Surviving the Evacuation, Book 14

by Frank Tayell

  “I’ll bite,” Chester said. “How?”

  “We took control of the GPS network,” Locke said. “Of GLONASS, Galileo, BeiDou. Why do you think we had our satellites built?”

  “To spy on your business rivals,” Bill said.

  “It is far simpler to have a rival employ one of our spies,” she said. “No, our satellites were designed to hack into the navigation networks from orbit. Not the software, but the satellites’ hardware.”

  “How did you manage that?” Chester asked.

  “By developing a system that was proof against solar flares, and then giving it to any interested nation. Obviously, the level of subterfuge required was immense. It nearly bankrupted us, but the goal was achieved. After the update, we had our way into the network that, in turn, would control the guidance on the nuclear missiles. This was our failsafe in case all other schemes failed, which they did when faced with the undead. When the missiles were launched, the failsafe was triggered. The warheads were guided into the oceans. In doing so, we wrecked the global navigation systems, but that was a small price to pay since we are still alive today. It is how London survived.”

  “But Marseilles didn’t,” Bill said.

  “Apparently not,” Locke said. “But we could only affect the first wave. Once it became clear that the missiles were going off-target, they would have fired the second wave dumb, like a simple projectile. Unfortunately, a country is a big target, hard to miss.”

  “How many did you stop?” Khan asked.

  “There is no way to be certain,” Locke said, her smug demeanour cracking. “That was the last throw of our dice in an attempt to save the world. We failed, yes, but the planet was not so utterly irradiated that it is unliveable. And, despite everything, some of us are still alive today.”

  “Does this mean we can access GPS again?” Chester asked. “Can you bring those satellites under your control? We’d have a proper global communications system.”

  “If Mr Clemens hadn’t locked us out of our system, then one of our operatives would have been able to. Now? It is unlikely. Considering where we currently are, it’s academic.”

  “But you bankrolled the cabal. You can’t deny that,” Bill said. “You got the contract to produce the vaccine.”

  “Well, yes, of course,” Locke said. “How else would we have learned who the conspirators were? We weren’t the only company involved, I should add. As for the vaccine, of course we wanted the contract to produce it. There was a chance it would work. Not a great chance, but if it had worked, how better to guarantee it was given to the world than manufacturing it ourselves?”

  “People died,” Bill said. “Quigley and the others, they murdered people. They used your company’s assets to do it. The planes, the vehicles, the buildings. Maybe you even provided the pilots and drivers. Did you provide the killers as well? People died. For all that you say, whether it’s the truth or a lie you’re trying to convince yourself of, people were murdered, and their blood is on your hands.”

  “And considering where we are and all that happened, they died for nothing,” Locke said. “It is easy, with hindsight, to question the morality of the death of an innocent journalist or an overly observant security guard. In the moment, we had to make a decision, a calculation. One life or the entire world. In both cases, we failed.”

  “If you’d no qualms about murder, why not kill the conspirators?” Khan said.

  “Because they weren’t just in Britain and America,” she said. “All were senior figures with protection details. They would have had to die simultaneously. Such an act would have sparked small-scale conflicts across the globe. In turn, they could have escalated into the world war we were trying to prevent. We considered it, but decided on a different route. We decided wrong. I don’t need you to tell me that, Mr Wright.”

  “That rule on Anglesey, about wiping the slate clean when people arrive, is a good one,” Chester said diplomatically. “What about other bunkers, then? Is there one like Birmingham in the U.S?”

  “There is nothing like Birmingham anywhere in the world,” Locke said. “But, yes, we have storehouses in America.”

  “And you still won’t tell us where?” Bill asked.

  Locke stood, and walked over to her bag. She took out the journal she’d been writing on Anglesey. “The co-ordinates are here. Chapter one,” she said. “The codes are the latitude and longitude backwards. Again, though, we expected a nuclear war. You’ll find tractors, engines, tools and machinery. You’ll find chemicals and the equipment to make more. You’ll find… you’ll find that most of it is utterly useless because it is on the mainland.”

