Surviving The Evacuation (Book 3): Family (7 page)

Not wanting to get a puncture, I swerved at the same time as a zombie seemed to dive out from underneath the van. It flew head first into the bikes front tyres, knocking me, and the bike over.

I fell in a tangled heap, the full weight of the petrol can falling on my crippled right leg. The leg brace took most of the impact, but the sudden jarring of metal on those never-healed nerves sent a shooting pain right up my spine.

Something tugged at my left foot. A hand. I kicked out. It was gone. I tried to pull myself upright. The hand was back, gripping my ankle, pulling and tugging and getting tighter. I screamed and kicked and managed to pull myself free. I staggered upright. I couldn’t see straight. I kicked and stamped down randomly, as I grabbed the bike and limped clear. My hand went to my pocket, my fingers fumbling with the buttons. I pulled out the pistol. The barrel wavered as I tried to focus. As my vision cleared I saw it. Not right in front of me as I thought, but still there, on the ground where I’d fallen off the bike. Its legs were missing below the knees.

“No,” I remember saying, as a hysterical laugh escaped my lips, “not missing.” They were both visible, stuck under the front wheel of the van. The zombie must have been between the two vans when they crashed and it had been stuck there until time had done its work, wearing down the sinews and tendons, until I came along. And then when it heard me, it leapt, leaving its trapped legs behind.

I kept my mind focused after that.

Kim was waiting by the Land Rover.

“You took your time,” she said.

“Zombies. By the boat. Three of Them.”

“Oh.”

I started filling the tank.

“You should be keeping watch. On the roof,” I said.

“Sholto’s doing that. I...” she trailed off. I put the cap back on the fuel can, and put it into the back.

“Would you give me a hand with this?” I asked, hefting the bike up. Together we got onto the roof and tied it down. And then there was no more reason to delay. I turned to Kim.

“I may not make it back to the boat,” I said.

“No, probably not,” she said.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I tried to grin, to show it was a joke. I don’t think it worked. “Get clear of the undead, get the boat across the river, find a car, keep driving north until you see signs for Wales. Avoid the motorways, avoid the cities. I’ll see you on the beach.”

“Will you?”

“I’ll do everything I can to...” I began, but she interrupted.

“I can tell when you’re lying. You’re going to go after that Doctor.”

I sighed. “Perhaps. If I can. I’d have to, sooner or later.”

“OK,” she said, softly as she put her hand on my arm. It was only the briefest of touches.

“OK,” she said again, letting her hand fall, her tone now rigid once more. “We’ll hang out flags at every house we go to. And we’ll leave a note with the date when we were there. You do the same. If you don’t make it to the beach, well, we’ll be back. I’ll be back. On the last day of every month, until you turn up.”

“Right. I...”

“Give me thirty minutes to get in position. See you, Bill.” She turned and jogged off, before I could say the words.

Words left unspoken are often the most treacherous. You’re never sure if what you were going to say is what the other person thought you were. I pondered that as I stood by the Land Rover, just waiting for time to pass.

After five minutes I started to feel self-conscious, so I got inside the car. I checked the time. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Twenty five. Thirty. I turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. I tried again. The engine turned over and then turned itself off. I tried again. The engine roared to life, then whimpered to a stop.

I forced my hands away from the dashboard and my feet away from the pedals. I took a breath, then another, and told myself to calm down, wait, count to five and then try again. I’d reached three when I had the metallic banging of something being knocked over. It came from the street, to the right. I couldn’t see the zombie, there was a wall in the way, but I knew it was there. I muttered ‘four, five’ under my breath as quickly as I could, tried the key. The engine spluttered.

“Come on, come on,” I muttered, coaxing the pedals, my eyes darting around, seeing if, somehow, there might be another car I could take. There was a bang, a cough and the engine spluttered and gasped into an arrhythmic roar just as an arm windmilled around the edge of the wall. It was followed a moment later by a zombie wearing nothing but a pair of lurid blue shorts. It must have been outside during the storms earlier in the year because the dye had run, staining its legs.

