Surviving the Evacuation 08 Anglesey by Frank Tayell

Author:Frank Tayell [Tayell, Frank]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Butch
Published: 2016-09-25T03:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8 - Elysium, The Republic of Ireland

02:00, 21st September, Day 193

That was about seven hours ago, give or take. I can’t be more precise as my watch was broken during the fight. It was a gift from Annette, an apology of a sort. I suppose it’s my own fault for wearing it on this trip. Then again, we weren’t expecting anything like this. Perhaps I can get the watch repaired.

The hands stopped at six forty-five. I’d say it’s close to two a.m. It’s dark out there. Not pitch black; there are a few stars, but not enough that I can see the undead. I can hear them. I tried crawling between the solar panels so I could see over the edge, but stopped myself when I realised there was little point. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.

I tried to get some sleep, but each time I started to drift off, the racket from outside seemed to grow louder. The reason I felt able to get some sleep, other than that experience has taught me to grab it when I can, is that, just after dusk, I saw a light in the mansion. I’ve learned a little Morse code over the past few months. I’m not fluent, but I was able to send a simple are-you-there. I got a burst of flashes in return that I couldn’t begin to decipher, but the pattern was repeated. Kim and Simon are still there, and they know I’m here. It’s enough. I just have to be patient. It’s hard. I’m not used to relying on others for rescue.

Two a.m. It might be earlier. It might be later. I’ve sat up like this on too many nights, waiting for dawn, unable to truly believe it will come.

The torch flickered just now. It should be good until daylight. I hope it is. I’m not turning it off. It’s silly, isn’t it? Childish. I’ve closed the door leading into the garage, and I’m absolutely certain there are no more zombies inside. Not yet, anyway. If they break through the metal shutters, I’ll retreat to the roof and wait for there to be enough light for Kim and Simon to start shooting. Three hours, perhaps four, and it will all be over.

I found a first-aid kit in the back of one of the two lockers in the office. The antiseptic wipes were a tad dry, but they did a reasonable job of cleaning my newly acquired cuts and grazes. I’d have liked to wash my hands with water. What I really want is a hot shower, but I can’t even have a cold one. I’ve barely enough water to drink. I’ve got my water bottle of course, but that’s already half empty. There’s no drinking water in the garage. I checked. The taps are dry. The reservoir for the portable pressure-washer is empty. Even the bottles of water for the lead-acid batteries have been drunk. I’m pretty sure that was done by the people in the fleeces, the ones who became the zombies I killed.

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