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

kitchen. Some of the residents
were still queuing for lunch, most were now walking the corridors on
a similar quest to his own. Of the staff there was no sign. Finally
he went to the reception area at the front of the building.
    He baulked at the idea of crossing the invisible line behind the desk
that led to the staff area, a place residents were not allowed,
ostensibly due to the presence of the pharmacy. Instead he walked
over to the front doors and pushed. They were unlocked. He stepped
outside.
    It was cold, with a thin fog blowing in off the sea. He thought about
going back inside for his raincoat, but stopped when his eyes caught
sight of McGuffrey's cottage on top of the cliffs.
    “The man must be there, where else is he going to go?”
George muttered, slightly louder than he'd normally have dared. “And
if he's not, then, well... Then...” he thought for a moment
“Then I'll just go into town and report the lot of them!”
    It was only a short distance, but the hill was steep, the paving
stones oddly spaced and slippery with the wintry coastal mist. He was
breathing heavily as he climbed the path.
    “McGuffrey!” he half yelled, half wheezed when he reached
the door. “McGuffrey!”
    There was no answer. He thought he saw a curtain twitch, but he
couldn’t be sure. He walked a few metres back down the path to
a small plinth by the road side and sat down. His joints ached. He
didn't used to get so tired so quickly. It had been creeping up on
him over the past few months. He had found it took him longer to get
down to the village and even longer to get back up. He hadn't wanted
to admit it to himself, since it would have ended his dream of one
day leaving this place, but he was starting to feel old.
    He glanced back at the cottage and again he thought he saw a shadow
pass across the window. He got up and walked back to the house and
banged on the door until his knuckles were red and the paintwork was
scuffed. There was no answer. He was certain now that he could hear
an odd thumping and shuffling sound from inside. Slowly, stiffly, he
walked around the property looking for an open window, but they were
all closed, their net curtains drawn.
    As frustration replaced anger, he became slowly aware of how truly
quiet the world was. There were no tractors in the fields, no
vehicles on the roads, no planes overhead or even ships out at sea.
As he slowly turned around on the spot, looking for any small sign of
life, he was gripped by a strange fear borne of loneliness. All he
wanted was to get away from this place.
    He wanted to go back to his room, he wanted to close the door, lie
down, sleep and wake up to find the world was back the way it should
be. But that would never happen, could never happen, not now. And
there was Mrs O'Leary to think of and what she'd think of him if he
went back now with more questions and no answers.

    He turned to look down the hill to the picture-postcard hamlet that
straddled the river. It was an odd little place. The same steep hills
on either side that had kept away the property developers had also
kept away the tourists. It was only in the last decade when the
single track road had finally been replaced with a two lane
carriageway that the village had bucked the recessionary trend and
begun to prosper.
    He carefully walked back along the icy path. On the other side of the
road lay the woods, through which a footpath ran, leading down to the
vicarage and the ancient church that marked the beginning of the
village. He knew he could make it down there, but getting back up
would be difficult. Even if there was anyone with any petrol left
still living there, he knew they wouldn't waste it on him. To his
knowledge the only local who ever came up to the home, other than
those who worked there, was the Vicar.
    He
hadn't approved of the whole women-vicars business though, as he was
never more than a weddings, funerals and marriages type of
church-goer, he wasn't sure why. He liked the