Surviving the Evacuation, Book 14: Mort Vivant: Surviving The Evacuation, #14

By Frank Tayell

Not all people died. Not all gave up hope.

The outbreak was in February. By the end of November, Earth has become a hellish wasteland ravaged by the undead.

Survivors from across the Atlantic seaboard took refuge on the Welsh island of Anglesey. Beset by dangers from within, they departed to establish a new refuge in Belfast. Not all of them arrived. Six took the last plane on its last flight, but crashed in France.

Expecting a sprinting battle through the ruins of Belfast, they packed light. With few weapons and barely any food, their chances of survival are slim. The chances of rescue are slimmer. There was no evacuation in France. No quarantine. No rationing. But there are zombies, and there are people who believe they, alone, are the last survivors of the old-world. So begins a frantic race against the undead, through the snow and storm ravaged ruins of Northern France.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frank Tayell
• Release date: Aug 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386190271

Frank Tayell

Frank Tayell is the author of post-apocalyptic fiction including the series Surviving the Evacuation and it’s North American spin-off, Here We Stand. "The outbreak began in New York, but they said Britain was safe. They lied. Nowhere is safe from the undead." He’s also the author of Strike a Match, a police procedural set twenty years after a nuclear war. The series chronicles the cases of the Serious Crimes Unit as they unravel a conspiracy threatening to turn their struggling democracy into a dystopia. For more information about Frank Tayell, visit http://blog.franktayell.com or http://www.facebook.com/FrankTayell

Book preview

Surviving the Evacuation

Book 14: Mort Vivant

––––––––

Frank Tayell

Dedication

To paradise on Earth

Published by Frank Tayell

Copyright 2018

All rights reserved

All people, places, and (especially) events are fictional.

Post-Apocalyptic Detective Novels

Strike a Match 1. Serious Crimes

Strike a Match 2. Counterfeit Conspiracy

Strike a Match 3. Endangered Nation

Work. Rest. Repeat.

Surviving The Evacuation/Here We Stand

Book 1: London

Book 2: Wasteland

Zombies vs The Living Dead

Book 3: Family

Book 4: Unsafe Haven

Book 5: Reunion

Book 6: Harvest

Book 7: Home

Here We Stand 1: Infected

Here We Stand 2: Divided

Book 8: Anglesey

Book 9: Ireland

Book 10: The Last Candidate

Book 11: Search and Rescue

Book 12: Britain’s End

Book 13: Future’s Beginning

Book 14: Mort Vivant

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For more information, visit:

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Synopsis

Not all people died. Not all gave up hope.

The outbreak was in February. By the end of November, Earth has become a hellish wasteland ravaged by the undead.

Survivors from across the Atlantic seaboard took refuge on the Welsh island of Anglesey. Beset by dangers from within, they departed to establish a new refuge in Belfast. Not all of them arrived. Six took the last plane on its last flight, but crashed in France.

Expecting a sprinting battle through the ruins of Belfast, they packed light. With few weapons and barely any food, their chances of survival are slim. The chances of rescue are slimmer. There was no evacuation in France. No quarantine. No rationing. But there are zombies, and there are people who believe they, alone, are the last survivors of the old-world. So begins a frantic race against the undead, through the snow and storm ravaged ruins of Northern France.

Table of Contents

The Story So Far

Part 1 - Day 253

Chapter 1 - The Crash

Chapter 2 - Blood and Snow

Chapter 3 - Fireside and Candlelight

Part 2 - Day 254

Chapter 4 - First Light, Second Thoughts

Chapter 5 - How the Other Half Lived

Chapter 6 - Footprints in the Snow

Chapter 7 - A School for Vampires

Chapter 8 - The Rosewood Cartel

Chapter 9 - Campfire Stories

Part 3 - Day 255

Chapter 10 - Left Foot, Right Foot

Chapter 11 - Strange Meetings When Meeting Strangers

Chapter 12 - Nous Sommes L’Humanité

Chapter 13 - Friend or Foe?

