by Frank Tayell
Giselle Dupont replied with a staccato of rapid-fire French far beyond the vocabulary I’d learned in school and practiced on the occasional trip to Strasbourg.
“Oui,” Pierre summarised.
My reluctance to leave Daisy with two strangers must have been evident.
“She’ll be fine, Bill,” George said. “Really.”
“She will,” Gwen said. “But the others might not be if we don’t get to them soon, so come with us or stay here, but we have to go.”
This was hardly the first time we’d be parted. Daisy spent most days at the school, in the care of teachers and under the observation of the psychologists. This felt different, but Gwen was right, and I’d already mind up my mind when I got on the bus. There was nothing but kindness in the old couple’s eyes, and it redoubled as I handed Daisy over to them.
“Be good,” I said.
Daisy squirmed, confusion flashing across her face. Pierre produced a napkin from his pocket. Unfolding it, he revealed a thin, freshly baked biscuit. Daisy’s eyes lit up as she took it and began to eat.
“I’ll be back soon,” I said, and she completely ignored me.
“We’re taking the launch,” George said. I finally turned around and saw the remains of the ruined bridge.
“Was that done by the cluster bombs?” I asked.
“Come on, no time to waste,” George said, slapping a hand against the short-handled spear, strapped to his belt like a sword. “I’ll give you a history lesson as we walk. The cluster bombs took out the Britannia Bridge, just a little way down the coast. Mister Mills used a cruise missile to destroy the Menai Suspension Bridge.” He gestured at the skeletal ruins jutting out of the fast-flowing water. “That was in April, about a week after we got here and an hour after we realised there was no way we could defend it.”
“The zombies kept coming,” Gwen said. “So did the refugees, but we were burning through ammunition, and there just wasn’t enough of it.”
“I don’t know how many we killed,” George said. “People, I mean, but that’s what inspired us to go back out and find all the survivors we could. Turned out to be a scant few of them, but we tried. But now any trip to the mainland has to be by boat, and that adds an interminable delay. You two got everything you need?”
He was addressing the man and woman standing next to a battered police launch. The lettering near the stern was scorched and in Dutch. I’d assumed we were taking one of the more obviously sea-worthy sailing craft.
“It’s fast,” the woman said, as if reading my thoughts. “Is this it, George?”
“This is it,” George said. “The only volunteers I could find.”
“You’ll want to swap your rifle,” the woman said to Sholto. “Ours have suppressors. We’ve got plenty. More than plenty. You’ll want one, too.”
“I couldn’t hit a barn if I was standing inside it,” I said. “I’ll stick with this axe.”
“Suit yourself,” she said and turned back to George. “Could you really get no one else?”
“Get in,” Gwen said.
We did. The rope was cast off. Gwen took up position behind the controls, and the boat set off. I had to grab hold of a strap to keep my balance.
“Introductions, then,” George said, speaking loudly over the roar of the engine and the crash of the waves. “This is Lorraine and Simon. And this is Bill and Thaddeus.”
“I prefer Sholto,” my brother said.
“Oh, we know who you are,” Lorraine said.
“I have a steely resolve in my eyes,” Simon said, grinning. “It’s undimmed by the horrors I’ve seen, yet softened by the hopes I have for the future.”
“I’m sorry?” I said.
“For when you describe me in your journal,” he said.
“You’ve read it?” I said. “Of course you have.”
His green eyes looked no different to anyone else’s. He was about twenty, where she was a year or two older. Her accent was Scottish. His was Home Counties with a trace of the Midlands. Both wore the mismatched clothing that, like their shaven heads, was practical and common among the survivors.
“Me,” Lorraine said, “you could describe as having an exuberant cheerfulness that the nightmare surrounding us can’t suppress.”
“Focus,” George said. “This isn’t an outing. We’re going into danger. You can chat later, when we’re all safe.”
“Yeah,” Sholto agreed, “because I’d say it’s time for a few more details. Who are we rescuing?”
“Hopefully there’s seven of them,” George said.
“I’m hoping there’s just two,” Simon said.
I looked between the two of them.
George sighed. “Lilith and Will work out of Menai Bridge. They sailed the boat over. Like I said, we’re short of hands, so when it came to getting volunteers to go over to the mainland, we had to ask Markus. He rounded up four people from his pub and decided to tag along himself.”
“What pub?” I asked.
“He calls it the Inn of Iquity,” Simon said. “That tells you all you need to know. It’s the one with the black facade in Holyhead, looking out across the bay. He’s a thief.”
“He’s, um…” George hesitated. “I don’t know how to describe him except that he’s out for himself. I don’t know that you could really call him a thief, but he took over the pub. He runs it as a trading post though I’m not sure what he wants with all the bartered goods he takes in exchange for his homemade spirits and looted beer.”
“Stolen beer,” Simon said. “He took it when he turned up on the island. If he doesn’t come back with us, I won’t complain.”
“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 gr
asp. 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, 15th 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.