Surviving The Evacuation (Book 2): Wasteland by Frank Tayell Page B

great relief, but this discovery means so much more than that. It's another part of the reason I need to go to Lenham Hill. What else don't we know that could help us do more than just exist in this world, and where else can we find the answers?
     
    We reached Stonehenge at around ten am. We missed the dawn, and this close to mid-summer it would be tempting to throw caution to the wind and camp out just to see the stones at sunrise. But even without the undead it would be too dangerous to stay here. The stones have a new guardian, one that has long been a danger to man and, judging by the evidence about us, and one that is even more dangerous than the undead.
    We knew something was wrong from a couple of miles away when we saw the first body. It was definitely that of a zombie, but it had been mauled. The face had been torn off, the skull crushed and most of a hand had been chewed away. Chewed but not eaten. We found the discarded fingers a few yards from the body, where they had evidently been spat out. We stared at those remains, we looked around, wondering what new monster we faced, what horrific abomination the undead might have mutated into, and, more importantly, in which direction it lay.
    We couldn't tell and, since one direction was as good as any other, we headed on, faster now, until we crested a ridge and saw the animals, there amongst the ancient stones. There are lions at Stonehenge.
     
    I always used to hate lions. Not just lions, I had a rule that anything that could, and often did, kill humans should be exterminated, not conserved. Polar bears, sharks, Grizzly's, pretty much everything that lived in Australia. As for lions, to me they were nothing more than tigers with better press.
    We watched them for a while, taking it in turns to use the rifle's scope. There's a male, a female and at least one cub. They must have come from the safari park, but whether they escaped or whether they were purposefully released, I can't tell. It doesn't matter. That they are there, that is enough.
    I watched the lioness disembowel one of the undead with its claws. I saw the male pounce from one of the stones, knocking a zombie down then crush its skull between its jaws. I watched as the cub darted out between the two adults to nip at a zombie's ragged legs. I saw the female swat it back towards the ring of stones, before turning on the undead creature and ripping its throat out.
    Again and again, the zombies came, in ones and twos, drifting in from the countryside. Again and again the lions dispatched Them. They didn't rush, they took it in turns, they could have run at any time, but I think, no, I’m certain, they had decided that this was their territory, that they were in no danger, and that they were not going to flee. And that is why I am terrified of lions.
    “The lions aren't infected,” I said, handing the scope back to Kim. “They're not eating the zombies. They're biting Them, and they're not getting infected. So if lions have survived, why not goats and sheep and cattle and who knows what else.”
    Then we heard the lioness roar. That truly echoed for miles.
    “We should go,” Kim said.
    “Sure,” I said, making no move to leave.
    “That noise travelled for miles,” She said.
    “Yep.”
    “We didn't hear it before. The lioness didn't roar until we arrived. We should go. Now.”
     
    After that we had to head further south than I would have liked, leaving the Plain and returning to the roads. We've stopped for the night a few miles from the city of Salisbury. Tomorrow we'll have to go even further south just to avoid going through the city itself, but then, we'll be able to head back the Abbey, and perhaps just a few days after that, I will be at Lenham Hill.
     
    Day 110, Raysbury, Hampshire.
    09:00, 30 th June.
    We're about twenty miles north of Southampton, and even from here I can tell the city is nothing but ruins. Smoke, drifting thinly into the sky, speaks of some great conflagration, perhaps one