Part 4 - Day 256

Chapter 14 - The Long Road to a Small Boat

Chapter 15 - A Bridge Too Far

Chapter 16 - A Hollow Victory

Chapter 17 - Paint and Knives

Chapter 18 - The Best Laid Plans

Chapter 19 - Our Lady’s Bells

Chapter 20 - The Bells. The Bells...

Chapter 21 - Thomas Allan Murphy

Chapter 22 - An Island Unto Themselves

Chapter 23 - The National Assembly of the Sixth Republic

Chapter 24 - I Can See Your House From Up Here

Part 5 - Day 257

Chapter 25 - A Ten-Thousand-Seater Farm

Chapter 26 - News From Above

Chapter 27 - The Breaking of the Fellowship

Chapter 28 - The Last Viking

Chapter 29 - The Enemy Within

Epilogue - Journey’s End, Journey’s Beginning

The Story So Far

Day 258, 26th November

The New World, The Celtic Sea

There’s no finessing the truth, Mary said. And this truth is a hard one to hear. She added the hand-written copy of the radio-report to the pile of papers and maps littering the cabin’s small table.

What shall we do? Kim asked.

Do? What can we do? Mary said. They report that half their fishing boats returned with empty nets? Well, I know nothing of the sea so don’t know if a poor catch is due to the weather or if it’s a harbinger of something worse. As for this recent attack by the undead, what help can we offer? This ship is overcrowded as it is, with no room for more passengers. We don’t have any ammunition to spare. If what happened to us in Dundalk is a guide to the future, we’ll be using the rifles as clubs within three days of reaching France. No, if Elysium is untenable, it will have to be abandoned, and they have enough small boats to do it. The best thing we can do is continue to France.

That the undead attacked again during the night does worry me, Kim said. "After finding those dead zombies in Dundalk, I thought this nightmare was over. I thought the zombies were dying. No, I was sure they’re dying."

"They are dying, Mary said. It simply won’t happen overnight. What’s that expression young Bran uses? Hurry up and wait; that’s a lesson for us all. Now, where’s that map of Greece?"

The door opened. Knock-knock, Annette said.

Good try, Kim said. "But next time have a go actually knocking, and do it before you open the door. Where’s Daisy?"

Oh, she’s with Mirabelle, Dee-Dee, and Ken. They’re writing subtitles.

Subtitles for what? Mary asked.

The last two episodes of my show don’t have them, Annette said. They’re translating from the Japanese.

They know Japanese? Kim asked.

Not really, Annette said. But they’ve seen the show a bazillion times. They know it by heart.

And do you think translating a cartoon about vampires in a boarding school is the best use of their time? Kim said.

"It’s not a cartoon, Annette said. It’s anime. There’s a difference. And they volunteered. I didn’t ask them. And we’ve been working for hours. All of us. We needed a break. If that’s how they want to spend their time-off, who I am to stop them? Anyway, we’ve finished going through the notebooks we found in Dundalk."

And what did you find, dear? Mary asked.

First, that we didn’t find all the books, Annette said. I think Thomas took some away. That’s what I’d do.

Thomas? Kim asked.

Thomas Allan Murphy, Annette said. That’s his name. Tam’s from the initials. I called Dundalk and spoke to Siobhan. It’s the same guy that travelled with them. I know, I know, she added. You said we should tell her face-to-face, but when will we get a chance to do that? We’re on our way to France, and she’s in Dundalk with the admiral and Sholto. It might be weeks before we see them again, and I thought it was important that someone look for Tam’s other notebooks.

And why do you think it’s important? Mary asked patiently.

Tam and his people were waiting for reinforcements, Annette said. They wanted to make Dundalk a fortress. Obviously they didn’t, and they left by sea, but the notebooks I found don’t say where they were going. That’s why I wanted Siobhan to look for more. If we can find out where they went, we could look for them. That’s a better idea than Tasmania.

