily at my head. I took a step back and swung the chair again. Its mouth snapped open and closed. I swung again as it took another staggering step towards me, the chair hit and cracked against the zombie's side. Its right hand snaked out. Its finger nails scraped against the skin of my neck. Pain seared through me as it gouged out a line of flesh. I dropped the chair.

I slapped its hands away, punching it in the chest with little effect, then, as it raised its arm again, I ducked underneath and behind it.

“Chris has turned!” I shouted as it twisted round, but the words came out weakly from my wounded throat. It threw its arms towards me. I hop-skipped backwards banging my elbow into the counter that ran along the rear wall. The zombie was between me and the door, there was nowhere left to retreat to.

I could feel a thin trickle of blood running down my neck as my hands searched frantically along the worktop. My fingers curled around the handle to one of the large saucepans. I gripped it and hurled it at the creature's head. It hit it with a crunch of teeth. It staggered then came on once more.

The door opened.

“Chris!” Daphne cried out. Of all the people to come through the door first, it had to be the wife. The zombie turned.

“Chris!” she cried again, taking a half step towards her undead husband. The creature lurched towards her. Its arms stretched out as I ran forward and jumped onto its back. My weight knocked it to the ground as I tried to get an arm around its neck, my knee in its back, trying to hold it down.

“Move,” I heard Kim say.

“No!” Daphne screamed.

“Move,” Kim said again. I put my hands on its shoulders, pushing it down as I pushed myself up and away. I staggered back at the same time as Kim brought her axe down on the creature's skull.

04:00, 7
th
July.

Dawn isn't far off. We'll be leaving then.

10
th
July – 8pm – Riverside Links Golf Club, River Thames, Oxfordshire.

One hundred and twenty days since the power went out in London. That was how Bill recorded it. I suppose that is how long it has been since the Nuclear Bombs were dropped on the south coast. That doesn't mean much to me. I’m not being callous, not intentionally, it's just that compared to the hideous fate so many billions suffered, an instantaneous death in a radioactive fireball seems almost merciful by comparison. I suppose I could count the days since the evacuation, or from when Bill rescued me, but why would I want to remember either date?

Today is the tenth of July, that's a more normal way of thinking about it, a nice, neutral, sterile way. Summertime, school holidays, sun-bathing and beaches and last minute getaways. Not that I had any of those in the last few years. I couldn't afford them. I could barely afford the rent, not that any of that matters now. These days I could have my pick of the grandest mansions, the most resplendent jewels and the finest furs, but no caviar. It's a shame. I've never tried it, I never really wanted to, but now that I can't, now that I never will, I can't stop thinking about it. Caviar, lobster, Kobe beef, all gone forever. Luxury now is finding a sealed bottle of water, a few vitamin pills and a pack of gum. That was all I had to show from my looting expedition when I got back this morning.

At least I think it was morning, it could well have been afternoon. Bill's watch got waterlogged. It still works, sort of. It stopped at five minutes to twelve. That seems significant, but maybe, in times like these, you can find significance in anything. Right now, it feels like eight pm, and that's as accurate as I need to be.

We're at a golf course on the north bank of the Thames, somewhere south of Oxford, west of London. According to the maps, this is Oxfordshire, but I found those maps hanging on the walls by the reception desk. They were printed at least two centuries ago, before the invention of trains, let alone cars. I could find a proper map in one of the nearby houses, but there is just so much else that needs to be done, just to stay alive.

Bill would want a record. He'd want details. Well here goes. To the south there is the river Thames, which carried the boat here. Along the north bank, runs a footpath dotted with little white painted metal rings for tying the boats to. Then there is a patch of grass, then an access road for boats being towed to the jetty a little way downstream. After the road there is a bowls green, a lawn and a patio. Then there is this club house. Downstairs there are double doors leading from the patio into the bar. I am upstairs, in the office with its door leading out onto a balcony. If I want, I can open the doors and look northward, over the remains of the golf course, a two mile patchwork of wild overgrowth and barren dirt. Beyond that are trees which, I think, hide a railway line.

Next door is a boat yard specialising in “pre-season repairs”. There are no boats inside. I looked. There had been, but whoever had taken them, all they had left behind was a lifeless corpse. Not one of the undead. How and why he died, what story he was part of, I didn't bother to investigate. There were no boats, there was no fuel, and so the place had nothing to interest me.

On the other side of the club house is the car park, beyond that is the main road, and a long, large storage building. I’m not sure what is inside there yet. The door is locked and withstood my brief attempts at breaking in. There's bound to be a key around here somewhere, I just haven't had time to properly look for it.

There is just so much to do, I haven't really had time to explore. When I do go out, I feel so lonely. It's an echo of that same feeling I had when I was locked in that room in the Manor, that an infinitely vast world is towering over me, and at any minute it will come crashing down.

The club house itself is still intact, around us though, including the greens in front and the gardens of the houses nearby, all of the grass and gardens have been churned to barren dust by the passage of millions of feet. It looks like a battlefield, like pictures of the Somme. Trees, hedges, lampposts, pylons, they've all been pushed down, trampled and crushed, and about them lie scores of bodies.

Some of those bodies still move. Their legs crushed, their backs broken, some pinned under the wrecks of cars, these undead are trapped, twitching and grasping at empty air, hissing and keening their hideous moan if ever I stray too close.