I put the car into gear and pulled out, the creature stumbled into the road directly ahead. I’d only reached five miles an hour, when I hit it. The creature twisted around, as it was shoved backwards, turning a full three hundred and sixty degrees before slamming its arms down on the bonnet. Its bulging uncomprehending eyes met mine. I slammed my foot down, trying to force the car to accelerate as much by willpower as by mechanics. Its head slammed, face first, into the bonnet with a crack of breaking teeth. Fingernails scratched and broke, flecks of paint flew up, and the creature just refused to be dragged under the wheels.

The road was too narrow, too hemmed in by other cars to get up enough speed. After thirty yards I braked, changed gears and reversed. It slipped, fell, stumbled back to its feet and staggered towards me. I pulled out the gun, unwound the window, stuck the barrel out and fired.

“Sorry,” I muttered, as its body collapsed to the ground.

I wound the window back up and edged the car forward. I took a left, then right then right again, trying to pick up some speed. I ignored the zombies that appeared from side roads and from behind parked cars. I ignored the sound of breaking glass from windows behind and to the sides and out in front. I ignored everything but the road in front as I made my way to Kew.

I took another right and there it was, the wall around the Gardens and the main road that led past the main gate. I put my foot down. I wanted to dash past the undead, and then stop a few hundred yards up the road until I was sure they were following.

The road curved, and I saw the tops of the gates and the undead in the road in front. That’s when the plan started to fall apart. They were already heading towards me, and They’d spread out across the road. I wasn’t going to be able to drive past Them. I slowed and stopped.

I looked in the mirror. There were only three behind me. I looked up at the buildings. I could see the sheets. I could make out the towels hanging from the tower. I looked back at the road. Pushing and shoving, too many to count, They were getting closer.

I put the car into reverse and did a three point turn. I glanced down at the pistol. How many shots did I have left? It suddenly seemed important.

I edged the car forward, one eye on the three in front, the other on the approaching pack behind. I weaved the car left and right, picking up a bit more speed. Then, with a grimace, I gunned the engine and drove straight at the closest zombie. I swerved at the last moment, hitting it with the right side of the car. The lights smashed, the creature’s arms flew up as it was knocked down and under the wheels. The car rocked as I drove over it. I threw the wheel to the left, aiming the car at the next creature. It lurched at the last minute. I missed. I turned the wheel to the right, but I was going too fast. Another miss. I eased my foot off the pedal and let the car coast to a halt, bumping up onto the curb.

I looked in the mirror as I played my foot up and down on the pedal. The engine sounded fine. Behind me the two creatures were twenty yards away and getting closer. Behind Them the pack was still approaching. Up ahead the road was clear for two hundred yards, up to the next junction where a zombie had just turned onto the main road. I had time.

I lent over and rolled down the passenger side window. Then turned the wheel and edged the car forward so it was at right angles to the road. The two zombies were now less than ten yards away. They were close enough I could see the grey flecks in their eyes.

I picked up the pistol, aimed, fired. Missed. Fired again. One zombie fell, I aimed and fired again. The bullet went low, smashing into the zombie’s thigh. That was good enough. It collapsed to the ground, its good leg kicking out, its hands scrabbling at concrete as it tried to pull itself towards the car.

The pack was still a few hundred yards away. I edged the car round. There were two zombies on the road in front. Then three, then four. I eased the car forward, waiting until I was less than fifty yards from the nearest one, then I put on some speed, aimed the Land Rover straight at it, hitting it square on in an explosion of guts and gore. I missed the next two, but hit the one bringing up the rear. I looked back, the zombie I’d shot in the leg had disappeared under the mass of shambling feet.

And so it went on. Forward a few dozen yards, slowing, stopping, then darting forward to mow one or two down, then pausing to keep the pack in sight. My pied piper routine seemed to be working. I’d covered less than two miles in just over twenty minutes. The car was battered, but the engine sounded fine. The only problem was that I was heading due south, straight for the boat.

