Surviving The Evacuation (Book 4): Unsafe Haven by Frank Tayell Page A

nearby, if she could think of somewhere they might go then she would prefer to drive.
    She was nearing the town centre when she heard it. At first she thought it was a car backfiring. Then she heard it again. It was a shot. Someone was shooting. She didn’t know if she wanted to help. Anyone who was armed was probably a representative of the government and thus to be avoided. But whoever they were, they’d be able to see the smoke from the bonfire. She headed towards the sound.
    The shooter was definitely not police. And though she was standing on the roof of an Army Armoured Personnel Carrier, the blue and silver streaks in her hair were definitely non-regulation. But in the woman’s hands was a pump-action shotgun with a folding stock that Nilda guessed was as military as the vehicle. Surrounding the vehicle were the undead. Nine were still standing, the remains of three more lay on the ground. As Nilda watched from the shelter of an alley three hundred yards away, the woman fired again, messily decapitating a zombie in a blue and white ski jacket.
    That left eight, but as she glanced down the street, Nilda saw four more heading towards them. And there would be more coming, she was sure of that. Each shot would be like a siren to them, but Nilda was reluctant to help the woman. The undead were gathered around one side of the vehicle. The woman could easily jump down the other side and escape. Why hadn’t she? The only explanation was that whatever was inside had to be something of value. These days that meant ammunition, fuel, or food.
    The four undead were getting closer. They were now only fifty yards from the alleyway. Whatever Nilda was going to do, she had to do now.
    Nilda got on the bike and cycled out into the road. She glanced back. The four undead behind had seen her and become more aggressively animated at her appearance. She glanced at the truck. The undead there were still pawing and clawing at the windows and frame of the vehicle. Pushing down on the pedals with all her strength, she sprinted towards the APC.
    “I’ll lure them away,” Nilda called out to the woman standing on the vehicle’s roof. “You see the smoke? Head towards it, okay?” The woman didn’t respond.
    Nilda cycled past, slowed, and then stopped about fifty yards further down the road. She turned in the saddle, checking that the undead were following. They were. She kicked off and, darting frequent glances behind, kept a slow and steady pace until a ragged creature in a tattered dress lurched out of a side road. The zombie tripped on the dress’s torn hem and fell in a stumbling dive with its arms outstretched. Its clawing fingers brushed against the front spokes of Nilda’s bicycle. She swerved, put on a burst of speed, and angled to the next side road. She headed down a narrow one-way street, pausing at the end just until she was sure the undead were following. Then she cycled on, leading the undead away from the truck. She took another turn, another side road, and then decided that she was far enough away. Checking the undead were out of sight, she ducked down an alley, then another, doubling back towards the APC. More than ever, she wanted to know what was inside.
    When she got there, she found the woman still there, filling a bag with something from the back of the vehicle. Judging from the broken glass scattered around a nearby shop front, the bag was a new acquisition.
    Nilda came to a stop. The woman didn’t turn.
    “Hi,” Nilda said.
    The woman didn’t reply, she just kept filling the bag. Nilda thought of just cycling away - she’d had enough of selfish ingratitude from those whom she’d rescued - but then saw what was in the back of the truck. Box upon box of military rations. She dismounted, letting the bike fall to the ground. Grabbing the shotgun, the woman swung around, but relaxed when she saw it was Nilda.
    “Hi,” Nilda said again, softly, trying not to stare at the scars running up from the woman’s