Chapter 11 — "The Long Rails"
The rain came quietly before dawn — soft at first, then steady. It pattered against the welded hull of the train, dripping through cracks in the patched roof. The world outside Eastline Station shimmered with water and silence, the air thick with the scent of wet iron and overgrown weeds.
Inside, the survivors woke one by one to the sound of rain and metal and the faint rhythm of survival resuming.
Kazuma stood in the engine car, flipping switches in sequence. The gauges flickered to life, and the old diesel engine grumbled awake with a low and steady vibration that rolled through the frame.
Luna sat beside him, scanning the monitors with tired precision. "Fuel pressure's stable. Temperature nominal. Coolant leak's holding."
Kazuma gave a short nod. "Good. Then we move."
Leina, in the next car, packed what little food they had into sealed crates. "One day of rest," she muttered, "and we're back into hell again."
Mike, hefting a box of tools, grinned faintly. "At least hell looks better outside London."
Dan unfolded the fire station map across his knee, tracing a line toward a dot marked Gainswood. a rural industrial village that once served as a government convoy hub. "If this place isn't stripped bare, we could restock food, parts, maybe even meds. Enough to last a month."
Kazuma's gaze shifted to the window. Beyond it, the fog clung to the countryside, pale and endless. "Then Gainswood is our objective."
He pushed the throttle forward.
The train began to move.
The countryside east of London was no kinder than the city … only quieter. Hills rolled with long grass, scattered farmhouses sagging beneath years of rot and abandonment. The rails cut through the wild fields like a scar, straight and cold.
At first, it was smooth. Then the rails began to bite back.
A fallen tree sprawled across the track, massive and half-rotted.
"Not another crash test," Mike groaned.
Kazuma slowed, assessing. "No. We clear it."
Dan arched a brow. "By hand? That thing's the size of a truck."
Leina was already standing. "Then we use tools, not hands."
They parked twenty meters short. Mike and Leina climbed down into the wet grass with axes, hacking at the wood while Luna guided from above, calling out when branches snapped free. The air filled with the smell of pine and sweat.
An hour later, the path was open.
Kazuma nodded once. "Reboard. We move."
Mike dropped into his seat, panting. "You know, this 'efficient survival' thing feels an awful lot like manual labor."
Luna smiled faintly. "That means it's working."
By midday, the rain had thinned to mist. The sky hung low and gray, washing the land in ghostlight.
Leina sat near the observation slit, sketching the horizon with quiet hands. "It's almost beautiful out here," she murmured.
"Almost," Dan replied, "until something starts sprinting at us again."
But the plains remained still — too still. The tall grass whispered against the rails, but there was no movement, no sound of birds or wind.
Kazuma frowned. "Dan, check the map. Are we near any settlements?"
"Ten miles to Gainswood," Dan said. "But the line cuts through an old industrial valley first."
Luna leaned closer to the window. "Wait. Look."
Along the distant ridge, figures stood motionless … dozens of them. Too far to see clearly, but tall, human-shaped, and utterly still.
Mike's hand tightened around his crowbar. "They're watching."
Leina's voice trembled. "How long have they been there?"
Kazuma's tone was calm, precise. "Long enough."
He didn't slow down.
The train roared past, and the figures never moved … just watched, a silent audience fading into the fog.
No one spoke for a long time after.
By late afternoon, they reached the outskirts of Gainswood Valley… A sprawl of factories and rail platforms, all rust and ruin. Dead cranes leaned over the tracks. Piles of scrap and derailed cars choked sections of the line.
Kazuma slowed. "We'll have to stop short of the depot."
Dan studied the map. "We can park here, secure the area, and send scav teams. The depot should be east."
Kazuma nodded. "Pairs. Mike, Leina — west sector. Luna and I — east. Dan, hold the train." He order people like sergeant to soldier
Dan looked up, unimpressed. "With what, harsh language?"
Mike grinned. "If that works, I'm using it next time."