Bill would probably have counted the footprints to get a more accurate figure of how many undead were in the horde that passed through here, but I’m not Bill. I could count the zombies out there easily enough, but to what end? I don't need to know how many are there, I don't
want
to know. They are everywhere, and everywhere I look is nothing but devastation and ruin.

I don't know what I was expecting the land here to be like. I didn't really give it much thought. I thought if Bill and I, and Annette and Daisy could just get away, if we could get across the river, everything would somehow work out, but when has the grass ever been greener

We reached the river three days ago, on the afternoon of the 7
th
. Or was it morning. It must have been morning, because we left early and it can't have taken that long to drive from the Abbey to the Thames. It seems like a lifetime ago.

After Chris died, after I killed the zombie he became, the atmosphere in the Abbey grew tense. No one shouted, no one threw around accusations or blame, not out loud. Daphne cried a little but otherwise, at least on the surface, everything was calm. You'd have to be a total fool not to know that tensions were boiling underneath. Rigid politeness, that's what my father called it. Something had to give. I could sense it. I don't think Bill could. He was too focused on the details to see the wider picture. We didn't have a meeting, not exactly. We stood around, staring at the ground, the walls, the truck, at everything but each other.

“We should leave,” Annette said, abruptly.

Those words broke whatever spell was being weaved. We filled the water bottles, loaded the car, and went through the plan. It seemed simple enough, not changed much at all since the day before. We would play the music from the walls, one last time. I would climb up to the section of the wall above the gate and shoot as many of the undead that I could. When I started shooting, the music would be turned off, the speakers unplugged and the cars pushed into position. Bill would drive the truck, with Annette and Daisy inside. Barrett would drive the car with Daphne and Liz inside. When they were ready, Bill was going to signal, I'd climb down, Stewart and I would open the gates and then we'd jump into the back of the truck.

Bill had a route mapped out, one that he thought would be safest based on the roads he took to the M4 a few weeks ago. Honestly, the bit I was most worried about was whether Stewart might open the gates whilst I was still up on the wall.

It was simple, about as simple as it really could be. All it required from pretty much everyone else was to get into a vehicle and sit in it. It fell apart whilst I was climbing up the scaffolding. By the time I'd climbed down again, Bill and Barrett were shouting at each other loud enough that if they had stood a bit further apart and a bit further away we wouldn't have needed to bother with the music.

Should I write down what they said? Bill would. He's scrupulous about that. I just can't remember, not exactly. I tried to listen, but all I could hear was a clock ticking down, all I could see was Annette, shifting from one foot to another. All I felt was a growing impatient fury at what seemed like such a pointless delay. I was so wrong.

It was an argument over who should take the car and who should the take the truck. I think Daphne, and Liz were in shock. They'd known Chris a long time. Even Stewart seemed distracted.

Then there was Barrett. I couldn't work it out at the time, but now I've had time to think and now I have little but time to think, I see what it was. The words she spoke were full of concern, of pragmatism in protecting the young, in the need for leadership to overcome this next short struggle. Her tone, that though was judgemental, calculating and dark.

It came down to the this. Daphne wasn't any use. Nor was Annette, apparently, and didn't that make the girl kick up a storm. Daphne should go in the back of the cab, with the kids. That was fine with me, fine with Bill too, from what I could judge, since we weren't planning on ditching the others until after we got to the river. Since Stewart knew where we were going, he needed to be in the car in front. Since the truck would have to go first, so it's bulk could push the undead out of the way, that meant Daphne Annette and Daisy in the back and Stewart in the front passenger seat. That meant it made more sense for Barrett to drive the truck, and for Bill and I to open the gates and follow in the car with Liz as our sole passenger.

Barrett went on about how we were more experienced, more capable in case the truck got into trouble and a dozen other unmeant platitudes besides, until that clock counting down in my head got so loud it drowned her out.

“Enough!” I said, and that was how it was decided.

Bill and I didn’t get a chance to exchange anything more than looks after that, but personally I figured that since we had Liz as a hostage we'd get to the river and take it from there. I double checked that Daisy's seat was safely strapped in to the back seat, made sure that the child-lock was off, and that Annette was ready to grab the baby and run. I gave them both a hug and then closed the door to the truck. I hated that moment, even though I didn't understand why at the time.

I climbed back up the scaffolding and got in place. I took a moment to survey the scene. I wish I hadn't. There were zombies everywhere. Those that were closest began beating furiously at the walls and gate a few seconds after I appeared. I signalled, and the music was turned on. I waited. It took a few seconds for it to have any effect. Then, the few zombies along the track down to the road started moving towards the Abbey. I didn't look down, not then, but it seemed as if the entire Abbey was shaking as those closest to the wall redoubled their efforts to punch and claw their way inside. That was probably just the terrible fear that was beginning to take hold. I kept my eyes on the track, and the undead that we would need to drive through in order to escape.

At first the zombies headed straight for the Abbey. A sickening thumping began as they got closer and began crashing into the heaving pack only a few metres below me. Then, as the first song ended, I looked down. Slowly, almost as slow as a glacier, the mob was starting to flow away from the gate, sliding sideways around the walls, towards the sound of the music. I crouched down again, and as Bill and Annette and the others down in the courtyard stared up at me, waiting, I closed my eyes and listened. The noise from the far side of the Abbey grew. The reverberation of fist on stone intensified, but I waited. For six songs, I waited, then I stood up. It had worked, not nearly as well as the day before. There was still a throng of the undead immediately in front of the gates, but behind them, the track itself was relatively clear.