by Frank Tayell
“It was Aisha who stitched the wounds,” Jay signed.
“It was? Well don’t tell her I said that.”
Jay grinned, but almost instantly the smile fell from his face. He glanced at the children, and then moved a few paces so they wouldn’t see his hands.
“Kevin, Greta, and I just brought back Constance’s body,” he signed. “Chester’s digging a grave. I don’t know whether the children should be there.”
“What does your mother think?”
“That they should.”
“She’s probably right. There’s very little chance we’ll ever be able to bring Styles’ body back or even give him a proper burial. So let this be an end to it. A final farewell to all those we’ve lost, and after, we can begin something new.” She shifted in her chair, and then shook her head. “But I won’t be able to come down.”
Jay nodded. Tuck watched him speak to the children, and saw their faces grow sombre. She watched them head to the door and collect their own smaller but identical ponchos and follow Jay out into the rain.
She sat for a moment, looking around the empty dining hall, remembering those who had died. There were so many, but out of those deaths something new truly was beginning. Whether it would, in the years to come, be better than what had gone before, she didn’t know, but she was looking forward to finding out.
She turned her attention back to the books. They were the medical texts. After she had been shot, she’d had been carried back to the castle, and her treatment had been a haphazard affair, a case of patch-up-and-pray. The next time, she doubted they would be that lucky. She picked up a thick tome on emergency medicine. They had the books. Someone had to learn. She turned to the first page.
Engagement
2nd November
“Hurry up and shoot the thing so we can get on,” Chester said.
“Wait,” Kevin said. “There, did you see?”
“Not really,” Chester said. “Did it fall? Did you actually manage to hit it this time?”
“It just collapsed, Chester,” Jay said.
“I can see its arm’s still waving,” Chester said.
“I mean, it fell to its knees on its own,” Jay said.
“And you know what that means?” Kevin said. “It means it’s dying.”
“Not quickly enough. Finish it off,” Chester said.
There was a near silent puff as Jay fired his silenced rifle, and Chester saw the indistinct shape collapse. He was, much to his surprise, enjoying himself. He had reconciled himself to the reality that his eyesight would never return, but that had become a minor inconvenience when set against the strange new life he was leading. Each day he discovered new things, odd things that others found during their formative years. Like friendship. Not the comradeship in adversity he’d known since the outbreak, nor the alliances based on guilt and fear he’d known before, but a genuine enjoyment in the company of others.
“I’ve a theory about the undead,” Kevin said.
“Oh yes?” Chester asked, as they continued down the street. “And is it as good as your theory about the dress?”
“I still don’t understand why it’s a bad idea,” Jay said. “Women start planning their wedding day when they’re kids, don’t they? And they like dresses, right?”
“I bet you learned that from the telly,” Chester said. “Because I sincerely doubt you got it from your mother. If Aisha wants to marry Kevin, then he’s a lucky man, but you don’t propose to a woman by handing her a white dress. You need to stick with something traditional.”
“A white dress is traditional,” Kevin protested.
Chester sighed. “I can’t believe I have to explain this to you. She’s six months pregnant. Even if you found a dress that fit her today, there’s a good chance it won’t tomorrow. What’s more likely to happen is that you’ll find one that you think’s about the right size, but it’ll be too large, and she’ll be upset. Or it’ll be too small, and that’d be worse. No, stick with a ring. You can’t go wrong with that. Well,” he added, “you probably could, which is why you’re lucky to have me with you. Now, what’s this theory of yours about the undead?”
“Hmm,” Kevin grunted, as Jay snickered. “Well, the people in the hospital were all sick, weren’t they? And they must have been infected right at the beginning of the outbreak otherwise they would have died when there was no one left to care for them. So the bodies that were weak to start with collapse first. That means that there’s a limited length of time in which the virus can animate them.”
“Makes sense,” Chester said.
“Doesn’t help us much, though,” Jay said.
“Well, it does,” Kevin said. He raised his rifle again. “I thought I saw something, over there.”
Jay turned to look. “I can’t see anything, but we better check.”
Kevin and Jay in the lead, Chester following behind, they went to investigate. Their world had changed again, Chester thought, and done so quickly. Running was no longer their best defence. Now they attacked, stalking the undead, killing all they saw. It wasn’t the acquisition of the rifles, nor even the discovery of the food. It was the realisation that they were no more barriers stopping them from creating a real community in London. And it transpired that everyone wanted to be part of it.
