Surviving The Evacuation (Book 6): Harvest by Frank Tayell

Automatically she looked about, sword raised, expecting to see the undead, but the corridor was empty except for a fading white dot imprinted on her retina by Chester’s torch. Abandoning subtlety, she wrenched the door open.
    Trying to see by the occasional flashes of light as Chester moved back and forth, she eased forward, hand outstretched. She found the lantern. Grabbed it. Found the switch. Pressed it. Nothing happened.
    “That’s about right,” she muttered. When Chester turned and the room was again bathed in light, she waved him inside. With the dim and wavering aid of his torch, she inspected the lantern. It was a cheap model, the sort designed to be kept in a car and used in case of a breakdown on some unlit stretch of road. When she checked the batteries, she found one had leaked.
    “It’s not what you’d use on a runway,” she whispered. “It’s not powerful enough. You wouldn’t even use it inside. This plastic is too cheap.”
    Chester turned away, and she was thrust into darkness once more.
    “Here, look at this,” he said before she could swear.
    Affixed to the wall was a cabinet. On it were two maps, one showing an escape route in case there was a fire on the runway, the other if the terminal building itself was ablaze. The rooms were clearly marked. Judging by the labels, the area they were in was used by the plane’s cleaning crews. Chester pointed at a spot on the map.
    “See that?” he asked. “Holding cells. How much do you want to bet that customs is nearby?”
    “That’s where we go,” Nilda said. “Down the corridor, right at the end, then straight on. Third door on the right.” She repeated the directions to herself, and then ran them backwards so she’d know how to get out in the pitch dark.
    They left the room and followed the corridor, Chester on the left, she on the right. After twenty paces, she stuck a hand out to stop him. She’d heard something. There was no way that the undead could be in that warehouse by the runway and not inside the terminal itself, no one was that lucky, but the sound didn’t come again. They continued down to the junction and turned right.
    This corridor was narrower, and the left-hand wall was lined with suitcases. As they walked past them, Nilda saw the occasional tail of cloth protruding from between the seal. The cases had been searched, then hastily repacked and moved out of the way. That made sense. What didn’t was why anyone would have been searching them in the first place. Clothing and other personal items could be found behind the windows on any high street, there for the taking by anyone with half a brick and enough wits to know how to throw it. That the cases had been searched suggested that people had stayed in the airport, living there long after the undead had taken to the streets outside. Why? It was obvious. They had flown in from all over the world in the hope they would find safety here. When they’d seen it was no different to wherever they’d come from, what reason did they have to go any further? Obvious, and depressing.
    She raised a hand, pointing to the right. One more door and they should reach the holding cells.
    But those people would have left when they got hungry, right? She told herself that surely they would. But if so, then they hadn’t made it to the walkways above Oxford Street, let alone to Anglesey. Did that mean they were still here?
    They reached the door. It was reinforced. Access was via a key-card and number-pad system. Nilda mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ as she pushed at the door, and the now long-defunct electrical locks clicked open.
    Chester stepped through first, mace in one hand, torch in the other, turning quickly as he swept the room. By the flashes of illumination, Nilda saw it wasn’t actually a cell, though she should have guessed that, but an office. Along the rear wall was a row of blank screens. In the middle were two desks, back to back, and— and Chester had moved off towards