Tasmania? Kim asked. Now you’ve really lost me.

Haven’t you heard? Annette said. It’s the sweepstake.

And you’ve lost me, too, dear, Mary said. What sweepstake?

Down in the engine room.

You’re not meant to go down there, Kim said.

And I wouldn’t have, but I was trying to find Catrina, Annette said. "You know. Cat-rina? The cat? Hmm, maybe Tabitha is a better name, but she’s not really a tabby. Anyway, they’ve been betting on where we’ll find other survivors. Tasmania has the best odds because of how Australia had its own evacuation."

Maybe so, Mary said, but it’s too far for us to travel by sea. I doubt we’ll find another plane any time soon.

"No, we could get there, Annette said. The New World could. I asked. We’d have to reduce the weight a bit, leave some people behind, but we could reach Australia."

And how would we get back? Mary asked. No, our future lies in the Mediterranean. We’ll send an expedition across the Atlantic so the admiral can fulfil the oath she made to her people, but we’ll find our new home somewhere warm, and somewhere far closer.

And you’ve been working out where? Annette asked, picking up a map.

We’ve been working out which islands would be worth investigating, Kim said. That will enable us to plot a route, and thus we can calculate how long it will take and how much fuel we’ll need.

But we’re going to find Bill first, aren’t we? Annette said.

Of course, Mary said. Too often on Anglesey we were reacting to disasters, with barely enough time to think, let alone plan. We shall not repeat that mistake, so now, while we have a little time, we’re getting a head start on the work.

Yeah, okay, Annette said. And that’s why I came here. You see, it was those notebooks of Tam’s. Most of them are about the people who’ve died. It’s seriously dark stuff. A lot of it’s kinda depressing. That got me thinking that we sort of do the same. We never talk about the people who are alive, you know? So I thought that’s what I should do, put together the stories of all the people who are alive.

I thought you were writing a history book, Kim said.

Yeah, and that’s what this will be, Annette said. A proper history of all of us. I started with Bill; he was easy. That got me thinking about the other people on the plane. Chester wasn’t too difficult because he told me some of his stories about life in the Tower of London while he was staying with us on Anglesey. All I know about Mr Higson is that he’s a good pilot and better baker. And I don’t know anything at all about Sergeant Khan or Private Kessler.

Kim nodded. Annette wanted reassurance that Bill was okay.

Salman Khan is a very experienced Marine, Mary said. One of the admiral’s best. When Sorcha Locke returned with Chester from Birmingham, I asked the admiral for her most reliable military professional to watch her. She gave me the sergeant, and said he was worth an entire squad. Private Kessler might be a more recent recruit, but she’s just as competent and reliable. She was with Major Lewis in Belfast, part of the expedition who went to collect the fuel tankers from the airport.

Oh, yeah, I remember, Annette said. That’s when the major died. Okay, but since you wanted guards for her, you can’t have trusted Sorcha Locke.

I didn’t, Mary said. And I doubt I ever will. She was Lisa Kempton’s deputy. I’m still unclear as to the extent of Locke’s involvement in the apocalypse, but suspect it was considerable. According to Thaddeus, Kempton helped finance Quigley’s operation, providing planes and other logistical support where using military or government resources would have been too noticeable. In return, Kempton had been given the contract to mass-produce the vaccine. Of course, that was before it caused the outbreak. No, I can’t say I trust Locke. When I spoke to her, she offered no remorse, nor even regrets. However, actions speak louder than words. She helped those people in Birmingham. I believe she’s changed in the last ten months.

But you still had guards for her, Annette said.

The guards were to keep her safe, not to stop her escaping, Mary said. I was worried what the general population would do, what type of revenge they might seek. That’s why I offered her a sailing boat and supplies, so she could go wherever she wanted. But she didn’t want to leave.

