by Frank Tayell
“No,” Bill said. “It was near the border when they took the photographs, but that was before the storm. Long before. At least a week. Right?” he looked to Locke.
“A week,” she agreed.
“The column split up,” Bill said. “While the main group cut southeast towards the Alps, the helicopter was part of a group trying to lure the undead to the west. They lured them towards Calais. The storm stopped them. It stopped the undead, too. The entire horde stopped. Apparently, the survivors were only a dozen miles away. Then our plane woke the undead. We weren’t directly overhead, but the undead started moving, and so the people had no choice but to do the same. They followed the direction our plane flew, not looking for Creil, but for the plane, hoping they could find out where it came from.”
“I’m drawing a trajectory in my head,” Scott said. “I’d say it’s less than slim the horde ends up here.”
“It’s academic,” Bill said. “The professor’s leaving, and we’ll have to do the same.”
“But even if the zombies aren’t coming here,” Kessler said, “they are to the north, between us and Calais, right?”
“I don’t see that we have a choice,” Bill said. “The Pyrenees are nearly a thousand kilometres away. Gaston’s dead, and I got the impression he returned alone from that mission.”
“Assuming that he actually went there,” Locke said.
“Exactly, he might not have,” Bill said. “It might be just another place on one of those military maps. It may be gone, the food consumed, or it might never have existed at all. It hardly matters, since I doubt they’ll ever reach it. This redoubt is a will-o’-the-wisp, and I’ve chased too many of those not to recognise it.”
“Why did George ever have to tell me that we’re the help that comes to others?” Chester said. “We are, aren’t we? We’re the only help that can possibly come.”
“How, though?” Sergeant Khan asked.
“No idea,” Bill said. “Anyone? Well, we won’t figure it out here. A thousand lives, maybe twenty-one thousand, are at stake. We have to get back to Belfast before they all die.”
Chapter 27 - The Breaking of the Fellowship
Creil
“Come on, open them!” Bill yelled up at the guards above the gate. “You’re wasting time, and time is lives!”
“I can translate for you,” Locke said.
“No,” Bill said, more quietly. “If there’s a time and place for the mono-lingual Englishman, this is it.”
A barrage of French came from above. Bill ignored it. Finally, the gate slid aside.
“There we go.”
He led the small group through the gate, and out into the town beyond. A small patrol stood at the far end of the bridge, with another patrol at the next barricaded junction.
It was half an hour since Claire had led the pilot back through the gate towards the stadium. Bill fumed at the delay, but they’d needed to scavenge food and water. Once they got the vehicle and fuel, he didn’t want to delay and thus risk someone stopping them.
He’d taken a guess that Claire, after escorting the pilot to her helicopter, would head to the warehouse in which the vehicles were stored. He confirmed that, and got past the sentries, by telling them they’d been told to report to her.
The gate was opened, revealing a curving spiral ramp, illuminated by a string of Christmas lights newly taped to the wall. Seeing those, and the slapdash way they were held in place, Bill grew apprehensive about what they’d find at the bottom. When they reached it, he was shocked.
“I was expecting a few trucks and tractors,” Chester said.
“Maybe a few motorbikes,” Khan added.
There was a station’s worth of buses, coaches, and lorries, as well as a smattering of police cars, and at least two dozen tankers of the same make and style as the vehicle at Starwind’s watchtower. Beyond those, but lost in the deep shadows, were the outlines of scores of smaller vehicles.
To their left, the warehouse basement had been knocked through and expanded into a restaurant’s kitchen. Beyond that were below-ground offices, and a storage space shrouded in shadows. To the right, it had been extended under the road and into the basement of someone’s home. In front, it ran into a building site, with tankers parked on duckboards among the exposed foundations. They had built up and dug down, but had neglected to install a pump. The footing was as muddy and sodden as the streets on the island.
“This proves it,” Locke said. “If Dernier had kept them surrounded for another month, maybe less, these vehicles would be nothing but rust.”