The yard was a graveyard of machines. Forklifts, rusted trucks, broken cargo containers… all frozen mid-abandonment. The rain had stopped, but the air still stank of iron and rot.
Luna walked beside Kazuma, flashlight sweeping across the dark corridors of steel. "It's quiet."
"Too quiet," he said. "Stay sharp."
They moved between stacked containers until one caught his eye — faded paint, a barely legible mark: Emergency Resupply Unit 7.
The door was chained shut with a corroded lock. Kazuma broke it with a wrench. The creak echoed like thunder.
Inside: shelves of canned food, sealed water, even fuel canisters — untouched.
Luna's eyes widened. "It's intact."
He exhaled. "We're lucky."
She smirked faintly. "Or just efficient."
Kazuma's lips twitched. "Don't push it."
They loaded the supplies into a metal cart. But every sound felt too loud.
Then came another sound… a wet rasp, low and wrong.
Luna froze. "You heard that, right?"
Kazuma raised a hand. More footsteps followed… uneven, dragging, closing in.
"Back to the train," he whispered.
They started moving fast, the cart rattling over gravel. The noise drew attention.
Something lunged from the dark !?... tall, pale, its head jerking toward the sound rather than sight. It listened before it moved.
Kazuma crushed its skull with one brutal swing. "Move!"
They ran. Shadows followed. Dozens.
By the time they burst into the open, Mike and Leina were already sprinting back from the west.
"We've got company!" Mike shouted.
Kazuma's reply was a single command — "Board!"
They piled into the train. Dan hit the throttle the instant Kazuma signaled. The wheels shrieked, the engine roared, and the locomotive tore free from the yard.
The infected ran alongside — not stumbling, but pacing. One slammed into the side, leaving a smear of blood before being dragged beneath the wheels.
Inside, the car rattled violently.
"How many did you see?" Mike yelled.
Kazuma stared out the window. "Too many. And they weren't random."
Dan frowned. "Meaning?"
"They weren't chasing the noise," Kazuma said slowly. "They were guarding the place. The yard wasn't a feeding ground. It was territory."
Silence.
Leina's hand tightened around her sketchbook. "They're starting to organize."
Luna's voice was barely a whisper. "Like animals protecting a nest."
Kazuma's eyes stayed cold, focused on the horizon.
He watched the fields slip by — empty, for now.
When the yard finally vanished behind them, the train settled into its rhythm again — steel, smoke, and heartbeat. They inventoried their haul: fuel, rations, a few tools, and a portable radio transmitter salvaged from the depot office.
Mike twisted the dials, listening to static. Then, faintly — a voice.
"…—eastbound survivors… if anyone can hear… regroup point… coastal line…"
Then silence.
Luna stared at the receiver. "That was a transmission."
Kazuma's eyes flicked to the map. "The coastal line runs parallel — fifty miles south."
Leina leaned forward. "So there are others."
Kazuma nodded once. "Maybe. But the infected are evolving faster than we are."
Dan crossed his arms. "Then we keep moving. And stay smarter."
Mike grinned weakly. "Brains beating zombies, poetic."
No one laughed.
The train pushed onward through fog and wind, rails stretching endlessly east. Human resolve against a world that refused to stay dead.
As the hours passed, the fog thinned, and the air changed… damp, sharp, and carrying something new.
Kazuma lifted his head slightly. "Smell that?"
Luna nodded slowly. "Salt."
For the first time in weeks, it wasn't the scent of decay or smoke, no it was the ocean.
The train groaned as it rolled to a stop at a small coastal station, the rusted sign barely legible: Cliffmere.
Beyond the platform, the coast stretched wide and gray, the horizon split between steel-blue water and white cliffs. Waves crashed below, slow and heavy, like the world itself exhaling.
They had reached the edge of London's grasp… and, for a moment, it felt like the edge of everything.
Kazuma led the way down the steps, boots crunching over broken concrete. The platform was scattered with torn tarps, collapsed tents, and the remnants of an old evacuation camp. A faded banner fluttered in the wind:
Evacuation Zone C — Awaiting Rescue.
