Life Goes On | Book 4 | If Not Us [Surviving The Evacuation]

by Tayell, Frank

  “The information comes from Lesadi and Thato,” the nurse said. “The two children roamed this city long after everyone else took to the roofs. The hospital was offering treatment after the outbreak. As conditions worsened, they would trade treatment for food and supplies. The school offered a roof and a meal, but only for one night. It became a place for individuals to gather into groups.”

  “They became sanctuaries in a lawless city?” Hawker asked.

  “In the eyes of Lesadi and Thato, yes,” the nurse said. “A week after the outbreak, and after the planes stopped falling out of the sky, a friend of the children’s was shot. They took her to the hospital. She died, but the doctors did attempt to save her life. Afterward, the children, along with a dozen others, were walked north to a school where they were given food and shelter for the night. The school was overburdened with survivors, and so the children put together a group who went to the waterfront. A week after that, they came back to the hospital to get antibiotics. They were given some. Not enough. But of all the places in the city, all the people, these groups at the hospital and school were the most friendly and helpful.”

  “There are other groups of survivors beyond these two locations?” Hawker asked.

  “Many,” Laila said. “At one time, but not as friendly. More recently, most have become defensive, or have disappeared.”

  “As we saw yesterday, some are hostile,” Tess said. “We’ll start with those two groups. They should know where the others are.”

  As the helicopter rose into the air, the recently attached camera-rig broadcast images back to the ship where sailors would hunt for signs of life. Though as they travelled deeper into the city, Tess increasingly doubted any survivors would be found. Up close, from above, the devastation suffered by Cape Town was far worse than she’d realised. Glinting moats of fire-broken glass lay beneath the smoke-blackened tower blocks. Wide daggers of ash and rubble cut through streets and subdivisions. A township had been replaced with a crater. Wood, steel, and cement had become little more than a grey ash cloud, swirling in the rising wind. She wasn’t the only passenger who checked the dosimeter, but even if that blast hadn’t been nuclear, it had been nearly as devastating.

  Smoke still rose from the rubble too frequently to be cooking fires. Figures were everywhere. Moving. In the open. Too slow to be human.

  In most cases, it was impossible to identify whether the destruction had been caused by an exploding gas main, static fuel tank, or an unquenched fire, but an occasional tail-wing or giant engine showed how the calamity had begun. Even if this had been an isolated tragedy, unique in the world, the city would have been evacuated. With the undead crawling from the wreckage, clawing their way out of the smoking rubble, with toxic fumes clogging the air, getting away from the city had been the most certain route to survival.

  “We’re approaching the hospital,” Commander Tusitala announced. “Car park is empty. I’m going to circle.”

  The interchange, where the N1 and M12 met, was expansively empty. Near the roads were two and three-bed starter homes where road noise was less important than affordability. A little further away, squares of brown marked the larger gardens of bigger houses. The smattering of vehicles were in the middle of the road, askew, abandoned if not completely wrecked. But where were the people? From what she could see of the hospital complex, it was desolate and empty.

  Modern cities had few fortresses, but in a city with as notoriously high a crime rate as Cape Town, municipal buildings came close. The hospital’s six-storey central building certainly fit the part. Built in a T, it had the look of a 1960s build, ringed by the usual sprawl of newer one-and-two-storey buildings housing the medical sciences invented in the decades since.

  Now, it was lifeless. No rooftop sentry flagged them down, or warned them off. No vehicles were positioned ready to escape, suggesting everyone who’d sheltered here had already fled.

  “I’m setting down in the car park,” Commander Tusitala said.

  Tess’s stomach lurched with the sudden descent, slamming back into place as debris rattled against the underside of the cabin. As soon as the helicopter jolted against the ground, Clyde threw the door open, dropping outside, with Oakes and Hawker bare seconds behind. Head bowed and back bent, Tess slipped outside, waiting for Laila and Teegan, while the rotors slowed, and then stopped, leaving ash swirling in the otherwise still air.

  “Nicko, stay with the copter,” Hawker said.

  Leaving Clyde at the rear, Tess jogged away from the settling grey cloud, following the colonel across the empty car park.

