by Frank Tayell
Chester grabbed the cans from the boot, threw them into the bag with the rest of his haul, and returned to the ATV.
“Find much?” Bill asked.
“A zombie,” Chester said. “Crawling creature was underneath the cars. That makes two since we arrived.”
“Three,” Bill said. “One approached from across the fields to the south. What else did you find?”
“Some cans, a can-opener, a few maps, a few coats that are still wearable. Weapons-wise, I’ve got a tyre-iron and a hatchet. Here.” He handed Bill the hand-axe. “There’s this torch, too,” he added. “And I found a lantern, and a couple of spare batteries. Not sure if they’re dead, mind. Figure we’ll need them before dawn. Oh, and I found a watch. It’s a few minutes past midnight.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Locke said. “So it’s about eleven Anglesey-time, or do we need to factor in daylight-savings?”
Bill shrugged. “Let’s take a look at those maps.”
“Here you go,” Chester said. “And let’s see if we can get the lantern to work. No,” he added a moment later. “The batteries inside have leaked. So much for that.”
Bill held the maps next to the light from the headlamp.
“Can you see anything up there?” Chester asked Locke.
“No lights,” Locke said. “No sound of bikes. I think we’ve outpaced them for the night, but they could follow our trail easily enough in daylight.”
“The question is whether they’d want to,” Bill said. “When you saw those dirt bikes, you didn’t see any fuel cans, did you?”
“No, they were travelling light,” Locke said, as she climbed down from the turret. “But they were the lead group. I would imagine those following were carrying the heavier gear.”
“They can’t all have been trapped inside Adrianna’s watchtower,” Bill said. “Not ten of them, surely. Taken with those we killed, that would have been enough to have flushed Adrianna’s people out from the floor below. So why didn’t they?”
“You might as well ask why Dernier didn’t aid them,” Locke said. “The answer is the same. Poor planning in a hierarchy where fear and violence determine leadership.”
“I don’t know,” Chester said. “I mean, yes, I agree that Cavalie would be leading through fear. What I wonder is whether keeping Adrianna trapped inside the house might have been part of the broader plan. They would have expected someone to come looking for Adrianna. At which point, these others could have launched an attack from outside, trapping the rest.”
“Perhaps,” Locke said. “But if so, why didn’t it happen? Ah, what does it matter? Wherever they stashed their supplies, it had to be near Creil. How much can you carry on a dirt bike? They’ll run out of fuel before they find us.”
“I wish I understood what Cavalie’s end-game was,” Bill said. “She said she believed the professor, that the zombies were dying. Well, who wouldn’t want to believe that? A queen needs her serfs, but was that all she wanted from Creil?”
“Serfs and to stop the island becoming a hub for survivors in a world without the undead,” Locke said.
“You think?” Bill asked.
“Honestly? No. I don’t think anything because we don’t have enough information.”
Bill nodded. “There’s a few routes we could take to Dunkirk. Of course, a lot depends on where we are.”
Chester opened the ATV’s door, and took out the empty fuel can. “I’ll see if I can find out,” he said. “And see if there’s any fuel left in the tanks.”
There wasn’t much. The watch was ticking past one when Chester returned to the ATV. “Only a couple of litres so far,” he said. “And the traffic jam extends way beyond the hill. The torch’s beam reflected off broken wing mirrors further than my eyes could see. Found these glasses, though,” he added, tapping his face. “Not a perfect prescription, but it’s close.”
“Is that a cat on the arms?” Locke asked.
“And pink isn’t my colour, but what I do care since I can’t see my own face? How’s dinner looking?”
Bill prodded the fire where six partially open cans steamed in the embers. “Boiled is sterilised, but I won’t say it’s cooked. Pick a can.”
“What’s today’s special?” Chester asked.
“Four are fruit, two are something meaty in some kind of sauce,” Bill said.
“Good thing you never opened a restaurant,” Chester said. “You need to work on your sales patter.”