Claire stood next to a coach, arguing with Dr Brita VanHausen, the engineer. She caught sight of them and hurried over, almost looking relieved at the distraction.
“Is there something wrong?” Claire asked.
“Plenty,” Bill said. “But we can’t fix any of it until we get back to Belfast. If we get on the road now, we might reach the coast before dark.”
“I’m sorry, no.”
“Yesterday, we agreed,” Bill said. “We’re getting an armoured car to take us to the coast.”
“We can’t spare any vehicles,” Claire said. “We have a plan, you see. A—”
“A plan for an evacuation,” Bill interrupted. “Each citizen is assigned to a specific vehicle? I can guess how this would work. But the plan was devised before Dernier’s betrayal and the deaths it wrought. Because of those deaths you have spare capacity.”
She laughed. “We do not. Dernier took eight of our trucks. That is capacity for one hundred and twenty, gone. Since we serviced these vehicles, we have had a month of rain and snow, and a gunfight to clear the garage. If half work, it will be a miracle.”
As if to prove her point, from the engine of the coach came a sharp bang, then a dull pop, followed by a thick plume of smoke.
“Those are your mechanics?” Scott asked.
“They are engineers,” Claire said.
“Good at building platforms and excavating basements, but not at jury-rigging a flooded motor, right?” Scott said, and he didn’t wait for a reply. “Private, I’ll need your hands, and Ms Locke, can you translate?” He limped over to the coach, Kessler and Locke in his wake.
“Does he know what he’s doing?” Claire asked.
“He got a plane aloft in a few hours,” Bill said. “He can fix your vehicles. Look, I didn’t follow everything that helicopter pilot told you, but you’re planning on driving out of here, and down to the Pyrenees, yes? A thousand-kilometre trek across an unknown wasteland to a destination that may not exist.”
“Gaston said it did,” she said.
“When did you say he went, August? That’s a long time, these days. It’ll be a constant battle with the undead summoned by your engines, across countryside flooded by snow and rain, with no chance of scavenging to supplement what food you take with you. All because you’re putting your faith in the supplies still being there. Enough supplies for you and this convoy, however big it is.”
“That is not where I place my faith,” she said.
Bill raised an apologetic hand. “Then don’t place it in the word of this helicopter pilot, not so soon after you were betrayed by Dernier.”
“A friend of the professor’s is with them. I trust Victoria. She trusts the letter she received. You say I shouldn’t trust the pilot, but why should I trust you?”
“Our actions over the last few days give you that answer,” he said. “What if this is a trap? Those people in the bell-tower were communicating with someone. A few hours later, this helicopter arrives. They say they saw our plane, but did they?”
“You can summon as many fearful suppositions as there are stars in the sky,” she said. “None of them explain their possession of the letter the professor sent. A colleague of hers recognised her name. They’ve been hoping to find her. Wouldn’t you? She was a world expert on hybrid strains used to combat desertification. That is as close to a real expert on living after the end of the world as ever existed. I understand
your concern. I have concerns of my own, but we have no choice. We planned to leave when the cold weather hardened the ground, but this… this horde, it means we must leave now. If we don’t leave together, everyone will leave on their own. They will die.”
“That’s exactly my point,” Bill said. “Okay, let’s say the pilot was entirely truthful, it’s still a thousand kilometres. How many rivers do you have to cross? How many bridges? What will you do if they’ve been washed away? What will you do if the snows return? We both know the answer, and know there is absolutely no way you can prepare for it. The only escape, the only possible rescue will come from us, from Belfast. That is why we must go.”
“And if we are trapped by a blizzard, what would you do? How would you do it?”
“By air,” Bill said. “And I’ve got a long journey ahead of me to work out the details.”
“And our journey is just as long,” she said. “Yes, you are correct. The dangers before us are many, but that is why we need every vehicle, and every strong arm, if we are to reach the mountains.”
