Surviving The Evacuation (Book 16): Unwanted Visitors, Unwelcome Guests

by Tayell, Frank

  As Felicity began ushering people into place, another trio of birds arrived. Then four more. Then a dozen. The deck filled with a flurry of feathers, of flapping wings, as birds of every colour and shape landed on the ship.

  “There’s so many,” Jay said as the passengers retreated through the bulkhead to the safety of the corridor beyond. “Can we still call it a flock?”

  “I think we call it lunch,” Locke said. “I propose a suspension of the Pilates class in favour of a practical demonstration of hunting.”

  “It was a miracle no one was lost overboard,” Chester said, as he leaned back in the chair. “Caught a couple of hundred birds in the end.”

  “All seagulls?” Bill asked.

  “Not even half,” Chester said. “They’re identifying them as they’re plucked, but I decided to skip the ornithology lesson. It’s a bit too hands-on for my tastes.”

  “Must be a storm inland,” Bill said.

  “A big one, somewhere up north,” Chester said. “When we’d killed enough it was safe to look up, the sky was nearly covered with them. Tens of thousands. All heading south. We got word from the Courageous that one of the birds they caught was a glaucous gull. Apparently, you only get those up in the Arctic.”

  “Different birds were flying together?” Bill asked.

  “Looks that way,” Chester said. “Oh,” he added. “I see what you mean. That’s not normal, is it?”

  “Has to be something other than a storm up north,” Bill said.

  “It’s not radiation,” Chester said. “And it can’t be more bombs.”

  “Not people, no,” Bill said. “A volcano? A tsunami? A calving ice sheet? Something natural and terrifying, and completely out of our control.”

  “We’ve got fresh meat to make a change from fish,” Chester said. He gestured at the small chessboard with the magnetic pieces. “Fancy a game? I’d like to hide out a bit longer, otherwise I’ll get roped into cleaning the deck.”

  “Not now,” Bill said. “Where are we?”

  “Approaching the Frisian Islands,” Chester said. “The plan is to find a sheltered inlet, out of sight of the mainland. Tonight, we’ll move people from ship to ship, sort out who’s staying here and who’s going north. Bran and Leon will search the islands over the next few days, using the small boats the colonel brought to London. Maybe he’ll find something, maybe he won’t. Probably he won’t, but there’s no harm in looking while we go on to Haderslev.”

  “Locke wants to look for her people,” Bill said.

  “I know,” Chester said. “And she won’t find them. Not alive. But there’s news from Faroe, that’s the real reason I took the opportunity to skip out on the cleaning. Good news, too. More or less. The locals have turned the power on. They’re giving us a safe harbour until the first of March. Looks like we’ve found our new home.”

  “Only until March?” Bill asked.

  “The admiral thinks we can negotiate an extension,” Chester said. “That’s what she said.”

  “An extension? No. That won’t work. March would be when we want to plant a crop. We’d need polytunnels at the least, but we would want to make the most of the longer days. We’d have to prepare the ground in February, which means choosing what ground to prepare in January. So, about a week or two after we make landfall.”

  “The growing season will be short that far north,” Chester said. “We won’t be able to grow much. Not enough to feed us all.”

  “No, but we’d try,” Bill said. “And people won’t leave their crops behind. What if they give us an extension to the summer, but not until harvest? Will we fight for a few rows of cabbages?”

  “Considering what I just saw happen to a bunch of birds, probably.”

  “It was rhetorical.” He winced. “Help me sit up. That pillow. Thanks.”

  “How is your shoulder?”

  “Painful. I’m getting used to it. A few months of pain, and I’ll be fine. There’s a notebook on the floor, can you pick it up? Thank you.”

  “What is it?” Chester asked, looking at the numbers.

  “A calculation of how much seed-stock we could produce over two years,” Bill said. “I assumed we would be on Faroe with an uninterrupted electricity supply for that long. Fruit, roots, and edible leaves would have been a supplement to a fish-based diet. You know why there were so many birds?”

  “No, and I thought you didn’t either.”