Even though Graham was dead and they had more food than they could eat, that wasn’t to say all dangers had gone. They could now kill the undead from a distance but they were still a daily threat. And then there was the risk of a horde descending on the city, trampling the brick and stone beneath millions of necrotic feet. At some point someone would have to attempt the journey to Wales, but that quest was no longer as urgent as it had been before. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, but when it happened, whoever left would do so with a real chance of reaching it and with the intention of returning.
“I can’t see anything,” Kevin said.
There was a rattle from behind the bins.
“I’ve got it,” Jay said, walking slowly forward, rifle raised. There was a sudden burst of movement, and something small darted out and ran down the alley.
“It’s the cat!” Jay said.
“Cat? What cat?” Chester asked.
“The one I saw with the drone,” Jay said. “Don’t you remember? At least I think it’s the same cat.”
“Do you want to try and catch it,” Kevin asked.
“No, he doesn’t,” Chester said, firmly. “It’ll be nearly wild if it’s not completely feral. But if it wants warmth, it’ll find its way to the Tower. Now, let’s get moving.”
“As I was saying,” Kevin continued, as they headed back down the road. “It means in another seven months everyone who was sick when they were infected will be dead. And it won’t be long after that before every zombie who was healthy when they turned will be gone.”
“Possibly,” Chester said. “But it’s just a theory. It might take two years, or five or ten. And Jay’s right, it doesn’t change the fact that the undead are still a problem today.”
“Speaking of which,” Jay said, raising his rifle. “Two of them. Heading towards us.” He aimed. Fired. Aimed. Fired. Missed. Fired again. “Both down,” he said.
“Now he is getting better,” Chester said. “Is this Morton Street?”
“According to that sign,” Jay said.
“Then the jeweller’s is up there. It had a red frontage.
“Wait, you mean the pawnbrokers?” Kevin asked.
“That’s it. Best diamonds this side of Holland.”
“I don’t know if I want to give Aisha something second-hand,” Kevin said.
“Trust me,” Chester said.
The door to the shop was closed and the windows unbroken. No one had made an attempt to loot it.
“There’s nothing really here. Not that’s special, you know?” Kevin said, wiping dirt off a display case.
We’re not after that stuff,” Chester said. “We’re after what’s hidden in the back.”
Behind the main shop was an office, and behind that was a small workshop with tools hanging neatly on a rack along a wall.
“The tools slide back,” Chester said.
And they did, revealing a door through which was another, more extensively equipped workshop.
“And there should be a cabinet in there,” Chester said. “A big thing, with dozens of drawers. Open one.”
“It’s full of jewellery,” Kevin said.
“They all should be,” Chester said. “So, have a look, and find some rings you like.”
“What is this place?” Jay asked.
“Well, good jewellery is very recognisable. And by good, I mean the very expensive kind that’s bought specifically so people can be seen wearing it. In an age when a photograph is up on the internet forever and can be seen by anyone anywhere in the world, you can’t just nick something in Chelsea and flog it to someone in Beijing. Or you couldn’t, anyway.”
“So this place belonged to a fence?” Jay asked.
“Not quite. A fence would sell it on. This place would melt it down and sell it for parts. It was more for when the theft of the jewellery was an ancillary benefit to a crime. Like when you were being paid to break in to hack into a computer and stole the jewels to make it look like a normal robbery.”
“There can’t have been much profit in it,” Kevin said.
“Not in the metal, but there was in the jewels. We’re talking pieces that were insured for millions. That’s what you’ve got in your hands there.”
“Millions?”
“Oh yes,” Chester grinned. The truth about his past, and about McInery, had come out. And to his surprise, no one had cared. It was just another story like the one Nilda told of the time he’d ridden at a pack of zombies as if his bicycle was a cavalry charger. A legend of life in the old world to keep people entertained during the long evenings, in the knowledge that of all the dangers they still faced, those retold in the stories couldn’t hurt them.
“Do you think she’ll like this one?” Kevin asked, holding up a ring.
“Probably,” Jay said.