“She has a point,” Chester said, laying a hand on Bill’s arm. “You and I’d do exactly the same. We’d put our people first, and place our trust in them before strangers. No, she’s right. We’ve got to go with her. But, Claire, your daughter told me that some of her people are in a watchtower twenty miles to the west. I promised to go with her to make sure they’re okay. I don’t know your daughter very well, but she strikes me as someone who’ll make that journey on her own, on foot. I promised we’d go with her. Let me keep that promise.”
Claire hesitated.
“We don’t leave people behind,” Bill said. “I don’t think you do, either.”
“You’re right,” Chester added, “we’ll need everyone, every strong arm, if we’re going to make it to the mountains. We’ll need her friends.”
“This is an utter nightmare,” Scott said, limping over, Kessler at his side. “You’ll get most of these vehicles outside, but half will break down before nightfall.”
“Can you fix them?” Claire asked.
“Of course,” Scott said. “But it’ll be running repairs all the way, and we’ll have to cannibalise half the vehicles to keep the others on the road. If you know of a car-plant or truck factory on route, we should take the detour.”
“But we can reach the mountains?” Claire asked.
“It’s a long shot,” Scott said. “Assuming the weather stays calm, that this other convoy has enough vehicles and fuel they don’t take ours, maybe.”
“What is the alternative?” Claire asked, turning from Scott to Bill then Chester, then Sergeant Khan. “Is there one? I cannot see it. Either we all leave together, or people will come and steal these vehicles, fighting, killing if necessary. If the general was still alive things might be different, but he is not. The professor is loved, but she is not a leader, and people will not follow me.”
“You can only lead where people want to go,” Bill said. “I take it that everyone knows about the Pyrenees?”
“That Gaston found supplies at a military compound near the border, yes.”
“Then you’re correct,” Bill said. “You don’t have a choice.”
“We’ve decided?” Scott asked. “Then I’ll need a lot more help than that bunch of architects, and I’m going to need time. The rest of today and most of tonight. We can leave at dawn, but we’ll have some people hanging from the roofs. All right with you?”
“You’re volunteering to get them to Spain?” Bill asked.
“I guess I am,” Scott said.
“I’ve never been to Spain,” Kessler said. “I guess it’s true what they say, join the Marines and see the world.”
Bill closed his eyes, kicking himself that they’d not come up with some pre-arranged code.
“This is what happens when you recruit on a battlefield,” Khan said. “The most vital lesson of soldiering gets forgotten. Never volunteer, Private, but I’ll keep them safe, sir. Until you come back.”
Bill nodded, only half certain that Khan was aware how distant a time and place that might be.
“Good luck to you,” he said. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
“Where are you going?” Scott asked, but there was another loud bang. “Can’t leave them for a moment. Amber, find something heavy to beat them with next time they touch anything without permission.” He limped off, Kessler at his side. Khan gave a salute, and followed.
“Chester and I, and Starwind, will go to the watchtower and collect the people there,” Bill said to Claire. “Like you said, you’ll need every strong arm you can get.”
Claire glanced towards Scott, Kessler, and Khan, then back at Bill. “Find my daughter, bring her here, and I will ask Mr Higson to get a vehicle ready.”
As Chester and Bill headed back to the ramp, Locke fell into step next to them.
“I’m coming with you, Mr Wright,” Locke said.
“Won’t Scott need you to translate?”
“He’ll manage. Sergeant Khan thinks you’ll need help, and he can’t be in two places at once.” She lowered her voice. “I take it we’re going to the coast?”
“And then beyond,” Bill said. “But we’ve one stop to make first.”
Chapter 28 - The Last Viking
Creil to Clermont-en-Beauvaisis, Northern France
“I’ll say this for the French military, they knew how to make a comfortable APC,” Chester said, relaxing into his seat.
“It’s British,” Locke said, not looking up from her notebook. She’d been writing in it since they’d set off. Starwind was in the navigator’s seat, with Bill driving.
