Surviving the Evacuation 10 The Last Candidate by Frank Tayell

Author:Frank Tayell [Tayell, Frank]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Butch
Published: 2017-04-26T03:00:00+00:00

“Dean’s probably right,” I said, as I looked at the map. “The trains never made it to Douglas. I make it about ten miles from Douglas to Castletown, another five due west will get us to Port Erin.” I held out the map to Sholto.

“Sounds about right,” he said, waving the map away. “Less than fifteen miles to cover? We should manage that, and to return, before nightfall.”

“But will we manage it before it rains?”

“Humans are waterproof, little brother, never forget it.”

We were at the rear of the group. Jackson and Kim were in the lead, Umbert and Lorraine followed close behind. Dean and Lena were ten yards behind them, arrows notched to bows, both seeming far more aware of their surroundings than the psychiatrist.

I glanced at my brother’s pack. It was far larger, and obviously heavier, than anyone else’s. “What’s in there?”

“Some tricks,” he said. “Kim and I were talking. After what happened in Belfast, we thought it worth coming prepared. I got some ideas from that soldier, Bran, the one who used to go into the wasteland looking for survivors.”

“Oh.” I glanced upward. I was far more interested in the clouds. Even with my leg, I’d managed thirty miles in a day before, though that was usually because I had the undead pursuing me for some of it. Even so, we almost certainly wouldn’t have to travel that far. The question was how far we’d manage to get before we were forced to take shelter. Despite my brother’s glib nonchalance, when the storm came, we’d have to take refuge from the rain. That begged another question, for how long would we have to shelter? We’d planned for a few hours in Douglas, and had the supplies to match. We carried water bottles, a few hundred rounds or a few dozen arrows, about a quarter of which had already been expended, and whatever snacks anyone had thought to bring. The admiral was ready to send her troops after us, but I didn’t want the expedition to end in an ignominious rescue.

“Isn’t this a bit like old times?” Sholto said.

“Which old times?” I asked, looking up at the trees. I saw a bird take flight and fly southward. I wondered if it was an omen, but if it was, I wasn’t sure of what.

“When we were escaping from London,” he said. “You remember the train tunnel in Wales?”

“Sure,” I said. “Usually around three a.m. when I wake in a screaming sweat. It’s not something I want to relive. Are you trying to find a shared experience over which we can bond?”

“Nope, just thinking that if the trains were used in a bid to escape the undead, the zombies would have followed. So maybe they weren’t used to escape the zombies, but to lure them away. Noisy beasts, locomotives.”

“You’re into steam trains?” I asked, genuinely curious. Up until now, my brother’s interests all seemed to be someway connected to his lifelong quest for revenge.

“Nah,” he said. “Not really. It’s more that steam trains are something I associate with Britain.

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