Life Goes On | Book 4 | If Not Us [Surviving The Evacuation] Tayell, Frank (classic books to read .TXT) 📖

she saw Toppley walking back to the bus with a webbing bag full of spent magazines. “Fancy a stroll, Teegan?”

“I always do before lunch,” Toppley said, dropping the bag by the steps of the bus. “It’s about that time, isn’t it?”

“Give or take an hour,” Tess said, as the two women began walking towards the far end of the bridge. “How’s the bus?”

“They are an impressive group, those nurses,” Toppley said. “We’re running short of ammunition. Half is gone already. What news did the helicopter bring?”

“There should have been a radio team here. Soldiers, too. Relief is on its way. Should be here in twenty minutes or so, depending on how fast they drive. I’d never been to war before. I stood on the walls in Canberra, and fought in the outback. This is something different. You?”

“Not like this, no. I have been witness to violence, to murder, and, sadly, to massacres, but never have I seen so many come willingly to the slaughter.”

“Massacres?” Tess asked.

“I did my best to stay on the right side of history,” Toppley said. “In the middle of events, it is difficult to know which side is which, but why should revolutions be won by those who’ve won the favour of a super-power? But I digress, and so do you. What did the pilot say?”

“They don’t come willingly,” Tess said. “The zoms. There’s no will involved. That’s why this is different to war.”

“You’re still digressing.”

Tess stepped around a long-dead corpse whose chest had more holes than a putting green, but which had finally been stopped by the machete still embedded in its skull.

“I’m not,” Tess said. “I’ve read a lot about war. The Korean War, particularly. I was trying to make sense of the world my mum grew up in. I read about the atrocities, and the barbarity of the north. She’d never talk about it.”

“Ah. She was a defector, yes?” Toppley said. “How she escaped is a story I’d truly like to hear, though not until after I know what the helicopter pilot said. I take it that it’s not good news.”

“What I learned about the frenetic chaos of war is that unit commanders often don’t have a complete picture,” Tess said. “It feels like we’re winning, when the war has already been lost. Inhambane is a few days away from running out of food, water, and ammo. After Mick took off, Commander Tusitala must have returned to the ship, and spoken with the captain. The captain has assessed the situation, and determined that the last chance for a successful airlift was today, and our arrival confirms it won’t happen in time. Tomorrow, at dawn, they’re going to attempt to seize control of one of those floating freighters full of zombies, and turn that into an offshore refuge. Failing that, they want to keep this bridge open as a means of escape.”

“Ah. Then things are bad. The Kiwis don’t believe an airlift will happen. Do you?”

“Mick’ll try,” Tess said. “He’s a legend in the outback, where he really was the difference between life and death. But after we landed, things happened too quickly for me to properly process it all. An airlift requires extending that runway, and flying to a semi-flooded runway in Diego Garcia. If we weren’t under attack, or short of supplies, I’d say it was fifty-fifty we’d pull it off. But the ship has been here longer. The captain knows the odds of success, and thinks going cabin-to-cabin on a zombie-infested boat gives us a greater chance of survival.”

“I hate to agree, seeing as what that means for our future,” Toppley said, “but the truth can’t be avoided. That river below is more of an obstacle than a barrier.”

“We could hold off another two similar-sized attacks,” Tess said. “So it comes down to how many zoms are out there, and how many are heading this way. But if we’d arrived an hour later, this bridge would already have fallen. No, this isn’t a defence, it’s a fighting retreat.”

Atop the crane-platform at the eastern edge of the bridge, they found the teacher, Luis Magaia, clutching an M4-carbine with the safety still on.

“I was watching them,” he said. “In case they turned.”

“She’s dead,” Toppley said, closing the eyes of a now deceased nurse.

“But she’s not,” Tess said, checking the pulse of the other nurse, a woman with bandages on her face, and more on a stumpy wrist. “We’ll transfer her to the bus. The other nurses can watch her until we can get her back to town. We’ll need to create a hoist, lower her at shoulders, waist, and ankles. We need four people, Teegan, and the bus.”

“Of course, Commissioner,” Teegan said, wincing as she straightened, pressing her hand into the small of her back. “Ah, there are some moments I miss my prison cell. Not many, but with a frequency which increases with each of these grinding reminders of my advancing years.”

“I thought you were still in your forties,” Tess said.

“Ha! Look at me and see your future, young lady,” Toppley said, as she bent to climb back down. She paused. “Tess, vehicles.”

“It’s the relief column,” Tess said. “Get the bus, and get everyone aboard. We’re heading back to the city.”

“Relief indeed,” Toppley said, continuing down to the ground.

Eight vehicles approached. Three up-armoured Landcruisers, two factory-armoured cars, and three battered open-topped trucks. They were full of people and supplies. The vehicles stopped in a cloud of tyre-thrown dust a hundred metres from the bridge. The lead Landcruiser continued alone.

Luis Magaia climbed down the ladder, but Tess stayed atop the crane-platform, looking, watching, and assessing these new arrivals. She turned to the unconscious woman. “Hold on just a bit longer, ma’am. We’ll get you out of here.” Finally, she climbed down the ladder.

A shot came from the centre of the bridge, then a second.