Zombies vs The Living Dead (An Evacuation Story #1) Read Free Page A

but not so loudly that they'd be forced
to acknowledge his existence.
    “Hmm” Miss Conner muttered. The others stayed silent.
    “Janice been around this morning?” he asked. This time
there was no reply.
    “Then perhaps one of us should go and check” George
muttered acidly, stepping behind the counter and through the swing
doors beyond. The kitchen was empty. He checked the ovens. They were
cold. The unwashed dishes from breakfast were stacked haphazardly by
the sink.
    Priorities, he thought. His biggest had to be Mrs O'Leary. Every
morning over the past week he'd taken breakfast to her, helped her
use the bed pan and given her as much of a wash as her rigid values
would allow. Then he would let her sleep until he brought her lunch.
Usually he found she was already awake, waiting for him. He didn't
want her to panic, that wouldn't be fair. Nor did he want her to go
hungry.
    The fridge was locked, so too were most of the cupboards. The ones
that weren't held little more than tea, sugar and flour. He had a
couple of tins of rice pudding in his box and half a pack of
digestives. That would do, at least for now. When he left the kitchen
the residents waiting outside looked at him expectantly.
    “No sign of anyone” he said, tersely. “Haven't even
done the washing up. I think they've gone.” Then he turned and
walked back to his room.

    His box was an ancient, pitted, wooden trunk, three feet wide, by two
feet tall by and one and a half feet deep. He'd seen it in a junk
shop on the weekend in Truro he and Dora had had in lieu of a
Honeymoon. It had once belonged to a Napoleonic naval Captain who'd
stored his souvenirs of war in it, at least that's what the
shopkeeper had said whilst Dora was haggling over the price. Other
than a few carrier bags, it was the only piece of luggage he'd
brought with him when he'd arrived at the home.
    He
hadn't kept much in there. The items of any real worth had been sold
during that bleak year he'd been counting down till his sixty fifth
birthday He had kept a few items, though, keepsakes and mementos of
value only to himself. There were a few tarnished Roman coins he'd
bought when they were trying out retirement hobbies during the period
when it looked like Dora would recover. There was the wedding
photograph of the two of them with her aunt and his uncle, the only
family who would acknowledge them after they'd announced their
engagement. Then there were Dora's journals, carefully wrapped in the
silk scarf he'd bought on the holiday they'd taken after they found
out they would never have children. He'd never read them , never opened them, not even
during his darkest of times.
    When he'd arrived at the home he'd undergone a humiliating
examination of his personal effects, each item, including the
journals, laboriously examined out of a need “to maintain the
safety and comfort of all our residents.” McGuffrey hadn't
discovered that the box had a secret compartment hidden by a false
bottom, though.
    The box was now filled with the food he'd bought from the village. He
took out a tin of rice pudding, the half pack of digestives and two
decently sized metal spoons he'd stolen from the cafe in the shopping
centre. It wasn't much, he knew, but it was better than nothing.

    “ Rice
pudding for lunch. Very decadent, Mr Tull” Mrs O'Leary said,
after he'd explained the situation. “So
what are we to do, now?”
    “I'm not sure” he replied. She let her spoon clink
meaningfully on the side of the tin and gave him a look that had
silenced even the most unruly of classrooms during her nearly fifty
years of teaching. “I suppose I should look for the staff”
he said.
    “Or try McGuffrey up at his cottage” she suggested. “Then
you're to report back here what you've found.”
    “Yes ma'am” he said with a smile.

    He checked the Sun Room first and then the conservatory. Then he
wandered along the corridors that led to the resident's bedrooms and
re-checked the dining hall and the