by Frank Tayell
In time, efficiency would improve as they learned from their mistakes. The children would grow up and be able to take on more responsibility. In time. And that, more or less, was what had been keeping her up the previous night. Farming had been an abstract. It was something they had to do, but she’d not thought too hard about the effort involved in scaling up Jay and Kevin’s hobby-farm. With George, looking at the Royal Parks, looking at the machines, at the labour that Quigley had put in, she’d accepted the truth. There were too few of them. Even counting the crews of the boats George had promised, there wouldn’t be enough to keep the Tower working. The Isle of Sheppey would be worse. There were no walls around the island to keep them safe at night. The water would be a barrier, but they would still need to patrol. Forty adults wasn’t going to be enough. Nor would four hundred. Ten thousand? Maybe.
She, Greta, Aisha, and Tuck had spent many an evening discussing their long-term plans, but always in the context of generations, not months. Nilda’s concern wasn’t so much for herself, or even Jay, but for any daughters he might have. Perhaps it was a function of living in an old castle, but she’d read many medieval histories. The future of women was not going to be the same as their past, but first they had to secure that future.
Another sheet of rain was sucked between the gap in the fencing, soaking her already sodden clothes. Whether it was on Sheppey or not, their future wasn’t going to be the Tower, and there wasn’t long left in which to pick a destination.
“I don’t get it,” Jay said. “Why do I have to read about him?”
Nilda leaned back against the boat’s padded seat. “Clement Attlee was a prime minister, and the leader of the—”
“No, I get who he was,” Jay cut in. “It says so here.” He tapped the back cover. “I mean, why’s he important?”
“The children look up to you,” Nilda said. “They represent about a sixth of all the children in this corner of the world. What they know, what they learn, what they teach their children, will become instrumental in deciding what kind of future humanity has. And they really do look up to you. Leadership isn’t something we get a choice in, not anymore. That means you need to be ready for it, and that means continuing your education.”
“I still don’t get why I need to read about Attlee,” Jay said. “If it’s about leadership, shouldn’t I read up on generals?”
“Read the book, and you’ll see,” Nilda said. Jay opened the book, but Nilda still felt exasperated. To hide it, she went up on to the cockpit. Lorraine was piloting the boat. George was peering at the shore with a pair of binoculars.
“We’re passing Greenwich,” George said. “I think the Millennium Dome should be over there somewhere. It’s hard to tell with the rain.”
“We’re making good time, though,” Lorraine added.
Tuck sat with a map and a notebook at the back of the cockpit.
“All well?” Nilda signed.
“Well enough,” Tuck replied. “Jennings is asleep.”
“I saw,” Nilda signed back. “What do you make of him?”
“For a sailor, he makes a good enough soldier,” Tuck signed.
Nilda smiled.
“We’ve got to learn sign language,” Lorraine said. “You’ve got your son reading up on Attlee? Small boat, sounds carry,” she added.
“I’m trying to make sure he has the education I didn’t,” Nilda said. “Is it the education he needs? I don’t know. I mean, where do you start, so I thought I’d start with teaching him how to learn to lead. A key part of that is compromise and concession.”
“Attlee’s a good choice for that,” George said.
A sheet of rain slashed against the window. Lorraine reached forward, and turned the lever that swept the wipers across the glass. The manual wipers were a recent installation, evidenced by the bare wood next to the lever.
“We’ll always have glass,” Nilda said.
“What was that?” George asked.
“I was… oh, I was worrying about how far our descendants are going to regress before they start moving forward,” Nilda said. “It’s a constant worry. They’ll have to learn to build new ships, and those will be out of wood, but they’ll know how to put in glass windows, and they’ll know that a wiper can be fitted to give them a clearer view of the outside world. Will that help them? I don’t know.”
“Knowing that glass can be made doesn’t mean they’ll be able to make it,” Tuck signed. “They’ll see the ruins, they’ll see the tower blocks, they’ll know what we created, but they won’t know how we did it.”