Mike whistled softly. "Well, rescue's a bit late."
Leina brushed sand from her sleeves. "Do you think anyone made it out?"
Dan scanned the camp. "No bodies," he said quietly. "That's… something."
Luna lingered near the tents. "There was order here once," she murmured. "They had routines. Schedules."
Kazuma nodded. "And then they left in a hurry."
He paused by a rusted truck. Something glinted beneath the cracked dashboard, a revolver. Old, but clean. He checked the cylinder: six bullets.
Mike leaned over. "Would you look at that… the apocalypse just got more cinematic."
Kazuma studied the weapon. "None of us have fired one before."
Leina frowned. "Shouldn't we keep it unloaded until we learn?"
He nodded. "It's a last resort, not a weapon."
Luna stared at it, her voice small. "Something made for killing feels heavy even when it's empty."
Kazuma met her gaze briefly. "That's because it always is."
While searching the supply crates, Leina gasped. "Hey! You're not gonna believe this!"
She held up a small gray box, a Portable Camping Heater, still sealed.
Mike blinked. "Is that…"
"…hot meals?" she grinned. "Yes. Actual, warm, cooked food."
Even Kazuma allowed a faint smile. "A functional heater reduces infection risk from raw rations. Good find."
Dan snorted. "That's his version of gratitude."
They gathered inside one of the larger tents, patching holes with tape and tarp scraps. Luna managed to coax the heater to life, its blue flame flickering softly in the dark.
Mike threw his arms wide. "Ladies and gentlemen, civilization has returned!"
Leina smirked. "Barely."
They boiled beans first, then rice, then a single can of soup they'd never dared open cold. The smell filled the tent, faint, metallic, but warm.
Mike ate with a satisfied sigh. "If Michelin inspectors were still around, that's a solid one star."
Leina laughed. "That's your best review yet."
Dan leaned back, eyes half-closed. "It's warm, edible, and didn't try to bite me. Five stars."
Even Kazuma, dividing his portion carefully, exhaled. "Simplicity has value."
Luna sat apart, blanket around her, watching the steam rise from her bowl. Leina nudged her gently. "You can join the circle. We don't bite."
"I… don't really do group eating," Luna said.
Mike grinned. "It's not a ritual, it's dinner."
Her lips twitched. "It feels like both." But she moved closer anyway.
The laughter softened into quiet conversation. The heater hissed. Outside, the sea murmured against the cliffs.
Mike broke the silence first. "You ever think about what we'd be doing if none of this happened?"
Leina smiled faintly. "You'd be failing math."
He laughed. "And you'd be leading cheer practice."
"Probably," she admitted. "What about you, Kaz?"
He didn't look up. "Graduating. Working. Then forgetting why."
Dan chuckled. "You really know how to ruin a moment."
Kazuma gave a ghost of a smile. "Realism isn't pessimism."
Luna hesitated, then said quietly, "I wouldn't have met anyone at all."
They turned to her.
"I mean, I didn't go outside before. I just… read. Alone."
Leina smiled gently. "You're outside now."
"I know. It still feels strange. I keep waiting to wake up and hear traffic again."
Mike looked toward the sea. "I think I'd rather hear the waves."
Later, they made sleeping spots — blankets, foam, bits of padding from the train. Rain returned, light but steady, tapping against the tent.
Kazuma took first watch near the flap, revolver at his side. The waves rolled below, slow and endless.
Leina slept with her head on her arm, Luna curled near the heater, Mike sprawled like a starfish, Dan snoring quietly beside a pile of books.
Kazuma watched them , this mismatched group that somehow survived everything so far.
"Humans adapt," he whispered. "Always."
The heater's flame flickered, shadows dancing on their bodies moving like art. Not heroes, not soldiers — just people.
For one fragile night, the world outside stayed still.
No screams. No chase.
Just the sea, the rain, and the slow heartbeat of survival.
And above it all, the faintest sense of peace… Its Temporary.