Surviving The Evacuation (Book 7): Home by Tayell Frank

Author:Tayell, Frank [Tayell, Frank]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Published: 2015-08-09T04:00:00+00:00

28th September

Tuck stumbled in the dark, put out a hand to stop her fall, and felt it brush something off the edge of a desk. A moment later, a light weight hit her foot. Hurry, but don’t rush, she told herself. More cautiously, one hand in front searching for the wall, the other held low seeking further obstructions, she tried to find her way to the other side of the building.

Dusk had come early, with the clouds piling across the sky while the sun was still high enough to cast its light into the canyon of streets outside. She’d sat for uncounted hours, unable to see anything, not even the rain hammering against the window.

In the dark silence, it had felt like she was in a tomb. She’d run her hands across the edge of the table and scraped her nails against the metal of the filling cabinet, just so that she could know the world beyond her own private hell was still there. In one pocket she had three waterproof matches. It was when a treacherous voice kept repeating that there was no way anyone would be able to see the light if she struck one that she forced herself to stand.

She needed sleep. Graham was unlikely to try and close the door during the night, and she was unlikely to see him if he did, not unless he lit his path with a searchlight. It was the time to rest, but before that, she needed water. There was only one source of it nearby. Fear of the dark, masquerading as caution against radiation or disease, had kept her immobile for half of the night. Thirst finally won out, and she accepted that she would either have to drink the rain, or return to the Tower as soon as it was light. And she couldn’t return to the Tower, not until the job was done.

The texture under her fingers changed from wallpaper to wood. A doorframe. She found the handle, opened the door. There was no change to the darkness surrounding her. Right hand brushing the wall, the left grasping out in front and to her side, expecting to touch necrotic skin or decaying clothes, she forced herself along the corridor, taking step after leaden step. Heal to toe, heal to toe, counting each one, knowing that four steps added up to just over a metre. Counting gave her mind something to dwell on other than the rending teeth she would never know were there until they bit down on her flesh.

One hundred and twenty steps from where she started, counting the four steps left, three steps forward, and four right to walk around a desk, her hand touched cold glass. She searched the frame looking for a latch. There wasn’t one. The window wasn’t designed to be opened. Irrational panic grew. She barely had the presence of mind to turn her head and raise a hand to her eyes as she drew her bayonet and stabbed the blade at the glass.

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