They took the cans into the ATV. Locke pulled the turret-hatch closed.
“Do we have utensils?” Chester asked.
“I do,” Locke said. “Two spoons, one fork. I don’t have any bowls. They were in your bag, I think.”
“We can eat from the can,” Chester said, cracking one open. “Peaches? No, oranges, I think. Hopefully. Hmm. Sugary and warm. Well, that’s a start.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes.
“I’d give this four stars,” Chester said. “Two of which are awarded for getting rid of the taste of the diesel I syphoned.”
“We’ve lost the tools with which to repair a boat’s engine,” Locke said.
“We’ll find more when we get to Dunkirk,” Bill said. “The crews of those boats will have had tools to keep their engines running.”
“Which brings us to the question of fuel,” Locke said. “This detour has consumed more than we’d planned for.”
“Do you think we’ll still reach Dunkirk?” Chester asked.
“Yes, but we might not have any diesel left for a sea voyage,” Locke said.
“Then we’ll look for a sailing boat,” Bill said. “Which would mean we don’t need to worry about the tools.” He placed his empty can on the floor by his feet. “The heater’s broken, but we should try to get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be another long day.”
“There’s something we should discuss,” Locke said.
“Cavalie?” Chester asked.
“No,” Locke said. “Mr Wright’s plans for humanity.”
“What about them?” Bill asked.
“Everything,” Locke said. “Specifically, the specifics. There is every chance that Cavalie will follow us. From what you said, she wasn’t trying to escape via Dunkirk, but that’s not to say she isn’t aware of the boats there. Now she knows about the horde, she might guess where we’re heading, or head there herself. The dangers facing us are as many as the undead grinding the countryside to dust. We must assume the worst, that not all of us make it to Ireland. If you truly have found a solution to our predicament, that information is too valuable not to share.”
“Our predicament?” Bill asked.
“I am human,” Locke said. “Last time I checked.”
“She has a point, Bill,” Chester said. “A week ago, we boarded a plane for a short jaunt across the Irish Sea, and instead we’re here. Who knows what’ll happen tomorrow?”
“Fine,” Bill said. “And you’re correct, I agree. First, though, tell me your plan, Locke. Why did you stay on Anglesey? We offered you a boat and fuel. Why didn’t you take it?”
“Because my job is not yet done,” Locke said.
Chester cleared his throat. “This might go a bit quicker, and we might get to sleep sooner, if you two could skip the prevarication.”
“Phyllis O’Reardon,” Locke said.
“Who?” Chester asked.
“The grave-digger?” Bill asked.
“She was an employee of mine, and I thought she was dead,” Locke said. “It is my intention to return to Ireland, to find her, and to bring her to safety. Central to that is there being some safety to which she can be brought.”
“Who is she?” Chester asked.
“She was employed at Elysium. Mr Wright found her in Ireland near her old childhood home, burying the undead. I thought she’d died otherwise I would never have left her behind. I wish to go back for her. That is why I didn’t take your offer of a boat, Mr Wright. I will not rest while she is in peril.”
“Bill. Call me Bill.”
“Sorcha,” she said.
“Great. Nice,” Chester said. “The hatchet has been buried, which, in our world, is a waste of a good weapon. So, Bill, what’s the plan after Belfast? Where are we going?”
“Where we live isn’t as important as how we live,” Bill said. “And I don’t know where we’ll be this time next year. I don’t know where we’ll be in the spring. It depends on the undead and on the weather, but if we are to be alive in the spring, there’s only one place we can go, the Faroe Islands.”
“They’re up near Scotland, aren’t they?” Chester asked.
“They’re further north than that,” Locke said. “Halfway between Ireland and Iceland. They’re not habitable.”
“Yet people have been living there for thousands of years,” Bill said. “Faroe, Iceland, and the Isle of Man, three island nations who vie with one another for the title of oldest parliament. Faroe’s had its own administration for over a thousand years. That means people lived there in the age before steam, let alone electricity.”
