Surviving The Evacuation (Book 4): Unsafe Haven (25 page)

Nilda gripped the cup firmly, holding it in front of her face as a shield against the disconcerting normalcy of a conversation over tepid coffee. Whilst she tried to think of what, amongst the million and one things Kim could tell her, she truly wanted to know, she took a sip. She watched Miguel take the partially coiled rope from the girl’s hands, shake his head, and tell her to start again.

“And the girl is his daughter?” Nilda asked.

“Annette? No, she’s… well, mine I suppose, as much as she’s anyone’s. Bill and I found her out in the wasteland. But she’s why I’m here on the boat. And that’s why I can’t sleep. I’ve got the aftermath from all of this to deal with when we get back. I’m hoping that the sight of a very bedraggled and thoroughly exhausted girl will mollify Bill. That’s why we’ve got her on punishment detail.”

“Punishment? What did she do?”

“Well, she ran away. Sort of. She was on the ship and refused to get off, but they needed to depart and catch the tide. Since I wasn’t going to leave her, and since the mission was important, we both ended up joining the expedition to Svalbard. Not that I thought it would end up the way it did,” Kim sighed.

“That’s why she’s being punished, because she ran away?” Nilda asked, curious and suspicious at the same time.

“Well, no. She ran off because we had a row, and we had a row because… well, it started with a journal. Bill wrote it when he was trapped in London, then kept writing when he escaped, and kept on writing when he and Sholto, his brother, trekked to Northumberland to kill Quigley. Naturally, Annette was proud of that. Like I said, as odd as we are, we’re the only family she’s got. So when the power came back on, she copied the journal. And there was no law against that. Oh no. We’re a nation of laws, but because there had been no electricity, no one thought to tell anyone not to use up all the toner in the photocopiers. She’d made two hundred copies before anyone realised. And before Bill or I knew, she’d handed those out around the island.” She sighed. “Everyone read it. Of course they did. For a culture that grew addicted to twenty-four hour news, this was the closest thing to a patch. But Bill was furious.”

“People didn’t react well to it?”

“Um, no, it wasn’t that. For the most part people didn’t care. By then, everyone knew the story. After all, it’s a small community on a small island. The problem was that he’d included a lot of his private thoughts in the journal, and it was those he didn’t want everyone to know. There was a time, just after we rescued Annette, when someone did read the journal. To say Bill thought that an invasion of privacy would be a gross understatement, but,” she shrugged, “that doesn’t matter. You can read about that yourself if you want. And that, basically, was the problem. Suffice to say that there was a row, and Annette decided she’d had enough. Since there was only one boat leaving the island, she tried to take it and since I couldn’t get her off, and departure couldn’t be delayed, here we are.”

“You found a family. That’s a good thing. Something to hold on to.”

“Yes,” Kim said. Earlier, Nilda had told her about Jay. “Yes, it is.”

The silence stretched.

“Why did you go to Svalbard, then?” Nilda asked, preferring to have the woman talk than sit in uncomfortable silence.

“Oil, that’s the next big problem. Thanks to the nuclear power plant we have electricity. Thanks to the island we have safety. More or less. And we have food as long as you don’t mind a diet that’s mostly fish and bread. We’ve even got enough space, though probably not for the long term. What we don’t have is oil. We hardly have any diesel or petrol left either, and that’s not a problem for life on the island. But if we’re going to find out what’s going on in the rest of the world, if we’re going to try and rescue others, then we need to be able to reach them. And we can’t do that with sailing boats alone.”

“You want to rescue them?”

