Surviving The Evacuation (Book 8): Anglesey by Frank Tayell Page A

fantasy until a quartet of seagulls erupted from the roof of a shed in the next field along.
    “Caernarfon Castle,” I said, pointing. It was partially obscured by trees, but there was no mistaking the crenelated walls.
    “Feet,” Sholto said. “Do you hear them?” He raised the rifle.
    “Running feet,” Lorraine said, half-raising her own. “It must be Markus. It must be.”
    My heart beat faster. It’s half a year since the outbreak. Everything I’d seen told me that zombies barely had the co-ordination to walk, let alone run. Certainly, I’d seen none move faster than a lurching stagger, but running zombies were near the top of my list of private dreads.
    The sound of running feet drew nearer. Two figures jogged into sight around a thicket of alder. Both were male. One was about six-foot-two, with dangerously long dirty-blond hair. A recent scar running from nose to lip was only partially covered by deliberately trimmed stubble. Sunglasses covered his eyes, a bandana his neck, and a T-shirt a size too small barely covered muscles that, quite frankly, weren’t any more impressive than anyone else’s on the island. It was as if he’d found a style that suited him in his early twenties, and now, well over a decade later, he’d stuck with it, despite the fact it only highlighted his age. The other man was far younger. Probably out of his teens, but only just. His head was shaved in the style that was common in a world where soap was rare and long hair could be grabbed by the undead. The thick bovver-boots were completely impractical, as was the short sword in his hands. It looked like a Roman gladius.
    “The tall guy is Paul,” Lorraine said. “He’s been with Markus since the beginning. The younger one is Bob or Rob or something. Hasn’t been here long. He came from somewhere in Northern England. The Lake District, I think.”
    The two men slowed to a walk.
    “What happened?” Lorraine called.
    “The castle’s no good,” Paul said, giving her a sardonic smile. “Too many zombies. Got thirty of them, though, didn’t we Rob?”
    “Thirty? Yeah, I guess,” Rob mumbled. He looked hot, exhausted, close to terrified.
    “Where’re Markus and the others?” Lorraine asked.
    “Gone shopping,” Paul said. “There’s a trailer park over there.” He waved a hand vaguely behind him. “I’m out of ammo. Rob lost his gun. We were going to get more from the supplies at the golf club.”
    “Will was bitten,” Lorraine said. “He and Lilith were surrounded. We had to come over to rescue them.”
    “Will’s still alive?” Rob asked.
    “Yes,” Lorraine said.
    “Then it’s all worked out, right?” Paul said.
    “That’s not the point,” Lorraine said. “You shouldn’t have left them.”
    “When did you arrive?” Paul asked.
    “About half an hour ago,” Lorraine said.
    “And Will’s still alive. If you hadn’t come, we’d have rescued them.” Paul gave another grin, showing a set of perfect teeth. “What was it that our illustrious mayor said? That there aren’t enough people for any of us to waste a breath? Seems like we did the right thing.” He began walking again. “The castle’s no good. It’ll take an army to clear Caernarfon, and now we know. So, you guys coming, or what?”
    “The rest of you, Markus and the others, when did you last see them?” Sholto asked.
    “When was it, Rob?” Paul asked, turning to the younger man. “About eight o’clock last night?”
    “I guess,” Rob muttered.
    “Then they’re probably dead,” Paul said. “Give us five minutes to dump our bags and get some more ammo, and we’ll help you look for them.”
    Lorraine opened her mouth, but then bit back the reply. “Go back to the boat and wait there,” she said through gritted teeth.
    “Suit yourself,” Paul said. He walked away. Lorraine did the same, continuing down the road. Sholto and I shared a look, took a glance back at the two men, now sauntering along the road, and followed