“Existed, perhaps,” Locke said. “With sub-zero temperatures in the winter, agriculture would be impossible.”
“With modern techniques and technology, it would be difficult, not impossible,” Bill said. “And like I said, it’s not really about where, but how. As to the location, though, it has a couple of features that make it more likely to be a safe home than anywhere else on the planet. The first is linked to how we’ll live, the second is due to the flotilla of boats Sophia Augusto led across the Atlantic. Anyone who could find a boat, from Newfoundland to Florida, from Mexico to the Caribbean, took it north. Those that didn’t run out of fuel, run adrift, or run ashore either went to Greenland, or they joined Sophia Augusto’s flotilla. Those that the Royal Navy didn’t sink, ended up in Anglesey.”
“Not all,” Locke said. “Surely not all. And not all the boats that went to Greenland ran out of fuel there. Some would have returned to sea.”
“Right, sure, but why go to Faroe?” Bill asked. “Iceland or Canada would be a more logical destination. But even if some did head to Faroe, consider the islands of Connemara. Some were infested and some were empty of the undead. It’d be the same in Faroe. There are eighteen large islands and hundreds of smaller ones. Some are connected with bridges and tunnels. Some aren’t. You know what they’re all connected with? Electricity cables.”
“How do you know that?” Chester asked.
“From a book I was reading back on Anglesey,” Bill said. “I read travelogues and memoirs and maps, anything about anywhere that wasn’t the mainland. And I discounted Faroe because I was certain our future was near a big city where we could scavenge and loot. Then I saw Creil. I’d been having my doubts since George reached London. What you said, about the Tower, only reinforced them, but seeing Creil clinched it.”
“How so?” Locke asked.
“Well, that brings me to how we’ll live,” Bill said. “The book I read was a decade old, but it said forty-five percent of Faroe’s electricity came from renewable sources: a mix of hydro and wind supplemented by solar for some of the more isolated homes and hamlets. They were aiming for one hundred percent renewable. I don’t know if they made it to that yet, but we can repair a wind turbine, and we can turn a hydro plant back on. With electricity, we have hydroponics. We have power for freezers in which we can store fish. We’ll have heat. We’ll have light. And those are what we need. People won’t accept living without them. We have to stop going backward and start going forward, which means making a reliable electricity supply the cornerstone of any settlement.”
“What about in the spring?” Chester asked. “Can we plant outside?”
“That depends on the weather,” Bill said. “And it also depends on what crops we have, but right now, we don’t have the seed-stock to plant anywhere. We need at least a year to build up enough seeds we can waste some in the open air.”
“You said forty-five percent of the power came from renewables. What about the rest?” Chester asked.
“Diesel,” Bill said. “Reading between the lines, I think all their vehicles ran on diesel, too, so there’s got to be a decent storage facility. However, I’m not even allowing myself to imagine that we’ll get lucky and find any still there. Let’s assume the worst, and things will get worse this winter. We’ve a lot of expectant mothers due over the next three months. Rationing after the outbreak and starvation after Prometheus might have suppressed fertility, but it soared when people arrived on Anglesey. Our species always finds a way, doesn’t it? We have doctors. We need electricity and a sterile environment. I can’t think of anywhere else.”
“We need more than just hot water and clean towels,” Locke said.
“Yes,” Bill said. “We need antibiotics, and other medical supplies. Remote islands, by their very nature, would have to be better equipped than somewhere within an airlift’s distance to a teaching hospital.”
“And like the fuel, those supplies will have been used,” Locke said.
“Then we’ll have to look for more. Perhaps on oil-platforms, if we can find any that weren’t destroyed, or coastal hospitals, if we can find any that weren’t looted. Realistically, wherever we call our home port, we need places we can reach by helicopter, land on a helipad, get in and get out, without having to fight our way through an undead metropolis. Hopefully, in addition to the three grain ships, we still have both the Amundsen and The New World, in which case, Faroe is closer to the fuel supply in Svalbard. We can send a ship to Iceland, to Canada, and then to the U.S, and so fulfil the admiral’s promise to her people. She can look for hospitals along the way. That they will be fetching medical supplies for expectant mothers will guarantee the ship returns.”