  Bill threw another stick of furniture onto the fire, still uncertain how much, if anything, he should believe. Perhaps Chester was right, perhaps none of it mattered anymore.

  Part 3

  Storm and Starwind

  Day 255

  23rd November

  Chapter 10 - Left Foot, Right Foot

  Fleurines

  “It’s not bad news,” Locke said.

  “I wouldn’t call it good,” Sergeant Khan said.

  Chester dragged himself from the comforting depths of sleep. “What’s happened?” he asked.

  “It’s raining,” Locke said.

  “Is it morning?” he asked.

  “More or less,” Locke said. “There’s enough daylight to see the snow being washed away. The temperature’s risen. It’s well above freezing.”

  “Okay, well yes, I suppose that is good news,” Chester muttered, dragging himself upright.

  “The rain’s persistent,” Bill said, “but not too heavy. We’re going to get drenched, but we’ll find dry clothes wherever we shelter. The plan’s the same as last night. Head up to the junction, go west, and put some distance between us and this house and that farm. If we can manage five miles, that should be enough for today. Depending on what we find, and what a map can tell us when we find one of those, we’ll come up with a more detailed plan tonight.”

  “No sign of the young woman?” Chester asked.

  “None,” Khan said. “It’ll be difficult to track her in this weather.”

  “But just as difficult for anyone to track us,” Locke said.

  Chester crossed over to Scott who sat on the couch, his eyes open. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I’ve been in a plane crash,” Scott said, his voice weak.

  “Do you think you can walk?” Chester asked.

  “Sure,” Scott said, slowly lowering his hands to either side. “Just got to remember how to stand up. Give me a minute.”

  “Take your time,” Bill said.

  “Then I’ve got just long enough to see if the restaurant’s still serving breakfast,” Chester said.

  Ten minutes later, they were ready and eager to leave. Chester slung the spare shotgun Locke had brought back from the farm, helped Scott to his feet, and helped him to the front door.

  “A new raincoat, that’s what I need,” Chester said cheerily as the wind hurled a spray of rain through the open door. “A new raincoat and a decent pair of gloves. A good hat, too. You ready, Scott? Then let’s get today’s day’s work done.”

  Together, they slogged through the melting slush as, ahead of them, Khan sprang over the gate and Bill, more awkwardly, followed.

  “Clear,” the sergeant called.

  “We need a ladder,” Scott said as they pushed and pulled him over the gate.

  “We need a van,” Chester said, as he joined the pilot on the other side. Once again, he took the pilot’s arm. “And I wouldn’t say no to a helicopter.”

  A moment later, Locke and Kessler joined them.

  “Lead on, Mr Wright,” Locke said. “Lead us to the promised land.”

  “This isn’t too bad, though,” Chester said as they splashed along the road. “I hear you get some real storms down in Oz.”

  “Hmm,” Scott murmured. “Some, yeah.”

  “This drizzle would stop Wimbledon, but not the cu
p final. You into sport?”

  This time Scott didn’t even mutter.

  Chester chattered on, talking about anything and nothing, peppered with the odd question that occasionally received a muted response.

  The rain was persistent, but not heavy, not yet, though it melted the snow, turning the verge into a watery swamp that slowly seeped towards the median down which they trudged. Khan and Bill shared point. Locke and Kessler brought up the rear. Chester was already supporting most of Scott’s weight. At best, they’d be able to keep it up until lunchtime.

  “Lot of bones,” Scott finally said.

  “What’s that? Oh. Oh, yes,” Chester said. The rain revealed an ossuary of bones scattered among the branches and other debris concealed beneath the melting snow. “Can’t see any ribcages or skulls. Must have been dragged here by an animal.”

  “Makes me glad I’m a vegetarian,” Scott said.

  “You are?”

  “Lapsed. My daughter,” Scott said, and again went silent.

  By the time they reached the junction, Chester’s clothes were soaked, and his arms ached.

  “We can take a breather in one of these houses,” Bill said.