Or she wanted to go back to Belfast, Annette said. Maybe that’s why she didn’t want a boat.

Possibly, Mary said. She’s seen what the world has become, and how few people are left. I think she wants to make amends, though she is the kind of woman who’ll never admit as much. No, I don’t trust her, I certainly don’t like her, but she isn’t a threat to us, or to Bill. The opposite, in fact, since she’s as well trained as Sergeant Khan, and as experienced in surviving the horrors of our world as Bill or Chester. With Mr Higson, they have an excellent pilot and exceptional mechanic. I’m sure he can repair a car or truck. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if, when we reach France, we find them waiting for us.

Yeah, maybe, Annette said. Except they haven’t called in. It’s been five days and we’ve not heard from them. They have a sat-phone, they should have called us by now.

"They had a sat-phone, Kim said. They must have landed far from the coast, out of range. And that’s confirmed by the fact the satellites haven’t found any sign of them yet."

But wherever they landed, they would have headed towards the coast, Annette said. They should be in range by now.

As you say, it’s been five days, Kim said. The phone’s run out of power and they have no way of recharging it. No, I’m not worried.

You’re not?

And nor should you be, Mary said. Worrying rarely does us any good. Now, earlier, you said you were looking for your cat. Did you find her?

Oh, no. Not yet.

Perhaps you should continue your search, Mary said. I just saw Commander Crawley walk past that window, and he didn’t look as if he was in a good mood. Go on.

Annette hurried away, leaving Mary and Kim alone.

And there’s no point you worrying, either, dear, Mary said.

Easy to say, Kim said. She picked up a map of the French coast. It’s such a long coastline, and we don’t even know where they crashed. Now we’ve left Belfast, now that we might abandon Elysium, and the admiral’s certainly going to leave Dundalk, if we don’t find him, if he sets off on his own to return to Ireland, he won’t find any of us there.

I know, dear, Mary said. I know.

Part 1

Rough Landing

Day 253

21st November

Chapter 1 - The Crash

Five Thousand Feet Above France

Outside the plane’s cockpit, the snow-covered landscape was an irregular geometry of tall trees, flat mounds, and curving hills, zipping by impossibly fast.

Can we land on snow? Bill Wright asked, rubbing the stumps of his missing fingers. His leg, which had never properly healed after the break sustained at the beginning of the outbreak, throbbed in time with the vibration from the plane’s engines. He could blame the altitude, the speed, but the real cause was fear. They were trapped in a plane that they couldn’t steer, flying over France where there were no known friendly faces, let alone runways. He could call it a landing, but the reality was that a crash was a certainty in their imminent future.

Land on snow? Here’s hoping, Scott Higson said. Now that we’ve dumped the fuel, we’re flying on fumes. In twenty minutes we’ll drop like a rock. Look for a road, a motorway, anything.

I can only see snow. I can’t tell what’s beneath, Bill said. Wait, there’s smoke! Two degrees to the left. Do you see?

Higson snapped his head to the left before returning his darting gaze to the instrument panel. Yep, sure. Looks like smoke, the middle-aged Australian pilot said. His tone was calm but his face was a rigid mask, except for a vein throbbing at the side of his weather-beaten face.

With snow blanketing the landscape from here to the horizon, a fire has to be deliberate, Bill said, peering at the thin plume rising from the horizon. It has to be people.

Not necessarily, Scott said through gritted teeth. Can you see the fire?

No, there’s still too much daylight. I think there’s a river. Some buildings. Might be a— No, it’s gone. Or we have. We’ve flown past.

Was it a town? Scott asked.

Possibly. The tree-cover was too dense for it to be a city, Bill said. But I definitely saw smoke. Can you bring us down here?

Here and now? You sure? We’ll have to come down soon, but we’ll only get one more shot at this. We can’t change our minds this time.

Like you said, we’re coming down soon whether we want to or not, Bill said.

