Surviving The Evacuation | Life Goes On (Book 2): No More News

by Tayell, Frank

  28th February

  Chapter 13 - Shallow Thoughts

  Pine Dock, Manitoba

  Pete Guinn tried not to think deep thoughts as he stood by the window in the narrow section of hangar wall that wasn’t part of the massive door. Tomorrow had become today. Dawn was close, and his destiny wasn’t far behind.

  A trio of electric lights appeared as if from nowhere, as their carriers turned an unseen corner. One light broke away, heading his way, while the other two beams continued towards the runway.

  “I thought you’d be asleep,” Corrie said as she followed her light’s beam into the hangar. “This has to be a miracle. Pete Guinn, awake before he has to be.”

  “I heard metal tumbling and knocking,” Pete said. “It was a cat.”

  “Ah.” She opened a small satchel that, like the red and white gloves, scarf, and bobble hat, were new acquisitions. “I have coffee. And I have breakfast.”

  “You were in town all night?” Pete asked.

  “And interviewing all night,” Corrie said, tapping the bodycam. “Everyone wanted their story heard. So I listened to them all.”

  “On that?” he asked.

  “And a few phones,” she said. “Some people have always lived here, some lived nearby. Some came by boat, some by plane.” She pointed at the small planes out on the tarmac which had been pushed out of the hangar to make way for the seaplane.

  “I didn’t see any boats,” Pete said.

  “They traded the watercraft with locals who went north to Matheson Island. It sounds like an even more remote place than this. They think there’s more people southeast, at Fisher River Cree Nation, but they’re getting that third-hand via Matheson Island.”

  “From people who went there?”

  “From shortwave radio,” Corrie said. She poured the coffee. “There’s supposed to be a shelter-in-place order across all of Canada, but not everyone’s obeying it. People are heading to family, to places they went on vacation, and some have ended up here instead. Matheson Island sounds similar to here, though what they said about Fisher River sounds like it’s on a much larger scale.”

  “You mean Fisher River’s a place closer to cities?” Pete asked.

  “It’s closer to towns. I think they said it’s about a hundred kilometres southwest, inland from the lake. We can’t resupply them all.”

  “Do we have to? Did they ask for help?”

  “The opposite,” Corrie said. “They said they’d be okay. Patrols walk the street. People fish. Others are cooking or preserving the perishables. Things are organised, and they wanted me, or whoever sees the recording, to know it. They’ll hold on, doing their bit, as long as everyone else, everywhere else, does the same. But if something gives. If something breaks, they have nowhere to run and no way of getting there.”

  “They’re low on gas?” Pete asked.

  “Yes, but they’re more worried about the diesel for their generators. It’s the same at Fisher River and up on Matheson Island. They were about to start taking the aviation fuel. But they won’t now. And they’ve sent word to clear Matheson’s runway. It sounds more like a road than a proper landing strip, but it’s better than nothing. They’ll do what they can to keep the airfields open.” She held up her gloved hand. “And they’ll share what they’ve got. And they told me not to worry. Except…”

  “Except you are,” Pete finished.

  “Yeah. I’m worried. Not for now, but for next month. When the diesel runs out, and their choice is between sitting in the dark or taking some of the jet fuel, it’s obvious which they’ll pick. And when the food is gone, I don’t know what they’ll do. Leave, if they can. But to go where?”

  “I don’t know what we can do,” Pete said. “I mean, obviously you and me, we can’t do anything, but Nanaimo, or Canberra, or Guam, they could send a few crates of food and ammo on the plane each time it sets down, I guess.”

  “And when the aviation fuel runs out?” Corrie asked. “Except it’s not just Pine Dock. There’s Matheson Island and Fisher River, too. And there’s the people further south of Fisher River. And people further east and west all the way to Nanaimo. What about the places further north? What about the islands in the Pacific? How many places were actually self-sufficient, Pete?”

  “I… I don’t know.”

  “Me neither, but I think someone in Canberra does. That’s why they wanted to pull back to the coasts and the farms. If we’re going to beat this, we need to restore the global supply chains, and that’ll be easier if those chains are much shorter.”