  “It’s abandoned,” Hawker said, pulling a monocular from his pouch. Still walking, he turned his head, raised the monocular, and lowered it a second later. “There’s no one on the roof of the main building, or that smaller tower building to the south. We’ve been buzzing copters back and forth since yesterday. If they were still here, they’d be waving sheets to get our attention.”

  “Give them time to climb the stairs,” Tess said.

  “Why do I always think cities are flat?” Toppley said, as they reached the steep staircase leading up a steeper embankment, and so up to the main building.

  On the embankment, and at the top, trees had been planted so the patients in the upper-floor wards had something other than rooftops to look at. But recently, those trees had been felled, and abandoned where they’d fallen, as had the undead who’d been shot.

  “Casings,” Hawker said, scuffing at the ground. “Noticed some back near the copter. Hold here. Major, with me.”

  As the two soldiers jogged up the stairs, Tess shifted her grip on the rifle, scanning the fallen bodies for movement.

  “The children said there were nurses and doctors at the hospital,” Laila said. “A lot of doctors. A lot more patients. They didn’t mention soldiers, but there must have been some.”

  “Clear,” Hawker called from top. “More casings. Watch your step.”

  “There are some human corpses among the undead,” Toppley said. “And some animals nearby still seeking food, judging by the bite marks on those bones.”

  Tess turned to look, but her attention was caught by the thin metal pole embedded in a zombie’s skull, by the fire-axe on the gore-flecked grass, and by the hard-shelled med-kit beneath a headless corpse.

  “They fought on the high ground, holding the slope,” she said. “They fought hand-to-hand. Did they have any vehicles?”

  “The children said no. Not when they had to walk to the school,” Laila said. “The boats were gone by then. Some nights, they heard engines, but never during the day.”

  “So if you found a car during the day, you’d wait until night to drive away?” Tess said. “Then people were more worried the car would be jacked than of the risk of fendering a zom. But these hospital-dwellers planned their escape,” she added as they reached the top. “They fought their way out.”

  “Not all of them,” Hawker said.

  At the top of the stairs, the bodies grew even more numerous, forming a dense ring around the main doors. Above, the windows had been smashed, the shards cleared from the frames to provide a firing position for the defenders. After the bullets ran out, they had improvised, dropping heavy weights onto the heads of the undead. Metal cabinets, trolleys, even beds lay where they’d been dropped near the main doors. Doors which banged open an inch, again, again, again.

  “There’s no wind,” Toppley said.

  “Hello!” Hawker called. “African Union! United Nations!”

  The door banged again, pushing aside the obstructing cabinet just far enough for a three-fingered hand to curl outside.

  “Zoms,” Hawker said. “Back to the copter. Careful on the stairs.”

  He stayed in place, and so did Tess, until Toppley, Laila, and Clyde had retreated back down the steps. Tess stayed just long enough for a second arm to push its way through the ajar door.

  Chapter 23 - The Crazy Things We Do for Our Kids

  Welgemoed, Cape Town, South Afri
ca

  Back in the air, Commander Tusitala circled the hospital again.

  “No movement on the roofs,” she said. “I’ll check again before dusk. If there are survivors inside, they’ll head to the roof.”

  It was a forlorn hope; any survivors of the hospital battleground had fled days ago. The same wasn’t true of the school.

  Three kilometres north, riding the crest of another hill, were seven long, narrow buildings, built in a row of three, and a row of four, but with sealed walkways linking each.

  “Are you sure that’s a school?” Clyde asked.

  “I can see tennis courts,” Toppley said.

  “But where’s the rugby pitch?” Clyde asked. “There has to be a rugby pitch. This is South Africa.”

  “Probably beneath that plane,” Toppley said. The wreck was mostly intact. The wings had broken from the fuselage, as had the tail section, but all the pieces were still relatively close together and lying atop fire-ravaged grass. It was an attempted landing gone wrong. Whether it was a school or not, painted onto the roofs of four of the buildings were the words: Help, Hulp, Usizo, and Msaada. On the roof of one of the more central buildings was a small cluster of people, one of whom was waving a towel.

