Future's Beginning

by Frank Tayell

The next door was closed. Kim gripped the handle, looked at Bran, and waited for him to nod. She turned the handle and pushed the door inward. It was another dark and empty office. No, not empty. As she panned her light to the left, a figure lurched towards it. The exposed teeth, the sunken eyes, the ragged tufts of hair, it took her less than a second to realise it was one of the undead, but it took Bran even less than that. He fired. The zombie fell, loudly clattering onto a desk chair before tumbling to the ground.

  “That one wasn’t dead,” Bran said. “Let’s move.”

  Beyond that door, the corridor branched. They chose the turning that took them deeper into the building. The corridors grew darker as they moved beyond the second-hand light from the exterior windows. The illumination from their torches was enough to read the signs, but since they’d all been ripped from the walls or the chains holding them to the ceiling, they were useless. The closed doors were now often secured with number locks, the windows reinforced with mesh. The doors that were open, or ripped from their hinges, revealed examination rooms and smaller treatment rooms.

  Kim’s foot glanced against something that spun away, knocking into the edge of an upturned patient-trolley partially blocking a set of open double-doors. Instinctively, she tracked her light down to see what she’d kicked.

  “It’s a knife,” she said.

  “A bayonet,” Bran said. “German, I think.”

  Kim let the light play upwards, over the trolley and through the doors. She wished she hadn’t. She turned the light back onto the corridor. “Children,” she said. “Mostly children. Lots of children.” Kim walked on, more swiftly now, wanting to get away from that unsealed tomb. Bran didn’t. He played his light into the room.

  “Kim?”

  “Whatever it is, I don’t want to know.”

  “They were zombies,” he said.

  “That doesn’t make it any better,” she said.

  “I didn’t mean that. There’s a set of speakers in here. Speakers and what looks like a stereo unit, the kind you’d slot your phone into.”

  “Perhaps that was so the hospital staff could listen to music while they worked.”

  “It’s affixed to the wall with electrical tape,” Bran said. “A lot of tape.”

  “Okay, interesting,” Kim said, still not taking a step back towards the room. “They lured some zombies here, or used sound to keep them here?”

  “Perhaps. That would suggest they were part of the same group who were at the barracks. I guess some of them didn’t make it out on a ship. Some of them ended up here.”

  “Like you said, perhaps. We’ve still not found any ammunition, though, or an answer to whether the admiral should spend time sending people here. I think we’ve about ten minutes.”

  At the next branch in the corridor, a sign was still attached to the wall, giving directions to a canteen.

  “Might be worth a look,” Kim said. “After all, it’s where we were keeping our supplies in the college.”

  A rattle came from a door just along the corridor. The rattle came again. Kim turned the handle, then pushed, but the zombie pushed back. Bran raised his boot, kicking at the frame. The wood split. Another kick, and the door swung backwards, knocking the zombie from its feet. Kim fired.

  “It’s in uniform,” she said. She played the light around the room. “It’s a stock room. Looks like bandages, syringes… I don’t think we’ll be able to use any of that now, not after that zombie was inside.”

  “What’s in here?” Bran said, picking up a military duffel bag. “Ammo; all 9mm. There’s a side arm; a Glock. MREs; about three days’ worth. Some clothes, and an assortment of the usual personal survival equipment. Some military-issue, but mostly scavenged civilian gear.”

  “So he was probably part of the team that was luring the undead here, but got infected, and trapped himself inside. Or not. We’re finding more questions than answers. Let’s find the canteen and then go.”

  But in the canteen they found an answer, just not to the question they’d been asking.

  “How many?” Kim whispered.

  “A hundred,” Bran said, his voice just as low.

  “They’re… they’re zombies, aren’t they?” Kim said.

  “I think so. I’d say so,” Bran said. “Yes.”

  “Are they dead?”

  Bran took a step into the room, then kicked the outstretched leg of the nearest creature. It didn’t move. “I think so. I think they’re dead.”