  “I don’t mean why they all flew overhead just now, I meant why there were so many, together. Why the fishing has been so bountiful. The apex-predator has been removed from the food chain. Us. Humans. But you remember what Sorcha said about the nuclear missiles, about GPS, how the bulk of the first-wave weapons were sent into the oceans?”

  “Sure. What about it? You think that’s had something to do with the weather?”

  “Maybe, but it’s fish I’m worried about. Radiation will be spreading at the speed of the undersea currents. Two years, Chester, and the fish could be gone. Two years, and whatever seeds we’ve grown will be all we have. Life is about to get much harder.”

  “Blimey.” Chester leaned back and closed his eyes. “You sure?”

  “This isn’t an if-or,” Bill said. “It’s a spectrum. I don’t know how bad it will get. The weather, the crops, the seas, the fish, the birds, everything will be affected, and everything will affect everything else.”

  “People, too,” Chester said.

  “Yes,” Bill said. “We won’t know how bad it will get until, or after, it’s happened.”

  “And we’ve got two years?” Chester asked.

  “Hopefully. More likely it’s only two years from last March.”

  “So barely a year, then?”

  “Which is why the next autumn’s harvest is critical.” Bill shrugged, then winced. “I keep forgetting I’m not supposed to move.”

  “So Faroe won’t work for us? Not if we can’t guarantee it’s our permanent home. What are the options?”

  “The same as they ever were,” Bill said. “Look for somewhere new. And find it before spring.”

  “Where?” Chester asked. “Europe’s out because of that horde. The zombies might be dying, but it could be another year before they’re all gone. America?”

  “Maybe,” Bill said. “Or the Middle East. The Courageous is key. Diesel is key. Oil. Not in some storage tank, but straight from the ground. Oil and fertile ground, enough to keep us alive until we can build windmills and watermills and sailing ships.”

  “And it won’t be on Faroe,” Chester said.

  “That’s a good job well done,” Nilda said, surveying the nearly clean deck. “A little more battered than it was yesterday, but it’s clean. More importantly, do you smell that?”

  “Hmm?” Chester asked, his eyes glued to the Courageous, anchored a hundred metres to the south. The sun was setting, but he could make out the last of the boats being raised onto the warship.

  “You’re still thinking about what Bill said, aren’t you?” Nilda said. “Pain is making him see the worst, that’s all. It’s good that he’s thinking like that. If he’s planning for the worst, it means we’ll be prepared, and so it might not happen. But don’t share what he said with anyone.”

  “You don’t think he’s correct?” Chester asked.

  “There are some things there’s no point worrying over. Let’s be grateful we’ve got meat for dinner. It’s starting to smell seriously good. A proper meal, a discussion about books, I think I could get used to this kind of life. I’m certainly going to enjoy it. And so should you, while we can, for as long as we can, for as long as it lasts.”

  Day 265, 3rd December

  Chapter 27 - Ida Hansen

  Esbjerg, Denmark

  “It looks like Ostend,” Jay said, peering at the wrecked shoreline, waiting for the Golden Pelican to complete its clanking descent to the sea. “I wish I’d gone ashore at that lighthouse.”

  “You think it’s so bad you wish you’d disembarked back
at the Frisian Islands?” Nilda said, peering through the optical scope. “There’s damage, of course. I think a fire swept through the northern half of the town, but I can see a lot of intact buildings, too. Birds as well, looking for somewhere to roost now night isn’t that far off. We might get a bit of hunting in, if there’s time.”

  “No, I meant that the lighthouse was in Schiermonnikoog, and that’s in The Netherlands,” Jay said. “And from there, Leon can take the boats north up to Borkum, which is in Germany. That would have been two more countries to add to my list.”

  “Did you memorise the map?” Chester asked.

  “Kinda,” Jay said. “You know, back at school, we didn’t learn about any of these places.”

