Surviving The Evacuation (Book 14): Mort Vivant

by Tayell, Frank

  “Dernier’s people?” Claire asked.

  Bill shrugged. “I assume so.”

  “Can you describe them?” the professor asked.

  “There’s one you’d be bound to remember,” Chester said. “An utter giant of a man, well over seven feet tall. Not sure what that is in meters. Two and a half?”

  That received mostly blank stares that only turned to puzzlement after the professor had translated. “It is as I feared,” she finally said. “Dernier had people outside the island. It is something we will need to discuss after we send a team to the church to see if the bodies are still identifiable.”

  “Sure,” Bill said. “Which leaves the small matter of our two communities. We want the same things: somewhere safe for our children to grow up, in a land free of the undead. Words are easy, of course, but they’re all I have until we’re back in contact with Belfast. The good news is that we have satellites, and they’ll use those to look for us. I’d like to paint a message on the runway, so they know we’ve been here. We’ve a helicopter that has the range to reach here if it operates from one of our ships anchored off the coast. How soon it will arrive will depend on the weather, but whether there’s a message or not, they’ll see this town, see what you’ve built. They’ll see the smoke and know there are people here. They will want to make contact. In our shoes, wouldn’t you?”

  “You will invade, and take everything,” the jowly man said.

  “Take what?” Bill asked. “How? We’d need a fleet of helicopters to transport an invasion force. What could you possibly have that would be worth the cost in people, in ammunition, in fuel? But if our actions so far don’t prove our intentions, is there any point continuing?”

  “Of course there is,” the professor said. “Jacques is being cautious. We all are. You must remember we were betrayed from within. What happens when your helicopter arrives? What happens in two weeks, in two months?”

  “In two months? Who can plan that far ahead?” Bill said. “I’d like to offer to airlift you all to Ireland, but we’re months away from being able to do that.” That produced a muted chorus of indignant muttering. “In the first instance, we’ll give you a sat-phone and access to a satellite overhead. Images of this corner of France will give you some warning of the weather, and perhaps some warning of the arrival of the undead. We’ll be able to bring you some suppressors, too. The models we’ve designed are for the British Army SA80, but I’m sure our engineers can redesign them to your fit your equipment. At present, that’s as far as I can promise. It’s the weather as much as anything. It will hamper movement at sea as much as flights.”

  “And in return?” Jacques asked.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You give us silencers, a satellite, what do you want in return?” Jacques asked.

  “The same thing we charged for helping you today,” Bill said. All eyes turned to the professor, a mix of anger and confusion as to what price she’d agreed.

  “He means nothing,” the professor said. “You would do this for nothing?”

  “There are too few of us left for us to barter away our children’s future.”

  “I agree,” the professor said.

  “Good,” Bill said. “That leaves the small matter of us getting in contact with Belfast.”

  “You said you would paint a message on the runway,” Jacques said.

  “I did, and we will,” Bill said. “And I’m sure it will be spotted, but only if the skies remain clear. A rescue party was dispatched before we lost contact with our people. I assume they’ll make landfall somewhere near Calais, and at some point in the next day or two, assuming they haven’t already arrived. I don’t know how well supplied they are, but I doubt they’ll be able to linger more than a couple of weeks. Less if the weather turns again. If it does, that would limit the chance of the satellites spotting this town, and restrict any flights the helicopter might make. Staying here is far more appealing than a trek through the wasteland. But for the sake of my family, I can’t stay here, worrying that someone might get the insane notion of trekking through France in search of us. We have to travel to the coast, and leave as soon as possible in the hope we can meet up with the rescue party before it leaves. We’ll depart tomorrow morning.”

  “You can stay longer,” the professor said, though it was clear that she was one of the few not glad these newcomers weren’t going to linger.

  “Best not. Too much rest, and I’ll get a taste for it,” Bill said. “However, you could help us pick a route. Is there a railway line we could follow to the coast? In Britain, the raised embankments and lack of traffic before the final collapse made them far more navigable than the roads.”

  “To Amiens, then west,” Claire said. “The railway line is passable, the roads… not as much.”

