Surviving The Evacuation (Book 1): London (14 page)

One of the undead spotted him and started to follow. He glanced over his shoulder occasionally, checking its progress, but he didn't stop, he just sped up, easily outpacing the zombie.

He's getting his car I suppose. Either that or he's leading Them away, making our escape easier. Wish he'd told me though, because if he's bringing a car back today, then it'll draw hundreds of Them with it, like the SUV did. I need to be ready. Bag by the front door. Ready to run, or limp as fast as I can, just as soon as I hear him coming.

12:00, 10
th
April.

No sign of Sam. I’m in Tom's room, watching the road. It'll be easier to get to the front door from here.

18:00, 10
th
April.

Where is he? I suppose he's gone for the car, and he'll bring it here tomorrow morning. That makes sense. Maybe the car's in an underground garage somewhere. Can't think where one of those could be around here, though.

21:00, 10
th
April.

No sign of him, which is good. He's sticking with the plan. His car was probably in a garage somewhere, maybe he works there. No, more likely he knew someone who had a car and spare petrol stashed somewhere in south London. He'd have seen the SUV and how it drew Them here just like I did. That's why he's waiting until tomorrow. He's sticking to the plan. The question is whether I stay up here and watch for him or whether I go downstairs and wait by the door.

22:00, 10
th
April.

I just timed it. I can get downstairs from here in two minutes, and I could have done it faster if I wasn't worried about noise. I'll stay up here and watch, in case he can't get the car through the streets and parks it somewhere. That's a real possibility I suppose, I mean, with all those fires I've seen, houses could have collapsed. Maybe some of the roads are now impassable. I'll just wait until I hear a car approaching then straight downstairs and out the door. Not long now.

Day 30.

15:00, 11
th
April.

Seven minutes. After I told him my leg was broken, that's how long it took for him to decide to leave me behind. Not just leave me behind, but to guarantee that I wasn't going to come with him. Why else give a time and day for our escape?

Seven minutes.

I can understand why. The broken leg made me a liability and maybe if I'd come up with more of a plan, something to make the risk worth taking, then it'd have been different. But I didn't. Even so, it took him only seven minutes to decide to leave me behind.

I don't think I would have done that. If it had been him with the broken leg and me with both legs working I don't think I would have walked away like that. No. I know I wouldn't have left him. Maybe if I had a child or someone else already injured to protect, I might have, but if it was just me, on my own I'd have helped. I would have at least tried. I would have, at the very least, spent longer than seven minutes thinking about it.

18:00, 11
th
April.

I’m not going to forgive him. I’m never going to forgive him, and when I get out of this I’m certainly going to find out who he is and, well, we'll see. I can sort of understand why he did it, but I'll never forgive him for it.

I would have stayed and helped.

Day 31.

09:00, 12
th
April.

Slept in. Why not? It's quiet outside. My morning routine was severely disrupted by the lack of zombies to count. One out the back, only barely in sight.

12:00, 12
th
April.

This morning I walked up and down the stairs for two hours with the pack on. My muscles ache but it's a good healthy ache. I kept it up almost non-stop and managed it without making too much noise, at least by my reckoning.

I wish I had a bit more space to practice with the crutches in, but I think I'll be OK. Thanks to my absent tenants there is no issue with laundry and clean clothes help somewhat with not being able to wash.

I've an amusing image of my tenants huddling together somewhere, having escaped who knows what, in some hideout, hungry, thirsty, dirty, deciding to come back here instead, where they know there's a bit of food and at least some clean clothes. Only to find, when they break down the doors, no food and their clothes all stained.

But they won't be coming back, will they?

Maybe I’m just projecting my anger, but they too left me here without even a note to say they'd gone. They knew the leg was broken, they knew I was stuck here. They may have assumed that I'd be fine thanks to the visits by Jen and her uniforms, but they could have left a note. Common decency should have demanded it.

I've about 18 days of food and water left.

14:00, 12
th
April.

I might have been a bit optimistic on the food front. Some of it is already a bit, well, I'd throw it in the bin if I dared go outside. I think I've got about nine or ten days worth of food that I can't take with me. That's settled it. That is when I leave, nine days from now.

I've no map beyond the tourist's ones of central London. Since I’m not planning on seeing the sights, I’m going to head towards London Bridge. There was a restaurant there, just by the river, where I'd meet lobbyists that Jen couldn't be seen anywhere near. Nice place, good coffee, horrid food, perfect when you wanted a meeting to last just long enough to find out how much and what for. One time, when the meeting got cancelled, I took a walk along the river and found a cluster of houseboats. I stared at them for the best part of an hour. They seemed so out of place amongst the old warehouses that had been converted to flats. I even thought I might buy one, one day, when I could afford to move out of here. That's where I’m heading.

I'll have to unmoor the boat, I mean, they didn't look like they were undocked and driven up and down the river at weekends, they looked permanent, but they can't have been held on by more than rope can they? Probably they can. I've no way of cutting through a chain, acetylene torches not being strictly required in the landlording business.