  It had been early morning when The New World had left the West Frisian Islands and the HMS Courageous behind, angling northwest across the open North Sea up to Denmark. Leon, Bran, Captain Fielding, and most of their formerly professional soldiers and sailors had remained further south, though it was unlikely danger would find them. The idea that they were safe while aboard the ships had been slow to sink in, but it had swiftly spread to the extent that, when they approached the Danish port of Esbjerg, there had been few volunteers to go ashore. Fortunately, there wasn’t space for a large shore-party. Of the five yachts that had gone to London, three had been left with Leon, leaving two on The New World. One would remain aboard in case of emergency on-ship or onshore. The other yacht, The Golden Pelican, which had brought George Tull to London, was now being lowered into the water.

  With around two hours until darkness, today’s would be a brief expedition. Their only goal was to assess whether the port was somewhere The New World could dock while Locke went due west, across the neck of Denmark, to Lisa Kempton’s compound south of Haderslev. It wasn’t the compound which interested Chester, though, but the bridge thirty kilometres north of Haderslev. The bridge ran east to the large Danish island of Funen which, in turn, had another bridge linking it to the island of Zealand, on which Copenhagen straddled the estuary between Zealand and Amagur. Nor was it that city which had piqued his curiosity, but the bridge linking Copenhagen with Malmö in Sweden.

  He had to remind himself of the horde, last heard of in France. It made even the most remote corner of the European mainland too dangerous to linger. But if he could disregard it for a brief moment, he could see the potential in this corner of Europe. Each of the countries bordering the Baltic had ports, harbours, industries, which meant the potential for fuel and food, even now. But this was as much of an investigation as they would get.

  He had no great hopes for Kempton’s old redoubt. They would find it a looted ruin, he was sure of it. And so, in a handful of days, they would return south, to the Frisian Islands, and finally, eventually, to Faroe where this brief holiday would end.

  He’d heard the chatter bouncing across the bulkheads; no one was keeping it a secret. Their next destination was America or the Middle East. He didn’t know if Bill had arranged for the rumour to spread, but oil was now the goal, not keeping some promise to the admiral’s crew, and not rescuing the people in the Pyrenees. The U.S. Marines might have something different to say, sure, but aboard this ship at least, the shape of their future was shifting. Jay personified it in his wistful regret that, for him for evermore, most places would be nothing more than just names on a map.

  The clanking ceased as the boat reached the water. Tuck sprang over the rail first and quickly clambered down the ladder.

  “Off you go, Jay,” Nilda said. She handed the optical scope to Chester, and took out the Geiger counter. “So far, so good,” she said, before returning it to the waterproof bag.

  “It is a ruin, though, isn’t it?” Chester said, peering at the shore. The string of small islands that shielded Esbjerg from the North Sea had also shielded it from view as they’d approached. Partially submerged wrecks were sunk near the seawall, with the floating remains of other vessels littering the sea. The harbour itself was no better, though little worse, than any other abandoned conurbation he’d seen, right down to the undead. They had been spotted on the islands as the ship had approached the Danish mainland. There was a debate as to how many there were, with between twenty-three and forty-nine counted traipsing between the evergreens. With ammunition so low, the islands had been declared off-limits. It was Esbjerg or bust, and from what he could see, the port had already been busted apart. “Nope, we won’t find much here.”

  “More than on the open sea,” Locke said. “That flock of birds excepted. It’s a shame we can’t bring this ship closer to shore. I did inform the captain that the hull is rated significantly higher than would be usual for such vessels, but timidity appears to have vanquished daring. After you.”

  “Go on,” Nilda said. “I’m itching to feel dry ground again.”

  Chester climbed down the ladder to the small boat, his descent made cumbersome by the H&K MP5 submachine gun whose stock dug into the small of his back. Every member of the shore-party carried one of the weapons from the stores found in London simply because they had more ammunition than for the SA80s: eighty rounds each. And that was leaving a total of only a few hundred rounds aboard.

  Jay reached up, steadying the rope ladder as Chester dropped the last few feet to the swaying boat. Ten minutes later, twenty people were aboard, and the boat was slowly chugging its way towards the shore. Jay and Annette crouched by the prow, watching for floating debris. Tuck was perched between them, watching the shore, occasionally raising her hand to starboard or port as she gave directions to George, steering the small craft under Kim and Nilda’s watchful eye.