I took the first turning I came to, gunned the engine and ran down two zombies heading down the road towards me. I kept going until I reached an intersection. I braked. I waited, playing with the accelerator, letting the engine roar and bark until I was sure the pack was following and then I waited some more. Then I picked the road that had the fewest undead on it, drove forward to the next intersection, and the waiting began again.

All my careful planning and thoughts about which roads might be best went out the window as I drove randomly through south London. Despite the undead, and the obstacles and rubbish that blocked the streets, driving was easy. The idea came to me that I could just keep this up, find an empty road and drive on through and out of London. I could go straight to north Wales and be halfway there before I ran out of fuel. In two days, three at the most I could be at the Doctor’s house. Perhaps I could even make it from there down to the rendezvous before the 2
^nd
August. It was a perilously beguiling idea. Now that we’d separated it wasn’t likely that we’d meet up again until we’d reached that beach. There was little point trekking around the country trying to find some sign of them. But what if they stayed on the river, waiting for me? I had to go and check.

I looked down at my watch. Well over an hour had gone by. I looked around trying to work out where I was. The road was bracketed by the generic mix of fried chicken outlets, mini-marts and betting shops that could be seen in any British city. I drove on until I saw a sign. I misread it and thought I was half a mile from Clapham Common. I thought if I could get to the Common, I could drive straight across it, leave the car, but take the rest of the petrol with me. Then I could cycle down to the boat, check they weren’t waiting, cross the river, find another car and then, next stop, Wales. I put my foot down.

The road bent, went under a bridge I was certain shouldn’t be there, twisted and then I saw a sign. Kew, half a mile.

I don’t know how I got lost or how I got turned around or how I didn’t realise. I suppose without any people the landmarks looked different. Perhaps I just wasn’t paying enough attention. Perhaps it was guilt or something else. Whatever it was I couldn’t turn around, and I couldn’t turn east. I’d got the river to the west so I had no choice but to keep going south, back to Kew.

It wasn’t too much of a problem, I told myself. It had been gone over an hour and a half. They should have got the girls free by then. I decided I’d... I didn’t finish the thought. I turned a corner, saw the high wall around the gardens, saw the apartment block, saw the road was clear of the undead and saw the sheets still hanging from the roof. Then I saw the reason why.

Kim was walking backward, out of the gates, Sholto’s M-16 in her hands. I shifted gear, trying to coax another couple of seconds of speed out of the engine, my eyes scanning every which way for any sign of the girls or my brother. Kim paused, shifted her position and fired. And then I saw Sholto. He darted out past the wall, Daisy under one arm, Annette being half pushed, half carried in the other. I smashed my fist down on the horn.

“In. In!” I yelled. They must have heard me. Sholto, at least, had seen me. He darted out into the road angling towards the car, as Kim let loose a burst from the semi-automatic rifle. I brought the car to a stop, Sholto and the girls between it and the gates.

They opened the doors at the same time as I opened mine.

“Kim!” I yelled.

There was the far louder explosion of a shotgun. Kim stood her ground and fired again.

“Kim!” I bellowed, but I was already running towards her. I rounded the wall, and staggered to a halt. There seemed to be zombies everywhere. A forest of hands all reaching out, grasping towards us, just feet away. Then I realised that, no, we were safe. They were stuck on the other side of the ticket barrier, and there were only a few dozen of Them. There was a metallic screech as a bracket gave, and the top of the barrier jerked forward a couple of inches. Kim fired again. She wasn’t aiming at the undead. She was shooting into the building.

“It’s over. We’ve won.” It was a fatuous thing to say. “Just leave...” There was another shot, a loud percussive blast from a shotgun. I didn’t see where the shot went or who had fired it.

“Not now Bill,” Kim said, as calm as the eye of a hurricane. “Not yet.”

I grabbed her and started pulling her back toward the car. She didn’t seem to notice, just fired again. Annette had already opened the rear door.

“Just get...” There was another shot, this time hitting the gate with a plinking of paint and iron.

Kim raised the gun, pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

“Now, Kim! Let’s go!” My voice was hoarse and desperate.