“I want to rescue everyone. Wait, that sounds… I mean, we’ve got a bona-fide nuclear power station. For maybe ten years we have electricity. Nowhere else does, at least not that anyone’s been able to find. When the power came back on they began working on hacking into the satellite network. They’ve got control of three now, I think. As far as they can tell there aren’t any lights on anywhere else in the world. If we can gather all the survivors together then we can make a real attempt at rebuilding, so when the power station does have to be shut down, civilisation won’t collapse with it. For that we need oil. That’s why we went up to Svalbard. There’s a NATO Supply dump there, and it’s still got oil, enough to get a fleet down into the southern hemisphere. With that we can recrew some of our larger ships, we can go out and find an offshore rig that’s survived, and we can find all those other survivors. I mean, they have to be there. I can’t believe that we are all that’s left. Take Svalbard. There are people there. Of course, that’s now become a problem. They won’t just give us the oil. They want to trade it. And there’s only one thing they want and… well, we’ll sort it out. We have to, and at least trying to deal with bureaucracy makes a change from the undead. Anyway,” Kim added. “I reckon that’s been nearly half an hour. I think she’s had enough. Excuse me.” Kim stood up and left the viewing room.

Nilda watched as the woman thrust into the role of the mother walked down the deck towards the still protesting girl. And Nilda felt a wave of bitter grief sweep over her. She tried to cry, but the tears still wouldn’t come.

Part 5 - Justice

Anglesey and Cumbria

1
st
September

As they approached the port, Nilda was shocked by the number of boats she saw. There were some operating under sail, but most were small rowing boats, and in each one people quietly fished. Or, she realised as they got closer, the people were holding rods, but most were doing nothing more than staring listlessly at the waves. Few bothered to even look up as the Smuggler’s Salvation approached. Miguel took to standing in the prow bellowing at them to get out of the way.

Perhaps, Nilda thought, it was the way the paint was faded and the sails roughly patched, the expressions so vacant, but the impression she got wasn’t of industrious life, but of medieval hand-to-mouth existence.

“We’re using the old ferry terminal on Holyhead as the main port,” Kim explained. She, with an agitated Annette fidgeting next to her, stood with Nilda near the bow.

Nilda looked in the direction the other woman pointed. There were a couple of ferries, though she hadn’t immediately recognised them as such. They were festooned with clothes drying on the railings and over the sides. Long cables snaked up from the shore through portholes and into the ships. Nilda guessed those provided them with electricity. And on deck were dozens of people. Everyone seemed glued to a screen or fixed on what they could hear through headphones.

“It was like that when we left,” Kim said as she followed Nilda’s gaze. “You know, because of the power coming back on. I guess people want to pretend the world’s back to normal.”

Except it wasn’t normal. Not when everyone had a weapon stacked nearby. It was far from the idea of civilisation she’d been expecting to find. She turned away from the ferries and saw the ships she should have noticed first.

“What are those?” she asked.

“Which? Oh, those. They’re the grain ships,” Kim said. “There are more on the main island. Fish can be traded for grain to make bread. That was… well, I think that might have been a mistake. Since everyone came in by boat, they’ve stayed on those boats, going out to fish when they really should be farming. I know the grain’s not going to last forever. And that’s the problem. We need to think of the future and… oh. That’s not good.”

“What?”

“The Vehement.” Kim pointed to a submarine tied up to the dock. Cranes stood nearby, and she saw others being pushed along the road towards it. Cables and tubing ran from pumps on shore into the boat around which there was a hive of frenetic activity.

“It’s meant to be in the south Atlantic rescuing a hospital ship that was stranded down there. And if it’s back here instead… well, that’s going to be a big problem. I suppose I could… no, there’s my welcoming committee. No doubt they’ll tell me soon enough.”

Nilda looked towards the small group waiting on the quay.

“Who are they?” Nilda asked.

“The baby is Daisy, the man holding her like she’s about to explode, that’s Sholto. And the man with the cane is Bill. Our welcoming committee. So if you’ll excuse me, I better get Annette ready for this.”

Nilda felt a sudden wave of jealousy that Kim had managed to create a family amidst the chaos. It seemed the mirror opposite to her own life.

A dockhand threw a rope to one of the waiting sailors. The ship was pulled close. Kim jumped across onto the quay, Annette behind but before her feet had even touched the concrete, the man, Bill, ran over to her and made as if to hug the girl. Whatever row they’d been expecting didn’t materialise. Nilda saw Kim smirking. The other man, Sholto, started to laugh, and the baby gurgled along. Annette, her pre-emptive anger turning to confusion, broke away from the man’s embrace and ran, crying, up the road.