  “Get ready to run,” Kim whispered. Then, more loudly, she said, “Move! Attack! Do something! We’re standing here!”

  No movement came from the sea of corpses carpeting the room.

  It was difficult to image the room as it had been a year before. The circular tables and upright-chairs had been stacked haphazardly against the serving-counter on the room’s far side. It wasn’t a barricade designed to keep people out, but to keep the undead at bay, away from the monstrous speaker-stacks positioned next to the serving-counter door.

  “You know what this means,” Kim said. “What this is telling us?”

  The reply came from outside, in the form of a muffled but unmistakably un-suppressed shot.

  “That’s thirty minutes,” Bran said.

  “Then we better get back outside before they come in,” Kim said.

  It took another ten minutes to navigate through the dark corridors to an exit, by which time Ken and Dee-Dee had already returned to the car park and were about to venture inside.

  “Everything cool?” Annette asked.

  “I’d say yes,” Kim said. “What did you find?”

  “We only got a quarter way around the building,” Dee-Dee said. “There’s a room with tools. Axes, shovels, that kind of thing. There’s some sharpening stones, too. The room next to that had a padlock on the door. There were boxes of shotgun shells inside.”

  “Not military,” Ken added. “It looks like they came from a farming supply place. What about you?”

  “Did you see any zombies?” Kim asked.

  “A few,” Dee-Dee said. “Three dead, four crawling. None walking. You?”

  “Yes. Yes, we saw zombies. A lot. They’re dead,” Kim said. “Not shot, not stabbed, just dead. About a hundred of them were in a canteen. There were some more speakers, too. I think they were lured here, like we saw at the barricades in town, but that’s not important, not really. The zombies were dead.”

  “So?” Annette asked.

  “So, at some point you have to say that you have as much evidence as you’ll ever get,” Kim said. “At some point you have to add up all the little pieces and call it proof.”

  “Proof of what,” Annette asked.

  “That the zombies are dying, that they can die,” Kim said. “The soldiers lured them to this hospital, and while a thousand or so zombies were still alive when we arrived, not all of them were. You remember that pile of dead by the barricade, the ones that were frozen? I think they were dying. In a few more weeks or months, they would have been dead.”

  “But not all of them would,” Bran said. “We just killed a zombie in uniform. Had to have been infected right at the beginning of the outbreak. It was still very much… very much a threat.”

  “Yeah, and didn’t Kallie say that the horde was still heading towards London?” Annette asked. “It doesn’t change much, so should we just get those shotgun shells and go?”

  Kim cricked her head to one side.

  “What?” Annette asked.

  Kim smiled. “Nothing. We’ll leave the shotgun shells for the admiral. The people from Belfast… Belfast? We’ll need a new name for them. We’ll need a new name for us as well. But they need to see the dead zombies. They need to see it for themselves. After all they’ve been through in Belfast, they need something new, something good to brighten their spirits. That the end might be near is about as good as news gets.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Annette said. “But nothing changes, does it? We’ll still have to check each house, each room,
each cupboard, always expecting the undead.”

  “For one more year,” Kim said. “One more year, and maybe they’ll all be gone.”

  “We’ve been saying that for months,” Annette said.

  “I think it’s good news,” Mirabelle said hurriedly. “And I’d like to see it for myself, but do we have time?”

  “Not really,” Bran said. “Mary will be at the harbour by now, and everyone should be boarding. We don’t want to delay our departure.”

  “Never mind,” Mirabelle said. “I suppose I’ll see a sight like that somewhere else soon.”

  “I think so,” Kim said. “I really do. Lead the way, then, Bran.”

  “What about the cat?” Annette asked.

  “We’ll ask Thaddeus to keep an eye out for her,” Kim said.

  “Yes, because we’ll be keeping our eyes out for the undead,” Bran said. “This isn’t the time to get complacent.”