“Well, that’s a cheery thought,” Nilda said.
“What is?” Lorraine asked.
Nilda explained.
“Yep,” Lorraine said. “You’re right, a cheery thought indeed. So we’ll find a way to make sure that knowledge isn’t lost. We could inscribe old textbooks onto granite slabs or something. We’ll find a way.”
Nilda nodded. They would try to find a way.
The rain increased in intensity, pounding against the cabin’s walls.
“Hold her steady,” Lorraine said, and disappeared outside. She was only gone for a few minutes.
“Should we stop?” George asked.
“Not yet,” Lorraine said. “The floating debris is moving at the same speed as us, so we’re safe as long as we stick to the middle of the channel. We could use some of the fuel, but there’s only enough for about forty miles, and I’d rather keep that in reserve. No, let’s see if the storm will blow itself out, but I think we’ll have to leave the airport until the return leg.”
The motorised sailing boat had room for forty as long as they didn’t mind impersonating sardines, but theirs was a small expedition downriver. Nilda, Jay, and Tuck, George, Lorraine, and Jennings. Denby had stayed in the Tower, on barricade-inspection duty with Kevin. The Marine had been reluctant to abandon George’s side, but the real danger lay in the streets near the Tower. While they almost certainly would go ashore in Sheppey, they wouldn’t venture too far from the shore. They wouldn’t need to. Was Sheppey overrun, were the bridges intact; those were the primary questions. If the answer to even one was no, then maybe… maybe… Before her hopes turned to an expectant dream of the future, there was a soft thud as a large piece of debris collided with the side of the boat. She grabbed the boathook, pulled her hood up, cinched it tight, and, cautiously, went outside.
Within a minute she was soaked. Within two, she was drenched. She walked the perimeter of the boat, one hand on the rail, the other pushing and prodding the floating debris away from the ship. Lorraine seemed to have no trouble crewing it single-handed, but there had to be more to it than steering left, steering right, putting the sails up, and knowing when to pull them down. It was something to learn on their return leg. Abruptly, and without warning, a spotlight came on. Positioned on top of the cockpit, it sent a bright beam deep into the squalling rain. Nilda gripped the rail as she blinked her vision back into focus, and made her way back to the cockpit, reaching it just as the wind dropped and the rain slowed.
“Are we okay?” she asked, when she got back inside.
“We’re still alive and afloat,” Lorraine said, “so I’d say yes.”
“Then I’m going to change,” Nilda said. She went back into the cabin.
Jay had the book open, running a finger along the page, his face crinkled in concentration. Nilda stopped in the doorway, watching him. He was still so young in so many ways. Reading had never been his passion. Computer games and movies, yes, not books. He glanced up, returned to the book for a second, then looked up again.
“What?” he asked.
“I really am proud of you,” she said.
“Oh. Right. Thanks.” He shrugged, and returned to the book.
Nilda smiled. There was always going to be danger, but the worst of it might soon be over. It all came down to Sheppey, and to whether George Tull and the people of Anglesey could be persuaded to go along with her plan.
Chapter 6 - Imp
ort, Export
The Isle of Sheppey
“That’s the Isle of Sheppey?” Jennings asked.
“And that is Sheerness,” Lorraine said. The engine puttered softly as she put the boat into reverse. The rain had stopped, the wind had dropped, and as they neared Sheppey and the point where the Thames turned into the sea, the tide had dragged them north. They’d had no choice but to turn the engine on, and burn their precious fuel.
“Sheerness is a city?” Jay asked.
“A large port and a small town on the island,” George said. “Sheppey’s situated at the confluence of the Medway, the Thames, and the North Sea.”
“The Medway’s the river that runs through Kent, right?” Jay asked.