“It is?” Chester asked. “Ah, well, there you go, then.”
“And it’s an ATV, not an APC,” Locke said. “An all-terrain vehicle. Your army called them Vikings. The British supplied them to the French who, no doubt, changed the name, but I don’t know what it is.”
“Right. It’s more like an armoured tractor with an armoured trailer,” Chester said. “Bet there’s a few farmers in Lincolnshire who wouldn’t mind something like this.”
No one said anything. Chester shrugged. He wouldn’t say he was enjoying himself, but he was enjoying the simplicity of the immediate future. Find Starwind’s people, and if they were still alive, make sure they could reach Creil, then steal the Viking and go north. Precisely how they’d take it without a fight was a problem he was happy to let solve itself when the time came.
The ATV had a small cab with a machine gun mount on the roof, though the weapon had been removed. The front car had space for a driver and four passengers. Behind, attached like a train carriage, was a detachable passenger-car with seating for eight soldiers and their equipment. Beneath both cars were sets of treads rather than wheels. The armour was thick, and so were the small windows. The sturdy grill covering them reduced the view even further. He leaned forward, peering at the screen between the driver and navigator’s seat which displayed images from the cameras installed at the sides and at the rear of the passenger-car.
With a violent jolt, the Viking jounced over an obstacle hidden beneath the foot of water covering the partially submerged road.
“You happy driving this, Bill?” Chester asked.
“Like you said, it’s a tractor,” Bill said through gritted teeth.
“And you know how to drive one of those?”
Bill didn’t reply.
“When you say all-terrain, do you really mean all types of terrain?” Chester asked, turning to Locke.
“I don’t, but I believe the manufacturers did,” Locke said.
“So we don’t need to worry about bridges? That’ll be handy. Yep, this is the way to travel.” Again, he got no response. Opting for a more direct approach to kick-starting the conversation, he turned to Locke. “What are you writing?”
“Everything the pilot told us during that short meeting,” Locke said. “Some details are unclear.”
Starwind briefly turned around, then ret
urned her eyes forward to the narrow reinforced window. “Don’t you trust the pilot?”
“Your English is very good,” Locke said.
“So is your French,” Starwind said. “Why don’t you trust her?”
“I used to work for Lisa Kempton,” Locke said. “Do you know the name? She had many admirable qualities, but an infuriating way of answering a question with another question. I hated it then, and hate doing it now, but are you saying that you trust this pilot? After all, you don’t entirely trust us.”
“I do trust you,” Starwind said, this time without turning around.
“Every time a blocked road has forced Mr Wright to take a detour, you have paid particular attention to your map, following the route, making sure we are still heading in the correct direction. You don’t trust us yet, and that is as it should be. All four of us have been cruelly betrayed by people we thought allies if not friends. All of us still alive on this spinning rock have been utterly betrayed by members of our own species. Perhaps one of the lessons we should take with us into this new era is to trust others less.”
“She doesn’t speak for all of us,” Bill said. “Perhaps if we’d trusted one another a little more, had a little more faith in our fellows, this nightmare would never have happened.”
That was met with absolute silence, finally broken by Starwind. “Why don’t you trust the pilot?”
“Because of the radio set in the bell-tower,” Locke said. “Her helicopter has a range of two hundred miles, leaving a small margin for emergencies. That implies a search radius of one hundred miles. She didn’t carry a navigator, spotter, or bodyguard, suggesting that weight, and thus fuel economy, was a consideration when she took off. When she set down in the stadium, she didn’t immediately switch off the engine, suggesting that she wasn’t at the far limit of the machine’s range. In finding the town, she’d found what she sought, and on departure, would return to her people. I surmise they are around eighty miles away. I don’t know precisely what type of radio was in the bell-tower, nor the kind of antenna, but based on the height of the tower, and the hill on which it was built, eighty miles is plausibly within range.”