“You hope,” Locke said. “Assume the worst, and we’ll never see that ship again.”
“Which is why we’ll send another ship east, to Scandinavia and the Baltic. And if there is nothing to be found, we might only be left with hot water and laundered towels, but we won’t even have those in Belfast.”
“Hmm,” Locke said.
“By which you mean you disagree,” Bill said.
“I can see the flaws in the scheme,” Locke said. “And so can you. I am seeking an alternative. Faroe is closer to Svalbard, so less oil will be wasted when refuelling, and that supply of oil must be running out. It’s close enough to Ireland that those grain ships should manage the voyage. There is more than one island, and so there is a greater chance we will find at least one that hasn’t been overrun. It is remote enough, and far enough north, that few people will have thought to seek refuge there.”
“What was the population before the outbreak?” Chester asked.
“About fifty thousand,” Bill said.
“So even if they were all infected, that’s not many zombies,” Chester said. “Not in the grand scheme of things. That said, I’m guessing that most of them lived in a few towns?”
“About a third lived in and around the capital, Tórshavn,” Bill said.
“And if that’s been destroyed,” Chester said, “and if a couple of the islands are infested, we’ll find ourselves with a handful of houses to share. It’ll be cramped.”
“Very cramped, seeing as there could be over thirty thousand of us if that convoy is real,” Locke said. “And how do we get them, and the people of Creil, to Faroe?”
“Ask me that after we’ve figured a way of getting them out of France,” Bill said. “Realistically, it’ll involve helicopters and ships, so we need to move our own people first, free up the transportation and the personnel. There are too many unknowns with this convoy to plan much more beyond that. We can plan for human behaviour, though. When we get to Belfast, we need to give people something in exchange for asking them to risk their lives for these strangers. Safety in a new home is the only thing they want. We’ll get one chance, one expedition, one ship, to find that home.”
“And if that expedition finds Faroe is a radioactive, zombie-i
nfested ruin?” Locke asked.
“Then we can forget about rescuing the convoy,” Bill said. “I’d guess some people will want to stay in Belfast. Others will head off in every direction imaginable. The admiral will rescue Sergeant Khan and Private Kessler, but then she’ll take her people across the Atlantic. The people of Creil, and in that convoy, will die. Maybe some will make it to the Pyrenees, and if any children ever grow up, they’ll do so on stories about how the people from Belfast betrayed them, and their descendants will seek revenge. And that’s the best-case scenario. Personally, I’d say they won’t live long enough. However many survive this winter, civilisation will be gone, our species will wither.”
“It’s a lot to place on the hope those islands are habitable,” Locke said.
“I’m open to any ideas you have,” Bill said. “Until then, maybe we should get some sleep.”
Chapter 20 - Look Upon Me and Tremble
Cambrai and all points west
“Thanks,” Chester said as Locke dribbled water from the peach can over his hands.
“I would prefer a sink and tap,” Locke said. “I would settle for a saucepan, but I’m not wasting any more time searching for one not covered in mould.”
“And since we don’t have the water to spare, why worry?” Chester said, rubbing his hands together, scraping away the worst of the gore and mud. “But if we’re wishing, I’d opt for a shower.”
“Since we’re heading to the land of the Vikings, why not wish for a sauna?” Locke said.
Chester glanced over his shoulder. Bill was descending the shallow hill he’d climbed to see how far the traffic jam extended. “What do you think of this Faroe business?”
“It’s not ideal,” Locke said. “The temperature will be challenging, even with the weather as erratic as it is. Once there, we will be utterly reliant on the ships in order to leave, and we will have to be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. As a temporary refuge, however, it might be the best option available. Those negative points may work in our favour insofar as they will concentrate people’s minds on the future.”