  The mood was subdued as they headed back to the harbour, taking a slightly longer route on the off-chance they might find some further evidence left by the missing survivors. They saw none, though when Kim turned around, she did see something.

  “Quietly,” Kim whispered to Annette, “and slowly, turn around.”

  “Why?” Annette asked, spinning around. “It’s the cat!”

  The black and white feline stopped, and took a cautious step backwards.

  “She’s following us,” Kim said. “See? No, leave her be, and she’ll follow us to the ship.”

  “But what if she doesn’t?”

  “That’s her choice,” Kim said.

  They reached the barricade the soldiers had built on the motorway, and found Pete there with two dozen others.

  “You’re the last,” Pete said.

  “How far behind everyone else are we?” Bran asked.

  “About thirty minutes,” Pete said. “You didn’t find any ammo, then?”

  “Just some shotgun shells,” Annette said. “We’re leaving them for the admiral.”

  “We’ll tell you about it on the ship,” Kim said.

  “Wait,” Annette said, looking back along the road. “We’ve got to wait for the cat. No, don’t stare. She doesn’t like that. Look away or something.”

  Kim sighed. She looked at the barricade, then up at the turbine towering above the town. Annette was right; a town like Dundalk would make for a great home. A town like it, but not Dundalk. Not somewhere with a coastline along the Irish Sea. Where it would be, she didn’t know, but they’d find it soon.

  Epilogue

  The Irish Sea

  “That cat will play merry hell on such a crowded ship,” Mary said.

  “If we ever see it again,” Kim said. “I told Annette the cat would be feral after so long without human contact. I’m surprised it allowed itself to be picked up, but not surprised it darted off the moment she put it down.”

  “There’s so many people aboard, I don’t think it’ll stay hidden for long,” Mary said. “Though I suspect it’ll jump ship the first chance it gets. Still, we’re a ship with a cat, and isn’t that traditional? Ah yes, my own luxury yacht.” She smiled. “This is the life, but would you be a dear and fetch me a blanket.”

  Kim opened the sliding balcony doors, and stepped inside and into the stateroom. They assumed the opulent cabin had been designed for Kempton herself, though now it was home to Rahinder and the collective. All were busy hand-converting the suppressors to fit the submachine guns.

  “If we get to France, and if we find more ammo for the rifles, can they be slotted back onto our SA80s?” Kim asked.

  “No,” Rahinder said. “We’ll have to start from scratch. It’ll be time-consuming, but not difficult. Personally, I’d rather spend the time working the kinks out of my crossbows. Those are the future.”

  “As soon as we have time,” Kim said. She found a blanket, and took it back outside. “Here you are Mary. You seem happy.”

  “I am,” Mary said. “I’m saying farewell to Ireland. At least for now. I never got the chance before, but regretted it when I was in that retirement home. I really did think that I’d never have a chance to see Ireland again, not alive, anyway. Of course, that was the real regret, the real fear, that I would die in that home. Ah.” She breathed in. “Yes. For me, at least, this is a happier end to my story.”

  “An end?”

  “I’m just speaking metaphorically, dear. Besides, we’ll be returning to Ireland.”

  “You think?”

  “There is Elysium to consider,” Mary said. “I spoke to the admiral.”

  “You told her what we found in the hospital?”

  “I did. She should have shared it with the passengers by now. She had them all on deck looking for whales.”

  “For whales, really?” Kim asked.

  “They were more common on the western coast, but yes, whales used to visit Ireland’s shores. The admiral’s real goal was to clear the space around the control room so she could talk in private.”

  “To say what? To tell you that she is now in charge.”

  “Of course not,” Mary said. “Our goals are aligned, and our paths are entwined. Why quibble over which of us holds the compass? No, she doesn’t think the grain ships will make it to France.”

  “Oh, I see. Can they make it to Dundalk?”

  “She thinks so. I asked whether we should stay close in case a rescue had to be launched, but she thinks the risk of sinking is less than the reward of us getting to France a few hours more quickly.”