  “If we stop,” Chester said, “it’ll be for the day. What do you say, Scott?”

  “I’m fine,” Higson lied.

  Bill frowned.

  “If the sergeant takes the lead,” Locke said, “and Mr Wright brings up the rear, Private Kessler and myself can search the houses we pass.”

  “I don’t like the idea of splitting up,” Bill said.

  “We won’t be,” Locke said. “We’re looking for the furthest point searched by those people at the farm. Until we reach it, we would be wasting our time going room to room. We’ll go inside, only as far as the kitchen. We’ll be out of sight for a few seconds.”

  “Come on, Chester,” Scott said, ending the debate with an unsteady step.

  “The rain’s easing,” Chester said, and stumbled around for a topic that might get the pilot talking. “So how did you end up in Europe during the outbreak?”

  “What? Oh. Pilot shortage,” Scott said. “Budget airline. Didn’t have enough pilots. If it… If it cancelled flights, it’d have lost routes. Three-month contract to fill in.”

  “You don’t usually fly passengers?”

  “Specialist… specialist industrial equipment,” Scott said. “Mining mostly. Between South Africa, China, and Oz. The same company owned… owned the budget airline. Three months, triple time. Three months to pay for a year of my daughter’s university.”

  “Ah.”

  Locke and Kessler overtook them, disappearing into a bungalow ahead. The whisper of a suppressed shot was followed by a crashing clatter as a corpse fell through glass. Before Chester could reach for the shotgun slung on his back, Kessler appeared in the doorway.

  “Clear,” she said. “And empty. One zombie.”

  Sergeant Khan nodded, and resumed his methodical pace.

  After the brief pause, the pilot was slower than before. Kessler and Locke disappeared into a one-and-a-half storey chalet on the right-hand side of the road, but reappeared almost immediately, jogged over to a grey-stone cottage, and then on. They zigzagged down the road, entering building after building, occasionally accompanied by a shot, but always exiting with a brief shake of the head.

  Steps turned to yards, and the houses grew more distant from one another.

  “I thought we were heading into a village,” Chester said.

  “So did I,” Bill said. “How are you feeling, Scott?”

  “Fine,” Scott said. “Keep going.”

  The rain dripped down, washing away the snow. To either side, bare and barren soil emerged from beneath the ice. The water level on the verge slowly rose, and each successive footstep was accompanied by an increasingly loud splosh as puddles merged into a river.

  “Not many undead,” Chester said. “Not living,” he added as they reached the entrance to a farm and saw the corpse lying outside. Its skull had been crushed. From the rotting leaves lying on its twisted, sodden, rag-covered limbs, it had died less than a month ago.

  “The front door was locked,” Kessler said. “And we found a can in the kitchen. Rodents got the packets. They got the can’s label as well, but I like guessing what’s for dinner.”

  “Then we’re beyond the search radius of the people at that farm,” Bill said. “We could rest here.”

  “I can… I can keep going,” Scott said.

  “If we can, we should,” Locke said. “Mice might have found the kitchen, but larger animals took refuge in the rest of the house. It’s rank.”

  “Just until the next farm, then,” Bill said. “Maybe we’ll come to that village.”

  They didn’t. The fields were replaced by woodland, completely devoid of buildings. The road curved downhill into a dip where snowmelt and rain formed an icy morass. Chester was about to suggest they retreat to the last farm, but the pilot dragged himself onward and through the ten-inch-deep swamp. Scott slipped halfway across, and Chester barely caught him in time. They’d just reached the relatively dry ground on the other side when a ghoulish shape lurched out of the trees, five feet to Khan’s front and left. He, Kessler, and Locke fired at the same time, wasting five bullets to fell the zombie.

  “We’ll stop at the next house,” Bill said.

  “The next building,” Chester added.

  And then the sky opened.

  Rain poured down, a torrent that became a deluge. Visibility fell to fifty metres, to forty, to thirty. Khan slowed, but Scott didn’t, and they became a truncated pack rather than an extended line.