  “You know what? Saving the world is a lot more complicated than I thought,” Pete said.

  “That’s just what I was thinking. It’s like running a war, but the zombies aren’t our only enemy. The worst of the winter’s over. Places like this could survive. They could hold on, but only if they have hope. If they know they aren’t alone. If they know help will, one day, come, but without satellites… Oh, it’s our own fault. We reached for the stars, and were surprised when our fingers got burned.”

  Before dawn arrived, Jerome and Andrea returned from their patrol of the runway.

  “I’m happy taking off,” Andrea said. “Which only leaves the question of where you want me to take you.”

  “South Bend has an airport,” Pete said. “Or there’s a runway in Elkhart.”

  “Indiana? We don’t have the range,” Andrea said. “Not unless we can guarantee refuelling. Communication is down to radio range. I’m cool searching for places within half our operational radius, but Indiana is way-a-ay beyond that. Lake Michigan okay with you? Don’t worry, we’ve got a dinghy. You can row ashore. Unless you’d rather swim?”

  “We’ll take the dinghy,” Pete said. “Do you have a map? I’m not really familiar with the coast.”

  Andrea shook her head. “Sorry. Pick a shore, east or west, and we’ll have to eyeball a landmark as we approach. Somewhere I can find again, assuming you guys want a pick-up.”

  “The Michigan shore,” Corrie said. “We can make our way from there.”

  “Cool,” Andrea said. “My next question is when do you want that pick-up? We’re heading on to Thunder Bay to find General Yoon. If she’s in charge, she might have a message for Vancouver. We can leave you a flare, and fly back over the landing site once, maybe twice. So how long do you need?”

  “Pete?” Corrie asked.

  “I dunno,” he said. “I guess a day to get to South Bend. Maybe a day to look for Olivia. A day to get back. But I might need more.”

  “Three days,” Corrie said. “Three days after you drop us off. And if we’re not there, we’ll find our own way back here. How long before we leave?”

  Andrea glanced at the still-dark sky, then the plane. “A half hour.”

  “Time to find a radio, too, in case the flare doesn’t work,” Corrie said. “I really don’t want to miss our return flight.”

  She wasn’t the only one. As they were pulling the insulating covers off the engine, Dr Smilovitz came over. The man seemed happier than the day before.

  “Any chance of a ride to Thunder Bay?” he asked.

  “Just for you?” Andrea asked.

  He glanced at Dr Avalon, huddled forlornly in a corner of the hangar. “For two.”

  “Not for your anthrax?” Jerome asked.

  “I destroyed it last night,” Dr Smilovitz said. “The world’s got enough troubles, we don’t need to add to them. But with everything going on, I need to get her to wherever there’s a working lab.”

  “Then, good doctor,” Andrea said, “your chariot awaits. Just as soon as we drag her outside.”

  Chapter 14 - Lake Michigan

  Point Betsie Lighthouse, Lake Michigan

  The seaplane didn’t sink when it skimmed across the waves. But, as it slowed, the engines didn’t stop. Pete didn’t take that as a good sign.

  “This is you,” Jerome said, hauling himself through to the cabin. With Dr Avalon and Dr Smilovitz in the jump seats, Pete and Corrie ha
d spent the journey in the rear of the plane where there were no seats: only a rail to perch on and straps to cling to.

  “Where are we?” Pete asked, grabbing the straps again as the ungainly machine was buffeted by wind and wave alike.

  “On Lake Michigan, as promised,” Jerome said. “And close to Michigan’s shore near an old lighthouse. We spotted it from the air, so we’ll be able to find it again. Sorry I can’t be more precise.”

  “We’ll see you in three days,” Corrie said, grabbing her pack as Pete unhooked the dinghy.

  “Rule forty-nine, never go anywhere without an inflatable boat,” Pete said, unhooking the deflated square package. “Or am I up to rule fifty?”

  “You ready?” Jerome asked, and opened the door before either had a chance to answer.

  If getting the door open and inflating the raft while waves washed inside was difficult, getting aboard was next to impossible. With a stumbling leap, Pete fell onto the bright orange inflatable. Corrie, a step behind, slipped, landing only three-quarters on the raft with her leg over the side. As she rolled, Pete tugged, hauling her back onto the violently bobbing craft.