Then hold on, Scott said, flipping a series of switches on the control panel. Hold on! he yelled through the propped-open cockpit door.

The plane juddered. The plane shuddered. The plane shook, as Scott dipped the nose. Outside, the snow-smoothed drifts swiftly turned into jagged peaks, uneven valleys, and far, far too many trees as the ground neared quickly. Too quickly. Far, far, far too quickly.

Not yet, Scott muttered. Not yet.

Bill saw trees and snow, and a lumbering figure that was immediately lost to sight.

Now. Here we go, Scott said.

Bill gripped the edge of the seat, pre-emptively gritting his teeth as the pilot dragged the nose up. The window filled with clouds bisected by a distant blue line on the far horizon.

No. No. No. No! Scott intoned. His invocation began as a mutter but rose to a scream.

Before Bill could ask what fresh disaster had been thrust upon them, the rear of the plane clipped the ground. He was thrown forward, then up and back as the aircraft slammed into the snow. As they ploughed through the field, a kaleidoscope of white ice and brown dirt sprayed across the windows, mercifully obscuring the view of the trees they had no way of avoiding. Without sight as a distraction, his brain filled with the sounds that, in turn, filled the dying plane. Rivets popped. Bolts snapped. Panels clattered loose. A screeching grind bounced around the cockpit. From the cabin came a prayer, a yell, a muted scream. The roar of the engines abruptly died, replaced by a rending screech as metal was torn asunder. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the wall of sound collapsed, and the plane shuddered to a creaking halt.

Bill exhaled, and allowed himself to relax into the seat. Think I broke a tooth. Still, that could have been worse, he said. "A lot worse. Cockpit window hasn’t broken. Is it a stupid question if I ask whether there’s any chance this plane will fly again? Scott? Scott?"

Bill twisted in his seat, wincing as a flash of pain shot from his neck to his leg, but that was instantly forgotten as he saw the pilot. Scott was slumped in his seat. His head lolled to the side. Blood dripped across his forehead and along his nose.

Scott? Can you hear me? Bill asked, fumbling with the harness’s release. Scott? Free, Bill pushed himself over to the pilot’s chair. Scott?

The pilot groaned.

You’re alive! Good, Bill said. You’ve a cut on your forehead, but it doesn’t look deep.

And now he was out of his depth. He looked for a med-kit, caught sight of the familiar white cross on a red background emblazoned on a metal door, opened the narrow locker, and found it was empty.

Hold on, he said. He had to shoulder-barge the buckled door to get into the cabin. Into the remains of the cabin. The tail section had been torn free, revealing a view of snow-white fields beyond the ruined plane.

Everyone okay? he asked. Or is that a stupid question?

It’s a question I get asked far too often, Chester Carson said. The large Londoner unbuckled his seat belt and stood up. The plane groaned, tilting to starboard.

At least we’re not on fire, Sorcha Locke said, running a hand through her close-cropped greying hair before checking her palm for blood.

We’re alive, U.S. Marine Sergeant Salman Khan said. Private? Private Amber Kessler, report!

Yeah, I’m fine, Amber Kessler muttered.

The pilot’s not, Bill said. He’s injured, bleeding. Did anyone pack a first aid kit?

Here, Khan said. The grizzled Marine unclipped his pack from the seat next to him, and fished out a small grey plastic box. It’s just the essentials.

Give it to me, Locke said. Unless your medical experience extends beyond policy documents, Mr Wright?

Bill stepped aside to let the Irishwoman pass, then continued down the narrow aisle to the ripped-open rear of the plane.

It could be worse, he said. A frigid wind whistled through the broken cabin windows. Though not by much. Sergeant, can you and the private check outside? See if you can spy a farmhouse or something. We saw some smoke just before we landed, but I don’t know how far we’ve travelled since then.

Aye, sir, Khan said. On your feet, Private, time to earn our retirement.

The young Californian groaned, but she followed the sergeant down the aisle, and out into the snow.