It was too much for Nilda. She turned away from the scene to find the French soldier Francois, standing by her side.

“Here, come with me,” he said. “You’ll need to see the doctor. I’ll show you the way.”

He led Nilda away from the docks and into a town too small for a hospital, but where a GP’s surgery had been taken over and converted into a clinic. He left her at the gate, bidding a polite farewell, leaving her to go in on her own.

“There’s nothing really wrong with you,” Dr Marcy Knight said, after a few hours of waiting, testing, examining, and waiting some more. “In fact, I’d say you were quite healthy.”

“Really?” Nilda asked, surprised.

“Sorry, let me clarify that,” the doctor quickly added. “There’s nothing immediately wrong with you. And compared to most people who come in here, you are healthy. It’s the high protein, low carb, vitamin rich diet you’ve been on.”

“What about the radiation. I got sick.”

“Vomiting?”

“Yes.”

“Bloody diarrhoea?”

“No.”

“Blood in the vomit?”

“No. I was just sick. Feverish.”

The doctor nodded.

“And how long did it last?”

“A day or two.”

“And did it start after you drank the rainwater?”

“I think so.”

“That’s happened to a lot of people. We don’t know what exactly it was, and it’s hard to find out, since by the time anyone gets here everyone’s over it. It wasn’t radiation poisoning, beyond that I can only guess. It could have been something bacteriological from all the dead bodies, or it might have been a weapon someone tried to use on the undead that got caught up in the weather system.”

“But not radiation?”

“No. Definitely not that.”

“And I won’t… turn into a zombie.”

“No. You’re immune. A lot of the survivors are. It’s impossible to work out an exact figure, but somewhere between two and ten-percent of the population would probably have had natural immunity. Amongst the survivors here, it’s a little higher than fifty-percent. But as far as we can tell it only offers immunity against the undead. Nothing else. Look, I’ll level with you. I’m talking about the short term. Right now you’re healthy. Medium to long term, that might be different. I don’t know. It’s too early to say. So many bombs were dropped that we’ve all become exposed. I can’t even guess at the dose you’ve received, but on that island, so close to the Scottish mainland, it’s far higher than anyone would call safe. You’ve a significantly increased risk of cancer and other chronic conditions. These days, realistically, chronic is fatal. But whether this is going to be a problem in five years or ten or twenty, I can’t say. But then again, I can’t predict whether you’ll live that long anyway. All I’d say for now, taking in your age, is that I would advise against you having any children. Sorry.”

“But what about family. I mean. Children. If I am immune does that mean…” She trailed off as the doctor shook her head.

“No, I’m sorry. Immunity doesn’t seem to work that way. We don’t have much to go on, but we’re certain of that. I’m sorry. Do you have children?”

“I did.” One last piece of hope died, and as it did she realised how small that hope had been.

She found she was looking out of the window. A boy of about six was trying to kick a football into a circle chalked on a brick wall. She could see a neat set of scars on his shaved head.

“What happened to him?” she asked.

The doctor turned to look. “That’s Philippe. Philippe Umdumwe. We brought him with us out of a refugee camp in Mali on the day of the outbreak.”

“Oh.” There was a story there, but Nilda found she didn’t care. “So what happens now?”

“You should rest. Just for a day or two. Get some food, some clothes, luxuriate in the healing power of light and hot water. Give yourself time to take it in. But not too much time. You don’t want to wallow. We’re all broken, we’ve all seen those we love die. And we’ve each got our own guilt and regrets. But that’s in the past. We’re here, we’re alive, and if you choose to stay, there’s work to be done. But you’re free to leave if you want. There are trips to the mainland for supplies, and you can always catch a ride with one of them. Some people are talking about sailing down to Europe or Africa or even further. And if they can sort out the fuel problem there’ll be expeditions to North America. Or you can stay here. What did you do before?”

“Before?” Nilda had to think for a moment before she remembered. “Nothing much. Nothing that would be much use here.”