  “Woah!” Khan suddenly called out, raising a warning hand. “Barbed wire!”

  Never less than two rolls thick, and dotted with the remains of dead zombies, it ran across the road and up the driveway on their right, stopping only when it reached the building. To their left, it continued into the farmland for as far as Chester could see. Originally, it had run across the road, too, but an eight-foot-wide hole had been cut through it.

  “She was bludgeoned,” Locke said, examining the nearest ragged corpse. “But there’s a bullet in that skull on the ground.”

  “The wire was cut recently,” Khan said. “The exposed metal isn’t as rusted as that section over there. I’d say more than a week, less than a month.”

  “So something drove down this way,” Chester said. “Did you say there were vehicles parked outside that farm? Perhaps they cut this wire, and perhaps this is where they got their fuel from, meaning there might be more fuel up ahead. What do you think, Scott, another ten minutes?”

  Beyond the wire were two cars with deep gouges in the bodywork.

  “Pushed out of the way by something heavy,” Khan said.

  “There’s some tools on the ground,” Locke said. “And a rifle.”

  “It’s a Heckler and Koch HK416,” Khan said.

  “It’s German?” Kessler asked.

  “German-made for the French military,” Khan said. “But other NATO forces used it. Magazine’s missing.”

  “There’s a shotgun in the back of this car,” Bill said. “I’d say that’s military grade. Empty. No cartridges that I can see. No signs of life,” Bill said. “I guess we go on. We can’t really go back.”

  “We don’t need to,” Locke said from a dozen paces ahead.

  Around an abandoned APC, the ground was littered with bones and spent casings. Locke had stopped just beyond and was pointing at a corner of triple-thick chain-link fence, topped with razor wire, covered in warning signs.

  “Locke, can you translate?” Bill asked.

  “It’s a military installation,” Locke said. “Civilians should stay clear.”

  “Does it say what type of installation?” Khan asked.

  “An airfield,” Locke said.

  Chapter 11 - Strange Meetings When Meeting Strangers

  The Airfield, Creil

  After another fifty yards, they found their way i
nto the airfield. Supporting columns from both the inner and outer fences had been ripped from their foundations. The chain-link and razor wire had been crushed into the mud.

  “What on Earth did that?” Chester asked, peering at the thirty-foot-wide gap.

  “An AMX Leclerc main battle tank,” Khan said.

  “You can tell that from the tracks?” Chester asked.

  “Nope, I can see another one stalled inside the compound. No,” Khan added, as he stepped off the road. “There’s two. Three. No, there’s more.”

  Six tanks had been abandoned inside the fence. Five were stalled in a line, behind a lead vehicle, the treads of which had become detached. The sixth tank was to one side of that line, its tracks buried in a foot of sticky mud.

  “I guess the sixth tried to overtake the other five after that lead vehicle stalled. Did they—” Bill began, but stopped when lightning rent the sky, spearing down far too close to their right, immediately followed by a roar of thunder that didn’t seem to end.

  “We need to get inside!” Chester bellowed as the deluge of rain turned to a vertical flood.

  “This way!” Khan said.

  Chester was sure the sergeant had picked the direction at random because visibility had fallen to a few sodden feet, but after a hundred yards where he was virtually carrying the pilot, a mound appeared out of the darkness, slowly resolving into a trio of huts. They looked entirely temporary, but they were built above ground. The door was accessed via steel steps, at the base of which was a mound of bones.

  Khan paused. “This could be bad,” he yelled, raising his voice over the tumultuous downpour. Lightning lit up the sky, far closer than before.

  “We’ve no choice!” Bill roared back.

  Khan stormed up the steps and into the cabin, Bill next. Chester helped Scott up the steps after them.

  It was an office with a functionally anonymous desk. Against the wall was a row of hard-backed seats. Behind the desk was a closed door. Sergeant Khan knocked his rifle barrel against the door, but the sound was barely audible over the rising storm, making it impossible to hear whether anything was on the other side.