“Let me see,” Chester said, taking it, and holding it close to his good eye. “Well, it’s a bit ostentatious. Perhaps,” he added, judiciously, “you should pick out ten of them.”
“And select the best one?”
“No, let Aisha chose the one that’s the best fit.”
One if by land…
10th November
“It wasn’t quite a white wedding,” Nilda said.
“More like slush, than snow,” Chester said. “Only crazy people get married in winter.”
“Technically, it’s still autumn,” Nilda said.
“It’s cold enough for winter. And I reckon it’ll only get colder. I wish Greta wasn’t going.”
“You don’t think she’ll make it?” Nilda asked.
“It’s not that,” Chester said. “I think she stands as good a chance as anyone. It’s just that too many people have died, and I don’t think there’s any need. We’ve got food, we’ve got water, so we should take the time to enjoy just being alive. If we wait until spring, there will be far fewer undead. She’d be a better shot by then, too. And by then there might not be any need for her to go. If those satellites still work, they’re bound to spot the paint on the roof, the smoke from the fires, not to mention us, all wandering around. Or maybe they’ll send a boat around the coast, just to see where is still habitable.”
“But there’s still the danger of the horde,” Nilda said. “We may have food and water, but if millions of undead descend on London, if we had to flee just using those rafts, too many would die.”
“We can set up stashes of food down the river,” Chester suggested.
“And maybe we should do that anyway, just in case,” Nilda said. “But the world is too big a place now for us to live alone. The people in Wales need to know we’re here as much as we need them. Anyway, it’s her choice and no one is going to talk her out of it. It was a nice wedding,” she added, taking his hand. “Come on, let’s walk the walls. The air seems fresher tonight. I think the river is finally starting to clear.”
Hand in hand, they walked slowly around the walls, while the sound of laughter carried to them from the castle below.
“I never asked, were you ever married?” Nilda asked.
“No. I’m not the marrying kind. You weren’t though, were you?”
“No. We just didn’t get around to it. I regret that.”
“I don’t regret anything,” Chester said. “Not anymore. And I don’t intend to. On which note, I got you something.”
He took a small package out of his pocket.
“It’s too large to be a ring. It’s not is it?” Nilda asked, an air of trepidation in her voice.
“Just open it,” Chester said.
She did. “It’s a book,” she said, puzzled. “About Napoleon?”
“Turn to page one hundred and forty-two,” Chester said.
She did. “It’s a picture of my sword.”
“Probably not your exact sword. It was the bee etched on the blade that gave it away. It was the emblem of the Bonaparte family. I saw one on a plate in the Fusiliers museum so I asked Fogerty about it. How was it your friend Sebastian described it? His retirement fund?”
“He said it was a replica, but an old replica,” Nilda said.
“It was one of five hundred Napoleon had made and which he gave to his generals. Well, the details are all there in the book. I thought… well, just because I don’t have any memories I want to cherish, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”
“It’s perfect,” she said, leaning in closer. “But if it had been a ring…”
“Yes?”
“Well, I’m just—” She stopped, and suddenly broke away. “Chester! Coming up the Thames. It’s a ship!”
The end.
I hope you’ve enjoyed the series, and if you have a minute to spare, I’d be grateful if you would consider leaving a review. Though this is the last book in the current series of Surviving The Evacuation, there will be more post-apocalyptic novels coming soon. To join the mailing list, and be amongst the first to know about new titles, or for more information visit:
http://blog.franktayell.com
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Other titles:
Work. Rest. Repeat.
A Post-Apocalyptic Detective Novel
Surviving The Evacuation
Book 0.5: Zombies vs The Living Dead
Book 1: London
Book 2: Wasteland
Book 3: Family
Book 4: Unsafe Haven
Book 5: Reunion
Book 6: Harvest
Book 7: Home
&
Undead Britain
(In the charity anthology, ‘At Hell’s Gates 1’)
History’s End
(In the charity anthology, ‘At Hell’s Gates 2’)
Table of Contents
Prelude - Last Orders
Prologue - Bloody, weary. (The Story So Far)
Part 1 - Losing Hope
Part 2 - Set A Soldier
Part 3 - The Long Goodbye
Part 4 - The End
1 - Cases
2 - A New Career
3 - Engagement
4 - One if by land…