  “Those look like stretchers,” Commander Tusitala said even as the helicopter began to descend. “I won’t set down! Don’t know if the roof can support me. I’ll hover, so make this quick.”

  “No worries,” Hawker said.

  “Just like old times,” Oakes said, grinning.

  Tess took off the headphones, and heard no more except the roar of the rotors. Oakes sat on the edge of the doorway and slipped down. Tess copied his example, staggering on impact, even though it was less than a metre drop. Oakes grabbed her arm, pushing her onward, and towards the survivors, sheltering against the downdraft.

  “G’day,” Tess said, raising her voice above the ocean-roar of the helicopter. “We’re the United Nations. We’re here to help.”

  “African Union!” Laila added, to which the survivors responded with a more visible nod of relief.

  Three people lay on stretchers: a pregnant woman with a bandaged leg, a grey-haired man with his eyes closed, a teenage boy with his eyes narrowed in pain, his hands white-knuckled around a bloody cricket bat. Three more children stood around him, all clutching an assortment of tools, though with less determination than the batsman.

  Guarding the children and the injured was a bald woman with a very old V-shaped scar running from temple to cheek to crown. She was about thirty. The AK-47 on her back looked twice her age, while her frilled shirt and puffed trousers looked like they’d come from a different age entirely.

  “Children and stretchers!” Tess said, unsure if she’d heard that, so bent to pick up the stretcher on which lay the expectant mother. The woman grabbed the stretcher’s other end. Nicko and Teegan took either end of the old man’s stretcher. Clyde scooped up the injured cricketer, while Bruce led the other children to the helicopter.

  “There are more!” the woman with the scar yelled.

  “More? More survivors?” Tess asked.

  “More children. Downstairs!”

  “Commander, more survivors are downstairs!” Tess said as the stretchers were laid in the back of the helicopter. “Take these people back to the ship. Laila, go with them. Come back for us, and for the rest. Go.”

  As Laila settled the uninjured children inside, Bruce closed the door. Tess grabbed the arm of the woman with the scar, and led her away from the rotors.

  “How many survivors?” Tess yelled, as the helicopter took flight.

  “Thirteen more children,” the woman with the scar said. She waved a hand north, in the direction of the crashed plane. “The music room. They are downstairs, but the zombies are inside the building. Inside and outside, and I am out of bullets.”

  “No worries,” Nicko said, drawing the nine-mil from his vest-holster. “We’ve got some to spare.”

  “Are you a teacher?” Tess asked.

  “Programming and business,” she said, taking the handgun. “Nkechi Nkosi. Rudi is with the children.”

  “Show us where,” Tess said. “Thirteen children and one teacher?”

  “Rudi is the gardener, but yes,” Nkosi said, leading them across the roof. “We kept buses here, ready to escape. One week ago, that plane crashed. Our supplies were destroyed. We lost our food. Our clothing. It is why I’m dressed as Isaac Newton. The clothes come from the drama school. Mrs Krog said we should leave. She took most people, and our buses, and left.”

  “But not you?”

  “We were the last bus, and it wouldn’t start. Rudi got it fixed, but the dood came. Zombies, yes? With Ingrid’s baby already a week overdue, we thought it too dangerous to leave. More zombies came. We were going to drive to the coast, but as we were moving the children, the dead broke inside. We saw your helicopter, and so came to the roof. But half the children are trapped.” She stopped by a large hatch built into the roof, next to which lay ropes, and onto the props of which a winch had been attached. The stairs were fixed, made of metal, and steep. It would have been a monumental challenge getting the stretchers to the roof.

  “Which building are they in?” Hawker asked.

  “The furthest,” Nkosi said, pointing across the rooftops. “There is no roof access. Each block is connected with a ground-level walkway, but the dead are inside. Inside and outside.”

  “We can get to the adjacent building?” Hawker asked. “Then that’s our target. Nicko, you take point.”

  The steps led into windowless storeroom containing racks of light bulbs and other currently useless supplies. The door led to a corridor, quietly echoing an erratic drumbeat.