“That’s it,” George said. “The towns of Chatham and Rochester are on the coast to the west. Sittingbourne is on the Kent side of the bridges, and that’s about another four miles east of here. Canterbury is about twenty miles southeast. Due north, about ten miles across the sea, there’s Essex and the resort town of Southend. We used to bring a lot of coach tours here, mostly in the autumn. Not to Sheppey itself; there was too much danger of getting stuck in a traffic jam. We’d go to the dockyards at Chatham, or the cathedral in Canterbury, and there are plenty of castles in the county.”
“I went to Southend once,” Jennings said. “For a weekend. Wasn’t bad if you like beaches.”
“You like beaches?” Lorraine asked.
“After three months on a sub, you like dry ground in every one of its myriad forms,” Jennings said.
“So this is a good location, then,” Jay said. “There are lots of places nearby to loot.”
“I dunno about Southend,” Jennings said. “It was an enclave. After Anglesey was settled, we brought the sub around the coast. Didn’t go ashore in Southend, but it looked like the coast around there got a pasting. Further north, it was still hot. The radiation should have dissipated by now, though. O’course, that depends on the type of bomb, and whether they salted it with caesium or other heavy particles.”
“The Geiger counter’s reading is fine,” George said. “There’s no point imagining the world is worse than it is, not when we’ve experienced the worst that humanity became.”
“Southend was an enclave?” Lorraine asked. “There should be stockpiles of supplies, then.”
“Maybe,” Nilda said. “And maybe the people in the enclaves used them, and looted the other nearby cities before the bombs fell. The one to which the children were taken is a little further east along the Kent coast. Maybe ten miles from here. I don’t think there was anything left. Their community in the mansions would have looted the food from those towns, but how much of it would even be edible now? No, the real benefit to us is the open sea for fishing, and its proximity to the orchards of Kent.”
“Where are the bridges?” Jay asked.
“Further down the Swale,” Lorraine said. She pointed at the channel that ran between Sheppey and the Kent mainland. “You can’t see it from here. So, this is Sheerness. I don’t think we can get any closer.”
“What kind of things did they bring into the port?” Jay asked.
“Cars,” George said. “That was what it was famous for. I think they brought in fresh flowers from Holland, too. Or was it bacon from Denmark?”
“Either way, we’re not going ashore here,” Lorraine said.
The harbour was partially blocked by a sunken container ship from which the shipping containers had been spilled into the sea. The red and blue boxes bobbed amid scummy water littered with plastic and wood.
“Can we get into the Swale?” Nilda asked.
“I’d say so,” Lorraine said. “And we have enough fuel to go in and get out again, but we’ll be using sail to get back to the Tower.”
“Those containers are going to be a menace to anything except the Amundsen,” Jennings said. “I suppose we could sink ’em, but how deep do you think the water is here?”
“I’m not taking her close enough to drop a line,” Lorraine said. “Shall I take her into the Swale?”
“Just a moment,” Nilda said. Tuck had the binoculars to her eyes, and was examining the shore. Slowly, the soldier removed her right hand and made a short motion that Jay and Nilda knew all too well.
“Zombies,” Jay said.
“That was to be expected,” George said. “How many?”
“She’s counting,” Nilda said.
“What about those wind turbines?” Jay asked. There were four, planted onshore in the port-facility itself. “I mean, three have lost their blades and the fourth is toppled over, but could we repair them?”
“If the chief can get a nuclear power plant running,” Jennings said, “he can fix those for you, no worries.”
“Rahinder Singh is the man you want to talk to,” George said. “He’s an engineer by training, but an electrician by trade. He used to run a small electrical repair shop in the same village as the retirement home. He’s spent a lot of time looking at the ruined turbines on Anglesey, determining how we could make a new one.”
Nilda rolled the name around. It was one Chester had mentioned a few times, but not in relation to turbines. Then she had it. “His brother is the scientist who created the zombies?”
“By accident, yes,” George said. “Poor man was working on a super-vaccine. He didn’t intend for this. Drove him mad.”
“He’s still alive?” Jay asked.
“Technically alive,” George said. “They have him in the clinic, sedated. He’s occasionally conscious, but he doesn’t speak anymore. Not even to Rahinder.”