“No? Well, there’s fishing, farming, and the militia. Fishing really means gutting and preparing it. We’ve plenty of people who know how to use a boat. Farming means digging. We don’t have the fuel to spare for machinery. The militia, that’s just what it sounds like, our nascent army. They do the scavenging, setting up the safe houses, and that sort of thing. These days they’re building up to take back the Isle of Man and then the mainland. But like I said, take a couple of days to rest first.”

“Where do I do that? I mean, I don’t imagine money matters anymore and even if it did, I don’t have any.”

“We’ve plenty of room, free electricity, and clothes to spare. You need to go to Trearddur Bay on the other side of the island. It’s just a short walk, but we’re running the administrative side of the government out of a school there. They can sort out a housing allocation. They’ll talk you through your options.”

Nilda realised that she was being dismissed.

“Thank you, doctor,” she said, standing up.

She went outside and breathed the air. She did it again. And then she looked about. It seemed almost normal. There were no cars on the roads, and no engines purring in the distance. Yet everything felt alive. She could hear voices, distant and nearby, and none sounded afraid.

She passed a shop window. Inside, a small group were carefully dismantling the shelves and counters. Nails were being pulled and stored in boxes. The countertops were being neatly stacked. She guessed they were to be reused or turned into something far more useful somewhere else.

There was a clatter and a curse, followed by good-natured laughter as someone dropped a shelving unit on another’s foot. It seemed surreal, all of these people, all here, all alive, and all seemingly oblivious to what had happened in the past few months.

It was the quiet before the storm, she thought, remembering a conversation she’d had once with Sebastian. Or, really, one that Jay had had with him. He’d been studying those months after the Second World War had been declared but before the military had been built up to launch a counter attack. Having people wasn’t enough to build an army. You needed to keep it supplied. Nails required raw metal. They required factories. She doubted there were any of those on the island. She moved onto the next shop. It had been stripped. Even the flooring had been taken up.

And whatever those nails were used for, what would happen when they were all used up? Perhaps there were cargo ships filled with raw steel out there, abandoned somewhere on the ocean or now crewed by the undead. Could a foundry be constructed? Probably. But were there enough people to work it. And what would happen when the steel ran out? She doubted that any mine would ever be opened again. How could it be run without machinery? Even forced labour wouldn’t work, not when you would need as many guards to keep the undead at bay as you would to keep the labourers working. No, there would have to be expeditions to the mainland. Where do you find nails? Other than hardware stores, she didn’t know. And how would it be carried back? Kim and the doctor had both said there was no oil. So all expeditions would rely on bikes and rowing boats. There was no other way. And how many people would die on those expeditions just to bring back a packet of nails? What was that line? For want of a nail the kingdom was lost.

Power and tools and the knowledge of how to use them, that’s what they had. The tools would wear out, and so too would the power plant. Within a few years, the lights would finally go out. And then what? This place would become some medieval serfdom. The last refuge of humanity, clinging on, desperately refusing to acknowledge that the time for their species had passed.

She started walking again, looking at the buildings in a new light. Some were stripped bare, others being stripped, and a few seemed occupied. She heard music coming from a flat above one shop. It was a cello and very definitely recorded. She didn’t know the piece. All classical music sounded pretty the much the same to her. But it sounded like something Sebastian would play, something by Bach or Brahms or Beethoven, or one of those other dead old men whose names always began with a ‘B’.

A little further on, the road ended in a stretch of parkland being dug up by a group of survivors clearly less happy than those stripping the shops. They hacked at clods of dirt and carried lumps of turf to a waiting cart. She was relieved to see a couple taking a break. No one yelled at them to get back to work. In fact, as far as she could see, there was no one directing them at all. It wasn’t quite serfdom yet, then.

One paused in his digging and met her eyes. She got a hostile glare. The man nudged his neighbour. They shared a muttered comment. From the tone she guessed they were unhappy seeing someone not working as hard as they.

She quickened her pace, wanting to get away from those looks. They’d found life here on Anglesey, but the fight for survival wouldn’t stop. Electricity would make life easier for now, but not for long, and it still wouldn’t be easy, not here or anywhere else, not ever again.