Bill turned back to the cabin. When Scott said he’d stripped the plane for weight, he wasn’t kidding.

The pilot had removed all bar ten seats, the doors to the overhead lockers, and even some of the panelling.

Locke stepped out of the cockpit. Mr Higson has a concussion, she said. I don’t think his skull is fractured, nor do I think there’s a spinal injury, but I can’t be certain. He will have to be carried and we should be cautious as we move him.

So he can’t walk? Chester asked.

Not for at least twenty-four hours, Locke said. That’s twenty-four hours of complete rest.

Then we need a stretcher, Chester said. Maybe a sedan chair.

"We need an extraction, Locke said. Have you called in our position, Mr Wright?" She used his name as if to emphasise how much was wrong.

Bill patted his belt. I’ll find the sat-phone, you make a stretcher.

Back in the cockpit, a neat bandage had been wrapped around Scott’s head. The pilot’s eyes were half-open, but only the straps kept him in the seat.

I’ve been in worse situations than this, Bill said. We all have. We’re all alive, and that’s down to you, Scott. Thank you. Now, where’s that phone?

After the last call, he’d placed the phone in the webbing pouch next to the seat. It wasn’t there. He found it at the bottom of the control console, wedged in a gap where two panels had come loose. The screen was cracked, and the aerial had snapped off. He tried the buttons anyway, but the screen stayed dark.

Any reply? Locke asked, stepping back into the cockpit.

What? No. Bill said, turning around quickly. He’d not even heard her approach. The phone’s broken.

But you called in our position before we crashed? Locke asked, bending down to peer beneath Scott’s seat.

Not exactly, Bill said. I placed a call just after we crossed the coast. That was about twenty miles from the sea. Scott dumped the fuel, brought the plane in low, and was about to land when he saw a mass of industrial pipework in the field. He brought us back up again.

That was the dipping and bucking? Locke asked. I thought that was turbulence. Ah, yes. She picked up Higson’s weapons belt.

Bill eyed her. Why do you want that?

Why do you think? she said. This is hostile territory. More immediately, I need the knife to cut the seats into a sling with which we can move Mr Higson. Unless you have a better idea for creating a stretcher? What, you think I had something to do with the crash?

It had crossed my mind, Bill said.

Really? Perhaps you should cross it off until you can explain why I’d want to be a passenger on a plane that I intended to crash. You’re in my way. I need the harness from the co-pilot’s seat.

Bill stepped aside, and back into the cabin where Chester was cutting the belts from the passenger seats.

Have you found anything we can salvage? Anything we can use? Bill asked.

The bag or two we each brought with us, and that’s all, Chester said. But since that’s all we’d be able to haul through the snow, it wouldn’t help if we’d packed an arsenal. Of course, he added, that leaves the question of where we’re carrying it.

I’m on it, Bill said. He continued down the aisle to the gaping hole where the rear of the plane had been. Leaping to avoid the jagged steel shards jutting out of the ruined cabin, he jumped down, sinking calf-deep into the drift. The cold sent a jolting bolt straight to his brain. As quick as he could, he kicked his way out of the snow and over to Sergeant Khan.

Where’s Private Kessler? Bill asked.

Khan jerked a finger behind him, but kept his gaze on the distant treeline. One wing had been sheared in two just beyond the engine mount. Kessler stood on the portion of wing still attached to the plane. Bill couldn’t see the wing tip, but in the snow, fifty metres beyond the private, was the plane’s tail-section. From the muddy gash gouged through the snow and frozen dirt, both the tail section and the rest of the plane had spun after they’d broken apart. His gaze tracked backwards, following the dark scar until it disappeared, marking the point where the plane had first hit the ground. Just beyond that, he saw movement.

Zombies, he said. "Wait... no. No, it is zombies. About three hundred metres away."

Seen them, Khan said. "They’re moving slow. Haven’t seen us yet.