“Ah, right,” Jay said, clearly disinterested. “So they imported cars?”
“In Sheerness?” George said. “Mostly cars. There was a documentary about the place a few years ago. It was a reality show about catching smugglers. They made a big thing about how quickly a ship could be unloaded and the cargo moved through the port.”
“No, I was thinking,” Jay began, “I was wondering whether it was just cars, or if it might be heavier vehicles, like construction equipment. You know, things we could use for farming.”
“Ah, no,” George said. “I think they were just cars. There were probably a few farms on Sheppey, and they would have had some tractors.”
“Right, because if there aren’t,” Jay said, “then the easiest way to get tractors would be from farms in Kent. And if we’re going to destroy the bridge, how are we going to manage that?”
“Rafts, if we have to,” Nilda said. “If we can find the fuel to run any tractors, but I don’t think we will. We’ve got a little under three hundred gallons of petrol and diesel, including what we put in this ship’s tank before we left. Sheppey’s ten miles long, from Sheerness in the northwest to Shellness in the southeast, and four miles across, so that’s forty square miles. I suppose a lot is now roads and factories, homes and gardens; even so, we’ll run out of fuel before we run out of land to plough.”
Tuck handed the binoculars to Nilda. “Between twenty and thirty zombies in the port,” she signed. “They’re close to the water’s edge. Maybe twice that number out of sight. Could be more. I hope that the zombies are people who drove there trying to catch a ship away from Britain. It could be the other way around. It could be they all came off that container ship, and the rest of the island is a lot worse.”
“Well, that,” Lorraine said after Jay had translated, “is another cheery thought.”
She steered the boat away from the harbour, and towards the Swale.
Nilda raised the binoculars, and watched the shore, the sunken ship, the ruined turbines, the cars. A lot were white, but there were a few splashes of colour mixed in. Were those the cars that survivors had driven here? Had any of them come from the mansion in Kent? It was possible. Styles had said that, at first, people had driven away, at least until there was no fuel left. Perhaps they’d come here. The zombies would have followed them across the bridges, and the survivors would have been trapped with the sea in front and the undead be
hind. They would have to kill all of them before they could call the island home, but that wasn’t what had caught her attention.
“That is a lot of cars,” she said. “Maybe a thousand of them. Hundreds, certainly. That TV show, George, did they show cars being unloaded?”
“Not that I can recall,” George said. “Can’t say I remember much about the programme. It was one of those things you have on in the background to kill some time. There was a lot of time to kill, back in the home.”
“What I mean,” Nilda said, “is when transporting cars, you don’t use a crane, right? You drive them on and off the ship.”
“For the most part,” George said.
“Then there was fuel in the tanks,” she said.
“Not much,” George said, “but some, yes. Enough to get a car out of the factory, onto the ferry, off the ferry, and onto the transporter.”
“I bought a new car once,” Jennings said. “Brand-new, straight from the factory. It had seven miles on the clock. The dealer said that was about standard. Drove it home, but got shipped out. Three months later, my lass had put five thousand miles on it. I was livid when I found out who she’d been ferrying around.”
“Maybe that’s the answer, then,” Nilda said. “Maybe there’s petrol and diesel in the fuel tanks.” And if there was, she wouldn’t forgive herself for not having looked all those weeks ago. If there was, and enough that they could have taken the boat all the way to Anglesey, Constance, Styles, Xiao, and so many others wouldn’t have died. If there was fuel still in those vehicles’ tanks she would serve penance by ploughing fields in the driving winter-rain. “Can you bring us ashore?” she asked.
“Here? You want to check?” Lorraine asked.
“We should,” Nilda said. “If there’s fuel, it changes the equation in our favour. And it would be useful to gauge how many undead we face before the battle begins.”
“The battle?” Jay asked.
Nilda didn’t reply. Maps were all well and good, but the reality was always so different. This time, looking at Sheppey, she finally saw the cold reality of their situation. Sheppey had to work. It had to. There were no other options left.