If I remember correctly, access to those houseboats was through a locked gate in an iron fence that ran the length of the bank. The fence was at least six feet high, with curved spikes at the top. The door's got to be the easiest way in, so I’ll need a way to break the lock. Of all the tools I can find, I think the chisel is my best bet. And if it's not strong enough? Then I’ll just have to double back to where the concrete balustrade is, climb up and over and then swim out to the boats. It's about 30 feet, I think. Can I swim that far? I’m willing to try.

And then what?

In Jessica's books there's always someone in the group who knows how to drive or fly whatever vehicle they find. Brad, who hasn't said or done anything yet in the story, happens to be a trucker. Helicopter? No problem Stacy was an hour away from getting her flying licence. Stealth Bomber? De Nada, Captain Hernadez here is actually an NSA operative based at Area 51.

No such luck with me. If I can't work out how to turn the motor on, of if they don't have a motor then all I've got to do is to fend the boat off the bridges as I let the current carry me out to sea. That can't be too hard, can it? I'll just need an oar or a plank of wood. I think I can manage that.

So now I have a goal, the bigger problem is going to be how to get there. You see, I don't really know this area. I worked on the other side of the river, I lived at the office, slept there too, as often as not. Around here I know where to buy milk, where to catch the bus, which road leads to the park, but as for which road offers the quickest route to the river, your guess is as good as mine.

16:00, 12
th
April.

The bike looks ready to go. I've got a selection of tools, spare clothes, the radio and rope in bags slung on either side of the rear wheel, with space for the last of the food and water. I've strapped a broom handle between the front and rear wheels so they won't go their separate ways. When I get to the boat I'll tie the broom handle onto the end of the crutch and can use that to push away from any bridges or floating detritus. I really think this can work.

The laptop and hard drive go into my backpack. It's a lot of weight, but I promised Sholto, and I think, especially after Sam, that promises should be kept.

17:00, 12
th
April.

I thought I heard a helicopter. I’m not sure, there was certainly something, it sounded unnatural but in a good way, a mechanical and completely artificial way. I went to the window, to see if I could spot it, but I couldn’t even tell which direction it was coming from. I didn’t look too long, or too hard, as my attention was immediately caught by the sight of a vapour trail.

That truly was a sight to behold, though it effects my plans not one iota. There are still people out there, enough of them to maintain and fly jet planes, and with some purpose that brings them over London.

18:00, 12
th
April.

Those beautiful white scars have been obscured by clouds. The plane might have been coming from overseas heading to one of our airports. It was weeks since there had been anything except military flights coming into the country, but the runways were all kept clear.

Overseas it was a different story. There it seemed as if half the people who were escaping headed to the airports. Cars were driven onto runways, planes were overloaded and the infection was carried onto the few flights that managed to take off. We retasked the satellites and then sent jets to fly over and check, but other than a few military bases there isn't a safe landing strip south of Tromso or North of Addis Ababa. Or there wasn't when the evacuation started. That's over a month now, who knows what state the UK's airports are in, but if I was a pilot and I managed to get a plane in the air this is the only place I'd know I might stand a chance of landing it.

I didn’t see the plane, just the vapour trail. Maybe it's a private jet, maybe a passenger plane, maybe a fighter. The type doesn’t really
matter
, just that someone out there flew it.

Day 32, eight days until I leave.

11:00, 13
th
April.

Radio Free England stopped for a few hours this morning. A broken substation, a failed transmitter, or maybe they just decided to stop, I don't know the cause. They gave no explanation when they came back on air.

Clothes ready, pack's packed. I’m ready to go but I just don't want to. This place, it's not much, but it's mine. I've survived here for thirty two days. Longer, really, I've been on my own since the evacuation, really since I came back from the hospital. That's fifty days. Fifty three since New York. That's a long time to survive in this new world.

If only I could stay in here longer, but I know that I can't.

12:00, 13
th
April.

Would that government car have anything inside worth taking? Perhaps in the boot, or perhaps the driver even had a gun. I’m sure he had one in the hospital. Is there anything useful inside?

I'll check the car as I go out. I'll lean the bike up against the rear door, check the driver for keys, and a gun. Yes, he'd have a gun wouldn't he? They were issuing those to everyone, police included, and it didn't matter if you were in admin or on the front line, if you wore a uniform you carried a gun. I'll check the boot first, and if there's time, the glove box. Or should I check the glove box first? Wouldn't he keep a gun close to hand? If he didn’t, if it was in a locked box in the car then I’d never find it. I just wouldn’t have time.

Do I see if the car starts? No, I've already decided that, who knows what the roads are like. A bike's far more sensible.

Day 33, seven days until I leave.

06:00, 14
th
April.

The car is looking very tempting. The more I stare at it the more I wonder what's inside. Maybe there's a walkie-talkie or a radio or something.

07:00, 14
th
April.

Of course there's a radio, whoever it is that Jen detailed to pick me up is going to have a way of communicating with the rest of the squad or platoon or whatever, maybe even with Jen herself. If I'd taken the chance back when this started I could have been rescued long ago!

A working radio, and emergency supplies. I'd be able to stay here until someone came.

What if they didn’t come? What if the Radio Free England people were right and there's no government any more? No. I don't believe that. I've no reason to trust the radio.

At the very least there will be some military units safe, It's not as if the undead could sink a submarine. What if the range is too great? What if they don't answer? What then?