  “Good, that just leaves the vehicle,” Bill said. “And enough fuel to get to Calais, with enough spare to reach the Irish Sea.”

  “Ah, there it is. There is the price,” Jacques said.

  “We’ll travel on foot if we have to,” Bill said. “The longer the journey, the longer until our helicopter arrives. Did you hear that, the gunfire?” He paused as all eyes turned to the narrow window. “The sooner we get to Belfast, the sooner you get the suppressors.”

  “It is a small enough price,” the professor said. “And it is one we can easily afford. But you should not go to Calais. Dunkirk is where Tam arrived with the general. They came in small boats, and secured them in case they had to flee. Speak to him, he will tell you about the boats. As for a vehicle, we have an armoured car. Yes, a small price for your help today.”

  The professor’s assistant, Lauren, led them outside into the corridor. “I can… give tour?” she said.

  Locke replied, but not in French.

  “Is that Polish?” Bill asked. “You’re from Poland?”

  Lauren sighed.

  “Estonia, Bill,” Locke said. “She says we’ve been given a couple of rooms.”

  “Can you ask her to take you to Scott?” Bill said. “See whether he’s able to travel in the morning. I’d like to find Tam, and have a chat with him about these boats in Dunkirk.”

  Locke spoke to Lauren, then turned back to Bill. “Tam will return here. He shares the office with Lauren. That room there.” She pointed. Bill nodded, and waited until they were gone before walking a few yards down the corridor to a wooden bench. He sat. Chester sat next to him.

  “That went better than I was expecting,” Chester said. “You’re pretty good at this negotiation lark.”

  “It wasn’t a negotiation,” Bill said. “We’re emissaries from a foreign land, meeting as equals rather than rivals. When was the last time that happened? Marco Polo? Though that’s a particularly euro-centric view of history. We’re back in an age when ‘Here Be Dragons’ is written on every corner of the map.”

  “An interesting idea,” Chester said, “and one I’d happily debate, but after I’ve had a bit more to eat. I was going to take a stroll, and find the kitchens.”

  “Good idea. That was next on my list. See if you can find out what their diet is usually like.”

  Chester nodded. “Understood.”

  Alone, Bill leaned against the wall, and stretched out his legs, ignoring the aches that would turn into an all-over-body bruise by morning.

  Emissaries wasn’t really the correct description. From his understanding of history, they were almost always followed by scouts, spies, and then soldiers. That wouldn’t happen here. Whatever he called it, the meeting had gone better than he’d hoped, though no better than they deserved after risking their lives. A risk they’d taken with incomplete information.

  He stamped down on the rising tide of anger. The plan had been devised in haste, in the face of a language barrier, and after the death of the soldier, Gaston. They’d volunteered to help, and had all survived. Apportioning blame was a fruitless endeavour. In the morning they’d leave, and with enough fuel and food to reach Belfast. That was a significant impr
ovement on a few days before. But what then?

  This hadn’t been a negotiation, but that would come next. They’d promised a sat-phone and suppressors, but given the time frame, they might have to give the rifles as well. They could spare a few hundred. This begged the question of whether he wanted the helicopter to return with ammunition, or food. Both were needed, and it appeared that Creil had both to spare. At least, that was the impression the professor had wanted to give. A single helicopter couldn’t carry much of either, and that led his thoughts to what would happen next. A second flight? A third? Would they create an air bridge? It wouldn’t be from Ireland, but from somewhere along the French coast. Perhaps one of the Channel Islands. Perhaps. But aviation fuel was scarce, and so were the ships they’d need to transport it back to Ireland.

  Within two days they would reach Dunkirk, dragging a tail of the undead in their wake. They wouldn’t be able to linger on those beaches, waiting for George and Nilda. No, they would have to take to the sea, and so to Belfast with all haste. How long would it take, a week? Two? It would take far less for The New World to return to the coast, and only a matter of hours for the helicopter to then reach this island. Three weeks, but no longer, and then what?