  “You need to get away from the plane!” Jerome yelled. “See you in three days, eh?”

  “Three days!” Corrie said, shivering.

  Prior to inflation, the two oars had been strapped to the top, doubling as handles. Inflated, they’d ended up on the sides of the shallow raft. Pete grabbed an oar, handed it to his sister, took one for himself, extended the collapsible handle, and dug the flat blade into the waves. Water sloshed over the raft’s low sides as they slowly rowed away from the plane and towards the ice-bound shore.

  Too slowly.

  With a roar, the plane lumbered across the lake, impossibly defying the laws of physics by floating, then again by flying, leaving behind a wake, an artificial tide that shunted them shore-wards. On the downside, when the wake met the retreating tide from the shallow beach ahead, a bucket’s worth of water sloshed over the craft’s shallow sides.

  “Keep paddling,” Corrie said, a mantra as well as an instruction.

  “Mrs Mathers used to say each day’s a new lesson if you only pay attention,” Pete said as he stabbed the folding paddle into the water. “Today I’ve learned that I don’t like small boats. Or small planes. The jury’s still out on boat-planes, but it doesn’t look good.”

  South of the old lighthouse, the stone-flecked, sandy beach was protected by moss-covered groynes toward which they aimed. Ten metres out, Pete’s paddle scraped against the bottom, and they had to clamber out into the freezing water. Wading ashore, they dragged the raft up to the nearest of the ancient wooden walls protecting the shore from erosion.

  “Ugh,” Corrie said, shivering. “You know what we forgot to ask?”

  “To pack a towel?” Pete said.

  “Yep. I don’t know how I forgot that,” she said. “Better keep moving, and better we get the raft inside. Is that really a lighthouse?”

  Pete turned to look at the white-painted, red-roofed building that was as tall as the three-storey, circular lakeside tower attached to its wing. “Wait! I know this place,” he said.

  “You’ve been here?” Corrie asked.

  “Not exactly. I was thinking of coming. It’s a small museum, but they rent out rooms. Sort of like a small hotel. It’s supposed to be one of the… um…”

  “What? Tell me.”

  “One of the best hidden, romantic getaways,” he said quickly. “I was… planning ahead. For Olivia. This was before the store got sold. I mean… anyway, yeah, let’s get the raft inside.”

  “Don’t think slowly freezing to death will stop me asking questions,” Corrie said, as she grabbed a handle. Together they hauled the raft over towards the museum. “You really do love her, don’t you?”

  “I… yeah, I dunno. It’s a possibility.”

  “Careful, with so much romance falling from your mouth, you might trip,” she said.

  “No, I mean, all the books, the movies, the songs, they’re about eyes meeting across a crowded room, about destiny, about one true love. But real life is different. Messier. More pragmatic. We were both single, and working at the same place, with no one else to date. It was… sometimes it sort of felt inevitable, which is the opposite of love, right? An accidental arrangement.”

  “You’ve over-thought it,” Corrie said. “You always used to do that. But it sounds like destiny to me. Look, the front door’s been broken open. We’re not the first to come here. Leave the raft outside.”

  They dropped the raft, and both unslung the C7 assault rifles they’d brought with them from Nanaimo. Pete even remembered to check the safety, but he left it on as they climbed the steps leading up to the entrance. Fresh splinters showed around the lock, and at the top of the frame, but the door had been pushed closed after it had been forced.

  Cautiously, Corrie nudged the door inward. “Hello!” she called, but there was no reply.

  Rain had seeped through the gaps in the recently broken frame, mixing with the muddy footprints that led across the vestibule to a reception desk.

  Corrie gave a questioning nod to which Pete replied with an indifferent shrug, to which she responded with a puzzled frown.

  “We’ve got to come back in three days,” he hissed. “Let’s deal with the zombies now.”

  She gave a rueful shrug and exasperated grin, as if that hadn’t been the question she was asking him. But she nodded, and stepped inside.