  “But they won’t be following?” Kim asked.

  “The admiral doesn’t think so. She’ll stay in Dundalk for a few days, and use the time to inspect the ships. After a proper stock-take of what they’ve brought, and what we’ve left, she’ll make a decision. I think, though, she has already made it. They’ll go to Elysium.”

  “I see. Using the Amundsen?”

  “No, the Amundsen will have to return to Svalbard to collect more fuel. If the grain ships can make it, she’ll use those. Otherwise, Heather Jones will have to bring her boats up along the coast. That, though, is a decision for the admiral to make with Heather.”

  “They’re using the Amundsen to ferry people from Belfast, aren’t they?”

  “You mean that those passengers currently aboard the icebreaker will have to disembark before it goes north, yes. That means, when Dundalk has to be abandoned, for whatever reason, there won’t be enough space on the grain ships and John Cabot for all of them.”

  “We really need those ships from Calais, then,” Kim said.

  “Yes, we do,” Mary said.

  “But when we find them, we’ll take them to Elysium. From there, America will be our next destination. Not Spain.”

  “Perhaps,” Mary said. “It’s best not to plan too far ahead. Whether America is our next destination or not, there is a very good chance it won’t be our last. No, I think, wherever we go, we might well return to Ireland. That thought will keep me warm through this coming winter.”

  “Do you want me to get you another blanket? Perhaps we should go back inside. It’s getting cold out here.”

  “Inside, into a cramped cabin that reeks of a lot of things of which gun-oil is the most pleasant? I think not. Not yet. When I was a teacher, and I dreamed of retirement, I often thought it would begin with a cruise. I didn’t imagine it would be on a ship as luxurious as this. Then again, I didn’t imagine I’d have to share my cabin with quite so many people. When I found myself in that wretched home, a cruise became a bit of a fantasy for me, a dream that allowed my mind to escape while my body spent far too long trapped in a bed. For George, the fantasy was getting a little flat, and a little job. He wanted his second chance. I wanted one last holiday. Well, now my fantasy is made real. All that’s missing is George.”

  “And Bill,” Kim said.

  “George will find him,” Mary said.

  “I hope so. I do hope he’s okay.”

  “Believe that he is,” Mary said. “Because t
here’s no advantage in believing the worst. Bartholomew Wright has survived a lot worse than a plane crash.”

  From the deck above came Commander Crawley’s strident yell. “Will someone do something about this wretched cat!”

  “Unless you want to go and deal with that,” Mary said, “let’s sit here for a while, and I’ll tell you about the first time I left Ireland. There might be something in a grandmother’s old stories of use to a young woman who has suddenly become a mother. I should begin with a little family history. Great Uncle John is a good man to start with. He had to leave Ireland after the civil war, and went to Australia. Though, really, to tell his story, I should go back a few more generations to the famine, and those ancestors who had no choice but to take the boat to America…”

  Kim relaxed in the chair, zipped her coat up tight, and listened to Mary while she watched Ireland recede into the distance.

  To be continued…

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  Other novels:

  Surviving The Evacuation & Here We Stand

  The outbreak began in New York. Within days, it spread throughout the world. Nowhere is safe from the undead. Books 1-3 are the journals of Bill Wright, a political operative trapped in London after the city is evacuated. Books 4-7 tell of Nilda, a mother searching the wasteland for her son, and Chester, a criminal in search of repentance. Books 8 onward recount the attempt by humanity’s last ten thousand survivors to build a new society out of the ashes of the old world.

  Here We Stand is the story of the North American survivors, and the collapse of the United States.

  1: London, 2: Wasteland, Zombies vs The Living Dead, 3: Family, 4: Unsafe Haven, 5: Reunion, 6: Harvest, 7: Home, Here We Stand 1: Infected, Here We Stand 2: Divided, Book 8: Anglesey, 9: Ireland, 10: The Last Candidate, 11: Search and Rescue, 12: Britain’s End, 13: Future’s Beginning