  Chester wasn’t comfortable with Jay and Annette being in the landing party. Perhaps he was just being ridiculously old-fashioned. He glanced over at Nilda who smiled back at him. Perhaps he was projecting. Or perhaps he was just having second thoughts about the entire expedition. But it was too late to share those fears now, and far too late as, a few minutes later, their small boat neared the angular jetty.

  Tuck was the first ashore, Kim second, both women moving along the concrete as Jay secured the boat, and Nilda checked his knot. Tuck waved the all-clear, and Chester joined the exodus ashore.

  They didn’t get far.

  “Barbed wire,” Kim said. “Razor wire. Cement. This is quite some job.”

  It ran across the harbour-side road, sealing the quay from the port, or perhaps the other way around.

  “Who’s got the wire cutters?” Nilda asked.

  Kevin reached into his bag, while Tuck raised her submachine gun, firing a quick shot, then a second, more measured bullet.

  “Zombie,” Jay said.

  Tuck moved her hand, not signing, but pointing to the base of the razor wire a few metres to the north.

  “Bones,” Nilda said. “A lot of bones. Okay, so much for plan-A.”

  “Time for plan-B, then,” Kim said. “Let’s see… We’ll leave George with the boat, and split into two. I’ll go north, Nilda, you go east. We’ve an hour and a half before sunset, maybe two hours before dark. Let’s see if we can learn what happened here.”

  “Are we giving up on getting to Haderslev?” Jay asked.

  “Not yet,” Nilda, Kim, and Locke said together.

  “We don’t have the ammunition for a battle,” Kim said. “But if this town is too dangerous, we’ll head further along the coast and try heading east from there. How is that wire coming? Then let’s stop burning daylight.”

  They formed a tight group of five heading east through the narrow streets. Locke and Tuck were in the lead. Jay came second. Chester and Nilda brought up the rear.

  “No two places are ever quite the same,” Chester said, as they took it in turns to clamber over a four-door taxi lodged lengthwise between two cement trucks that had dumped their loads on the road behind. “But I’ve not seen anything quite like this.”

  “Not quite like this,” Nilda echoed, as they waited for Locke to cut a path through the barbed wire embedded in the cement. “There’s metho
d to these defences, isn’t there?”

  “There was panic and fear,” Locke said. “I would deduce nothing further than that.”

  The cement had set in a sloping river, spreading far beyond the trucks to encase the tyres of another twenty cars abandoned close together in a line that was three, sometimes four, vehicles wide. But there was no more wire, and enough space to walk between the vehicles. Their tyres were flat, the windows often broken, and so were those of the buildings on either side, tall enough to cast deep shadows on the road.

  “Keep your eyes down, Jay,” Nilda said. “Remember Sheppey.”

  “No fear,” Jay said.

  Ahead, Locke grabbed Tuck’s arm, pulling her back as a two-fingered hand reached out from inside an upturned Volvo.

  Tuck stepped back another pace, crouched, and fired through the broken car window. The corpse crunched onto broken glass far louder than the whisper of the suppressed shot.

  “Though we are going nowhere in particular, we are getting nowhere at all,” Locke said. “Might I suggest we find an alternate route?”

  “Where should we go?” Nilda asked.

  “Ideally, a bicycle shop, then the train line,” Locke said.

  “There’s a railway line to your compound?” Jay asked.

  “No, but there is one to the airport, and I know the way from there. I don’t know this city at all. But that road to our right looks marginally emptier of traffic.”

  Chester looked about for a signpost, but saw none. When he peered down the street Locke indicated, he saw nothing but more stalled traffic, more broken glass, and far more discarded bones.

  “As far as the next junction,” Nilda agreed. “Then we can decide whether we should head back.”

  “What happened here, Mum?” Jay asked as they picked their way back up the road.

  “People came hoping for a ship,” Nilda said. “But— Zombie!” She raised her gun, firing at the same time as Jay. The zombie danced as six bullets hit its chest, staggering back into the doorway out of which it had emerged, tripping on something hidden in the hallway beyond.