  On the right were windows, and next to them were barstools and high tables, beanbag chairs, and bookshelves. On the left were the classrooms. Through the window of the nearest, Tess saw bedding, with privacy-sheets hung from the false ceiling. New signs pointed down the hall, towards bathrooms, laundry, and the dining hall. But they also pointed to a barricaded stairwell. The gate was newly installed, bolted to floor and ceiling. The rust on the vertical bars suggested it had come from outside.

  Bruce turned the key, already in the lock. Nicko walked through and down the stairwell already resonating to the irregular percussive beat.

  As he reached the bottom, Nicko raised a cautioning hand before beckoning them down. The base of the stairwell had three fire doors. One led outside, one to the ground-floor classrooms, and one led to the walkway linking it with the neighbouring school-block. All doors were made of triple-thick plastic and steel, though with transparent panels filling the upper half of the frame. Whether they were made of glass or polymer, the windows were unbreakable, despite the best efforts of the undead on the other side.

  Zombies beat against the outside door, and against the interior door that led to the ground-floor classrooms. Beyond, inside, well over thirty zombies milled in the corridor. None were children, but at least three wore uniform. However, the walkway leading to the next building was still empty.

  “Turn the key at the top of the frame,” Nkosi said.

  The emergency key was attached to an O-shaped ring, large enough to fit an entire hand. The lock clunked as it disengaged.

  The walkway was four-teachers-wide. Like the doors, the base of the walkway was opaque, the top was transparent. But while the doors were made of lockdown-strength material, the windows of the enclosed walkway were loose at the seams. Only the lack of a sustained assault had kept them from falling inward. The undead who’d been pushing and scrumming near the outer door had seen them, followed, and were already clawing and punching at the panels. The walls shook. The columns supporting the roof shuddered. The bolts creaked, but they held long enough for everyone to get through the corridor, through the door, and into the next building.

  Here, the hallway was filled with tables, chairs, and sofas. The doors had first-aid crosses on them. Originally, this must have been one of their tempor
ary refuges, where newcomers like Thato and Lesadi were billeted. But now it was filled with the undead. Seven, clattering into the furniture. Shot dead by a flurry from Clyde and Nicko as Hawker secured the door. But if seven had already got into those ground-level classrooms, so could others.

  “We need to get out of here,” Tess said.

  “Over here,” Nkosi said, leading them to the stairwell.

  Clyde and Nicko overtook her, but there were no zombies upstairs.

  “Is it the next building the kids are trapped in?” Hawker asked. “Nicko, guard the stairwell. Clyde, clear the classrooms. Nkosi, I want a window with a view of the building they’re trapped in.”

  Tess ran ahead, checking alternate classrooms to Clyde, making sure the doors were closed.

  “This one, here,” Nkosi said, opening a door midway along the corridor.

  Stepping over mattresses, pulling down sheets, Tess ran to the window. Outside, below, was a courtyard play-space. To the left was another ground-level walkway linking this block to the one in which the children were trapped. The walkway’s roof still held, but was only supported by the far wall. The near wall had collapsed. The walkway, and the playground, was full of the undead.

  “Easily a hundred down there,” Tess said.

  In an upstairs classroom almost immediately opposite, a window popped out of its frame. A grey-bearded man in green dungarees waved a chisel and hammer in their direction.

  “Howzit!” he called, his voice muffled by the glass in their classroom, and by the horde of zombies tramping the grass below.

  “That’s Rudi,” Nkosi said.

  “Hey, Ms Nkosi, how’s this for time-keeping?” the Afrikaner gardener bellowed. “So, you going to get us out of here or what?”

  “Did you get all the kids upstairs?” Hawker called.

  “You’re Australian?” Rudi replied. “You’re a long way from home, Mister Kangaroo.”

  “Colonel Kangaroo,” Hawker replied. “Are the kids there?”

  “They’re here, all lekker. No problem,” Rudi yelled back, his voice loud, but his tone calm. “The door’s sealed. We’re safer than a chocolate bar at the dentist’s. Is your helicopter coming back?”