  He knew what he wanted, what Belfast needed: somewhere they could farm safe from the undead. Despite what the professor had first said when they’d met at the airfield, despite her clear belief that the zombies were dying, Creil was not the safe refuge Bill sought. It might provide them with food, though. Enough to last until spring. That left the question of where they would go after Belfast, but that question had an obvious answer. Somewhere closer to France. Again he thought of the Channel Islands, but it was just a place on a map. He had no idea what damage the apocalypse had done. Perhaps they could detour past the islands on their way to Belfast. No, better to do it in The New World on the return journey. If not there, they would find somewhere else. Or they could collect more helicopters from near Belfast International. They’d find a way. That left the question of what they could give in trade for food. Clothes? Perhaps. Solar panels? Wind turbines? Crossbows? What was it that the people of Creil really needed?

  “Penny for them?” Tam asked. Bill looked up and saw the Irishman leaning against the wall, ten feet away. “You look the very definition of a man lost in his thoughts.”

  “I was trying to work through a trading route between Belfast and Creil when we’ve a sea in the way, only a handful of large ships, and winter just begun. We’re leaving in the morning for the coast. We might reach Dunkirk before nightfall, or certainly the day after, depending on traffic.”

  Tam sat on the bench next to him. “Traffic, that’s one of the many problems of the old world I’m glad to see the back of. I earned my crust on the eternal commute. Haulage. Taking shipping containers from Ireland, driving them on a Ro-Ro to Holyhead, then to Dover, and all points east. You’ve spoken to the Assembly?”

  “I did. We’re going to send a helicopter here as soon as we get back. They said you left some boats at Dunkirk.”

  “Hundreds,” Tam said.

  “That many?”

  “Not everyone who crossed the sea came here,” Tam said. “How much do you know about Ireland after the outbreak?”

  “Bits and pieces,” Bill said. “We found a few survivors there, and a few more made it over to Anglesey early on in the outbreak.”

  “Anglesey?”

  “That was our main refuge over the spring and summer.”

  “With the nuclear power station, I’d have thought that’s the last place anyone would call safe.”

  “We managed to get the power station operational,” Bill said. “We had electricity for a glorious summer and a fraught autumn. But you’re correct, the clock was ticking as soon as we arrived. Hence our relocation to Belfast.”

  “Electricity? We’ve some ourselves. Generators, for the most part. Rigged up some solar panels during the summer, but demand always outstripped supply. It’s worse now. You can’t fish by firelight during a storm.”

  “Electricity is the answer, isn’t it?” Bill said.

  “It’s the golden goose. No. The grail? I was never good at metaphors. If we lose the ability to create it, I worry we’ll never have it again. But worries should be set-aside after battles. You want to know about Dunkirk. The short version, the end of the story, is that Dunkirk is where we came ashore. We had a flotilla of small boats. Skiffs, yachts, launches, trawlers. Some diesel, some sail, but all small craft. Some vessels travelled faster than others, so during the voyage, we became strung out. The general, myself, a few hundred others, we arrived first, dragged our boats onto the shore so there’d be room for the second wave, then we defended our beachhead while awaiting the others’ arrival.”

  “Defended it against the undead?”

  “Yes. A few people arrived overland during the night, local families who’d escaped the port. They told us that Dunkirk had been destroyed. The port-town, I mean. We’d come ashore on the beaches to the south.”

  “Destroyed how?” Bill asked. “Was it a nuke?”

  “No, conventional weapons. It was bombed from the air. Don’t ask me by who or why. They flattened the port. Shortly after dawn, the second wave of boats arrived. That was the people brave or desperate enough to travel at night. Not all found our section of shore, but so many did that by the time the third wave arrived a few hours later, there was no room on the beach for their boats. They were left in the shallows. The undead grew in number, and though the numbers of the living bolstered our ranks, our situation grew untenable. The decision was made to leave the beach. Not everyone wished to take that risk, and so they returned to the boats, to wait offshore for the last of our ships. They intended to go north, to the Netherlands. Others simply left, heading for home, wherever that was.”

  “How many stayed with you and came here?” Bill asked.