  “Hello!” Corrie called again, but again there was no reply, and certainly no sign of anyone behind the reception desk. The small exhibition room beyond was just as empty, as were the corridors, a small meeting room, the stairwell, and the guest rooms.

  “This is the where you wanted to bring Olivia?” Corrie asked, looking around the neat hotel bedroom. “Nice.”

  “It’s a little more… what’s the word? Twee. Yeah, that’s it. More twee than I was expecting,” he said. “Smaller, too.”

  “It’s cosy. Cute. Which means it wouldn’t have been the creepy kind of romantic.” She shivered. “Good choice.” She picked up the small card left on the re-made bed, on top of a small stack of banknotes. “It’s an apology for breaking the front door, and payment to replace it. There’s over a thousand dollars here.”

  “That’s way too much,” Pete said.

  “It tells us money’s worth no more here than in Broken Hill,” Corrie said. “And that we’re not going to find anyone here. Not now. You go see if you can find some towels. Some to use now, some for us to take with us. I’m going to find a notepad and pen.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to leave a note with the dinghy about the seaplane returning in three days. If people do come here, and if they take the inflatable to row to Canada, they’ll drown. But there’s room for a couple more people on the plane in a few days. If we miss our flight, someone else might as well take our seats.”

  Half an hour after coming ashore, they were ready to leave.

  “I’m drier but no warmer,” Corrie said, folding the towel as neatly as she could. “You know, I often thought of leaving the outback, and when I did, I didn’t think I’d miss the heat. Now it’s all I can think of. Oh, how I wish thoughts could make me warm. You didn’t see any cars outside?”

  “No, I guess whoever came here, when they didn’t find a boat, they drove off somewhere else,” Pete said, lacing his boots.

  “Yeah, probably. Shame. I guess we’re on foot. So, which way?”

  Pete looked at the map he’d taken from behind the reception desk. “South then east, or east then south to get to the other side of Crystal Lake, then we go south, south, and south some more.”

  “Then we’ll go south from here, too. Then east.” Corrie said. “That will feel more like we’re heading in the right direction. Yep, we need a car, but we’ll find lots along the lake, abandoned on the shore, near where people boarded their boats. That’s my theory.”

  As they walked away from the light
house, Pete adjusted his straps. The pack wasn’t too uncomfortable, but between the body armour and the rifle slung across his chest, he felt oddly unbalanced. The flashlight, the crowbar, the bayonet, the sidearm in its new holster; he was dressed for war, but still felt like a civilian.

  “Without a car, we won’t make it back in time for the plane,” he said, stating the obvious fear that had been knocking around the back of his mind.

  “Nope. But we won’t give up,” Corrie said. “I’m not saying we’ll look forever. In fact, I think we should only look for one day, but if we miss the plane, we’ll drive to Minnesota and then up to Pine Dock. We’ll figure it out, and you know what? I’m optimistic.”

  “I’m not. We won’t find her.”

  “I didn’t mean about Olivia. If we don’t find her, it means she’s gone somewhere else, somewhere safer. But I was talking more generally, about the world, about people. It was Dr Avalon’s knees that sealed it.”

  “Her knees? What do you mean?”

  “During the flight, they were all I could see,” she said. “Her knees and the back of Jerome’s head. But her knees didn’t move. She wasn’t worried about the zombies. Not really. She was annoyed. Frustrated people weren’t instantly obeying her, but not scared. That got me thinking about Pine Dock, Nanaimo, and Broken Hill. The small towns, the sparsely populated counties, they’ll cope just fine. The cities might be gone for now, but the people have left, or will be rescued, like in Vancouver. It’s the people that matter in the long term. They’ll make their way to the small towns, and those seem to be coping just fine.”

  “Yeah, maybe, but what about the outback? Your cabin could be a dictionary definition of a remote place.”

  “We were unlucky those zombies crashed nearly on our head,” she said. “Otherwise we’d still be there. But Michigan and Indiana are mostly small towns. We’ll find a sheriff, we’ll find the military, we’ll find a car, and we’ll find Olivia. Then we’ll find our way back to Pine Dock, Nanaimo, and Australia. And then, yeah, back to somewhere where a hot day isn’t just a memory.”