Surviving The Evacuation, Book 0.5: Zombies vs The Living Dead Read online

6th March

  The next day, after the promised fried breakfast, the residents split themselves into two groups. Half embedded themselves in the Sun Room, staring avidly at the television trying to extract any and all information that they’d disregarded over the past two weeks. The other half stayed in the dining hall, playing bridge or patience, or just talking loudly and desperately about anything other than the absence of staff, the outbreak or the undead.

  “You missed the announcement today,” Mrs O’Leary said when he brought her dinner that evening. He’d moved his television into her room so that she’d have something to do during her long hours of solitude. “Made by that young MP you fancy.”

  “Masterton?” He said the name too quickly and she laughed. “I never said I fancied her,” he went on. “I said it’s nice to see an attractive young woman in Parliament.”

  “That might have been what you said, but it’s not what you meant!”

  “So what did she say?” he asked, trying to move the conversation onto less treacherous ground.

  “They’re evacuating the cities. Starting tomorrow. All the inland ones. London too, All to be emptied in twenty-four hours.”

  “Oh,” he said, “so it is actually happening.”

  “Seems so.”

  “You think it’ll work?” he asked.

  “I think,” Mrs O’Leary said after a moment’s consideration, “that what they’re telling us is the tip of an iceberg so big it could sink the world. And you know what they say, you can’t stop an iceberg, you can only ride it until it melts.”

  George smiled. “That’s a good one. You come up with that this afternoon?”

  “There wasn’t much else to do,” she admitted. “After your girl gave that speech they stopped all other programming. It’s just the same stuff on what you should take with you. Reminders to wear two pairs of socks, take a spare pair of shoes. Bring bedding, stay with your family, bring water and food for at least two nights. And on and on for about half an hour, and then it repeats.”

  “And the radio?”

  “The same thing. Just the audio of course, but it’s the same programme.”

  “Nothing about us?”

  “Nothing about anywhere specific. Any sign of McGuffrey today?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “He might have told them, you know. Someone might come to get us,” she said, but without much conviction.

  “You want to watch a film or something?” he asked after a while.

  “Would you mind?”

  He leafed through the meagre collection of DVDs he’d bought second hand from the charity shop. “Brief Encounter?” he suggested.

  “Oh, that would be perfect.”