Surviving The Evacuation (Book 3): Family by Frank Tayell Page A

was far quicker than our journey from it, and not just because I was travelling by bike. I knew which roads to avoid and which were clear. The only delay was when I found a road blocked by a single decker bus driven through the front window of a dry-cleaners. I could have got the bicycle past, but I didn’t like the slow shuffling sound I could hear coming from the other side. I found another route. Considering what I was about to do, stopping to kill the undead would have been a waste of time. Until I got to the boat.
     
    It was inevitable, I suppose. None of us had been as quiet as we should have been when we tied it up and came ashore. Three undead had gathered on the towpath. Two were close to the boat, the third was forty yards further north. Their heads were bobbing this way and that, as they shuffled about in small circles, seeking a sound like a dog seeking a scent. They heard me coming at about the same time I realised I couldn’t avoid Them.
    I dismounted and looked around. A few bushes rustled in the distance, but otherwise I could see no other zombies and nowhere else for Them to hide. I lent the bike up against a tree, unslung the pike and started walking slowly towards the first creature.
    When I was fifteen yards away I stopped and shifted my grip, angling the pike out so the point was pointing slightly downwards, the shaft held parallel to my body. When it had taken another step forward, as its arms began their clutching grasp at empty air, I stepped forward, and scythed the pike round. The blade cut deep into the creature’s ankle. It didn’t react, not even when it tried to take a step, the bone snapped and it fell face forwards onto the ground. Its hands clawed at the dirt, its mouth bit down on grass, as I limped forward and plunged the spear point through the back of its skull.
    Then there were two. I edged off the path and onto the grass. I hefted the pike up, angling the point between the eyes of the creature on the left. They were still twenty feet away. I threw a glance over my shoulder. There was nothing behind me. I took a breath and two steps forward, the pike spearing out, my arms fully extended as the point went in between the creature’s eyes. The crunch of bone seemed to echo off the buildings.
    I pulled the pike out, took a hopping skip backward, levelled the weapon and was about to repeat the manoeuvre when I noticed something different about the last zombie.
    It was more recently dead, but that alone wasn’t it. Its clothing was nearly intact, and again that wasn’t what had given me pause. It was that the ends of the coat and bottom of the trousers, both too thick and warm for this weather, had been taped to boots and wrists. The hands were gloved. A solitary strap, perhaps from a mask, dangled from an ear. The woman this zombie had been was someone who had done more than just survive. She’d taken one look at the new world she’d found herself in and realised she needed to adapt. But her preparations hadn’t been enough. I was limping backwards now, just as fast as the creature was approaching. It must have looked odd, like some macabre dance, but the more I looked at this creature, the more uncertain I became.
    I can’t be sure, but I thought I recognised the face. I don’t know where from or when. Perhaps it was nothing more than a vague desire for resemblance in a kindred spirit who’d just not had my luck. I think it was more than that. I think I once knew her. My back thumped into a tree and that jarred me back to reality. I swung up and down and the blade sliced into the face, smashing the skull and forever destroying those almost-familiar features.
     
    I limped back to the bike, wheeled it to the spot where we’d moored the boat, then pulled at the rope until the boat was close enough to climb on board. I grabbed a fuel can, hefted it over the side, and skipped ashore after it. Working out how to carry it took another few minutes I’d not planned for. I settled for