  “One hundred thirty-nine,” Tam said. “Our destination was European Central Command, a grand name for a hastily convened EU government. It had been overrun. We came here instead. I don’t know of anyone who’s come through Dunkirk since then, so don’t know what state the boats will still be in, or even whether they are still there. Everyone here knows the general’s story, and everyone who passed through, or left, would have known those vessels were on the beach. I do know that you won’t find any boats to the south. In the north, maybe, but not south.”

  “Have many people left?”

  “A few hundred,” Tam said. “A few hundred more were just passing through.”

  “And has anyone who left come back?” Bill asked.

  “A few dozen, not counting those expeditions who set out to explore. They found nowhere better than this.”

  “How far did people go?” Bill asked.

  “The Pyrenees in the south, the Alps in the east. We avoided the Riviera. Did you hear about Marseilles? A mushroom cloud. No one made it further northeast than Stuttgart, or further north than Rotterdam. You don’t want to go there. Millions of people did, back at the beginning, looking for an escape that wasn’t to be found. It’s a grim fate that befell our world. No, Creil is all we know of. The best we knew of, until now. If you’re in Belfast, you should take a boat south to the Republic, to Dundalk. It’s halfway to Dublin. You can’t miss it, just look for the wind turbine. That’s where we set out from, and we left a lot of supplies behind. A lot of people, too.”

  “Colm and Siobhan? Charlie, Tamara, Billie? Kallie, Dean, Lena?”

  Tam stared at him.

  “We found them on the west coast a few months ago,” Bill said. “I’m sorry to say we arrived too late to save any others.”

  “I thought they were dead,” Tam said. “Did they tell you what happened?”

  “Just the bare bones,” Bill said. “They mentioned a guy called Tam, but assumed you were dead.”

  “That’s not surprising. Everyone else died. We’d been moving from place to place. Farm to house to office, to anywhere with a door we could secure ag
ainst the undead. The zombies always followed us, and after nightfall, when we were too exhausted to leave, they surrounded us. Sometimes we could hold them off until dawn. Then a few of us would lure them away, meeting up with the rest at a pre-arranged rendezvous. This time, the last time, we had to flee at night. Was that Enniskillen? No, it was further south. Blarney, maybe? Places blur into one another. I led the undead away, but I didn’t make it to the rendezvous in time. I looked for them, but you know how it is. Do you know how it is? Have you spent much time out in the wilds?”

  “More than I’ve spent in safety,” Bill said. “England, Wales, Ireland, and now France.”

  “Then you know. You set out down a road, but end up running through a forest in the opposite direction. It’s a miracle I met the general’s scouts. You know about the redeployment to Ireland?”

  “Of forces from across Europe? Yes. We’ve a detachment of French Special Forces who flew into Dublin.”

  “That’s where the general arrived. How he arrived. He tried to hold Dublin, but after the airport was lost, there were too many zombies, too many civilians. He retreated north, to Dundalk. The general was Dutch, and he’d been in contact with a commander from their coast guard who was looking for a refuge just like us. At that point, I was just another survivor, a conscript. I wasn’t privy to the full plan, but I’m certain it wasn’t to leave Ireland. By the time I arrived, they’d emptied half the homes and shops, gathering every scrap of food that could be found. But the undead came. They always came. We had defences, walls, barricades, but it wasn’t enough. That’s when I got my battlefield promotion. I suggested lures. Trucks with speakers in the back to lure the undead to a killing ground. It worked, more or less.”

  “Until it didn’t?” Bill asked. “What went wrong?”

  “Too many people died. Too many zombies came. The second column never arrived. They’d come from Dublin in two groups. The general had led the advance party. The second group must have been overrun, and we faced the same fate. We lured the undead away from the coast, and then left by sea in the commander’s ships. The general knew of a plan for redoubts in France and the Low Countries, redoubts like the airfield. The coast guard commander had heard over the radio of defences around Zeeland. That’s where she went, while we went inland. We never saw her again. Never found any working redoubts except this one.” He shrugged off the memory. “But you should go to Dundalk. Watch out for the undead. Maybe they’ve died by now, maybe they haven’t. Be careful in the hospital. That’s where we lured them.”